Thursday, June 27, 2013

So we are glad to be home

You can tell the families that have not spent the last forty-eight hours trying to get home from vacation. They're the ones cheerfully pointing out airplanes to their kids instead of obsessively refreshing the radar image and shouting "MotherF*$*#ER" every time a thunderstorm pops up within a two-hundred mile radius of the airport. The ones whose children are still wearing their shoes and their pants, whose coloring books are still neatly tucked into their backpacks, who are not beating each other with paper plates covered in tomato sauce and plasticky bits of leftover cheese.

We'd been there since about five-thirty, when our (also delayed) flight from Portland arrived. The kids were relatively fresh then, considering we'd spent the last day and a half in travel-limbo, between the delays and cancelled flights. We'd had a good time though, visiting my cousin and her family, having a lovely brunch with my grandmother and parents, and touring a submarine in Portsmouth. Ryan and I still believed in the pervasive good of people and believed we would be getting back to Texas with minimal further hassle. We were tired, but happy, and consoled ourselves with the promise of a pizza dinner during our layover and sleeping in our own beds that night.

And then Ryan checked the departures board. Our eight PM flight was delayed until ten. I did the math in my head. We'd be getting home at one o'clock in the morning. Two more hours in plastic airport chairs, two more hours out in public with the exhausted children, two more hours of being AWAKE.

My shoulders slumped in despair. I eyed the airport bar across the concourse and wondered just how much alcohol a fetus can tolerate before it really starts to cause actual problems. I mean, are we talking about five IQ points? Webbed feet? A tail? I needed all the information. I wondered if the after-hours nurse would be willing to provide some kind of risk-assessment framework.

Once we found our gate and settled our four backpacks, laptop case, car seat, camera bag, and harem of lovies on the floor at the end of a row of seats near a window, Ryan took the big boys to the potty. I stayed with James who has exactly two operating modes at airports: 1) Asleep and 2) "PLANE! TRUCK! PLANE! PLANE! MAMA! MAMA PLANE! PLANE PLANE TRUCK PLANE TRUCK PLANEPLANEPLANEPLANE! UP UP UP UP UP UP UP! MAMA! TRUCK! PLANE! UP! PLANEPLANE UP UP UP!" When Ryan came back with the kids they spent about thirty minutes playing with a wall-mounted computer that takes digital photos and sends them to your email as a postcard. They are not doing anything wrong, exactly, but for some reason the retired couple who had chosen to sit RIGHT BY THE COMPUTER looked extremely annoyed with the raucous giggling and running back and forth. I halfheartedly looked up from my Kindle about every five minutes and reminded them to settle down. Predictably this technique was ineffective. Especially given the fact that they had slept seven of the previous twenty-four hours, rendering their frontal-lobes completely useless.

Ryan left around six to go look for dinner. I attempted to settle the kids on the floor so they could pick out a movie to watch on the computer. Instead they found matchbox cars in Wes's backpack and turned our aisle of seats into a demolition derby. A particularly errant car rolled under the feet of the annoyed retired couple and, to my horror, Wes crawled after it at warp speed as if no one was there. I attempted to stop him, but was pinned underneath a four pound fetus and a thirty pound toddler so all I could do was watch helplessly as Wes came to rest with his head between the man's legs, one shoulder against each of his shins, arms reaching around blindly to retrieve the car.

"Holy Shit" I said to no one in particular. Then I screeched Wes's name in a tone of voice that left NO room for ambiguity. He popped out from between the legs and turned to me, smiling. SMILING. He held up the car. "Got it!" he said cheerfully. A frontal lobe is a terrible thing to lose.

Ryan returned with a large cheese pizza and a beam of light from heaven shining down on his head. Angels were singing. We turned on a movie. The kids ate pizza. That was a really beautiful forty-five minutes. But then it was over so Ryan took them to the playground at Gate 12, mostly to get them away from the annoyed retired couple, who was steadfastly refusing to move to any of the other seven million chairs in the gate area. I asked him to be back in thirty minutes because we would be boarding soon after that. I am an overly optimistic moron.

