Things have been busy. And I mean busy. With only a couple weeks left until Little Man starts back school, we’ve been trying to do everything left on our summer list. My lists are always very…ambitious. I way over plan things. Whether it’s what I’m going to get done around the house with a few hours to myself or what we’re going to do during summer vacation, I always plan for about four times as much as is possible to do.
As such, I am a bit behind on blogging. I have started over a dozen drafts, but haven’t gotten anything together yet. And I won’t even start on how far behind I am on reading blogs. But, we are doing so much around here. We’re painting and hiding rocks as part of the Kindness Rocks Project, doing science experiments, doing lots of artsy stuff, and are going lots of fun places. We’re making all kinds of memories! (And I’m fulfilling lots of orders for my little vinyl decal side thing, which is great, too.)
Here are a couple of quick doodles I did last week. Hopefully I’ll finish one of my drafts over the next couple of days and play a little catch up on reading y’all’s posts. I’ll probably wait until school starts back to do the next guest post doodle.
Another family vacation bites the dust. As I mentioned in another post, we went back to Myrtle Beach and spent several nights at a fun resort. (“Fun resort” means there were water slides and splash pads for the kids and a poolside bar for the parents.) There were no major hiccups while we were away, every day was either overcast or sunny, and Baby Girl’s in-restaurant meltdowns were fewer than in the past. Winning!
Now we’re trying to get back into the swing of things. The luggage is mostly unpacked and put away, which is a step up from in the past, when I ignored a suitcase full of stuff for more than a week. (No, I’m not going to specify how long.) I’m also trying to organize all of our summer activities, plan Baby Girl’s birthday party, and catch up on dozens of blog posts. And there’s the matter of my own blog, of course. I’m sure some of y’all are in withdrawal mode, going without a Dorky Mom post for over a week. (And some of y’all might be thinking, “Back so soon?” Hehe.)
Since I know y’all are chomping at the bit for some details, I’ll give you a few. And I’ll save some for later, as my kids definitely gave me more material for this blog.
Remember when I posted about the odd — but not really bad — sunburn I got a couple weeks ago? Despite sunscreen and an umbrella, I got a weird sunburn on my leg. Odd, but no biggie. This vacation — despite plenty of preventative measures — I got the real deal of sunburns.
I made the mistake of not wearing my cover-up for a while and got a nasty burn on my chest. Other parts of me were dark pink/reddish and this part was more of a Merlot color it was so dark. The worst part (aside what legit feels like nerve pain in that area)? I got a nice reminder of how my body is doing gravity-wise when I take off my bra. You ladies know what I’m talking about. I think. Every damn shift or sway, I not only get a nice jolt of pain, but also get reminded that things ain’t where they once was. (Channeling my inner country girl on that last bit.)
Non-gravity defying breasts aside, let’s talk about what a kid should be excited about when going on vacation. Little Man counts down the days until he gets to get on water slides, body board in the ocean, and dig in the sand. Baby Girl gets excited about something different.
Before we went on vacation, I asked Baby Girl what she wanted to do at the beach.
“See the ice cream man!” she answered. I was rather impressed with her memory of getting ice cream at the beach a year ago, but that wasn’t quite what I was going for. True to her word, though, this is what she looked forward to every single day.
“I gonna see the ice cream man today?” she’d ask after waking up in the morning. The same question would be repeated twenty minutes later, after breakfast, in between breakfast and lunch, during lunch, etc. And finally the music from the ice cream truck would play and her dad would take her to pick something out.
And, I kid you not, if you ask her what kind of ice cream she had on vacation, Baby Girl will tell you all five of the different types of cones and popsicles she had. Again, her memory is most impressive.
Now for the last vacation expectation vs. reality. Since Baby Girl is getting older, there are certain things I expect of her — namely not eating poop or crapping in the tub. Anything gross that’s related to poop, really. I’ve been pooped on in the tub a few times, but now she tells us if she has to go. As Little Man would say, “Thank Zeus!” As such, I expect the same from her when swimming. Water’s water, so give us a head’s up so we can head to the bathroom, right?
She did tell me about the poop — after the fact. Just as I stood her up on the edge of the pool to jump in for a cannonball, she told me that she had pooped. Sure enough, when I glanced down at her crotch area, I saw watery streams of poop coming out. For the record, she was wearing a Little Swimmer diaper, but it was no match for Baby Girl’s bowels. I’ll spare you the details from there, but just know that some beach towels were ruined and that I had to avoid eye contact with people.
