San Diego: The Final Chapter

And now, my fans, the moment you have all been waiting for. The end of our coastal journey to San Diego and back. (And by "fans" I am referring to my mom, a handful of friends and my husband, sometimes. He is a very busy man.)

In a nutshell, THE DRIVE HOME SUCKED!!!

We left San Diego at around 10:30 in the morning for what should have been about a 4 hour drive to the Danish town of Solvang, CA. However, we did not arrive at our destination until 6:30 that evening. This is thanks in part to Southern California traffic, a bathroom break and a lunch stop at a Chili's in Carson, CA where, based on the service, was clearly run by drunk, blind, monkeys.

Despite the fact that it was late and we were starving, we insisted on doing the one thing we wanted to do when we left San Diego: get to our hotel, unpack the car and take a dip in the pool. A pool that, turns out, was not as family friendly as our experience at the Madonna Inn. The pool was in the center of the hotel and surrounded by outdoor patios that hotel guests could sit on and enjoy a glass of wine. I'm referring specifically to one young couple in particular. I remember looking up at them and thinking, "They have the right idea. Cool evening. A nice bottle of Pinot." And then my thought was interrupted by the sound of the rest of our troop heading out the the pool. There was splashing, and yelling, playing and general disturbing the peace.

It was so romantic.

And then, Madison took a pretty good fall, bumping her head with a loud "THWACK" on the tiled ground surrounding the pool and thus began a fit of screaming that lasted several migraine-inducing minutes. Poor little thing. This was about the time the couple retreated inside and I thought to myself, "It appears we have become one of those families." And I am also guessing ensured that they would be using a second method of birth control that evening. You're welcome.

Now, my Grandpa, Frank Andersen (with an S-E-N), is Danish. While he was born here, his parents were from Denmark. He grew up in Wisconsin in a Danish community but lived here during a time where it was more important to assimilate to American culture so he never really spoke Danish. He then moved to California and married my Grandma whose ethnic background consists of about 14 billion different European counties. Since my Grandpa is 100% Danish, my dad is half making me one quarter. Although it is just one quarter, it is the most I am of anything. Growing up, my only real experience with the culture was through a few dishes he would make. One was Liverpaste that I thought smelled (and was) cat food so as a kid I refused to touch it. My Grandpa hasn't made it in years and I would die to try some now as an adult.

At thanksgiving (or anytime the whole family was together) he would make us Danish Pancakes which are thin crepe-like pancakes filled with jams and sweetened cream cheese. Or plain with butter and syrup, like I liked them. And every Christmas he makes a huge batch of fried Kleiner cookies. He packages them up in holiday tins and sends them off to all 4 of his sons. They last about 20 minutes in the house when them arrive. They are just that good.

Being that Solvang is a replica of a little Danish town I couldn't help feel like I was getting back to my roots. You know! A chance to be with my people! Who are, apparently, a lot of Asian tourists.

One of Denmark's more famous dishes is the aebleskiver. Little round balls of pancakey goodness. The first time I ever had on of these things was in Solvang a few years ago. I guess my Grandpa used to make these little treats for my dad and his brothers growing up but my dad never seemed to want to carry on the tradition with my sister and I. My dad is a more savory breakfast fan and doesn't "like" pancakes or some crap like that. I don't get it either. But in his defense, the man can make a mean over-easy egg. Well, I am glad I discovered them in adulthood because they are divine.

Aside from being a Danish village, another little piece of my heart will always belong to Solvang. You see, in high school, I was in show choir. Yes, that's right, I was basically in the late nineties version of Glee. Grant was in it too. And while I never got a slushy to the face or faked being pregnant with his baby, we did go on tour. One of our stops was always Solvang where we would go into the candy and fudge shop and sing for free samples. Interestingly enough, after breakfast, we actually ran into someone who happened to be in town for a wedding who used to sing in show choir with us. Coincidence? Or perhaps it was fate telling us to sing for the fudge once again!!! Since I preferred to not get arrested that day, we bought the fudge like normal human beings.

