Laguna Beach: Thursday

On Thursday, we took Iain to the beach. He's been to the Atlantic (though he doesn't remember - he was weensy) but never to the Pacific.

Unfortunately, Mommy did a stupid thing. When he said "I don't want breakfast" I thought "ok." Stoooopid. He had a glass of milk and at 1145 we took off from Irvine to Laguna Beach with Dr. H. It's not a long drive, and it's pretty, but by that time Iain was Cranky Grouchy McIckyPants.

The monologue went like this, "I hate the beach. The beach's stupid. I'm going to shoot the beach. I hate you. I don't want a Mommy. I hate California. I want to go to Mr. Joel's house. I don't want any lunch. I don't want to drive. I hate the beach. I hate sunshine, pancakes, ice cream, being warm, being cold, smiling, this car..." you can fill in the blanks. To get a real sense of the experience you'll need to keep that monologue going for about 45 minutes with periodic fits of mild crying.

It was awesome!

But when we finally arrived, parked next to a gelato shop, and walked up to a cafe that serves breakfast, things began to even out. Iain ordered a blueberry waffle, scrambled eggs, and bacon. In case you're wondering about volume - the waffle was about 10 inches across and covered with about a cup of berries. I'd estimate 3 eggs and 5 pieces of bacon on the other plate. Dr. H. ate a piece, I ate a piece, Iain refused the eggs ("No ketchup???"). Otherwise, all that went into the young man's gullet.

Instant rainbows.

After lunch we bought gelato (duh) and took it to the beach. [Note: do not take gelato to the beach. It's not that cold. It melts. Even a half block walk plus crossing the street will result in gelato all over you. Of course, there's nothing like ice cream between your toes to make sand stick to you...so suit yourself.]

Iain was enthusiastic, at last. He dug a  little, got "his toes wet" (which actually meant letting the surf soak him to the waist), checked out a tidal pool (did not care) and exclaimed happily over everything.

He napped in the car on the drive home, too.

Now, if I can just get Dr. H. some therapy all of us will be fine.