So, I'm buying a skirt and a beach cover up at this little store in Kuta, Bali when one of the female clerks pats me on the butt and says in Indonesian, "you have a nice butt it's big!"

Argh! So, I explain, no, it's not a nice butt, I want a small butt. Both the clerks helping me disagree saying that big butts are better here in Indonesia; men like big butts.

I tell them that in America, small butts are better. They laugh and tell me how crazy we Americans are. I tell them I have a Beyonce butt. They look confused.

"Do you know Beyonce?" I ask. Both shake their heads.

"J Lo?" I ask again. They both nod in affirmation.

"I have a J Lo butt," I say. They laugh and agree.

But enough about me. Bali was fabulous, big butts and all. We spent our second R&R on that amazing island, and we have come to the conclusion that with four kids and living in Banda Aceh, Sumatra, Indonesia at the moment assisting in the rebuilding efforts after the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami, we are resort junkies.

We stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel in Kuta, and loved every single minute of its sterile, coddling, over the top luxurious environment. From the moment we stepped into the main lobby at 8pm on Saturday hearing a live rock band playing in the bar, to the buffet breakfasts complete with pork(!) bacon, to the ridiculously large pool equipped with two kids' slides, kiddie pool, fountains galore and sand pool, and just across the street from the best surf beach I have EVER seen, we were in heaven.

My husband's mantra of the week was these kids have no idea how lucky they are' as we spent entire days at the pool, taking turns on the sand island playing volleyball, napping with the baby and eating all sorts of American comfort food in the private cabana, and swimming every inch of that enormous pool. Even though we have our own pool back in at home in Southern California, and all the kids have basically grown up in water, this was the first time witnessing the green hair syndrome because we spent soooo much time frolicking in chlorine.

When not at the pool, we schlepped across the street to the beach with four kids, three surfboards, diaper bag, drinks, snacks, and straw mats to sit on. My husband went into the ocean to monitor near drowning incidents and help maneuver boys and boards. I hung out on the beach with the baby and about a million people hawking their wares.

I've learned the best way to disarm all the hawkers is to speak bahasa Indonesian back at them,

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