And then we headed home and left vacation behind us. I think I was most impressed with my son. Charlie was a trooper and despite being taken in and out of the car every day, sometimes several time a day, and never being in the same place to sleep for more than three nights, he slept and ate like a champ. Upon our return home, we even found a couple new teeth in there. A teething baby and an enjoyable vacation? That's really all this mom could have asked for.

San Diego: Part Three

I didn't used to hate the beach. Quite the contrary, actually. As a teen I spent many summer days there, tanning (burning) in the sun and playing in the ocean. But then my innocence began to dwindle away and I became an adult who started to view the beach as messy, cumbersome and just so...so...sandy. I no longer found it fun or endearing to have sand in my hot dogs or all my crevices. Perhaps if there was a way to remove the sand and grow grass? Or better yet, pave it! And now with Charlie in the picture, I am convinced that the beach is a even more evil place full of sand tunnels that will collapse and suffocate my baby and an undertow that will suck my boy out to sea.

Nevertheless, we were going to San Diego and I was feeling a pull toward the beach that I just couldn't seem to fight. While I believe it is okay for Charlie to have a healthy fear of the ocean (and water in general) I want it to be more like a "respect" for the water kind of fear and not "the-monsters-under-your-bed-are-going-to-eat-your-feet-at-night" kind of fear.

So we put on our swimsuits, grabbed our beach towels and headed down to the beach. The kids had fun, digging for sand crabs and getting pummeled by the crashing waves. I even ventured into the water up to my knees and I can honestly say that I did not have a terrible time. This is progress. Charlie loved the water as well and would point to it and say, "Watey?" He even got mad when we tried to take him back up to the blankets to warm up when we noticed his lips we turning blue. He lasted a few minutes more until a particularly strong wave knocked him right down despite the fact that Grant was hanging on to his hands. Grant stood him up and Charlie reached up for him and said through his sniffles, "Daddy? Night-Night." Translation: "Get me the hell out of this water."

The next day was the world famous San Diego Zoo and do you know who was the most excited to go?

ME!!!

Do you know why? Because there are pandas at this zoo! PANDAS!! I loved pandas as a kid and I collected them. I had glass, ceramic, porcelain, plush, you name it. I remember the one Christmas my parents got me a stuffed, life-size panda. That was a good Christmas.

The San Diego zoo is roughly the size of Rhode Island so a plan of attack is a must upon entering the park. We were going to start with a bus ride around the zoo and then lunch where they...wait for it...served booze!

Zoo: 1, Legoland: 0.

Margaritas and beer to be exact. We opted for Margaritas. Did you know that Margaritas come in a can? Because they do. And they are carbonated and they taste just about as good as you would expect them too. Hmmmmm....

Zoo: 0, Legoland: 1

The San Diego Zoo is beautiful. Charlie was in love with any of the animals that could be seen swimming in the water through the glass like the hippos and the turtles. In fact, when it was time to leave the turtles he threw a fit that was so aggressive it almost made me say to the other parents admiring the turtles, "I know that blond little boy who is screaming and kicking looks nothing like the man who is picking him up and dragging him out of here, but I swear he is not being kidnapped. He is just really into turtles." It was clear that Charlie was truly enjoying the zoo and this was better than any park out there, free or otherwise.

Zoo: 1, Legoland: 0

By this time of the day, I have said this about 14,000 times: "So, seriously guys, when are we going to see the pandas?" And the time had come. I was so excited for this moment. San Diego is one of the two places in the country that you can see pandas. It was a childhood dream finally coming true. There was a line to get into the panda enclosure. As we approached the entrance we could hear a zookeeper telling guests fun facts about the pandas using a microphone. We walked into the enclosure and the zookeeper says, "Again, I need to ask that you please be QUIET. If you don't Gao Gao will go back inside and you will not be able to see him AT ALL!"

Be quiet? Says the woman over the PA system. And there was the panda, curled up in a ball in the corner. I am also 99% sure that he had his paws in his ears, what with all the yelling at zoo guests that was going on. His face was completely hidden and his black and white fur barely peaking out from behind the bush he was cowering behind. Next to the series finale of "Six Feet Under" it was probably the most anti-climactic moment of my life. I'm still not totally convinced that it was not a stuffed one from the gift shop.