They came back right on time but there was still no plane at our gate. A few JetBlue planes came tantalizingly close, but passed us by every time. I began to think I was going to die at JFK. Or at least have the baby there. I thought of all the fun jokes we could make about how she was born in New York City. "NEW YORK CITY?!" we could say, just like the old Pace Picante Sauce commercials used to say. I stared at the bar for a few more minutes. Ryan started another movie for the big boys. James went to sleep in his carseat.

And then it was ten o'clock, our (delayed) scheduled departure time. There was still no plane. The gate agent came on for storytime. "Our aircraft will be coming into Terminal 4 from Barbados, which is the international terminal. Once those passengers have deplaned, the plane will be brought here to Terminal 5 where it will have to clear customs. Then we will need to clean it, stock it with food, and perform a safety check before we can board." She said this in a slightly annoyed tone as if we, the ignorant customers, just didn't get how hard it is to get a usable airplane over here to Gate 6, Terminal 5. Like explaining the intricacies of their screwed up system should make it OK that I'd been entertaining a two year old in an airport for the last four hours with no end in sight. And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that my head shot up off of my neck and spun around for a few minutes, shooting laser beams and f-bombs in all directions.

"TIME." I hissed at Ryan, leveling my gaze, "I NEED TO KNOW A TIME."

He stood and approached the gate agent then returned, dead man walking-style, and said "Probably just another forty-five minutes to an hour," he said casually, without making eye contact.

By eleven o'clock, the plane had arrived, but they had been "cleaning" it for nearly thirty minutes. I grabbed Ryan by the collar and asked him to tell the gate agent that I didn't care if there were live chickens on board, ENOUGH WITH THE FREAKING CLEANING. "YOU TELL HER!" I nearly shouted. He stood and walked somewhere to pretend to do something leaving me to obsess about the line of thunderstorms that was getting closer and closer to the airport and wondering if they would end up canceling this flight too and mentally drafting the angry letter I would be sending about how we could have taken off BEFORE the storms if they weren't so obsessed with getting every last peanut wrapper out from between the seats.

Fortunately they didn't cancel it and a lone person clapped as they finally let the first passenger walk down the jet bridge. I usually love those moments of solidarity but it was clear that the tone of the crowd was not one of celebration but of barely restrained fury, except for the lone clapper, who had clearly had a better day than the rest of us. Preboarding for families happened a little later so we all trooped down to the plane, Ryan carrying a still sleeping James strapped into his carseat.

We settled in our seats at the back of the plane and then waited for another forty minutes while everyone filed on soooooooo sloooooowly that the flight attendant had to remind them to "Put your effing bag away and STEP OUT OF THE AISLE so other people can get by because WE ALL WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE OMG!!" (paraphrasing) approximately every five minutes. She also apologized profusely to me for the delay and gave me all the water I wanted, once she saw the kids and the belly.

The next four hours (one-ish of those spent sitting on the runway, engines off, doing nothing at all) can be summarized this way: James asleep, Ryan asleep, Wes asleep, Charlie and me wide awake debating whether "Family Guy" is a children's show or not. OR, Charlie feeling sleepy but restless and demonstrating his frustration by kicking and scratching me. Also, me going to the bathroom every time they turned off the seatbelt sign to brace my hands against the wall and do "cat-cow" until my back felt less like I was in labor. It was EXACTLY the kind of family vacation memory they put on the cover of Down East magazine.

When the pilot declared it was time to land I was honestly surprised it was really happening. The more likely scenario was that I had accidentally found myself in the plot of a horror movie about a plane that never lands. We landed at THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING, so that was good.

Wes refused to wake up and walk himself off the plane. Charlie was reduced to communicating in whines and grunts. James was bright-eyed and bushy tailed having just awoken from a five hour nap. He's my favorite.

Ryan finally asked a flight attendant to carry the carseat so he could sling Wes over his shoulder. When we got out of the jet bridge, I suggested we throw all the kids and bags into two of the wheelchairs they keep at the gate and to my complete surprise, Ryan the rule follower was totally on board.

This worked until we got to the men's room where Charlie went in to pee and Wes stood outside screaming at full volume and blowing three-inch long gobs of snot out of his nose. We could not get him to ride in the wheelchair after that, so I loaded up Charlie and James and Ryan carried Wes and the carseat.

