St. Augustine Thanksgiving

One of my favorite destinations in Florida has always been St. Augustine. Since The Artist lives there now it only seemed fitting to plan an invasion visit. She was gracious enough to accommodate us.

On the 2nd day she asked, "Is it 5 pm yet? Time for a glass of wine?" Um, no. It's 10:00 am.

On the 3rd day of our visit her friend from work called and asked her if she'd like to join him and some friends at a local restaurant after "the family" was tucked in for the night. She informed him she was exhausted. "But it's only 9:30 pm?" he laughed.

On the 4th day she stated, "I never realized how quiet my life was until..." And then she drifted off. Mentally.

People who glimpse snippets of my life ask me why I don't get away more often. I believe that's obvious, don't you? Besides lack of available cash and refusal to charge anything there's this reason:

Here is one musical instrument I will never be encouraging The Boy to play

and this reason:

The teenager discovers she prefers the Gulf Of Mexico to the Atlantic Ocean. Too cold! Too cold!

and this reason:

We discover on this trip that The Baby hates everything to do with "nature."

And the giant, hairy reason on the left:

The Artist with Vanna White and Abigail

It was a lot easier in the olden days when The Genius and The Artist were young and I drug them off to St. Augustine. There was no need for wheelchairs, high chairs, emergency splinting material, pain medication for fractures, seizure medication, diapers, medical records, special food (human and canine) or a giant dog crate.

Before this current group of rug rats I had a little red sports car which I adored. Now I have a van. This week it was packed to the ceiling and on either side like a big, white, sardine can. On occasion it smelled like one as well.

When The Artist and The Genius were younger we listened to music on our road trips. This week we listened to Christmas carols played by The Boy's arm pit farting which continued during our entire visit driving The Artist to the brink of insanity.

"You don't suppose this is some kind of weird tic do you?" inquired The Artist.

Days after that question I am still laughing out loud. I can't get the mental image of The Boy's wedding day out of my head.

"I do....pppffffffttttttt!"

I informed The Artist my ONE goal for this week was to get a family photo for our annual Christmas card. Because she is, well, an artist she agreed to do the photo shoot as one of her (many) artistic talents is photography.

I believe this was the winner:


The only thing accomplished by my relentless desire for a family Christmas photo was that The Baby learned a new word which she is repeating over and over. Couple this with the arm pit farting and we have a weird kind of vacation rap thing going on in our house:

PFFFFT! Cheese! PPFFFT! Cheese! PPFFFT! Cheese! PPFFFT!

Is it 5 pm yet?