We’re on vacation. Here…
It’s lovely. It’s fairly peaceful. The kids are loving it.
L-O-V-I-N-G it.
I’m scared to death. The beach is just a steaming hot stretch of danger zone to my poor mother-heart. Drowning, sunburn, heat stroke, kidnapping, distracted drivers, stinging jelly fish…it’s something I’ve intentionally avoided for 6 years now. We live within minutes of the beach. Within a hour or two of several beaches. Great beaches.
I’ve refused for years.
It took Mr. Fix-It’s sister buying a beach house before they could brow-beat me into facing it. (Ok, that might be a little strong. They actually hardly asked because I’d made it so clear there was no way we would go before the kids were at least 36 and Navy SEAL qualified.)
While some ridiculous part of me wishes I had been proved right, actually it’s been great so far.
A bit sandy…
A bit wet…
And a bit sunny…
But over all the kids have had a blast. And the sunburn factor is under control so far.
Except for Mr. Fix-It. But you can’t tell him anything.
We’ve got a few more days. A few more adventures. But so far, my worries have come to nothing.
Which works for me.
Tomorrow we tackle the Turtle Hospital. I have no idea what that might mean, but I’ll let you know.
