I Hope You Have 20 Minutes to Kill...

We returned from Aruba Sunday morning around 12am and I'm fighting the serious post-vacation blues. I am having a hard time contemplating the fact that I am a) not floating around in a lazy river b) not dealing with my biggest worry being that my swimsuit isn't dry from the day before or c) not lathering myself (or a one year old) in sunscreen. Booooooo. I keep telling Taki the end of this vacation would have been much easier to deal with if we lived in Southern California and could actually visit another beach soon but he doesn't seem to be convinced.

I'll try to keep this post as short as possible with 400 pics to choose from.

Number of sunhats I brought for Nikos - seven.

And one of Pop-Pops'...

Number of times we took pictures of our drinks - nine.

Number of artsy shots Taki and I took in our endless amateur photography competition - six.

Nikos spends a little quality time with some tropical friends.

Obligatory Nikos-Passed-Out-On-The-Plane shot.

Gratuitous vacation shots.

Work it fishy...own it.

Checking his passport in the Houston Airport...

Shout out for the Felton family.

Why Nikos and I can never move to the East Coast (hint - humidity hair.)

Whose profile does he have? We will demonstrate the Lewis gene (we must be rubbing off on Taki) to assist your decision...

Why you shouldn't wear pink if you are sunburnt (and no I'm not pregnant, despite the fact that the b*tch at Gap last week asked me if I was looking for a maternity swimsuit.)

And we'll close the post with the photos that Taki says will make Niko's future wife "think you're crazy." To which I say "Um...crazy adorable."

(Yes, I did a forced the poor kid to go through a costume change mid-photo shoot.)