Maui Wednesday (Day Three)

We were up early for another walk on Wednesday morning (this time we made it all the way to the Sheraton before Norah demanded to be carried and sat on all of the statutes for 20 minutes each), and made it back to the Westin in time for the beach umbrella rental at 8:00 am. The beach access from the Westin is gorgeous. We had read on online reviews that there would be stiff competition for the umbrellas-there are only 12 of them-and people start lining up well in advance of 8:00. We either had good luck or online reviewers are full of crap, because we got there at about 5 'til 8:00 and only one person was in line.

So we got a sweet umbrella and two chairs.

Norah and I hung out in the sand while BVZ went to get a massage at the spa.

We had a great time. The waves were pretty rough so Norah was not interested in the surf. However, she was definitely into the sand. As in rolling in it, getting buried in it, shampooing her hair in it, licking it, and eating it by the handful.







We played in that sand for upwards of two and a half hours. While we were playing the unthinkable happened. I will spare you the details because Norah and I agreed to never speak of it again but just imagine a scenario involving: 1) a toddler who hadn't pooped in three days, and 2) a very thin swim diaper. Lets just say I have 40 new gray hairs and I subsequently offered to reimburse the hotel for the cost of their beach towel. (Shockingly they were very understanding and seemed grateful I was honest about it and gave them fair warning. Apparently they see way, way, way worse on a daily basis. Ewwwwwwww).

BVZ joined us and after some more mud pies (the good ones this time), we scrubbed Norah down in the tub-sunscreen is like glue when it comes to beach sand, and they settled in for a nap. I, on the other hand, settled in at the spa for a delightful facial and pedicure.

Now, I love spa treatments but I don't love the spa 'experience'. I don't like sipping tea in the bathrobe and listening to Enya. I always feel awkward tiptoeing around and not saying anything so as not to disturb the other patrons. Maybe it's because I inherently have a hard time relaxing, but spare me the pleasantries and just get down to the massaging. Funny enough, BVZ feels the exact same way. He loves massages but always panics at the details (ie, is he supposed to take off his boxers or not...)

Anyway, I made it through the obligatory soothing music and lavender lemonade (which was actually really quite pleasant) to the private facial room where the therapist told me to take everything off from the waist up (seriously?) and get under the blankets. She also said that on the little table next to the treatment bed was a small wooden tray with a seashell filled with special salt and Hawaiian legend says that if you sprinkle the salt with an open mind and heart you can release all of your troubles (or something to that effect-I was having a hard time listening). Now, I have an irrational fear at both doctor's offices and spas that I am going to be in the process of disrobing when someone walks in the door. I have no idea where this paranoia comes from. It's not like I am a never nude or something, I just panic at the idea of being caught before I am ready.

So, I get undressed and get under the blanket before I realize that I forgot to sprinkle the stupid salt. I had this moment where I convinced myself that the facialist would think I was a giant asshole who didn't want to release all of my troubles so I jumped up, dumped the salt out, jumped back under the covers-knocking over an entire side table in the process. Of course, as soon as that happened the facialist came in and I had to explain why in fact I was a giant asshole.

Ultimately, he facial was great, as was the pedicure, and I thoroughly enjoyed my quiet time.

That afternoon we took Norah to the Sugar Cane Train. From the outside it looked like a well-maintained, perfectly safe, child-friendly choo-choo train.


Norah was sooooo excited and kept yelling, 'Get on train. Get on NOW!'

From the inside, however, it was clearly a death trap. The train boasted a conductor who would give us a brief history of Hawaii and the local geography. Instead we got a tour guide who was clearly loaded (thankfully he wasn't actually driving the train), who complained about the corrupt government and raged against the fact that he was being forced to pay property taxes. Norah, however, thought the train was the coolest thing she had ever experienced.



This much relaxing is very tiring.






Norah wanted to take a picture. Doesn't my pedicure look nice?


The train makes a stop at a local farmer's market. We picked up some fruit and shaved ice.


We survived the train (it was actually really fun, albeit a little scary) and walked around downtown Lahaina a bit. After an early dinner we headed back to the Westin for some serious pool time.

Here is Norah modeling one of the suits she borrowed from Ruby (she told anyone who would listen that it was Ruby's swimsuit).

I bought her this inflatable yellow duck for $3 from the hotel gift shop. It was by far the best $3 I ever spent. She loved it, insisted upon swimming with it (she wanted to sleep with it, but we nixed that idea), and by the second time in the pool she wouldn't let us touch her and wanted to float "just Norah and rubber ducky."




We forced her out of the pool once it got dark and cold and she and I headed up to the room while BVZ returned the towels.

Norah insisted upon taking the long way back to the room so that she could say goodnight to all of the fish, flamingos, and ducks (really, they were swans, but once she makes up her mind about something...). We were standing next to the grotto talking to the flamingos when all of a sudden I heard one of the hotel employees screaming 'stop it, stop it!' I look over and this group of drunk (they weren't just drunk-they were drizzzzzunk) 20-something dudes were taunting the swans. Then one of the idiots reached down, grabbed a swan by the neck, and started throwing it around. I seriously couldn't believe what I was seeing. I mean, I don't even LIKE animals and I have no tolerance for that kind of cruelty. Now, normally me and my big mouth would have been all over the situation, but 1) I had Norah, 2) they were wasted, and 3) we were next to a body of water that I did not want to fish myself or Norah out of, so I took about 10 steps back and started yelling, 'Security has been called! They are on their way!' The idiots obviously took off running after throwing the poor swan back in the water.

By this time Norah is hysterically crying and screaming, 'what those bad boys doing to the duck? IS DUCK OKAY?' so it took another 20 minutes to calm her down and reassure her that the duck was in fact okay and those boys were very bad and mean and we don't hurt ducks like that. The hotel employee was really sweet to her and over the next couple of days every time she saw Norah they would have a long talk about how the duck was just fine and the bad boys were gone.

Now that we are home we talk about the duck at least twice a day. At least I know she isn't a sociopath!