Even One of our Three Children was Conceived in it

This is the post I should have written yesterday about our trip to Sea World but couldn't because writer's block and fatigue were in me mindz cloggin' me thoughts.

Saturday we drove down to San Diego to spend the day with my brother in law and his family, to celebrate my niece's fourth birthday. My sister in law was going to try and score some tickets from work instead of Costco [everything in their life is from Costco or IKEA] and at final count she scored neither. So it was my AAA card to the rescue when I nabbed a kick ass deal at the Sea World ticket window [note to self: inquire more often about discounts provided by AAA. P.S. Duh].

But back to the drive. Last year, at this time, when we drove down for our niece's birthday party it took us a grand total of five hours. FIVE HOURS! From Los Angeles to San Diego. WTF, traffic? We were two hours late to the party. And pointed and laughed at when we admitted we took the I-5 all the way down. So this time we were against that route and knew we wanted to take the 15 around the back way. Except we didn't know that it was the 15 that we wanted because we didn't check before we left the house because we're stupid adventurous like that. We just knew that there was a freeway out there that we needed and thought we'd manage to find. Our navigation system is totally doing IT with the I-5 and refused to show us any other way. No matter how many times we asked it for an alternate route. And we thought, with our combined IQ's [and overinflated sense of self confidence] that we'd be able to decipher which red squiggly line was the one we wanted. Or were on. [Editor's note: Weaker marriages should not attempt]

Imagine our embarrassment when we took a very long, out of the way route and found ourselves passing Angel's Stadium. Which sits adjacent to the I-5. Wet Match? Meet Dark Cave. Oh, that navigation system. She's a right bitch. However, we managed to get there in three hours. Our personal best.

Then there was Sea World...blah blah... fish... blah blah... whales...awwwww manatees!... dolphins...blah blah blahhhh...kettle corn.

Then it came time for bed. Whenever I sleep over at someone's house I kinda dread bedtime. Because I won't be sleeping in my own bed. Editor's note: I do not have this same problem in hotels, yeah, I don't know why either. But there's just something about sleeping in your own bed...So when you spend the night, unless someone has a guest room, it's usually some kind of makeshift deal like a pullout couch, futon, or air bed. This time it was my nieces brand new big girl bed. From IKEA [not Costco]. It was a little firm, kinda like a soft stone floor, and I woke with an IKEA Swedish induced backache. Or a ryggsmärtor [which might also be a bookcase]. Another contributing factor was probably the 12 by 12 IKEA pillow [I'm sorry, pillow? That was a crepe] that had me all hurty.

Even though it was only one night; I missed the hell out of my bed. Nevermind that our bed is a twenty year old hand-me-down from my parents. I'm sorry, did you just throw up a little bit? It's a damn comfortable bed. In fact, and this is a true story, about seven-ish years ago my mother spent the weekend watching the kids for us and slept in our bed. Only to go home and tell my father that they should get a bed like ours because it was the best sleep she'd ever had. Yeah, he's never let her live that one down. He still tells that story at parties.