5 Things I learned while celebrating my 39th Birthday on Catalina Island

I am letting Tara guest post today because: 1. It was her birthday and I didn't get her anything. I am hoping I can convince her this is her "gift." 2. She posted this on Facebook and it really is too funny not to share, even though admitting she may be as funny, if not funnier, as I am makes my blood boil with rage. 

Enjoy

5 Things I learned while celebrating  my 39th Birthday on Catalina 

Island

1. Take the Dramamine. Even if you think you don't need it, you 

know what? Just take it. You won't be sorry.

2. There is no happy hour special worth walking 3/4 of a mile while carrying a 28 pound toddler.  There is a reason those tacos are only a dollar. Let it go.  

3.  Sweaty, shirtless old dudes with beer bellies standing in the sun listening to crappy Santana covers... they're on Libby's team (my apologies to any sweaty, shirtless old dudes who may be reading 

this. I didn't mean you...yes I did.)

4. Dogs should not ride in golf carts. They are clearly humiliated.  And not just by the fact that their owner is wearing a "Wastin' away in Catalinaville" t shirt.  A dog driving a golf cart, however, is fine.

5. Catalina Island is very beautiful and we had a great time and now it can be added to the list other things I need never do again. Like rock climbing, nudist weekends and watching Lars von Trier movies. 

Just kidding-I've never watched a Lars von Trier movie.

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Immature Humor

My husband is ten and a half months younger than me. 


That's nothing. On the cosmic scale we are the exact same age. And when it comes to maturity? He is sooo much older than I am. 


Still, he will never let me forget those ten and a half months. 


Some of the time it's in sneaky ways. He will be talking about what he wants to do when he turns 40 (dive an iceberg), and then in the sweetest voice possible will say "well, we really should talk about what you want to do, since you turn 40 first." Other times it will be more direct. For instance he may tell someone that we just met "I am much, much younger than my wife." 


Then there are the times he is so stealthy about it I barely even notice it. 


We both have iPhones. We both have keep them in black cases, because we have a toddler who likes to drop things, and I got a deal on them. This has led to both of us accidentally taking the other one's phone while rushing out the door, which leaves him unable to check his schedule and me unable to easily check Twitter. You can see the problem. The solution we came up with? Stickers. Just glancing at the back of the phone lets us both know who's is who's. Ryan picked the stickers from the hoards that have taken over our house since Meg was born. This is mine:

This is his: 

Get it? 


Maybe I am older than him when it comes to maturity after all... 

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Something in My Boot

My feet are in constant danger -- and I blame Pixar.

Yes, that Pixar, the one that makes adorable movies for children using computer animation and the voices fo A list celebrities. You may recall that several of their movies, in fact, their sole franchise, feature a cowboy named Woody. Woody is not only a cowboy, but a toy as well, one that spouts various phrases when someone pulls his string. One of those phrases is "there's a

snake in my boot."

I wear boots almost every day. I love my boots. Meg loves Woody. Meg loves saying "there's a snake in my boot."

I think you can see where this is headed. Thank God we don't have any snakes in the house.

Every morning now I have to shake out my boots to see what treasures may be inside waiting to hobble me. Jewelry is one of Meg's favorites. Refrigerator magnets are too. The other day I put my foot in a boot without checking it first and pulled it out to find a plastic ballerina impaling my instep. I swear it was laughing at me.

Today's boot haul. The hat belongs to you know who...

Of course, every time I find one of these treasures Meg is right there to make sure I say the right thing, with the right inflection. With every thing I pull out and catalog her laughter gets a little louder. Then I ask her if she knows who put it in my boot and she says "no," even harder. I grab her and tickle her, asking over and over "did you put something in my boot" until she collapses into my arms for a cuddle. Then I put my boots on, and go off to work, thankful for the great kid I have.

Maybe I shouldn't blame Pixar. Maybe I should thank them. After all, what's a little toe pain in exchange for moments like that?

Still, I'm glad we don't have any snakes.

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