Too Many Fish in the Sea

As summer comes to an end, the Castiglione family is trying to cram in as many summer activities as possible. Today, we went to the beach again, but this time, sans dogs, and WITH the Alcazar's, very good family friends.

We arrive at the beach, the kids frolic into the ocean, the moms dig in to old People magazines, and the two dads do this:

It stayed like that for a while.

We left after four hours, disappointed in the gray skies that had inevitably burned us, regardless of sunscreen application, came home, showered, and went to get dinner.

Upon our return home, as I was liberally applying aloe to Sydney's crispy shoulders and back, Dylan came in the bathroom to inform me that there was a dead fish on his bedroom floor.

Let me back up JUST a touch.  Dylan's life is ruled by food, which he actually uses as fuel (unlike me who merely uses it for fun).  When the fuel runs out, so does Dylan, and often in an ugly way. By the time we left the beach, he was a crying puddle of mess.  Once we got to our favorite Mexican joint for dinner, and he took a sip of his raspberry iced tea, he started talking...and didn't shut up for an hour.

So....when he told me there was a dead fish on his bedroom floor, I thought that maybe he had just lost his cotton-pickin' mind and was on a food high.  Sydney and I went to investigate.  I found this in his room:

Well, now I am freaked out, shut the door, command that the children stay out of the room, and hurry outside to find Thomas, who is walking the dogs.  I explain what happened, and Thomas starts laughing, to the point of almost wetting himself.  I explain, sternly, that it isn't funny, and what if someone has broken into our house and is leaving dead fish as a message.

Thomas, sanely, replied that more likely that not, Dylan brought the stowaway home in his bathing suit.

We went back upstairs to look, and we asked Dylan if he had felt anything in his shorts, to which he responded, "No," but it's good to know that the poor fish had a nice car ride home in order to get to his final resting place.

I then asked Dylan if he washed his butt really well when he showered, to which he responded, "YES!...well, I'm pretty sure."

Awesome.