Whereupon we enter "Phase Three" of Day One of my San Diego adventure where my expectations (and a beer bottle) are again shattered

I cannot POSSIBLY tell you everything that happened on this fun-filled, action-packed day that rocketed my glass elevator of expectations through the roof and into the stratosphere. Sorry for the weirdly random Willy Wonka reference--not actually ALL that big a fan (Gene Wilder's tunnel scene traumatized me as a child) but my school hit that play out of the park.

Speaking of natural-sounding transitions, this phase of fun concludes at the ball park. I'm going to skip the part where Savannah dragged me to a hat store in the mall whereupon I learned that Savannah lacks the ability to pinpoint an item listed in alphabetical order on the mall map; whereupon I was delighted to discover a teeny-tiny parking lot feather that WAS STILL THERE when we exited the building so I taped it to Savannah's dashboard, happily declaring it my first souvenir; whereupon I was amazed by a mall with open-air courtyards, "Savannah, I need my sunglasses." "Mom, wait, I'm trying to find Lids on the mall map." and there were DOGS shopping too.! Not just at dog-appropriate stores either...but, like Victoria Secret and Baby Gap. This was the best mall ever! (said the girl born and raised in Wyoming County).

We stopped at a little Mexican place before heading over to the second day of the Padre's season opener against the Brewers. Or, more accurately, to see former Kansas City first baseman, Eric Hosmer play against former Kansas City outfielder Lorenzo Cain. More of a grilled cheese girl, I asked what to order. "We usually get burritos," Savannah advised. "What's a burrito...exactly?" I inquired, completely ashamed. My mother never gave me "the Mexican food" talk as a girl...just offered me a menu and let me learn on my own. Which is how I got into this mess. If only they had a special class for this as school.

"I never wanted to have to tell you this," Sydney began, glancing nervously at her sister. It was a difficult conversation to have with one's mother. "You know how you buy those giant, soft taco shells when we have tacos?" I nodded, bracing for the worst. "You are actually making burritos. Tacos are served open-faced. Burritos are wrapped." Needless to say, I was stunned. So I ordered my first professional burrito, It lay heavy, soft and warm in my hand. "You know what this feels like..." I began to say before quickly getting interrupted. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about," I assured my girls, "the key to food awareness is communication." I then learned that squeezing the burrito too hard leads to pretty disastrous consequences. But, for my first time, I thought I did pretty well.

We made it to the game...Row 10 behind home plate! Close enough to see Hosmer wiggle while at bat. "Why is Gargamel terrorizing the fans," I wondered. "Who's Gargamel? Sydney wondered.  Thus I began a lengthy history of Smurfdom lore while Savannah tried to explain the origin of the word padre." "I just learned what a burrito is, Savannah," I snapped, "My brain is not ready to accept the introduction of another Spanish word."

We had a delightful time. The girls ducked under their chairs upon the arrival of any foul ball while I screamed, "I got it!" when it was very clear that I did not, in fact, have it. We were initially confused by the crowd reaction to an apparently naughty Brewers player to the plate. "Boo-oo! Cheater! Boo-oo!" A quick Google search affirmed that this wayward player was, indeed, pretty naughty. He arrived up to bat as the 9th inning began with the bases loaded and the Padres with what had been a comfortable three run lead. The crowd rose as one, very angry body, the stadium echoing their disdain. My voice joined theirs. "Everyone makes mistakes!" I hollered, willing a weak hit to right field. "Repent, batter!" Fueled by hatred, his Grand Slam caused a lot of mouths to suddenly slam shut.  A mostly quiet crowd exited the stadium. As we were rooting for Lorenzo Cain as well as Eric Hosmer, we left happy. "I didn't like how the announcer pronounced the Hoz's name with an s," Sydney remarked but we all agreed that our new second favorite Padre's player is Cory Spangenberg, a good third baseman with a LOT of personality. We laughed as the Brewer's first baseman chased Cory out and around the baseline, Spangenberg ducking, diving, and dodging his way, unsuccessfully, to the bag.

Our wait for an Uber in the midst of the mobbed Gaslamp District put us in the epi-center of a street-side brawl. I was already distracted by the scantily-clad costumes of the clubbers ("Put on a sweater, for Pete's sake!" That skirt is definitely not at finger-tip length!"), when the first of a hailstorm of beer bottles flew over our heads.Salty language filled the street. Fists were flung. Bottles broken. Glass shattered. It was clear that a diplomatic resolution would not soon be met. "Well...THAT was something," I said, as we hopped into our Uber and sped off. I would not have predicted to end my evening in THAT fashion. I couldn't WAIT to see what would happen next.