By the time we got to baggage (It must have been about three thirty by this point), Charlie had fallen asleep draped across the wheelchair looking like a junkie sleeping off a bender in the emergency room. Wes was still screaming. We got our bags and took two trips out to the shuttle stop, where we waited for TWENTY MINUTES for the shuttle that is supposed to be waiting when you get out. Ryan called them twice. We finally got to the car around four and home around five. The kids went straight to bed and slept until lunchtime, but Ryan and I both HAD to work on Wednesday. It was not a productive day.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Maine long weekend!

After much internal debate earlier this spring I decided I could, between Google Hangout and more email correspondence than my students would like, take a long weekend in June for our annual trip to Maine.  And that is how June turned into the Month of Travel.

Early June was a weeklong workshop in San Antonio.  You'll remember that as the time I lost all perspective and freaked out about leaving the kids in the perfectly capable hands of Ryan and our babysitter.  And then had a great time anyway.

Then I was home for twelve hours before a return trip to San Antonio for Ryan's cousin's wedding--another great time.

And then I was home for three days before leaving for The Old Town with my students for a two-night site-visit/tour/work day.

I was home from that trip for almost eighteen hours before I had to take Ryan and the kids to the airport for their trip up to Maine.  That part was not great.  But I did get three days at home alone to work like a crazy person and also eat a lot of great food with friends I don't get to see enough of.

After all that, and after making sure my students had a lengthy list of activities and instructions and writing assignments and making them promise to email me with even the smallest question, I hopped (HA, as if) on a plane and headed up to Maine to join the family.

Let's not get into the ridiculousness of sitting on planes for four hours while this pregnant. There are no words to do that experience justice. Except possibly this one: cankles. Holy geez. Instead, let's look at magical vacation pictures that one day will make me forget just how freaking early my kids get up in in the Eastern Time Zone.


First thing the kids wanted to attempt was a brisk after-dinner swim in spite of the 65F air and 58F water temperatures. They got in to about the hem of their swimsuits. James wanted to swim too, even though he was already dressed for bed.


The next morning I sat on the porch with my coffee and practiced with my new camera and telephoto lens. Just call me the seagull paparazzi.


Later I would use that same lens to capture this stunning display, a scene Charlie calls "LOOK AT THOSE BIRDS WHAT ARE THEY DOING OMG ARE THEY MATING?!!" Indeed they were. Quite loudly. That dock turned out to be the Motel 6 of the laughing gull community. Nature!


Charlie knows a surprising amount of information about mating, interestingly. "Maybe the male is using that call to attract the female?" he suggested. Then "After they mate they will have babies!" I am glad he has such good information, but I am wondering if he's going to make the mental leap from the animal to the human world--and when is that going to happen? HEB is my best guess. Followed by church. Oh how I look forward to that conversation.


Hey look, Ryan took the kids sailing!


Then I took the boat out for a spin with Ryan and Wes. I'm like a walking infomercial for the Baby Girdle (TM) except for the fact that I have lost some of the agility required to maneuver around a small sailboat quickly now that I have the giant belly and the two asses. I spent a lot of time in a modified squat position with my butt hanging over the centerboard well, tiller in one hand, the main sheet in my teeth, and the other hand hanging onto a cleat for dear life. Ryan said I looked awesome. I told him we needed to turn around because this was not working. I'll go sailing next year. On the other hand, that *had* to be good for my quads.


Last night we made S'mores on the beach.


There are not many pictures of that magical childhood moment because have you ever tried to juggle a huge, delicate camera, a two year old, and fire? One of those things had to go.

After a couple of false starts, Charlie jumped into the water this afternoon with a cry of "NO REGRETS!!" Which meant Ryan then had to get in with him (MANY REGRETS, haha) and then they swam the two-hundred yard open water challenge before packing it in and climbing out on a friend's dock. They were seriously OUT there.


It was a good opportunity for me to practice looking away when my kids are doing age appropriate but terrifying things lest I pass my apprehension onto them and scar them for life. Which is good because they were so proud!


We had lobster tonight. This is perhaps the most obnoxious thing I have ever posted on Facebook because the lobster was delivered to our dock directly from the lobster boat. My dad knows a guy.


The guys inspected the goods before we boiled them alive.


