Clan Amos survived their First Official Family Vacation to, Cliché of all Clichés, Nag's Head.
Little A did surprisingly well on the grueling car ride to and from the beach despite gnarly traffic and intermittent napping. He also slept fairly well in the portable crib despite sharing space with Mom and Dad in what seemed to be the coldest room in our McMansion of a beach house. Perhaps the latter success had a little to do (Bad Mommy Alert! Bad Mommy Alert!) with the fact that I dosed Little A with a small amount of children's Benadryl each night.
Staying in a large beach house with numerous people has a set of unique challenges, but these challenges are heightened when 80% of the 20+ people (and one ultra-cute dachshund) sharing space with you are total strangers. And loud, hard-partying strangers at that. The minor dramas and traumas, however, were well worth the experiences we got to share with Little A.
The beach was a colossal hit. At first, I think Alastair was overwhelmed with a seemingly endless sandbox, but it wasn't long before he was dumping handfuls of sand upon himself, rolling in it, and once, unwisely, trying to eat it. I was the defacto sand tower builder to his sand tower demo expert. The ocean proved to be both thrilling and frightening. Eventually, Alastair came to enjoy sitting just where the edge of the waves came up on the beach, letting the water wash over his legs and torso, and then tossing handfuls of muddy sand in the air. He probably could have sat there until he had sunk waist-deep into the sand.
Jockey's Ridge was the real winner. For a boy obsessed with pile of dirt, visiting The Largest Pile of Dirt Ever was about as close to nirvana as this toddler's gonna get. Every time after our visit that we drove past the huge dunes, Alastair shouted out "Diiiiiiiirrrrrrt!"
Man, I love that kid.
We also continued our journey through Alastair's increasingly bizarre flavor palate. The kid who hates pasta and all forms of the potato gobbled down almost an entire crab cake and a whole pickle (not in the same sitting). Now if I could only get him to eat his steamed carrots without spitting them out.
Adrian and I enjoyed spending a lot of time with my college roommate Susan. It was the most amount of time I'd been able to spend with her in probably ten years. She was also a great Aunt Susan ("Suse") to Little A. I discovered the joys of combining coconut rum and Diet Coke, probably a little too much the first night anyway. My skin is slightly more dark than before I went, amazing accomplishment for this fair lass. I am more educated about the history of the Roanoke Island colonies. My toenails are a lovely iridescent mermaid shade of blue-green. I impressed a bunch of Yankees with my crafty t-shirt deconstruction abilities. I discovered a love for fish burritos and found a few good beach eats should anyone like recommendations.
But we're so glad to finally be home with our lovely feline companions, sleeping in our own beds and not sharing a kitchen with anyone else. Our bodies are slowly shifting back to Richmond World and the nasty blistering heat. Still finding random bits of sand everywhere.
How come you always need a day or two to "recover" from your vacation?