The man-child requested I sleep with him in the bunk beds last night. He graciously offered me bottom bunk. He woke me up this morning at the crack of dawn, but it’s hard to be mad when he offers up these sweet words, “Time to get up mommy, the sun is shining and it’s a bright day! I love you!”
Attitudes were a little frosty around the vacation home after my husband leaked the “boobie-gate” story. The girls hate the blog. Let me rephrase. They love the embarrassing and insulting stories about mom, dad and even their little brother, but they have made it quite clear that they are merely innocent bystanders in our vacation adventures and to treat them as anything other than mere spectators would be social suicide and met with resistance and even…war. If you have teenage daughters, then you certainly know what form this so-called “war” would take and you would understand our reticence in mentioning them in any way, shape or form. We are quite frankly, outnumbered and outmatched. They run from the camera, and I am forced to creep around corners, catch them with their eyes closed, cajole, plead, and even beg if I must for a photo-op. Quite frankly, they scare us
and we aren’t ashamed to admit it. Luckily, there is usually enough ammunition between myself, my husband
and man-child that it is easy to respect their wishes for the most part. However, sometimes they produce such gems of
awesomeness that we cannot resist. We are merely human after all. Besides, this is the same girl who smashed her naked butt cheeks up against the bathroom door and asked her sisters if the frosted glass was truly opaque or not. It’s hard to feel sorry for her. I did notice she wore a different swimsuit today, one that tied around the neck. Although, I’m not sure that will help her. If she truly wants to keep the sisters protected from the crashing waves and the pervy eyes of onlookers, she needs to
adopt the muumuu style, old-lady swimsuit her mother favors. My boobs are under Fort Knox style
protection. It takes me a good hour to even get out of my swimsuit, especially if it’s wet. Nothing is freeing my twins.
Another quick note about yesterday’s blog, my husband touched on our differences in perspectives and how I exaggerate or just flat out make things up. My husband’s entire supposition formed around the basis that I would voluntarily take a mood-altering drug in order that his drive might be peaceful and quiet and my “backseat driving” would be kept to a minimum or better yet, stopped altogether. The problem isn’t my exaggeration or our differing perspectives; it’s his lack of imagination. If the desired outcome is that I am quiet, and we all know the only way that is happening is if you drug me, or bound and gag me, and the only way to do either of those things would be by force…then voila, you have the best option available with the least amount of blood on
your hands…the tranquilizer dart. He needn’t get any closer to me than necessary. I’ll never see it coming. I might
be angry when I come out of it, but hey “better to ask for forgiveness than permission”, or at least that’s what my dad says. For a self-admitting planner of absolutely everything, he didn’t fully commit to his idea. That’s why so often in our war of words, I win. My brain goes where no mere mortal man dares to venture. It’s a scary place, my mind. Welcome.
Okay, enough about yesterday. Today, we hit the beach again. It was another beautiful day. We had only one wardrobe malfunction, but thankfully that belonged to the man-child. The waves were particularly rough today, and
my son often found his swim trunks halfway down his butt cheeks. However, mortified or embarrassed, he did NOT
feel. In fact, the surest way to ensure man-child likes something is if any member of his family does not like it. So while his sisters kept trying to pull his pants up, and shook their heads in disgust when he not only refused but then had the audacity to shake his bare behind in their faces, man-child enjoyed himself enormously. On a side note, we are pretty sure he was stung by a jellyfish yesterday. Yes, we hang our heads in shame as our words and phrases from yesterday replay in our minds, “I’ll give you something to cry about”, “When we get home….” and “if you don’t stop that crying right now!” Yes, not one of our finer moments as parents,
but he need never know. I mean, it’s not as if we know for sure anyway. Nope, this is going in the parent vault along with all the things we did as teenagers and young adults that we deny to our children. Maybe someday we will trot it out, probably after he has children of his own and we want to make him feel better about his mistakes.
Here are some pics to share:
Here is man-child doing some push-ups on the beach, he wants to forever be known as “mini-sitch”. His form needs some work though.
When I yelled “Situation”, look who looked up….
Poor Emily, she kept trying to build her sandcastle in the path of the surf, and she worked on it for 2 hours never once coming to the conclusion that maybe she should move it higher on the beach… We could have told her, but it was too much fun to watch.
And some more pics:
(I can hear the screaming now, when she sees I posted this one hee hee)
Man-child is to the left of his father in this pic. Nope, you can’t see him, he’s completely under the wave. Makes my heart stop everytime, but he loves it!
Feeling sunburned and exhausted, we leave the beach and head back to the house for an afternoon nap before we head out to dinner at FudPuckers. No, I’m not saying it wrong. That’s what it’s called. The title of this blog can also be found on one of the awesome t-shirts my oldest daughter purchased from the gift shop. In the middle of the restaurant is “Gator Alley”, where they house over 80 alligators. They do a show, and afterwards you can hold the gator. Here is a pic of my two bravest children:
The gator-keeper at one point said, “when the gators wiggle like that they usually need to go to the bathroom”. Seriously? Ugh.
Here are some pics of the gators we shared our dining experience with:
I myself drank a “fudpuckerita”, couldn’t tell you what was in it, but it came with a side-shot and I needed it. The food was okay. I wouldn’t rave about it, but it wasn’t horrible. I got the baked scallops, and my husband got what looked like to be a fried plate of fried fish and fried shrimp and fried french fries. I was a little disappointed he didn’t attempt the man versus food option, the “fudinator”. I would have paid money to watch that, but alas, perhaps another time. My husband wanted to purchase this t-shirt that said “Fudpucker Tequila: helping ugly people have sex since 1982”. When I looked at him aghast, he said “what?” What do you mean what? You buy that shirt what does it say about me! “Oh” he says. Pfffft. So instead, I let my oldest daughter purchase it for her boyfriend, I hope his parents have a good sense of humor. The atomsphere was loud and there was music playing so much of my husbands conversation with my two oldest daughters, I couldn’t even hear, but at one point this little girl comes around our table to get into her chair behind us and right when she is standing behind my husband he says “sweaty balls”, loudly and succinctly. The poor little girl looks at me and all I can do is apologize. I don’t know what he was talking about and I don’t want to know.
My poor-sunburned sweeties 🙂
I’ve written this blog, three times now. I’ve had some technical difficulties and at one point this computer almost got thrown into the ocean. Thank goodness we have a quiet day planned. Some of us are hanging poolside today and others will head to the beach.
I can’t wait to see what the day will bring us, and as I sat at the beach yesterday, I could only reflect on how beautiful heaven must be if God can make our fallen world look this magnificent.