We're back from Port Aransas! (Our very first family beach trip, dontcha know. Plus, the Bookhart family and another dear couple, who are a) wonderful all-around folks and good roomies, b) avowed drinkers, and c) very conveniently have similarly aged children.)
I will first share with you the older child's highlight of the trip, bar none:
This was the dead shark (!) that was lying next to the boardwalk that led to the beach from our condo. This was the approximate transcript of the interchange:
Older girl (running 20 yards ahead, as is par for the course): "MOOOOMMMMM!!!!!"
Me (wincing a bit, as is also par for the course): "What, honey?"
OG: "THERE'S A BONE UP HERE!!! COME SEE IT!!!"
Me: "Um...OK, honey, we're coming, I'll see it in a bit."
OG has a brief conversation with another member of our party.
OG: "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!! It's a SHARK!!!!!! I FOUND A DEAD SHARK!!!! COME SEE!!! COME SEE!!!
Me (having arrived by this time): "Wow, that is a shark! That's pretty cool!
We stop, and regard the shark.
Me: "Well, OK, honey, aren't you ready to go see the beach?"
OG: "OK!! Let's go to the beach!"
And then, throughout the weekend, to literally every person in our hotel:
OG: "HEY!!!!! THERE IS A DEAD SHARK DOWN THERE!!! AND I FOUND IT!!!
So, of course, she got a shark's tooth necklace for a souvenir. Because death is cool.
It's called La Mirage, and it's a pretty nice place. Big balconies, two pools, decently close to the beach. Our room was well stocked, and we had a big living room to talk and play interesting German strategery games in (see also here; Mr. T, you have perhaps started my husband on a new kind of crack. Thanks. Thanks a lot.) The beds were comfy, especially when I had to take to mine after a brief and irritating bout with something like the stomach flu. Swords in the stomach, upchucking, shivers and chills, and having to abstain from drinking for the evening. Suck!!!!
The beach was nice, too. Warm water, not too deep, surf that looked poundy but really wasn't too bad. I was a bit freaked out about taking the kids swimming in the ocean, so we brought the neon pink beach flak jackets:
But, best of all...here's a shot of the father of these puffy-suited darlings, actually smiling rather than gritting his teeth, even though he's in a crappy tourist trap store because his daughter simply HAD to go inside the big shark:
Happy Father's Day, honey. We love you completely, totally, and utterly. Thanks for enduring multiple humiliations on behalf of those who love you. There will be more to come.
There was a side trip to Goliad on the way home today (Goliad was the site of a huge massacre of almost 400 Texian soldiers by Santa Anna, which pretty much spurred Sam Houston on to return the favor a few weeks later at San Jacinto.) I was still sick from the night before and groused a bit, but it was very interesting. (Unfortunately, the toddler came down with some lovely diarrhea right about then, so the rest of the trip was somewhat less pleasant.)
Ah, it's late, and there has been quite enough discussion about my digestive tract and the bowels of my family. To bed with my sandy, smelly self.