Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk

The proportion of beach time to driving time was rather alarming today, as we spent slightly over an hour on the beach and hours driving around on dirt roads trying to find elusive towns and paved roads.

On the beach at which we lounged, Dad and Ethan bounced in the waves and Mom and I waded. The beach reminded Dad, Ethan, and I of Backwash Beach in Costa Rica because it has small (and quite large) rocks that roll back and forth with the waves and can scratch and squish unsuspecting toes and legs. Also the tide was in, so that probably affected Dad and Ethan’s splashings.

Dad drove our little-car-that-almost-couldn’t around a lot, and we ended up at the beach we visited several days ago. At that point, we turned around and headed home. On the way, Ethan and I remembered things we had done on other two-week spring break trips, such as petting a baby sloth in our backyard in Costa Rica, our volcanically heated pond in our Hawaiian yard, and eating rocket (lettuce leaf) pizza in Pisa.

We made it home, and I set about my algebra final. Now it’s finally finished (several hours later). The only break I took was for supper, which was pizza, green beans, and salad. I had finished pouring extra vinegar on my plate for my pizza and was putting it back down on the table when I knocked over my glass and sent milk onto the table. We had to take off the tablecloth, dry the table, put a new tablecloth back on, and put the whole mess back together before eating was resumed.

Sigh.

Ciao!