All in all, it was a great trip. We spent the majority of our time either by the water or in the water, which is what it’s all about for me. In the past, it has been a challenge to get Baby Girl to even touch the sand or ocean water without tears, so it was awesome to see her work her way up to digging in it a little and splashing around. As Borat would say, “Great success!”
The family and I are headed to Myrtle Beach tomorrow morning. Well, the plan is to head out tomorrow morning, but if I know my slow, disorganized family well at all, then we probably won’t make it out the door until after lunchtime. Drama over how many toys a child is allowed to bring will almost surely happen. If we’re lucky, though, maybe we’ll remember to bring our underwear, bras, and swimsuits. Somehow those things always get left behind and a trip to Target is necessary. Sometimes I think my husband believes I intentionally forget things just so we can stop at Target, but that isn’t the case.
Those of you who read my post about my and my husband’s anniversary trip know that we had a relaxing time at Myrtle Beach a week and a half ago. It was amazing. No “I hate the water!” or “I hate the sand!” or “Hey, I’ve got poops!” to get in the way of relaxation. (Well, no poops that I had to manage, anyway.)
This coming week will be different. Very different. I have no doubt that we’ll have an amazing time and make some wonderful memories, but y’all know how it is with little kids. They’ll try their damnedest to make sure relaxing doesn’t happen and make sure the bags under your eyes pre-vacation are twice as big post-vacation. Mama’s got an umbrella drink? Let’s get sand in it. Daddy’s trying to listen to music for a few minutes? Let’s get sand on him. We’re all nice and clean and ready to go out for a good meal? Let’s get sand coordinate meltdowns of epic proportions so Mom and Dad get to do the walk of shame and haul us out.
Things are definitely gonna change.
Bye bye, relaxation.
Bye bye, voodoo juice bucket (most likely).
Okay, maybe the shade and the beach bag won’t really disappear, but only crossing out one or two things wasn’t as dramatic.
Hello, family vacation.
And hello, judgmental strangers.
Not pictured is the fishing rod and net that Little Man wants to bring. I imagine that he’ll inspire a doodle with those.
My husband and I went away this past weekend to celebrate our upcoming anniversary. The anniversary isn’t for a few more days, but we’ll be going on our family vacation right after our anniversary and didn’t want to do that much driving back to back. After much talk, we ended up going to Myrtle Beach, which is also where we’re going for our vacation — clearly we aren’t “variety is the spice of life” people.
One thing that you should know about me is that I’m pretty white. Casper looks like he’s been hitting up the tanning bed compared to me. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but trust me — the non-freckled over parts of my body definitely have a ghastly pallor. It probably goes without saying that I burn very easily. Sunscreen, cover-ups or t-shirts, and shade are absolute musts for me at the beach if I don’t want to be slathering bottle after bottle of aloe vera gel all over my body later. (The shade is also a must if I want to hang out on the beach for more than 15 minutes without feeling like I’m going to puke — I don’t do heat very well, which can be rough living in the South.)
You’d think that between the umbrella, cover-up, and dusting of sunscreen so thick that other people gagged when they passed by the fog, that I’d finish the beach day unscathed. But, much like my ovaries, the sun hates me and was determined to find a way to mark me.
See all that lovely shade? Not pictured is the sunscreen fog, which I made sure to apply routinely. Also not pictured is my husband with the darker skin that doesn’t burn (not that I’m jealous), because I’m lazy and didn’t want to draw two people.
Those preventative measures were no match for the sun.
Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and clearly the Evil Kool-Aid Man sun was dead set on getting at me.
First things first — that isn’t much of a burn. I’ll acknowledge that straightaway. It stung like hell in the hot tub, but that’s about it. So, as someone who has had severe sunburns in the past, I know that I made out pretty good on this beach trip. But that’s not really the point. The point is — look at it. That leg was under the umbrella and multiple coats of sunscreen. Yet the sun worked its mojo and gave me that odd burn that looks like I’d broken out into hives or something. This is what happens nearly every time I go to the beach — lots of skin safety measures taken and lots of funky, splotchy burns.
All the sun silliness aside, we had a wonderful and relaxing time. It was nice experiencing what the beach could be like without two kids who are determined to stuff sand in your mouth and complain about the salt in the ocean water nonstop. I’m mostly kidding — I know we’ll have a wonderful time with the kids next week — but it was nice to get a break.
