Tiny Bubbles

Everyone has been to 7-Eleven at some point in their life. It could have been 3 years ago or maybe you're there right now filling up yet another 32 ouncer of Diet Coke. But besides the convenience of 24-7 soda refills or that midnight candy bar craving, there is really only one reason to go to 7-Eleven.....SLURPIES. Yes I said it. Pina Colada, Root Beer, That Psychedelic Blue One and the ever classic Cherry (my personal favorite). You grab a cup (don't forget the lid) and place it under the flavor of your choice. You grab that handle, you know, the one that looks like a slot machine lever (not that I would know anything about that). Pull it down... fast at first, but then you quickly stop because the contents are rapidly reaching the top of the cup. Then two small pulls to top it off. You grab one of those long straws with the scoop on one end and wonder who it was that invented this straw and does anyone ever actually use that tip to scoop their slurpie? You take your first long drink of the slurpie....aahhhh....those wonderful carbonated frozen crystals tingling down your throat. You take another swig, knowing from past experience not to take too big of a drink at once. Ouch...right? Slurp after slurp you keep glancing down...3/4 full...1/2 full. You know when you get to about 1/4 full because that's when you encounter stoppage. You wiggle that weird straw around...slurp...air pocket... wiggle... slurp...air pocket. And you've finished. Yum. 1 minute goes by. You start to feel a little funny. Two minutes go by. Something is working it's way back up your throat. Then it happens. Buuurrpp!! And not just any burp. This one is specifically designed for post slurpie consumption. Millions of tiny frothy bubbles filling your entire mouth. You clench your lips just to keep them from spilling out. You have no other choice but to swallow them. Yuck. You throw the cup away feeling a little sick. It may not be tomorrow or even a couple months from now, but something will call you back, maybe a hot day or a sore throat. But when you do come back....... the bubble train will be waiting.

Here's to making memories

So about a month ago I was raving about the beach (especially the Santa Monica one). Well......after today I may never see sand and waves again.

It all starts around 11 am. I'm by myself, mostly because I want to see if I can do it alone (first mistake). I push the double stroller, like a mule, packed with all your typical beach-going gear toward the beach. I attempt to hurtle a curb by tipping the stoller back and rolling over it. As I make my desent on the other side my water bottle goes flying and disperses its contents onto the boardwalk. It was a sign. I should have turned around and gone right back home. But no..I'm a pioneer woman... a trail-blazer ... I can do anything! (mistake #2) I continue toward the beach on the wooden walkway, which stops mid beach.

Just for a visual I want you to imagine a double stroller, 3 year old in front, 1 year old in back...me with a tent/canopy bag slinged over my shoulder (which I intend to set up, by myself, at the beach) and stuffed in the bottom basket of the stroller is a life jacket, blow-up swim thing, towel, lunch cooler and a huge bag with a ton of crap. Stop laughing. I turn the stroller around (because you can't push it through the sand) and drag my brood across the barren wasteland, shoes off, feet burning because you can't walk backwards in flip flops.

Cut to 4 minutes later, we've arrived, the location, the spot, our claim. Time to set up and sprawl out. I unpack the canopy, spread it out, put the poles together and start raising the barn one leg at a time. (mistake #3) It's amazing how the slightest breeze can turn nylon fabric into a full blown sail. Scrap the shade, I've got sunblock.

Ok.....at this point the kids and I are in the water and we're having a good time (for about 15 minutes). The kids get cold and we go back to sit on our towel only to realize we all have globs of black tar stuck to the bottom of our feet like leeches. Oh well...whatever...moving on.

Get out the food, lets eat. Hot dog and yogurt for Mason. Chicken nuggets for Charlie and.......... the whining begins. I turn to Mason...."what's wrong?"....he's freaking out about the sand stuck to his skin and is frantically rubbing and rubbing trying to make it go away. Another whine.....I turn to Charlie..."what's wrong?" The problem was obvious. Those deliciously breaded chicken nuggets she's shoving into her mouth are now breaded with a thick coating of sand...yum. I take the food from her (mistake #4) and wash it off in the ocean. I try to give it back to her, she'll eat anything..right? Nope. That's one pissed-off hungry 1 year old. Charlie...here's some juice.....whaaaa.....here's some yogurt....whaaaaaaaaa. A now desperate sobbing bundle of goo decides her life is ruined and the only action to be taken is to plunge herself face down into the sand. You remember those art projects where you put some glue onto paper and then sprinkle glitter onto the glue. Imagine that, but with sand, and Charlie's face as the canvas.

