Traveling, and Coming Home

We survived our Beach Family Vacation. Family Beach Vacation. Whatever. We survived! We even had fun! We are totally pooped. Literally, in the case of poor Dutch, who insisted on shutting herself in her room as soon as we got home (at 10:30 PM), to "play with my toys" which turned out to be a euphemism for "getting some freaking privacy for evacuating my bowels which are full of all the waste I was too stressed out to excrete while you were dragging me all over the place and abandoning me with my various loony but lovable relatives."

We did have a good time, in spite of a few glitches.
Glitch #1: The ocean was brimming with sewage from Mexico, and signs were posted warning us all not to swim, lest we be sickened by unspeakable bacteria.
Glitch #2: Turns out Dutch is afraid of the ocean, and not just because it was full of shit. She kept insisting on relocating our sand excavation site further up the beach to get away from the apparently terrifying tide. My marine biologist/surfer dad was awfully disappointed, but he bore it manfully, without expressing any regret or making her feel bad in the least.
Glitch #3: I failed to listen to my own lectures about sun safety, and managed to get myself a painful and embarassing sunburn. I tried to turn it into a teachable moment to instruct Dutch about the foolishness of getting sunburned, but she ignored me and repeatedly scratched and squeezed all my scorched parts.
Glitch #4: I forgot (as I always do!) that my family is totally bonkers, and I AM TOO.

But those were minor problems. Dutch had a marvelous time showing off for the family, I loved catching up with the family, Cook loved the breakfast buffet, and we all enjoyed the break from reality. I'm finding re-entry a little bumpy, but surely worth it.