Zoo: 0, Legoland: 1

To ease the pain from the lame panda viewing, there was only one option. Ice-cream for all! I think based on the following picture Charlie would agree, the Zoo won.


Nom Nom Nom


Turtles


Koala, or as Charlie called it "Wall-ah!" I wanted to take him home so I could use him as a pillow every night. Grant said no.


Two of the cutest little monkeys I saw that day.

Oh, where is the picture of the panda you ask? We didn't get one because instead of coming out to play Gao Gao decided to CRUSH MY CHILDHOOD DREAM!

I blame Legoland.

Dear Teen Me

I wrote a letter to my teenage self and it was featured here on the blog "Dear Teen Me."

I think the only thing I left out was to tell myself to enjoy wearing leggings while you can because although the trend comes back around, your legs are in no position to be wearing them ever again.

San Diego: Part Two

After an over-priced breakfast and a painful goodbye to The Madonna Inn, we continued our journey south. Later today we would be in San Diego. Well, almost San Diego. We were actually going to be staying with some very generous friends, Katie, Tim and their 2 year old daughter, Isabel. They live just outside of San Diego. And, I am not even remotely exaggerating when I say VERY generous friends. Friends who had recently returned from a trip that took them to Alaska and then Hawaii. So, the seven of us show up with bags, strollers, children, a pack-n-play, our dirty laundry (literally, not figuratively) and what has our host done?

Made us all dinner. Amazing.

Now, nearly every dish is dirty in their house thanks to us and I am having to ask Katie, who is still trying to do laundry catch up from her world tour, "Could I maybe do some laundry of my own? I mean, I realize you are up to your eyes in it, but like, I am almost out of underwear."

Don't worry, we brought them several bottles of alcohol for their trouble.

The next morning started with breakfast at Tip Top Meats.

"Going here is kind of a family tradition." Katie told us. "And for eight bucks you can get a breakfast plate with unlimited meat."

As a strong supporter of tradition (and meat) I was excited to try this place.

Katie was absolutely correct. For $7.98 you could get the "Big John Breakfast." This includes, "three eggs any style, home fried potatoes, toast and ALL* of our own delicious smokehouse bacon, pork link sausage, or polish sausage, bratwurst or ham you can eat."

You will notice the asterisk next to the word "ALL." This is indicating a footnote for what will forever be remembered as my favorite thing on a menu EVER. At the bottom of the "Big John" description is states: Sorry ALL not valid on TO GO orders (two meats).

Can you imagine the conversation that lead to that footnote?

"Thanks for calling Tip Top Meats can I take your order?"

"Yes, I will have a Big John Breakfast. Three eggs, over easy, sourdough toast, hash browns and, all the bacon in your freezer."

Although some in our party were brave enough to Big John it up, I opted for a smaller breakfast but did get one of their homemade bratwurst that was just delicious.

After breakfast was Legoland. I have been to Legoland before. It was just over 5 years ago that I went and then swore I would never return as long as I lived. It was well over 100 degrees on that godforsaken day when I asked myself on many occasions, "Why have a willingly entered Hell?" But never say never I guess, because here we are, yet again.

I have to say, this time was much more enjoyable. It was not so hot that I felt like I couldn't breathe. And I did have a child of my own this go around who I got to watch enjoy all there was to see at this wonderland of Legos. His favorite part was "Duplo Land" which is an area of the park that is designed specifically for younger kids. There were slides and climbing structures and places for parents to sit and watch their children play.

"You know, we could have just taken him to a park...for free." Grant said. He was right. I mean really, we could have taken him to an abandoned water treatment plant and called it a park and he would have had a grand ole time. But at least by paying for him to come here at just 15 months old, he won't have any fond memories or recollection of it happening at all, right??

Remind me, why did I agree to this again? Also, does Legoland serve booze?

Turns out, no. But Grant and I pretended and had our own fun.



All joking aside, anything that makes my boy and my nieces happy, makes me happy. And had we not gone, we would have missed out on this very realistic rendition of the Three Little Pigs. So there was that.


Love. The. Shades.


Right now, Charlie is thinking, "You know you could have just taken me to the park, Mom."


Look at this happy little girl. Makes it hard to stay mad at Legoland, doesn't it?


