Every spring we pull the children out of school to spend a week at Disney. It's tradition.
This year we decided to break from the norm and stay a night in
Palm Springs at a swanky hotel.
While unpacking our luggage I heard an uproar of cheering
and applause coming from the huge casita window overlooking the pool. In curiosity
of all the excitement I hurried to the door to find my son standing
on a large rock, as if he were a greek god, PEEING towards the multitude of
half sober, barely dressed, dehydrated looking, absent minded, mid-life crisis age adults.
My three year old had officially become the life of the party.
Lovely.
In honor of my father-in-law (Old Man) being so kind to
accompany us on the trip and help tend to the children through relentless teasing
and intense, blood drawing, screaming, water gun soaking, furniture breaking
ruff-house play just before bed every night, I insisted he ride the Tower of Terror.
In his honor.
So I used my most complimentary words and lured the Old Man into his trap.
Among much disbelief, he survived.
{I Love Fresh Fruit!}
{Kennedy Loves a buffet}
The End... For Now.
