Otis went to the beach for the first time a few weeks ago. Unless you’re Pro Life. Then he’s actually been to the beach twice. On opposite coasts. Once in Savannah, GA and once to La Push Beach of Twilight fame.
But this was his first time to touch sand (hated it).
And go “swimming” (loved it). Well, loved it when daddy held him. When mommy held him in the crashing waves of the Gulf of Mexico (I think that’s the body of water that touches Panama City Beach…) he rightly knew to fear for his life. And cry for daddy.
Every morning he did Baby Yoga on the beach. Such a diva. And also the reason for the sandy hair above.
And other than when he wanted to swim, it was All Mom, All the Time on the Otis radio station.
On our first day there we saw some 12 year old girls taking “jumping pictures” on the beach. They looked like idiots. And we made fun of them.
Two days later this happened:
And then this:
We’re starting a band. The Filipina Jumping Beans.
And I’m sure you already noticed that we also took part in the White Shirt and Jeans on the Beach photoshoot ala every white family since 2003.
Except Mark and I are rebels. Pink shorts? Green shirt and khakis? Conformity can’t hold us down. Also, we forgot about the dress code when we packed.
Most importantly, the first day my hair met the salty ocean air it was amazing. Perfectly formed curls starting at the roots with limited frizz. It was glorious. I wanted to Instagram it and hashtag it #beachhairdontcare, and be all humble braggy to my straight haired friends. But I was lazy.
And God punished me for my procrastination because the rest of the weekend my hair looked like this:
Frizz much? Oh well.
All in all we had a fabulous time that I know isn’t all that fun for you to read, but I’m quickly learning that this blog is my only chance at a scrap book. So we’ll all just have to deal.