We got back yesterday from the Annual Oceandoggy Christmas Family Blitz. Each December we turn our back on the beach, brave the elements and horrendous holiday traffic, and trundle north. And it was, as usual, a ton of fun, packed chock full of Herculean bouts of eating and drinking.
I LOVE my life.
We went to Miss Carol’s parents (that would be my in-laws) on Friday. 9 of 12 kids were home for the holidays which meant there were, by Miss Carol’s count, 38 of us in the kitchen at one point, what with nephews and nieces. Seemed like a lot more to me. But, hey.
After harvesting all the fun we could there, we moved on to my youngest sister’s house on Saturday where all of oceandoggy’s family had hunkered for the day, eating and drinking like it was something newly discovered.
Leaving blearily fucked up early the next morning I failed to take a turn that I seem to almost always want to fail to make and ended up in the mountains far, far from home and adding hours to our drive home.
We got home, the dogs died, and we sat. Panting.