Where the Hooter Girls are Dancing

Or, "How I Managed to Lose My Child at the Beach with Ten Other Family Members Within a 20 Foot Radius, aka The Most Terrifying 30 Minutes of my Entire Life."

 Spent a fantastic, wild weekend with six of my nine siblings over the weekend when my older sister graduated in Virginina Beach.

Yeah, you read right. Nine siblings. Six this weekend. Plus the matriarch of the family, three spouses (or spouse equivalent), and five grandchildren.

{How many people is that???}

Four cars, plus my aunt, cousin, her hubby and their son were with us much of the time.

A few snapshots:

Friday evening, grocery shopping for dinner. We decided to make tacos & burritos. 5lbs of ground beef, 2 lbs. of refried beans, a lb. of tomatoes, head of lettuce, 24 oz of soure cream, and a JUG (don't know how big it was) of salsa. Oh yeah, plus torillas and taco shells.

And a gallon of sangria!

In the middle of dinner preparation, two sisters and I are doing an intense P90X plyometrics workout. My mom (a manager at Curves) is correcting our form. Madhouse. Babies underfoot, and I think Natalia got stepped on at least once or twice.

Saturday morning. AMAZING. Entire family out of the condo by 7:15am for 9:30am graduation. Loaded into the cars and on the road by 7:30am.

I am not sure there is a miracle greater than that.

There are over 1,000 graduates at the ceremony. We can't keep track of our own 15 peeps. Sergio heard rumors of cookies and juice, and off he goes with a couple of kids. I text him after a while, "Where are you and the boys?" His response, "Where the Hooter girls are dancing." (This is Regent University, after all. One of the most conservative Christian schools in the U.S., possibly the world.)

Saturday afternoon, off to the beach. It's a friggin' sandstorm. The kids are crying and getting sand in their eyes, but eventually they acclimate to the sting of sand whipping them and get to playing.

Then the worst moment of my life: my 4 year old vanishes.

Vanishes. Into thin air. surrounded by cousins, aunts, uncles, parents. He is simply gone.

One valuable thing about a big family is they make one hell of a search party-- off we go in all different directions. 10 minutes later we haven't found him, and I call 911.

What follows is the longest 10 minutes of my entire life. I stay in one place, waiting for the police to show up, while my family and some other families continue to search. Each second is torment.

And then I get the text from Sergio: "They found him at Pier 30."

We are at Pier 20. He walked ten blocks, following a little friend at first, then looking for us and wandering away. A family found him, wrapped him in a towel, gave him a lollipop and called the police.

Any distinguishing characteristics? Why yes, Officer. He's wearing a blue Batman speedo, Brasilian style. "Yep," the Officer confirms. "We got a call about the blue speedo kid."

We are all crying when we're reunited. I can't imagine how parents go through this without ever finding their children. It's the most horrible experience I've ever known, and my heart bleeds for those who have endured worse than I. When we wrap him in our arms, Little Sergio is half-sobbing and half excited, saying he was scared and yet trying to explain to us about the police car where he got a ride. It's a sweet moment.

Well, after that everything is just dandy. On Mother's Day I awake to a sumptuous breakfast in bed. We spend a couple hours at the {fenced-in} pool and then we're off, headed back home.

Wild, wild East. Yippeeeeeee!

Here's photographic evidence: