Monday, January 7, 2013

Weekend Getawayfromme

Spent this past weekend in San Diego.
A weekend getaway, you say?
Not with a 4 and 2 year old. A weekend getmehome maybe, or a weekend getmeouttahere, more like.
 I mean, sure, I love spending time with my dad, my supercool sister, and especially my darling little 4 foot tall Yiayia, but, there is no such thing as relaxation when a 3-day span includes two 5 1/2 hour drives in which a helpless and undeserving mother and father are imprisoned amongst totally pissed off and uncomfortable insane little people. The rest I can deal with... Truly. The skipped naps, the fighting, the constant neediness of "necessary" things that are unavailable on vacation...  like chocolate milk, or my four-year-old's white and purple-covered bed. I can even handle the four year old that absolutely refuses to take a picture with ANYONE on my father's 60th birthday...

No. It's the drive.
It's the volume of the screaming voices of which would be appropriate if maybe I was standing on one mountain top, and my son was standing on a completely different mountain top, signaling me of an impending avalanche . It's the level of urgency in those shrieking voices that may indicate that possibly an asteroid is headed straight for my face and if not for the ambulance-siren-like wailing of those voices, poor mommy would be blown to smithereens. In reality, what warrants these outbursts, is maybe one of them can't get his/her sock off or one of them has dropped a toy into a crevice that is humanly impossible to ever retrieve.  But, yeah, it's that panic that makes me nuts. I can't deal with it. It's why, when we arrived to my dad's, I started groaning the word "ALCOHOLLLL" before I even fully swung my legs out of the contained dramatic whirlwind that was our vehicle and onto the pavement in my dad's garage.

Other than that! It was fun. The kids were actually relatively easy.. I did have a favorite part, however.
 My favorite part of our weekend getmesomevodkanow was when, after a mind-blowing breakfast at this Hawaiian gift of a restaurant of which convinced me that God is Hawaiian and he works the Sunday morning shift, we met up with my twin sister on a beautiful San Diego pier. She had to previously stay back and take a conference call because she has a real job and couldn't join us at our euphoric breakfast experience. I guess, keep in mind, before I go any further, that my sister is from LA and is super LA-ish. She's, like, way too cool for you, and you, and you, and DEFINITELY you. For example, she tells my son in the midst of a tantrum to just, "be cool, Landon. Just BE COOL." He just turned two. He literally grunts in response.  Nothing really rocks her from this constant level of collectedness. (Except for if you wake her up, then she is straight. up. satan) Anyway, we're walking on the pier, and she's just kinda really non-chalantly nibbling on this bagel sandwich that my dad ordered and brought along for her and these freaking seagulls started to swarm and conspire around her head while she obliviously strolled along the pier, continuing to standoffishly nosh and act like she was too cool for all bagels. Meanwhile, I swear I could hear the fuckers chanting "Mine! Mine! Mine!", and as they got closer and closer I eventually yelled for fear of her life..., "BECKY!!! The seagulls!!! WATCH OUT!" And as she looked up and observed the gulls within inches of her hair, the look of horror and disgust and fear and, most of all, uncoolness in her face at that moment will likely satisfy me the rest if my life. Her look said, "Fuck cool... H.E.L.P. M.E.", and then one of the dirty ocean birds swooped down and took off with the rest of my sister's uncool breakfast and she just stood there and screamed, "BUT I'M HUNGRYY!!!!!!!!!!"
It was awesome.
What's even awesomer is Troy then picking up a scrap of her bagel remains and holding it up for the rest of seagulls as they swarmed around him as if to emulate some sort of bird summoning wizard.
Oh btw, hiiiiiiiiiiii! I wrote a blog!

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