Well, aloha.
I’m sorry I didn’t send you a postcard.
I didn’t find one that spoke to me. I was looking for something really sleazy, with six women lined up in different colored thongs saying “Flex on the Beach.” I know you love that kind of thing as much as I do.
I’m sorry I also didn’t bring you home a box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts.
We bought a Costco-sized box full at, where else—Costco, and then got to the airport and someone realized his suitcase was five pounds overweight because someone had to cart himself home a six-pack of Hawaiian root beer. (That he can buy at the Fred Meyer thirty minutes from our house.) Since chocolate goes down a lot easier than root beer, after some serious bag reorganization, some serious power eating went down.
Thank goodness I don’t have to appear on the back of a postcard anytime soon.
I did bring you a taste of Hawaii.
The six inches of rain we’ve had since we got home is making reentry into society, into January, and into making responsible beverage choices very difficult.
It was a day with no bikini. No booze. No Tebowing poolside after beating someone multiple times at pool H-O-R-S-E.
Yeah, he probably deserved that root beer. And I probably need this smoothie.
As do you.
Flex on the Beach Smoothie
Makes 1 large smoothie
- 1 c. coconut water
- 1/2 c. non-dairy milk (coconut or almond recommended)
- 1/2 c. frozen pineapple
- 1/2 c. frozen strawberries
- 1/2 c. frozen banana chunks
- 1/4 of a large avocado
- 2 t. coconut oil
- 1 T. chia seeds
- 1/4 t. vanilla extract
- 1/4 t. tumeric
- 1/2 t. cinnamon
- dash of salt
- 1 T. vanilla protein powder (optional)
Combine all ingredients in a high-speed blender and blend until smooth and thick.
Well, that was relatively painless.
And totally and utterly delicious.
Even on the way out to pick up Gigi from school early due to the flooding evacuation.
That’s right. I slurped this down in the carpool lane in sweat pants and a rain parka.
Sexy.
It’s good to be home.
After a wonderful week in paradise, our vacation is coming to an end. I miss my girls so. Get out your recorder, Gigi and set up Connect 4, Lu. Mama’s coming home!
For all my bragging about what a good sport Gigi is, I’d be remiss not to share that I also have another child who is a no-good, stinky rotten cheater.
The Treat Fairy swooped down from the sky Sunday night, snatched up the twelve pieces of candy that we were spared from the onslaught of kids that were bussed into our neighborhood, and blessed us with a little game known as Connect 4.
I know that I should just be impressed that Lulu is able to play a game designed for children ages 6 and up. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is an no-good, stinky rotten cheater.
She was yellow.
I was red.
The game started innocently enough.
Three in a row? Don’t mind if I block that.
Apparently, she minded, jamming her aggressive little fingers down in the holes,
plucking out my piece,
and chucking it across the room.
“Fine!,” I thought, “All bets are off!” as I strategized my next play.
Only, I underestimated my opponent.
Just rub it in.
I was mad. You could say I saw red.
I’m packing the pickles on my trip with me. So there.
No-good, stinky rotten cheater.
