Sunday, November 1, 2009
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.
Friday, July 17, 2009
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
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
Thursday, February 12, 2009
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
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