My Mac has been restored. I can officially write properly again. I've been handwriting a lot of stuff, old school, which I now have to type into the computer. Everything I've tried to do on my iPad has been autocorrected into the nonsensical. Luckily the computer disaster and subsequent repairs coincided with a spring break trip, so I was able to take advantage of a little relaxation time without quite as much guilt.
The family ventured to the Florida Keys for the week. All was warm and welcome after a quite chilly winter. We relaxed with gusto. We drank cocktails with fervor. We soaked in the sun aggressively. It was wonderful, to be honest.
Things only took a turn for the negative when my son spent half a day on a boat throwing up over the side from his usual bout of motion sickness. It never fails. I may have become hostile towards my husband for taking us out of sight of land on a windy day to snorkel with a seasick child. It's possible. My son recovered quickly when we were back toward land and able to anchor in the still, protected waters, that surround most of the Keys. My nasty looks stopped, at that point, towards my husband. He forgives me.
Feeling left out, my daughter needed a story to tell her future therapist, as well. We visited a place called Robbie's in Islamorada to feed the massive tarpon which hang out at their dock. It's quite a thing and tons of people buy buckets of fish to feed these grand sea beasts. The pelicans have gotten wise to this tradition and quite viciously stalk the tourists on the deck to take the fish. My daughter swung her arm, fish in hand, in order to throw a nice toss to a tarpon, when a pelican snatched it out of her hand, biting her pinky finger in the the process. You could hear her scream all the way to Miami. She then eyed all the pelicans with malice and decided she wanted nothing to do with tarpon, pelicans, small feeding fish, or docks in the foreseeable future. An ice cream treat was the only thing that would help, followed by a visit to the cashier of Robbie's, who sprayed her finger with peroxide and sent us to the bandaid station (apparently this happens with frequency).
Now we are back on dry land and only have our pets to contend with. Luckily, they don't bite.