This is not a clown pose. There is a more wildly true explanation. It involves a road trip, hotel amenities, and the man who breaks anything with a handle.
We just got back from our third overnight trip to Monterey this year. Actually Heath and I stayed two nights. Grandma and Grandpa took the kids home after the first night. The house is still standing and the kids are still alive. More importantly Grandma and Grandpa were still talking to us and seemed happy. Whew!
The only complaint was that Heath took Grandma’s crafting friend away from her today. Gwen was a good stand in. I guess I’m not as easily replaceable as I thought. I still don’t regret buying 20 ceramic mini loaf pans in the Gilroy Michael’s today. That was a task I was not looking forward to. The only way I felt like I could handle a trip to my local Michael’s store was if my mother in law accompanied me. Heath came with me instead and the Christmas gifts for the Primary workers are taken care of. At least my part of it.
But that’s not the story you tuned in for.
We stayed at the Hyatt Regency Inn and Spa. The hotel was as suave as its name. There were no bathrobes in the room with matching slippers. That took a shopping trip to the mall sans kids. The hotel did have some pretty nice extra curricular activities onsite.
They offered Marilyn Monroe massages at the hotel spa. Grandma meant to get a massage but with all the running around and playing we did, she ran out of time. Which is too bad because I would be curious to know what makes a massage a Marilyn Monroe massage. There was a hotel TV channel about it but it was largely uninformative. It was more like a 24/7 infomercial.
We also didn’t get mani pedis either. Bummer. Gwen wanted to play around on the golf course but with all the golfers on the course Heath talked her out of it … by insisting that she stay off the grass. The pool was heated and looked quite nice. There was a shuffle board game that a cute family from San Diego had fun playing. We chatted with them a little while we played table tennis.
Heath and the boys played while I supported from a wooden deck chair. Grandpa Holmes liked to call the game ginick gi knop. The ball didn’t stay in play long enough to really hear that sound. The boys figured it out anyway. Sometimes the ball didn’t even make it over the net for a serve. The boys giggled a lot more than they hit the ball well. Of course that didn’t stop Heath from giving it his all. He never lets the kids win anything. I wonder where Parker gets his competitiveness from?
They’re playing and Parker is doing pretty well considering his dad shows no mercy.
Things heat up slightly.
Then Heath forgets he’s playing table tennis with his sons. The spectators are suddenly more than just his family and a friendly family from San Diego. He gets it in his head that he is playing the final tennis match at Wimbledon. It’s the championship point. Forget love.
The tiny plastic ball is suspended in midair and for a moment time stands still. The crowd holds its breath. The birds are silent. There is no more splashing in the pool. The breeze is stagnant. Shuffleboard quiets. All eyes are on the Cinderella story about to unfold.
Heath reaches up with his plastic paddle. He brings it down for the perfect smash. The ball soars up to the clouds with the impact. And comes crashing down in nearly two pieces.
Right onto the Little Miss’s nose.
Or some version of that story. The truth is he really smashed the ball like there was more on the line than gaining his children’s respect. The split on the ball wasn’t even along the seamline. Of course. Because it was hit by the same man who shattered a golf club by grazing it with a golf ball. Heath is the man! Don’t ever mess with him. Bragging rights were definitely earned. And I got to spend the night alone with him.