Nariz Naviblah

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."

We rented a car and spent afternoons exploring downtown Mazatlan.  I thought we'd head north, out of town, for the Advanced Elusive Driving Techniques, Cartel Experience class that the resort offered, for that "real Mexican experience you'll never forget!", but Regina navigated us to the historical downtown instead.  Dylan grabbed her purse full of pesos and searched for her perfect toy (at one point she tried to buy a stuffed kangaroo.  Nothing says "Mexican vacation" like a kangaroo.), while Grady and I found a shop that made homemade salted caramel and coconut ice cream.  I was pretty sure, at that point, that we'd never leave.

Christmas day was perfect.  Santa came to our room and left presents, then Mexican Santa came by the pool that afternoon to dole out more gifts.  Given Grady's Santaphobia, we let him skip sitting on this one's lap.  Dylan was given a make-up kit, which she promptly applied liberally to her face.  The yellow lip/neck gloss looked okay, but the purple unibrow was a little much.

Grady and I took a little afternoon snooze, then went back to the pool to find Regina and Dylan.  They weren't in their usual places (Regina soaking up sun, Dylan leading a game of tag in the shallow pool), so we headed for the beach.  We were distracted by shouts and screams and I assumed that an iguana had wandered into someone's pool bag.  Instead, I found a big white dude wielding a club and beating the snot out of a pinata while a line of small kids, Dylan included, cheered him on.  Regina told us that the little kids had gone through three rotations and couldn't crack it, so they called in some Jim Thome ringer to take a few swings.  "I wish that was me," I jealously whispered.  He spilled the pinata's contents with a few expert swings and the kids dove in.

There's nothing wrong with an uneventful vacation.  Last trip, I got food poisoning from ceviche and pulled over by a cop -- two things I'll never forget.  So, this trip, when nothing happened, we were relieved.  We ate great seafood, we expertly lounged by the pool, we built terrible sandcastles -- all the things that should happen on vacation -- and it was perfect.  Regina's tanner, I'm fatter (mmmm, flan), Grady's addicted to seafood, and Dylan keeps asking where her new make-up kit is.