San Diego, Part Deux

On Thursday, we packed up our campsite, said goodbye to our pals, and headed off for a solo adventure, PIRATE STYLE. Avast, on the horizon, me eyes spotted a right sea-worthy vessel that my mateys had to plunder (seriously--Mac wanted a cannonball for a souvenir). Me 'n these here scurvy scallywags drug our sorry keesters out th' car and had us a grand great adventuaaarrr!

Pirates overboard! . . . almost.

Aarghhhhhhh! Pirate smirks (and Mac's hook).

Captain Carter mans the wheel

Put yer back into it, you scurvy dog!


Alas, the journey did not end so well for the scallywags. After sneaking into the captain's quarters, they were ambushed by enemy blaggards and run through with daggers. They met their end on the captain's bed. But being the most steel-hearted, scumdiferous bilge rats this side of the caribe, they made it back for a Russian submarine tour. Saavy?

Serendipity

(Look closely--the buried one has a tiny mermaid body)

Does it get any better? After two and a half months of moving in and painting our house, on a whim, I accepted an invitation from some friends (who also happen to be Matt's cousins) to join them for a week of fun in the sun, namely, camping on the beach in San Diego. Urban camping, that is. With daily hot showers and clean (flushing) potties--my favorite way to camp.

The boys have been such good sports while I have unpacked and painted the house, I figured they could use some real play time. I have lots of pics, so I'll spread it out over a couple of posts. Here's activites for days 1 through 5:

#1 Eating delish food with pals. We did LOTS of this.

#2 Playing on the beach. We made sand castles, mermaids, found shells, made race car tracks, played baseball, drove tractors, made mud pies, and got very, very sandy.

#3 Crashing the waves. Carter boogied with the best of them, and Mac thought about it several times. In the end, he was content to just jump over the waves, and I couldn't blame him--

the water was FREEZING!

#4 Squirrel hunting. Those pesky rodents raided our camp repeatedly, chewing through tents, eating baby bottles (nipples and all), and leaving spherical calling cards. So the boys went "Lord of the Flies" and set traps, fashioned bamboo spears, and became official campsite protectors and Squirrel Hunters. (For the record, none of the tents housing the "Hunters" were ever attacked. An intimidating lot).

#5 Hanging with the gang. In all, we had 13 children with us. Quite the spectacle wherever we went. My boys were in heaven. (from left to right, remi, mac, carter, nash, slade, xander, blue, cruz)

Plaaaay Ball!

First opening day of little league in my mothering years. And it was awesome. Carter looked like a seriously intense ball player. Watch out, majors, here we come! He had SO much fun!

Mac, however, is still ticked that he is only 3 and unable to play. Dang that birth order!

Thirsty

You can tell it is heating up down here, because the hijos keep asking me for water, water, and more water (and yeah, most of the time Mac asks for chocolate milk first, then, after being denied, he settles for water). But we are thirsty.

Both figruatively and literally.

Carter has an insatiable thirst for knowledge of how things work. This morning, as we were awakened by a blur of full-throttle, rather-one-sided conversation from an alert Cart, Matt mumbled, "Does he ever stop talking?"

For instance, the other day, Carter and I were talking about how he and Mac were born early . The gears started churning in that 5-year-old-going-on-30 brain of his, and the following was the resulting conversation:

Carter: Mom, what if a baby decides it doesn't want to come out of the mom's tummy?

Me: Well, then the mom gets really sore and grouchy, and her body pushes it out. (*Note* Heretofore, Carter has (reasonably) believed that all babies come out via c-section. That nice and tidy explanation worked for me up till now . . .)

Carter: But why? And how?

Me: Well, when it was time for you to come out, the doctor cut my tummy and just took you out.

Carter: But what if the doctor isn't there to cut the mom's tummy?

Me: Well, sometimes the daddy has to help.

Carter: How? Does he cut the mommy's tummy with a knife?

Me: Um, I guess he could, but . . .

Carter: Really? Could Dad do it? What knife would he use, mom? Show me which knife in our kitchen he would use to get the baby out.

Me: Ok, well, the reality is, Carter, that most babies don't come out through a mom's tummy. Lots of times they come out between a mom's legs.

Carter: Where she goes to the bathroom?!?!?!

Me: Yes, but--

Carter: THAT'S DISGUSTING!!!!

And that was the end of that.

I must still be a UTAHN . . .

Because the other day, Mac dropped something and said, "Freakin' heck!" I laughed so hard, he said it all afternoon. Made me miss my SLC hood.

The BANANA gods must be angry . . .

So Mr. Mac has been wanting to make banana bread for 6 days now. Each night, as we get ready to read bedtime stories, he wails in agony, having just remembered that we failed to make the banana bread that day.

So today, we did it. Or at least we tried to.

I gave each boy a bowl of bananas to mash (we were making two batches), and left the room for 5 seconds. When I came back in, Carter had headed for asylum in his room, and there was a mashed/smashed bowl of bananas--in shards and goop--on the floor. Oops. Despite the fact that it was unintentional, Carter was hysterical.

Many banana-inspired tears later, I coaxed him to come back out and bake with us.

Mac and I, in the meantime, had pureed the bananas and poured them into the bowl. Mad that he didn't get to puree, Carter stomped to the table, rather emphatically grabbing a bowl he thought was his. Um, yeah, you guessed it, it was the bowl with the puree. Which was "emphatically" sloshed all over the table, chair, floor, rug, and Carter.

Bummer. No more bananas. We ended the night with three delicious loaves of pumpkin chocolate chip bread.

My house smells . . .

MARVY.
My mother-in-law owns a cleaning company and sends very friendly cleaning ladies to my house every other week to clean the ENTIRE house.
(Even the sides of the toaster and the INSIDE of the garbage can *sparkle.*)
My boys couldn't be happier (CLEAN-AHOLICS that they are),
and I get to practice my SPANISH for a few hours.

My hydrangeas are a little worse for the wear--either they received a spritz of Windex or they are perishing from the delightful lemony-scented fumes,

but HECK--
My newly mopped floors make me HAPPY.
Hooray for Kathy!