and other ridiculous titles.
My parents graciously gifted Mr. Daddy a stay at the beach for a belated birthday trip, so we got our little sleepyhead on the road early and made for the coast.
We made awesome time, and before we knew it, we were in the sand mugging for our blog friends.
Seriously… y’all remember the “Mr. Daddy has crabs” epic convo, right?
I’d be remiss if I didn’t also show you the prequel shots that tell the REAL story here:
He looks thrilled, right? Until I somehow flipped that drama switch and he suddenly went to this:
I cannot stop laughing. At both of their faces.
The escapades continued with Kung Fu on the beach:
(which is really just a scenery change from the usual “Kung Fu in the Backyard, and Kung Fu in the Living Room… all of which end in, “OW! Honey, be careful. Wail. But HE started it!”)
The stress was working its grip out of our shoulders and we wandered further and further down the shore.
Two playful dogs ran through the surf and circled around us. They were at hyperspeed, so I was happily surprised when the big one trotted over to make friends.
I stuck my hand out and he leaned into it. He wagged his whole body along my leg as I cooed at him.
I felt an insistent nudge on my shoulder, but the realization struck before I looked up to meet Mr. Daddy’s worried expression.
In what can only be God’s punishment for putting True Story Tuesday on hiatus for so long, the dog was enthusiastically marking his territory in warm wet streams all over my pants, down my bare ankles, and pooling into my shoe.
I yelped in surprise and jumped away… far, far too late.
Those yellow streams down my leg… I was screaming on the inside.
See the group of people in the background? The guy in the red shirt walked up… gesturing repeatedly without being able to say a word. Finally, he choked out,
I AM SO SORRY. SO SORRY. AHHHH. SO SORRY
And we laughed and laughed and laughed. And said it was okay (except, really not… because my shoe was sloshing with urine and ohmygoshthedogPEEDonme).
Then the entire family immediately leashed the dogs and took the walk of shame off the beach.
Except… we ran into the apologizer again later. Awkward.
Since my wardrobe was now reduced by half, we went to check out our dwellings. Awesomely industrial vibe – loved it. Except… are earplugs on the nightstand normal hotel offerings?
We realized quickly that the bed for Boog was not going to work out.
So he staked a spot out next to his favorite person. Boog was happy with a remote control, and unbeknownst to me, my husband was instigating the “A Dog Peed On My Wife” comment explosion on Facebook.
He crashed within minutes. Stoopid stinking cancer.
When he woke up, we dragged him to a kite shop and back to the sand.
I heart these boys. A lot.
And to make up for the earlier feet trauma… you’re welcome. It’s like a saline rinse for your mental eyeballs, no? :) Kid toes on the beach do me in, everytime.
We laughed at half a dozen drivers getting towed out of the sand by speedy tow truck operators who obviously had lots of business.
Umm, yeah. That’s the look he gave me when his city girl said,
“We’ll be okay with the four wheel drive, right?”
We wrapped the day up with Mr. Daddy snoring again long before we were ready to sleep (I wondered if the earplugs were for that?) and Boog watching Chicken Little. I love that he seems to know when Dad isn’t feeling great.
It was a whirlwind escape – made so much better by memories that Boog is old enough to keep.
I hope to share more about what has really been going on in our lives soon. But for now? This was reality when we arrived home:
Yes, that’s our yard.
And no, we don’t own a dog.
But we apparently own a mole.
What is it with me and dogs these days?
Got any of your own canine tales to make me feel better?