It all began on Friday. Me and him, 80 degree weather, a convertible and Pacific Coast Highway.
We drove all the way to La Jolla, parked our car as close to the ocean as we could and found ourselves at the bar of Georges at the Cove.
The view?
Priceless.
The beer, at lunch time?
Needed.
We split their famous soup (to die for) and an order of the grilled fish tacos. No talking...just a lot of mmmm's and ahhhh' s and oh my's.
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After we ate, we walked to the water and sat staring at the sea lions. The thing is...they don't do much. They just lay there in the warm sun and don't move, yet we must've stared at them for a good 30 minutes. I must say, they are cute. A tad bit smelly, but cute.
Kinda like my boys.
On the way home we hit our favorite cheese shop (Vin Goat...please go. You won't be sorry.) in anticipation for the best event ever:
Happy Hour.
Once again, just me and him. One boy was at basketball practice (and actually had rides BOTH ways...woo hoo!) and the other was out with friends so our date day continued on for a few hours more.
Supper, eaten under the garden heaters, was something or other...I can't for the life of me remember what I cooked. Chicken Marsala maybe? The cocktails were good, as was the music.
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Saturday morning I did make breakfast. Matthew came for the weekend so all three of my loves were asleep under one roof. I love nothing more than that. Sunny side up eggs, bacon, a blueberry dutch baby and two full pots of coffee.
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Saturday afternoon was a wedding...the first in our group of boys. It was absolutely lovely...sunny and warm and they were married on campus, under the trees. Quite simply, it was perfect.
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The reception was fun...really, really fun. Great food, great music, great friends. It's not often you are at a wedding and you know so many of both the grooms peeps and the brides peeps and in this case, we did. So much love under that beautiful tent...sigh.
And Ingrid...I wanna be like you when I grow up. For reals.
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One party blurred into another and as the moon rose higher in the sky, I found myself sitting with the dearest of friends and a bunch of my boys nibbling on grilled freshly caught fish and laughing late, late into the night. I would like to publicly say two things:
1. Yes, when I dance, I use jazz hands. And I'm not ashamed.
2. I was not a cheerleader. I was in the band. So when I break out into a cheer (or two), stop me. My flexibility left when I was in my 20's.
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Sunday...church, followed by some grooming of the garden. The fig tree is a bloomin' and in case you think it's all pretty back there, well...I spy an orange cone that one of my boys 'borrowed' from somewhere. I don't even want to know. If I were to list the things we've 'collected' over the years, well, we'd be here for awhile.
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(and no, I don't think it's ok. we are merely storing it for a bit and then it will be returned. or put in the attic. yeah, one of those.)
Sunday night, after getting my nephew settled in (he's staying here for awhile...I mean, what's one more boy when you already have a houseful!), we went and watched Alex and his friends play basketball. The parents cheered (too loudly) and did the wave so many times that I'm actually a little sore today, which is kind pathetic.
I'm still smiling.
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