Well, we broke down and drove out to Lake Michigan yesterday for a long fucking day at the beach. Two hours there, two hours back and a blurry haze of whatever happened in the six hours in between. I think the spawnage dug it, though, so it was probably worth it. Although I think they only really dug it 'cuz we ended up buying each of them one of these fucking ripoff Webkinz stuffed animals at some shitty-ass toy store while we were waiting the 40 minutes it took to get a table at the world-famous Clementines restaurant, home of the amazingly devoid of taste perch sandwich.
The beach was nice, though. Miss O and I went to town on a dee-lux sand castle that made Hogwarts look like a fucking Motel 6:
Okay, so it didn't photograph well -- if you saw it in real life, you would've shit your speedo. Mr. Z, as usual, proved once again that his real father is Icelandic, as he jumped right into the lake and basically stayed in that fucking ice-bath until we left. Here's a picture of him peeing in said ice-bath:
He said, "Dad, I have to pee. Where's the bathroom?" and I informed him that he was soaking in it. I told him to just walk out as far as he could and then just let it fly. I also told him to pretend he was looking at the boats and to just "not look down." So he looked down the whole time.
Miss O had to pee the minute we got there, but refused to whiz in the lake. She held it for the entire day. Five bucks I'm gonna be taking her to the urologist this week for a busted ureter.
But we did it, and I'm glad. We made the effort. We were can-do parents on a holiday weekend, we got the spawn off their asses and outta the house, and we had a good ol' family time.
And that better hold 'em until spring.