Summertime.
The livin' is supposed to be easy, but whoever wrote that song didn't have 4 kids to keep happy on a 5-hour trip in a smallish SUV. The song would not have been so mellow, and I'm pretty sure it would've included a lot more screeching and pulling of hair. Think Marilyn Manson sings "Summertime" and you've got the soundtrack for our vacation. When you have little devils like these 2, vacations are work:
My sweet hubby and I took our kids down to Myrtle Beach last Wednesday. The trip started out like this:
We stopped about halfway to the beach, because frankly, it makes traveling with kids easier when there is a break. Mama didn't raise no fool.
Thursday morning, we went to the state education museum, EdVenture. In the lobby of the museum there's a huge boy named Eddie whose insides you can explore. There are even sound effects. That's cool for most kids, but my Aiden, who's 6, is freaked out by noises, so the gurgling of the stomach and the bolts of electricity in the brain just wasn't his kind of fun.
We all had a great 3-hour visit to the museum. I solved a puzzle that my brainiac hubby couldn't fix:
Hey, Fergie! Check out these humps and those 4 lovely little lumps on top of the humps!
We go to the same hotel in Myrtle Beach every year, because my husband has to take classes to keep his license current, and the classes are held in the hotel. We get beach time and he gets hours. It's a great situation for him, really. For me it's like my everyday life, except with sand and sunscreen. There are still meals to cook, dishes to wash, fights to referee and clothes to clean, but I'm doing it all in a small condo instead of my nice, large house. Ah, the things we do to experience the beauty of nature. A little sand in the crotch is good for the soul, no?
When we arrived at our condo, my older daughter, the safety freak, flipped the dead bolt on the main door. When we tried to flip it back to get out, we discovered we were locked inside our room. As fate would have it, we had rented the adjoining suite to make a 3-bedroom condo, so we could exit out of that door. However, if the adjoining door was shut from the wrong side, we would die a horrible death from starvation because we wouldn't be able to leave the room.
Maintenance was called. The 2 year-old and I settled in for a nap while sweet hubby dragged the other kids off to Super Wal Mart to fetch vittles. When they returned almost 2 hours later, laden with foodstuffs, the door was still broken. Maintenance was called again, and came within 5 minutes.
The lock was officially pronounced broken (thanks, Zeb!), and we were offered another abode. The kids and I grabbed pillows and small bags and went down to the new condo. We were told that the maintenance man would meet us down there with the keys. Imagine my dismay when there was neither a maintenance man nor a set of keys awaiting us. Not even a propped door. Nada. We were stuck in the overly warm hallway, belongings in hand, looking very much like vagrants. A few minutes later my hubby came down the hall pushing a grocery cart full of our stuff. If ever I've had a Beverly Hillbillies moment, THAT was it.
Hubby turned around to go get the keys. My 6 year-old started to cry, because he thought we were going to run out of oxygen in the hallway. I guess he equates air conditioning with breathable air, because he was sure we were doomed. I just had to laugh, and when I finished laughing I started taking pictures. Notice that look on Camryn's face. She thinks Aiden is N-U-T-S.
Keys were found and we went inside our gorgeous condo. It was absent of any of the normal wicker beach furniture, the decor in shades of teal and peach, seashells, and big, puffy couches that Aunt Bertha didn't want so someone stuck them in their beach apartment. The new condo was NICE. I double checked to make sure the owners didn't mind my children being there, because it was that fancy. We're talking REAL wood furniture. No glass-topped tables. Real bedspreads. New tile floors. Granite countertops in the bathrooms and kitchen. Stainless appliances. N*I*C*E, y'all.
The beach was gorgeous, as always. I miss the white sand of the Gulf of Mexico that I visited every summer as a child, but I'm growing to like Carolina beaches. I just miss the dunes.
I love parking myself in a beach chair and watching the kids frolic.
What I think should be outlawed is exertion on the beach (except for the kind it takes to set up a beach chair or a beach tent). Those freaks that feel it necessary to ruin my "slovencation" by parading their toned, tanned bodies up and down the shoreline. You know the ones that don the sneakers and the jogwear and the iPod tucked in the armband, then proceed to jog up and down the beach. I really have no problem with other people exercising, but I really don't want to be reminded of my laziness when I'm supposed to be relaxing, know what I mean? Isn't that why hotels have rooms full of exercise equipment? Go climb the stairmaster and leave me to my nap, please!
And, as if to say he agrees, God sent this rainbow as a sign that thou shalt never jog on the beach again:
Actually, the rainbow appeared on Saturday, when we (foolishly) went out to the beach in the middle of a tropical storm. While he wasn't directly bearing down on us, we did experience the effects of Barry, who was off churning up the waters in the Atlantic.
There were high waves and rip currents and the occasional person making the most of the storm:
And blustery winds that made for chilly weather:
But it was worth it, because the kids still had fun and I got great pictures like this one:
And this:
And this:
We had to leave the beach on Sunday, and it was too stormy to go to the beach or the pool. I had a great time, but I wish we had seen more sun. On the upside, there was a washer/dryer in the condo, so I got to wash all the vacation laundry before we got home! Word up!
We outta there, y'all!
1 comment:
Great photos! Welcome home!
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