Our day begins with the bumblebee song. Since we left Wisconsin Mouse has requested it whenever there’s a moment’s silence. It’s seriously the soundtrack of this vacation. He’s even trying to introduce it to our bedtime nursing routine. I only mention it because I’m hoping it’s like one of those horror movie tropes and by sharing it the curse will transfer to another unlucky soul. Fingers crossed.
Breakfast has copious amounts of sugar and indoor trees with Christmas lights so the children are only minimally destructive. We’re going to attempt the San Francisco MOMA this morning so in retrospect the sugar may have been ill advised. We cross our fingers and are only planning a 60min visit.
FOOLS! God, we’re dumb. We start out in the hopes that the little hyenas can run and that’ll keep those sticky hands occupied. Nope. We get one room in before disaster. They just keep running to the art with the intention of licking/ picking at it. To be fair, I also feel the draw to feel the thick oil paint but my brain’s just developed enough to stop me. Two big toddler tantrum and three little toddler tantrums later and they’re imprisoned in the strollers.
Fifteen minutes after their unfortunate incarceration Mouse is screaming (good naturedly, but still) and will not stop so our adult museum time has come to its end.
We leave downtown on another illegal Lyft ride to the piers so we can enjoy a bay walk while Mouse naps. It’s very sunny/very windy so I’m sweating and freezing all at once and I’m imagining that this is what it feels like when hell freezes over. It’s my kind of weather. Sunscreen and sweaters. The walk is so beautiful. I wish we could do this every day. Bug doesn’t nap anymore but even in the stroller he gets his “quiet time,” and I get such a kick out of listening to him verbalize his internal dialogue. “I am not a nice shark, Bruce. Stay away.” Who the fuck is Bruce? Questions for another day.
We spend the rest of the day at Crissy Field’s East Beach and I think it’s the kid’s favorite place. Bug has all the sand his little heart desires and there are plenty of dogs to entertain Mouse. Bug plays happily, burying himself and throwing sand into the water. Mouse and I play a game called, “give the doggy his space,” the entire time we’re there. It’s his new favorite.
Reluctantly, we head back to the hotel to pack and get dinner. We end up at a pretty great Italian place who knows to serve the children IMMEDIATELY. But after the kids are done we realize that Derek’s fish takes 40 minutes to cook. While we wait I stare daggers at him and sigh audibly. The waiter is on it and asks if he can bring the little twitching monsters ice cream. In the interest of getting to eat our meal in peace I let them cover themselves in the glorious melting mess.
It’s our last night and I’m feeling reflective. Although we’ve spent every waking minute together, I didn’t have a conversation with Derek that wasn’t logistical or about the kids the entire trip. I LOVED the family time, but that was a bummer to realize. I reiterate: we need a vacation nanny. It should come automatically when you order a crib for your hotel room. And that nanny can be in charge of singing Mouse the bumblebee song. 😎
Travels with Larson and Co 