I rush her into the water, dunk her, splash her, wipe her. I arrive back onto the beach and finally decide...ok...I'm done. Pack it up, haul it out, babies shivering and crying, throw them in the car, step on something sharp, slice my tar-laden foot, start the car and peel out of there. This is the point that the unavoidable, guilt-stricken, "I'm such a bad mother" tears start flowing...wait for it.....wait for it....convulsing sob convulsing sob.

Will I ever go back...at this point my answer, of course, is...... NEVER AGAIN!!! But just like the woman who contracts that aweful disease of pregnancy-amnesia, forgeting all the ickyness (the list is a mile long) of being pregnant, I'm sure I too will forget how terrible this day was, and find myself again, driving my car to spend a day "making memories" at the beach.

Your fellow motherhood survivor,

Christina

The Kids at Big Bear Discovery Center

No Mason, the cougar is dead, it's not going to eat you.

New Years at Big Bear Lake

So once everyone was taking a nap, I finally got to have a little fun of my own. I know, I'm a dork, but can I say one thing......WEEEEEEE

Shhhh... don't tell anyone

I always tease my mom for going to the 99 cents store and buying totally useless things. I mean, there's no way any of that stuff could be good quality if it's only a dollar (a full drill bit set for example). But of course I find myself there the other night trying to find somethings I need, not caring about the brand of the products, and to my astonishment I find a box of seashells. In no way do I need seashells, everything is telling me to walk away "that's not what you came here for", but as I reach for that little box, nicely packaged with a pretty raffia bow, I somehow feel like I've discovered a precious treasure in the sea of commerce. I walk further down the isle and see some eyeshadow, I need more eyeshadow, and there it goes, in the basket. As I stand at the checkout, watching my items pass by on the conveyor belt, that little voice in my head is labeling each item "need, need, want, want, totally unnecessary, want, need." This is where the guilt would normally start to build, but I realize, I've only spent 10 bucks, big deal. I confidently grab my bags, take my receipt, and walk out those automatic doors, dreaming of the thing I'm going to do with those freak'n awesome seashells.

Camping at Pt Mugu (Sycamore Canyon)

Of course I'm never in any of these pictures. Oh well, maybe next time. Matt with a stoned look on his face (too much campfire inhalation). Charlie eating dirt (high in minerals, right?). Mason in the dog's cage (ruff ruff).

La la la..what?!...Oh crap...........

I love how when you're having a pretty decent day, getting things accomplished, driving down the street and then BAM a cop comes out of the blue with you in his sights. Your heart jumps, blood racing and maybe even a little pee sneaks its way out and there you go, your day/week is ruined. Of course this is not your first ticket, you've already done traffic school within the last 18 months and your insurance rate has already gone up once. You've been to the courthouse before, standing in that line, listening to all the crazys yelling at the person behind the counter about how its not their fault and how (after 10 minutes of not getting the answer they want) they ask to speak to the manager or someone of higher ranking in charge. Then you get to the front of the line, pay the bail fee of the ticket (which is never a small amount of money) and schedule a court date to try to fight the injustice sentenced upon you. The court date arrives, you find some dear soul to watch your children because there is no way you can take two little ones into a court house and ask them to sit silently for what could be up to 3 hours of the most boring awkwardness. And then there you are, standing in line with your pie charts, pictures and graphs, hoping that the judge behind the podium will see all the time and effort you put into your case and let you off with a warning to be more careful next time. If only warnings were given out more freely like "have a nice day's" or "hello, how are you's". So, there it is. My experience with law enforcement and city officials. Let's just hope my judge is having an awesome day and agrees with everything I say, thus saving my bank account, driving record and confidence in a just world. Amen