If we were having coffee, I’d fess up and tell you that I don’t really drink coffee. I’ve tried. Oh, how I’ve tried. You see, people who were/are a) English majors (now you’ll feel obligated to look for every typo/grammar error since I’ve mentioned that), b) teachers or c) parents are pretty much required to have a coffee dependency. And I don’t. I’ve tried to make myself like it, and found one thing that I could tolerate that was a step above hot chocolate with lots of creamer, but otherwise, I just can’t.
So, if we were having coffee, I’d tell you that what’s really in my cup is Coke or possibly sweet tea. Maybe even hot chocolate if I’m in the mood for a warm drink, which I don’t usually go for. You’ll probably look at me like I’m all weird (or maybe you’ll be one of those people who also dislikes coffee and raise your fist in a show of solidarity), but you’ll shrug it off since it’s not the weirdest thing about me and move on to asking where my sweets are.
Sadly, there are no sweets.
When we went to the Great Wolf Lodge this week, we only bought enough groceries to get us through Tuesday, and we haven’t been to the store since getting home. My refrigerator is bare, y’all. I have pickles, eggs, juice that none of us like but I don’t want to throw it out because it’d be wasteful, an old head of lettuce, an almost empty gallon of milk, and various condiments. So, if you want a wilty condiments salad, then I’m your girl, but otherwise, you might wanna bring some food.
Back to my week. First, the Great Wolf Lodge was fun. I didn’t show any skin that ddn’t need to be shown, we didn’t lose either of the kids, and we all had fun. I’ll toot my own horn for a second and tell you about getting the high score on the Flappy Bird game at the arcade and winning enough tickets to get Baby Girl a big Peppa Pig stuffie. I was again labeled “coolest mom ever” by Little Man, and since he’s rapidly approaching the tween years, I don’t hear that designation as much as I used to, so that was sweet.
The remainder of the week was spent doing as little as possible. We stayed home on Friday evening and I made a special St. Patrick’s Day breakfast for the kids with all the green food dye and sugar.
Saturday was spent at Little Man’s soccer game, doing some very light cleaning, and having a date night. (We went out, had dinner, and did some shopping for new bras that woudln’t impale me.) As for today — it looks like we’ll be having a lazy Sunday. We really, really need groceries, but I also don’t want to leave the comfort of my fleece pajama bottoms. I anticipate ordering a pizza, grabbing a few things from the Dollar General, and kicking back the rest of the day watching some basketball games. (Go Cocks and Shockers!)
Now that I’m finished going on and on, I’ll ask you to tell me about your week. Anything fun/interesting going on?
My family and I went for an overnight stay at the Great Wolf Lodge located fairly close to where we live. If you’ve never been there, it’s an outdoorsy themed water park for kids. Most of the slides and pools and splash pads are indoors, but there are a few things outside, too, for when the weather is warmer.
I love being by the water, but I’m not as much of a fan of getting in. I can swim, but prefer hanging out by the pool or ocean most of the time for reasons. One of these reasons is that sometimes things happen when I’m in the water (whether it’s in the ocean or on a water slide), and these things cause me to have wardrobe malfunctions. It happens to everyone at some point, but I’m pretty sure I’ve had more than my fair share.
The last time I went to Great Wolf Lodge, I had a wardrobe malfunction while riding a slide with Little Man. After much begging, I got on the slide (I really dislike water slides now that I’m older), and then I proceeded to flip on the mat, take a hard hit to the head, and partially lose my bottoms and one of my boobs was well on her way to greeting the world when I got to the bottom. I righted myself, avoided eye contact with the people standing near, and stayed away from that area for the rest of our visit.
So, I have a rule now — no more water slides for me. I’ll gladly stand at the bottom and watch, but I ain’t getting on. Nope, not happening. And Little Man apparently forgot this rule yesterday when he begged me to ride a two-person water ride with him.
Channeling my inner Joey Tribbiani, I told him, “Mommy don’t ride water rides.” (I have no idea why I have to say it in Joey’s “Joey don’t share food” voice, but I do.)
Since the boy rarely takes no for an answer, he tried to change my mind. When I suggested that he find another kid to ride with, he tried to guilt me by suggesting that he could be kidnapped.
I told him I’d take that chance. He cackled and said he’d wait for his dad.
So, are y’all water slide riders? Or do you avoid them because of wardrobe malfunctions, too?
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