This year for Christmas break, we went to Mazatlan. We made our grand entrance into the country with a plop. No, it wasn't the sound of our plane bouncing its wheels on the tarmac; it was the sound of the contents of Grady's full diaper spilling onto the floor as we were trying to get through customs. When Dylan was younger, the sounds of her crying would guarantee us a quick escort through customs without any hassles. Apparently, the smell of Grady's poo has the same effect. We breezed through, no problemo.
The morning we left home, it was 8 degrees. The week before, we'd had nothing but bone-chilling fog that wouldn't burn off until late afternoon. We needed a good thawing and spent our first day or two regaining the feeling in our extremities. Dylan and Grady gathered seashell ornaments for the little Christmas tree we brought. After our tree was decorated, we figured we should make an attempt at blending in with the locals by brushing up on our Spanish. "Un tequila y limon, por favor," Regina repeated, over and over. I'm not sure what it means, but it seemed to make her happy, so I'd add, "Yeah, sounds bueno," and Dylan would throw out her version of Merry Christmas by telling everyone we saw, "Nariz Naviblah."