Well, if you must know, I quite enjoyed myself here today at Legoland. But then again, give me a box of raisins and a clean diaper and I can be happy pretty much anywhere.

San Diego: Part One

If you were wondering what it is like to go on a road trip to San Diego with 4 adults, 2 twin 4-year-olds and a 15 month old it falls somewhere between this:



and this:



Yes, that is a pull-up diaper on his head.

This was our first real family vacation and since driving straight through to San Diego from the Bay Area with three children under five sounds about as fun as an unmedicated appendectomy, we split the drive up into two parts.

Our first stop landed us in San Luis Obispo, Grant's college stomping ground and a destination favorite of ours. In the past, we have always done San Luis Obispo on a budget. In college we had no choice and after college we figured it was just good sense. After all, we spent the least amount of time in the room so who cares if it was a two star hotel with a questionable housekeeping policy. But this was vacation and we would be staying with friends once we arrived in San Diego (aka: for free) so it was very easy to justify a two night stay at The Madonna Inn. Known for it's kitschy charm, our room was fairly tame, what with the over-sized, mahogany furniture, horse print curtains and two, giant oil painting of horses grazing the fields. Brittaney and Ryan's room, on the other hand was painted with purple, metallic paint and the wall paper in the bathroom was purple sequin. It is what I believe the "kids" these days refer to as "P-I-M-P."

What the Madonna Inn is also known for is the color pink. To best describe the amount of pink that could be found in the Gold Rush Steakhouse we ate at our first night there, just try to imagine what it might look like if Valentine's Day barfed. The food was really wonderful though. I had the filet that was about the circumference of my son's "95 percentile" head. But even better than our meals was the cake.

Mmmmmm. The cake. I don't really like cake but this is more than just cake. This is cake that is surely crafted by the angels from the fluffy clouds of heaven. It was the only explanation. The kids enjoyed the cake too. I know this because I think it was laced with uppers since shortly after dinner the girls went CRAZY. They were back flipping between beds, wrestling on the floor, ripping light fixtures out of the walls, biting the heads off of chickens. It was sugar INSANITY in "Purple Sparkle Time" room.

And that is when I was reminded of my childhood. A time when I couldn't understand why my parents wouldn't let me have unlimited amounts of sweets all throughout the day. I remember my Aunt Bunky who had an incurable sweet tooth. One Christmas I saw her take a piece of See's Candy from the "Nuts and Chews" box well before dinner and I said, "Why do you get to eat candy before dinner?"

"Because I am a grown-up and when you are a grown-up you can eat whatever you want too." Unlimited candy? Adulthood was sure to be awesome with the promise of an all day candy fest. Of course, she failed to mention the part about bills, a mortgage and body parts starting to "give out."

But fearing a repeat of the night before and knowing it would be our last chance to indulge in a piece of this amazing confection, we did the only logical thing there was to do. Put the kids to bed, send a "grown-up" on a mission for cake and secretly eat it outside the hotel room door in the cold. Because doing things despite your children is the point of parenthood, right?

Brittaney came back from the restaurant and we were giddy as little school girls as we dove into the cake. I didn't think we were being that loud, but apparently they heard us. Ryan went into the room to do damage control.

Madison asked, "Where did you get the coffee?"

"Mommy got it for me from the restaurant."

"The restaurant where we got the cake?"

"Well, yes."

"Well, did you get any cake?"

"No, we just have tea and coffee."

Ella chimed in,"You guys are eating something out there. We can hear it."

Oopps. I felt bad for about 3.6 seconds and then I turned my body to face the closed hotel room door the kids were sleeping in, took a huge forkful of cake and shoved it in my mouth. Why? Because I'm a grown-up who has a mortgage, a bad back and bills to pay but right now, I'm on vacation and I've waited my whole damn life for this. The ability to eat secret, late-night cake, straight out of the to-go box with plastic forks, shivering in the cold, anytime I FREAKING WANT TO!

