So, we went on our awesome trip to the beach. There is no greater place within a 4.5 hour car ride. Coronado is June Cleaver land. Either it is safe or it provides a false sense of security that I'm on board with as well. The kids rode their bikes, hung out on the beach, swam, and were tired and in bed by 9:30 every night. No TV, texting, or endless phone calls. Nick was allowed one call per day for a limited time. Even prisoners get the same courtesy.
We went with another couple and their kids who rented this huge house really close to the beach. You could see the ocean from the second floor windows. The house is owned by a doctor who raised 6 kids in that house and just got the last one off to college and decided he would rent his house. Quick note: he hasn't moved out of it yet. Of course, that part was omitted in the rental agreement. So, all of his crap and his 6 kids worth of crap is still everywhere. There are clothes in the closets, his garage is full of stuff, he has a junk drawer in the kitchen, his pantry and refrigerator are fully stocked. We felt like squatters. It was so bizarre. You could tell he was new at this because of ALL THE NOTES he left EVERYWHERE to explain how everything worked and all the rules. Oh, there were a million rules.
My personal favorite:
I like it that The Hardwood Floors thank me. I'm not sure I've ever been thanked by a Hardwood Floor. I kind of like it. Maybe someday my Concrete Floor will thank me, like after I've cleaned it or removed syrup stuck on it. Do you think it giggles when I mop it?
This guy was so anal, I half expected to find this in the garden:
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