As promised, some of us actually entered the ocean.
Some of us are native Californians and are not intimidated by
big huge waves.
So off Baby C went, in her Dada’s arms.
This picture almost makes me cry. She is so little and vulnerable. Her pudgy, barely still a baby hand on his back just makes my heart skip a beat.
She was fine until a sizable wave hit them.
And her feet and legs got wet.
After that, she lost her nerve. Dada or not, she was done.
Why is Mr. Smith laughing?
Baby C: “I wanna go back to the family! I wanna go back to the family!”
A little break so you can catch a glimpse at how the rich and narcissistic live here in So Cal. Those are the homes, built into cliffs, of the people with more money than brains. See, the funny part to me is, if we do get big enough waves, or say, the cliff falls into the ocean? Yeah, guess who loses their excessive, ridiculous 4-story villa?
Sorry, but it is true. Those cliffs got there somehow folks!
Grand Master H stuck to the shore, with his Godzilla monsters, that option seemed safer to him.
Baby C decided hopping around on the sand was far more prudent than playing in the high surf with Mr. Smith. I emphatically agreed since my heart was in my throat while she was out with him.
Do you think I could sell a series a greeting cards with this little pixie cavorting in her tutu?
I can’t stand the cuteness. It is actually killing me.
Yeah, I might actually be dying from the overwhelming cuteness.
Coming tomorrow: Mr. Smith cheats death.