Surfer Dude Infestation

Jack has been experimenting with...for lack of a better term, lingo. He slips things into conversations here and there, testing the waters, determining if certain words will earn laughs (Me) or menacing glares (Dan).

The beach house that we rented this year (for far too short a time) was incredible for many reasons--it was ocean-front, had a great pool, was impeccably clean...but it was mostly awesome because it had an elevator.

AN ELEVATOR!? You say. Unnecessary! Foolish! Begging-for-rust! All of these are true, but you're leaving out one very important exclamation: Heaven!!!

It was bliss to not lug a huge cooler, suitcases, baby crap, groceries, and 4,000 beers up rickety wooden stairs like we have done every other vacation. Just step, step, ding, and you're there! No work at all! It was marvelous, in the perfectly lazy way that a vacation should be.

One evening as we were all crowding into the elevator to ride down to the driveway, Jack was dawdling (as usual) and Dan yanked him in by the shirt. Jack shook off Dan's grasp and looked up at him with obvious disdain. "Dammit Bro!" he exclaimed as he adjusted his collar. My Mom and I immediately locked eyes and clamped hands over our mouths in an effort not to make a peep. Luckily Dan had not caught what Jack had said, and I waited a good several minutes before whispering it to him in the car, between giggles. Dan just shook his head. "But I didn't laugh!" I told him. "It's a beach miracle!"