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Roosters Freely Roaming Everywhere
Mexico was sheer loveliness.   My cell phone’s battery was dead for days, nay weeks.  Our family lived in an airy, bright and probably magical condo where the Four shared a single bedroom.  Instead of invoking the spirit of sibling Christmas wrath the way I suspected it might, it bonded them powerfully.  Amazingly, there was almost no bickering.  There were almost no complaints, despite the fact that the Littles' schedule necessitated some changes in the Bigs'.  Anabel and Jude wouldn't ordinarily choose to start their day at the crack of dawn.  I wakened almost every day to the sound of muffled laughter.  That or the crowing of roosters.  We did have to institute a new policy - the fart tax.  I'll only say that both boys are a little less wealthy after Mexico than before and leave it at that.   

Our Christmas that felt like a non-Christmas was a delight and I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed and content.  We drank what probably amounted to our own weight in pina coladas and thanks to JoyBoy, mastered the art of making them ourselves.  Jude and I glutted ourselves on seafood, and in the end paid a heavy - but well worth it - price for our smorgasbord of octopus, lobster, prawns, butterflied jumbo shrimp, clams and mahi mahi.  To think about it again makes me sigh.  It was yummy for my sick tummy. 

I could feel the Vitamin D soaking into my skin as I lay there on the chaise lounge by the pool.  Little prickles of phantom sun pleasure meander their way down my forearms as I remember it.  It was a mish mash of colorful sensations all competing with one another for preeminence.  Laughing, splashing, delicious children.  A sky so blue it seems a cliche to try to describe it.  Faint snatches of diesel wafting through the air.  The thunderous crashing of waves so loud and so rhythmic you wonder how anyone could discount the Existence of a Creator.  The hot sun making its sultry way into the darkest, most chill-infested recesses of your soul so that at times you feel that you might just be able to fly.  Hyperbole seems the only even reasonably sufficient way to describe the way I felt lying there, listening to all the sounds wafting around on the breeze.  There were times where I couldn't even bring myself to read, so entertaining was the simple processing of the stimuli perceived by my five senses.  It was a nice time.
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A Sand Jesus
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A Mexican Flag with Accompanying Diesel Plume
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These men were incredible street/beach performers!
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Things Done Differently
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Life Is Good
 


01/05/2010 7:21am

DELIGHTFUL that you spent your Christmas basking in the sunshine with your family... those are my favorite moments - removed from the weight of daily obligations, giving you the liberty to play with carefree abandon... I hope you played hard! :)

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Sylvia
01/06/2010 12:10am

You should be a writer. seriously.

I love the "fart tax". I hope they put a sign on their door welcoming everyone to "fart school" too. I still smile broadly when I think about that day and all the giggles!

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JoyGirl
01/15/2010 10:59am

Rikki, as I recall from our days spent up in the rafters of my garage adding to our chewed-up-gum collection, you are the Queen of Playing Hard! I know you must be such a fun Mom to have. Your girls are no doubt so rich with it all.

Sylvia, I'll have you know that it wasn't a mere "Fart School," it was the very prestigious "International Fart ACADEMY." There was a sign on the front door to prove it!

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