Chomp

It is no secret that my boy likes to eat. In the beginning of this adventure into solid foods, there was little Charlie wouldn't eat. Although the kid can still put back broccoli like it is dipped in caramel sauce, he has gotten a bit more picky. With the addition of some teeth his food options have expanded from "strictly mush" to "safely chewable." The introduction of these new textures means Charlie is starting to display a finickiness that never existed before. For example, Charlie doesn't seem to like meat in actual "meat" form. He will eat a salty, processed, cut up hot dog which he calls "dog-dogs." Excellent. Rice is still good. Mexican rice is WAY better. He starts screaming and shaking like an alcoholic with the DTs if Mexican rice is not being constantly provided.



Turns out, Charlie has also developed a taste for human flesh. I know this because he bites. He got Grant once on the shoulder and me once on the stomach. He has also made several attempts to try and bite me but since I am an adult who is way smarter than him, I pull my hand away and he then proceeds to bite his own hand. Of course I don't like to see this either, so I tried to pull his hand out of his mouth and I said, "Oh no, honey, that will hurt you. Mommy doesn't want you to get...ok, wow, you really got a good grip there, son." I am not a member of the "bite back" club but I would be lying if I said I didn't look down at him chomping down on his own hand and think to myself, "Well, it's not like I was the one biting him back." Let me be very clear: his biting is not funny and I am not trying to make light of the situation at all. In fact, it is very troubling to me. Totally developmentally normal, but very troubling. That said, let me tell you why this whole thing is actually kinda funny.

Charlie has seven teeth, three on the bottom and four on top. My son is without a doubt the most perfect little boy in every way (in my unbiased opinion). Now, I am not trying to say that there is anything wrong with his teeth, but for whatever reason the teeth that flank his two front teeth hang down just a touch bit lower than the two in the middle. Sometimes, it looks a bit like he has fangs. It's freaking adorable but now you see why the biting thing is just a tiny bit comical. Although, he has yet to go in for my neck.

Vampire jokes aside, I started doing a little research on how to deal with a 15 month old who bites. I sought out the advice of friends and did a quick search on the internet only to find an article on www.babyzone.com called "Month 15 Worry: Is My Biting Toddler Normal?" How fitting for my son who turned 15 months old just a few days ago. I am still not done with my research and I am not quite sure exactly how our family is going to deal with this new development. One thing that I probably have been doing wrong though is drawing too much attention to it by yelping from the pain and surprise of the bite and raising my voice in anger. (But I'm sorry, did you not hear me? My son has fangs!) The article was helpful though and reassured me that there is nothing wrong with my boy. And then I read this particular quote and nearly fell out of my chair:

"Knowing that your child is not biting simply because he loves the taste of blood may be reassuring."

Well....I wouldn't be so sure about that. Have you seen my kid?

B of C

We had plans to go on a date that night. We had a sitter lined up. We were going to get dressed up, have some cocktails and some adult conversation which means sentences that were longer than 3 words and don't involve poop or boogers. We had just finished breakfast and I put a very content and full Charlie into his play area while I started in on the dishes. And just as the garage door shut and Grant pulled the car out of the driveway, I heard a sound come out of my son that I have never heard before. It was not a good sound.

I rounded the corner to find my sweet baby boy covered in his own vomit. It was the first time this had happened and he had no idea what was going on. I didn't have any idea what to do. He was crying and I imagine if he had the ability to vocalize his thoughts he would have said something like, "Hey crazy lady in the pajamas, quit running around and pick my up out of my own vomit!" Of course, that is what I did, in addition to wiping him down, giving him a bath and then dousing his clothes in rubbing alcohol and lighting a match.

He only threw up once that day but it turns out, that is the exact amount of times it takes to ruin a date night. And thus began the downward spiral that has been the past month (roughly.) Charlie's shared his little bug with us and it made its way through our bodies fairly quickly, which was good since we were to be headed down to Southern California for my sister Jessie's graduation the following week. A few days before we left, I developed a wretched head cold that plugged up all the holes in my face and I'm pretty sure was trying to push my eyeballs out of their sockets. It was very uncomfortable and terribly annoying but we managed to have a good time. This had less to do with how proud of I was of my little sis and more to do with the amount of margaritas we consumed over the course of 4 days.


Here we all are after watching my sister be presented with her honors medal you see that she is wearing around her neck. I am very proud, even though this basically meant sitting through two very long ceremonies. She now owes me a day of babysitting, on a day Charlie hasn't napped and has the flu.


