Now? How 'bout now?

We had a wonderful, relaxing weekend out of town. We stayed at a resort about 75 minutes away. It's quiet and surprisingly inexpensive (since it's the off-season and all). Our daughter did her best to do away with the "quiet" part, though. Her dad and I heard this about a trillion times this weekend:

"Can we go to the play area? Can we do go the pool?" She alternated the two questions and then repeated them every minute of every day, except when she was asleep.  For the record, we took her swimming twice (and stayed in there until the three of us were prune-y and waterlogged and our lungs stung from the chlorine). We also took her to the kids' play area multiple times. On Saturday, I took a book along and sat nearby while the kid played with some strangers for a good portion of the afternoon. P also accompanied her to the play area on several occasions, taking his Kindle along and playing poker while A bounced around in the ball pit.  On Saturday afternoon we told her we'd take her to the pool after dinner. P and I sat on the couch for a moment after we'd finished eating. The kid went to her bedroom. We laid down a bet. It was 5:42 p.m. I bet that she'd come out and ask to go to the pool within five minutes. My other half guessed that she would ask at 6:00 p.m. We had to call off the bet, though, because she didn't ask at all. She simply changed into her bikini and stood there with her floating noodle tucked under her arm. You know, just in case someone might want to  . . . take her to the pool. And so, submitting to the inevitable, we dutifully donned our swimsuits and padded down the carpeted hallway behind Miss Triumphant.

I dragged my family shopping on Saturday and allowed them to buy me a couple of things for my birthday.  What can I say - I'm a giver!

At some point over the weekend, I came to the sad realization that I had managed to catch the cold that had dragged down my daughter a few days before. My throat started to feel like I had swallowed a razor blade. So, I did what any reasonable person would do, which was to drink my sore throat into submission. I was classy about it, though - I picked up some fancy wine at a nearby winery and poured it in a nice glass and everything.

Other good uses of our time over the weekend:
  • Playing "Fruit Ninja" on the Kindle. It is easy to become addicted to this game. At one point my daughter was calling me from another room and I actually yelled back, "Can you not see that I have a fruit frenzy here?!" If you've played Fruit Ninja, you know how crucial the fruit frenzy is to your score. 
  • Playing Bananagrams. It was fun until the shortest member of our little family insisted that "weddingsub" is a word and stomped off when informed that it, in fact, is not.
  • Stopping at a candy store and spending $30 on candy. I bought and promptly ate two dark chocolate-covered Oreos (and also spent an hour in the resort's exercise room to alleviate the guilt). I also picked up a handful of my favorite suckers - the Charms green sweet and sour ones.
  • Painting my toenails blueish-green. I remember painting my fingernails blue one time when I was a teenager and heard this from my mother: "Oh geez, Claudia Marie. It looks like you have heart disease." So, I heard that echoing in my head all weekend.
All in all, it was a good weekend. The kid climbed into our bed sometime after midnight on Friday night. She said she'd had a bad dream. I couldn't convince her to go back to her room so after about an hour of her relentless spinning and kicking and coughing, I abandoned ship and slept in her room. When I woke up at around 7, P was also up. "I couldn't take it anymore," he said. Honestly, we have no idea how someone so tiny (the kid is nearly 7 and is still under 45 pounds) can take over a king-sized bed so efficiently and mercilessly.

She won . . .

She won again

And again

I have heart disease

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