Just in case you think we play all the time or are even just trying to keep up with the Dolloffs, our recent vacation was actually had for practical reasons. Almost.
Dan had a conference down south and the rest of us hit the road with him to crash the party. I mean, how can you resist San Diego? So much to see for the kids... So much to revisit for the adults... (We honeymooned there). This was an opportunity worth taking.
But after a late and rough start, an even extremely later arrival time into our break-up-the-road-trip destination that night and us all coming down with some cold/flu variation, I was thinking twice.
Yet we survived and kept going. The next day we made it to our hotel and went to park. Except that you had to valet park where we were staying. Cool. Except that we were driving our mini-van that we and small children had been traveling and eating and maybe diapering in for a day or more. Yikes. It was a little embarrassing. Dare I say, it gets worse?
We'd brought some snacks with us, as I mentioned before, as well as some fruit and breakfast foods, so we didn't have to traipse around town to find someplace to eat the mornings we were there. So when we were unloading at the hotel, I started grabbing my grocery sacks of food and the grocery sacks of garbage and tissues from the car and my purse and my diaper bag and the toy bag and on and on and on. As I was getting the little luggage, Dan was telling the valet guy to not help us with the big luggage, mostly because he didn't want to have to dig around in one of the bags to find his wallet to tip the guy. I mean his wallet was probably in his backpack, which where is that? Inside with the little luggage or in the back with the big luggage? What a dilemma. We skipped out on the luggage help for the sake of his time and avoiding awkwardness for all.
And then our most precious cargo... our kids. Our very tired, cranky kids. I had to wake Calli from a fifteen minute nap or less to take her out into the hotel. She was throwing a fit, refusing to walk. I somehow managed to pick up her and Luke and all the little luggage and start walking in. Before we hit the lobby, Calli was screaming. CRYING. screaming. And everyone else was looking. STARING. looking. We get in the elevator and I look at the little luggage. There are my grocery bags of garbage and food, starting to split open. I look at the reflection from the elevator door. There are my dirty, crying children. I look around. There is my husband hauling all the big luggage. In his pile is my blue bag. I realize after years of airline travel, it has seen its days. The zipper on the outside pocket is broken. Flowing out are economy size packages of wipes and tennis shoes from
Ross. The bottom corner is duct taped together. I was completely horrified.
Here we were in the Gaslamp quarter among young business travelers, perfectly groomed and most likely childless. Here we were a young family on quasi-vacation, looking like nomads, cheapskate nomads at that. I felt SO out of place. So much for avoiding the awkwardness.
When we got into our room, we dropped the stuff and gazed out the window at all the cool nightlife. Restaurants to try, streets to explore. And we just gazed. There was NO WAY we were going back out.
The next night, though, we did. We were quite excited to go back to Coronado Island. We loved it there before. That evening as we coasted over the bay on that stunning bridge
, the fog rolled in too. But it didn't stop us, especially Calli. Her shoes were off yards before water and feet from the car. She RAN the entire way to the waves. We played as long as we could stand it that evening and then tried to find a diner we had eaten at before. But we couldn't for sure and yet again, children who need to be fed and bathed and put to bed really don't have patience for searching for some hole-in-the-wall place with fantastic late night omelets and pancakes. We settled for a knock off.
The following afternoon, we headed to Old Town. We wanted to find the shop where we had purchased a souvenir five years before. The great news? We found it! The bad news? Strollers don't fit inside. So, Dan waited outside the tin store while I went in and looked. Then I waited outside while he went in and looked. We chatted about what to buy without being able to look at the goods together, which always leads to confusing conversations. "Did you see the one on top with clear lights?" "You mean the one with iridescent lights or clear ones?" "Was it to the right or left?" You get the picture. I went back in and bought a few small items from a woman who I'm sure thought I was ridiculously indecisive or trying to shoplift or suffering from some kind of memory or attention disorder. I proceeded outside to find my daughter eating DIRT. She was completely filthy. I regret that my camera just didn't quite capture the whole thing.
Bottom Line: It is a bad idea to try to recreate your honeymoon with your kids.
Our family, however, had blast together. My next few posts will prove it. In the meantime, enjoy more from our evening at Coronado. (The fog really was insane that night. You can see it in our pictures.)
Eating dirt in Old Town was just an appetizer to what Calli ate in Del Mar. I even caught Luke with a fist full. Luckily, I got it out of his mouth in time before damage was done. Sand, sand, everywhere.
a happy face at that.
A sweet face too.
making a beard,
in the hair,
and on the back.
Some old-fashioned, clean, dirty fun. 
, the fog rolled in too. But it didn't stop us, especially Calli. Her shoes were off yards before water and feet from the car. She RAN the entire way to the waves. We played as long as we could stand it that evening and then tried to find a diner we had eaten at before. But we couldn't for sure and yet again, children who need to be fed and bathed and put to bed really don't have patience for searching for some hole-in-the-wall place with fantastic late night omelets and pancakes. We settled for a knock off. 
I guess it doesn’t get any better than that. 
