Monday, July 11, 2011

Just Beachy


Yesterday as we arrived at the gate to board for home from California we were greeted by a tall, luminous, blond woman who came to tell us she was just on her ipad looking at my blog. Specifically, Chup's last mysterious entry wherein he wishes you were here, but doesn't exactly say where "here" is.

"I thought to myself, that looks like San Diego," she told me.

And then, what happened next?

"I looked over and saw Ever," she explained.

After that experience, I thought how amazing it would be if my family could appear anywhere in the world just by someone reading my blog on an ipad. What an app that would be, right?

(Could someone read my blog in Tahiti please?)

Anyway, we were in San Diego to do a review for Sheraton/BlogHer and we'll get to that review--just as soon as my vacation buzz wears off. We also tracked a lot of golden-flecked sand home with us--in my purse, in Ever's ears, in our carefully-guarded package of Joe-Joe's.

You Trader Joe people don't know how good you have it. Every time I leave Utah for another state I ask the GPS to kindly lead me to the nearest TJ and then I act like I've been starving for six months when I get inside. There is a rumor in Utah which is: we'll never get one here because we don't imbibe. But there are TJ stores that don't sell alcohol and so that rumor is squash. I think we're just being prejudiced against. And I am Mormon, so I know how it feels. Fingers to the eyes, Missouri.

(I don't really like Peppermint Joe-Joe's but I like the dark chocolate coated ones that only come out during holiday season but I've had them in the spring so is that just a really old box or what is that?)

I told you, vacation buzz. I can't even think straight. Plus I got just a little sunburned on my arms and it hurts to type. Upper arms and back--a little too. I put suncreen on, I just missed a few key spots. Behind my neck, for the kill.

Outside of the hotel review stuff, we did some things as a family. And one of those things was really horrible. If my rambling hasn't turned you off by now, read on and I will share:

First, Ever ate a lot of cookies:



The Chief kept informing us that he couldn't swim at the beach, but once we got there (Coronado) we couldn't get him out of the waves. He was crazy for it:



When you're worried about the sun biting your children, you tend to forget about your own shoulders:


Poor Chup, if he wants a photo of himself in the books he has to take it himself:


I forgot to buy my children beach toys. I had to be resourceful after Chup tried digging with his flip flop (fail). I got friendly with the natives and they totally let us use their plastic shovels and stuff. Let it be known: I love Coronado Beach People. And the beach too. Outstanding!


McDonalds & a movie on the bed? Doesn't that say "vacation" to you?


If Ever was not eating cookies, she was snuggling. She's very affectionate that way:


As for the horrible part: like good Mormons, we visited the Mormon Battalion in Old Town. Out front there is a wagon which you can walk on and experience wagon fever (if you follow the link you can see it--pretty quaint). There is also a prison-proof iron gate surrounding the wagon. The gate was open, but when The Chief climbed inside, he turned around and the massive iron gate snapped shut on his face severely smashing his finger. He stopped breathing, blood was everywhere and I thought he was going to faint. It was the gnarliest looking wound I've ever seen. (And we know wounds in our family.) I will spare you the details, but here was what Chup came up with to dress the wound and encourage healing:


Has the thought occurred to me that my church owes my son an apology? Or a least his entire tuition at BYU? Or absolving him from future guilt and sin?

YES. ALRIGHT? Yes, those thoughts have crossed my mind. His poor little finger smashed to the knuckle and on vacation too. YES. YES. YES.

But right after the accident occurred, as I held his little thumb in my hand while driving around looking for an Instacare, I asked Heavenly Father to heal it right. A few minutes later when my thrashing boy had exhausted all energy, snoring with head swaying to the curving of the car, I peeled back the soaked paper towels casting his little finger and it looked less like a finger belonging to a mangled corpse. So I made my peace.

And then I bought a bikini. I love this pregnant body, more so then I did with the others. I told my mother this and she declared, "BOY!" so perhaps another fishy-smashy-finger-fry-eating specimen for us.

I'd post a picture but Chup says no way.

I'll have to explore how I feel about that when this vacation buzz stops ringing in my head.