This was the day of the actual graduation. We were either a little drunk or one of us made a fart joke. Possibly both.

We returned home from LA and the cold was behind me and I was ready to be healthy again. Then, out of nowhere, I swallowed and thought, "Hmmm, my ear hurts and so does my throat." Thinking I had an ear infection, I went to the doctor with fingers crossed that with some antibiotics and approximately 24 hours I would be good as new. I was told by the doctor that I might be developing an ear infection and to only fill the prescription if I got worse. So I didn't fill it. By that night, after the pharmacy was closed of course, I had a fever, the chills, body aches and my entire throat was on fire. It was a sore throat unlike anything I have ever experienced. It felt like someone poured acid down my throat and then was making me swallow knives. Nothing took the pain away. That night I was up at least every hour because the simple act of swallowing awoke me. I finally figured out that if I just laid on my back and turned my head to the side and opened my mouth, I would drool out any accumulated spit and I wouldn't have to swallow it. It really is a wonder my husband still finds me even remotely attractive.

By the next day, my prescription was filled but the throat pain was relentless. I was literally delirious from pain. At one point I thought that laying down on the tile bathroom floor would make me feel better. After being down there for what could have been 5 minutes or 5 days, I have no clue, I looked up at my bathroom ceiling and thought, "What the hell am I doing on the floor?" If it is not obvious now, my little ear infection turned out to be strep. The ladies out there might disagree with me but this pain comes second to childbirth. Seriously.

But the worst part was I couldn't go near Charlie. I was petrified that he would get it; I mean, I am 30 years old and obviously not handling this well (See: bathroom floor mentioned above). How is my 14 month old going to be able to handle that kind of pain? So for three days Grant did everything. Which means for three days I would hear my baby wake up, Grant would go into his room to get him and I would hear, "Mama? Mama? Mama?" Each one becoming more panicked and desperate than the next. It was awful.

Even though I would not have believed you on day two of the ordeal, I did survive strep and ready to return to rowing and begin the summer. But it was on my first day back to rowing that we were putting the boat back on the rack and I felt that all too familiar electric twinge in my low back. As the day progressed it got tighter and tighter and I got twistier and twistier. (Is "twistier" even a word? Well, it is now. Especially when your spine is in the shape of an "S.")

But this has to be the end right? Because it can't possibly get worse than right now. I mean, it's not like I'm going to break out in hives or anything. Wait, why are my legs itchy? Turns out, I'm having a reaction to the antibiotic. Glorious. I'll spare you any pictures of that.

Thankfully, I had left over muscle relaxers and Vicodin from the last time I did this WHICH WAS ONLY SIX FREAKING MONTHS AGO. But whose counting? I also went to the chiropractor for the first time. That may have been a new experience but this back issue is not. I've been doing this to myself since I was about 13. Every once and awhile so I would have an episode that put me out for a day or two. As I've gotten older that's turned into a few days or in this case, almost a week. I went to various doctors when I was growing up and tried some physical therapy and had an MRI to rule out cancer, tumors or any back-muscle-eating gremlin that might be living in there but basically, my prescription was to strengthen my core. But as an adolescent who sang in the choir and found running or breaking a sweat to be bothersome, I never really followed through. After all, it didn't really effect anyone else but me.

Until now.

After Charlie was born taking care of myself became drastically more important. I began exercising and joined a rowing team. I thought I was doing everything right. But now, twice since he has been born I have hurt my back. When I'm like this, I can do almost nothing for him. I feel like a useless lump of flesh. (and I look like one too since I can't properly do my make or blow dry my hair.) Grant keeps reminding me that I'm going to get better but on the heels of all my other illnesses I've just about had it. Of course I'll get better but right now I can't do my job. I can't play with my boy, change his diaper or put him down for a nap. I can't pick him up if he falls or take him for a walk. And while I'm not doing these things, I'm not getting paid. I realize my payment doesn't come in the form of money direct deposited into my bank account but payment from Charlie fills my heart and soul. A heart and soul that's feeling terribly depleted. I'm not going to lie, Vicodin is fun. But I could sure use a paycheck from the BofC right now. (Bank of Charlie)