San Diego welcomed us with its warm sun, and even though it wasn't the seventies and eighties we were hoping for, the sixties and partly sunny was a delight compared to the alternative of eleven inches of snow and twenty degree temperatures back home. Before we even arrived, I fully expected to fall in love with San Diego, and it didn't so much as steal my heart as I happily and quite willingly gave it away.
I'm pretty sure we squeezed in way to much for our two young girls (evident by the fact that Paige slept through dinner the first four nights), but the thrill of being with the cousins! and whales! and koalas! and cheetahs! and sand! and sun! and what's next!? kept them going on fumes right up till we got home.
My mood was more than sour when we left, and I even might've glared at a few of the people checking into the hotel the day we checked out. Coming home to the cold and snow of Minnesota felt like a slap in the face, even though I knew exactly what I was coming home to. And now we just try to get back into our old routine. (And I spend endless amounts of time trying to plan our next warm-weather destination vacation.)