Girls Rule, Boys Drool

I spent a few days on the beach in Oregon last month. A little fun in the sun, some sand in the pants. You know how it is. But this vacation was not only a relaxing good time, it was also my first exposure to my newest cousin: Isabella. Daughter of John (my mom’s sister’s son) and Katherine, Isabella is now 2 months old, sports a wicked mohawk, and has a reversible stuffed animal which can be either a frog OR a pig (Frog-Pig!). I am highly desirous of this fuzzy toy.*

An exciting part of the Oregon trip was its Girl’s Only appeal. We rented a house on the beach in which it transpired that only girls shared. My mom, Aunt Mary, Katherine, Bella, and I fortified our position, posted the “No Boys Allowed” door sign, and cackled gleefully while eating heaping handfuls of caramel corn. (Seriously, best caramel corn EVER. If only I could remember the brand name).

The boys glumly camped in the woods. The wilds in which I spent maybe 10 minutes, MAYBE, without touching ANYTHING and STILL managed to contract poison oak. My entire upper left arm–enflamed. Curse you, wilds. TO HELL. I’m going to the Yuba this Sunday and have always managed to get the P-Oak there. Will this experience be any different? Heaven forbid. Where will I sprout oozing pustules next? Now taking bets.

I only managed to take pictures at the beach our first morning there walking along the sandy shores. So here is my miserly offering of three measly photos. I like this one:

*Stuffed animal side note: my mother is cleaning out the garage, during which endeavor, she took down an enormous garbage bag full of stuffed animals (mine) and made me go through them with an eye to purging. Purging?! Mine! I saved four from the donation and trash piles. Four. Whimper. …Mine.