Vacation is very short this year. Not so much sweet, but definitely short. As in overnight to the beach kind of short. But hey, we got out of town, right?
Santa Cruz was In.Sane. I hadn't been since 6th grade. I still remembered the old bandstand that required a special hook-on ladder to get up on. I remembered like, the wooden roller coaster, the swings and a couple of other rides, not the stationary fair midway that greeted us after our hour-long journey to a parking place that cost as much as a tank of freaking gas (not really, but it sounded good right?).
TT3 refused to ride anything but the carousel, and that was touchey, since the operator girl tried to touch his seatbelt and he flipped the flip out while TT1 and TT2 were trying to figure out how to UN buckle to get the cute blonde girl to come help them. Ack.
Oh, and while we are on the subject of cute girls, um, cuties? We all KNOW you are cute and firm and young - please stop flaunting all of your assets in less fabric than you are required to wear under your regular clothing. You are 12 and you are proud of your new girls - I get it. But when I have a 4-year-old already obsessed with boobs and cute girls, and you prance by combining his two loves, well, I have a problem. Go jiggle your junk around in a dressing room while you try on some dang clothes!
I love the beach, really, I do. I just do not love being the parent stuck lugging the overpacked stroller 80 miles from the boardwalk to the waters' edge all alone while everyone else is galivanting along and frolicking in the waves, leaving me to sweat like a swedish sauna junkie. Cause that was fun.
Alas, all good things must come to an end. After the sand, the sun, the shopping and the teensy-tinsy hotel beds shared with adorable little feet and hands that are magnetically attracted to my kidneys and crotch, reality sets in and we return home. Rejuvenated. Refreshed. And Relaxed. Or not.