It's been a great, low key trip with lots of sitting around relaxing and walking to the store for fresh donuts (Baby Girdle (TM) whutwhut!). I can't wait to come back! I can wait for tomorrow's plane rides. That's going to be kind of bad.


Tuesday, June 18, 2013

32 weeks: The Hungry Period

So, Fetusita is due in eight-ish weeks and my digestive system and brain are currently in a battle of the ages.  At stake is my comfort level and sanity.  And my research project.  It's difficult to concentrate on drag coefficients in shallow water when your body is screaming at you to EAT SOMETHING RIGHT NOW OR WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!! 

For instance, this morning, my brain did not seem to understand that lunch plans are a mere 45 minutes away.

Nope.  You can't wait 45 minutes.  You have to walk to the vending machine, buy a Snicker's bar, and demolish the whole thing while still standing in front of the machine.

And yes, I did bring a peach for a snack.  It was tasty but woefully inadequate.

In fact the Snicker's bar might prove inadequate.  I was wondering why the vending machine doesn't sell lean protein.  Like breakfast tacos.  Or turkey legs.  How might meetings go differently if I sat there munching on a turkey leg, wordlessly staring everyone down?

"Actually, I WOULD like to include Chapter 9 in the Earth Science curriculum," RRRRRRRRRIIIIIP!  Chew slowly, stare.

"I think that is a great idea!" agrees everyone in the room.

Maybe this is how I could get the climate class I've been asking for for two years.

The caveat to all this calories, CALORIES, CALORIES!!! business is that I can't eat more than a toddler-size portion of many foods without enraging the heartburn gods.

I had a child-sized portion of ice cream after dinner Sunday night around 7:00 then woke up at midnight choking and gagging on stomach acid.  You are welcome.  It was disgusting.  I slept sitting up for the rest of the evening.

I may regret the Snickers bar in thirty minutes or so, but let me assure you, it was NOT optional.

So that's how I'm living right now.  My tummy is all "EAT SOMETHING OR YOU WILL PERISH!" so I do and then it says "OH CRAP WAIT NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"

I think it has something to do with Fetusita taking up all the room previously occupied by my organs, or something.  So like my liver is pinching my stomach down to the size of a discarded raisin in the back of a minivan?

Bladder is right where it should be, though.  Look for that in a second installment of this disgusting post.  I'm off to inhale some Thai food then spend the rest of the afternoon popping Tums and regretting it.

Friday, June 14, 2013

You're On Speaker

Ryan:  Hi!  Charlie, Wes, come here, Mama's on the phone!!!

Charlie:  HI MOM!!  I MISS YOU.

James:  Cheeeeese!

Wes:  Rossby threw up in da playroom!

James:  Cheeeeese!

Wes:  I had a ham sandwich for dinner.  We went to da playground.  I rode my bike.

Charlie:  When do you come home?

Me:  Tomorrow before dinner!

Wes, Charlie:  Yayyayayayaayaayya!

James:  Cheeeeeeese!

Ryan:  How did your day go?  Did you get a lot done?

Me:  Yes, it was great!  The students did some work on the tower and we had a great research meeting.  We spent a lot of time working on the Matlab--

Wes: Rossby. THREW. UP!

Me:  Trying to get through the Sandy data.  Good day.  I got to see Dr. Advisor.


Ryan (to James):  No, sweetie pie, I'm not taking pictures, I'm talking to Mama.

Wes (in background):  Mama is HERE!!!!!

Ryan:  Are you here??

Me:  No, I'm in the old town.

Wes, (insistent):  Mama is HERE!!!!!  There's her car!

Ryan: No, buddy, she's on the phone from far away.  She'll be back tomorrow.

(There are muffled sad sounds)


Charlie:  Do I have to go to camp tomorrow?  When are you coming back?  When can we go to Maine.

Ryan:  Wes, buddy, it's OK.  She'll be here tomorrow.  Before dinner!  Why don't you come talk to her some more.  It's OK.

Me:  Hey, Wes!  Tell me more about the playground!  How was the rest of your day?

Wes:  Papa gave us ice cream.

Me:  Great!  That sounds awesome.  You know what I saw today?

Wes:  What?

Me:  A prairie dog!  It was just like Ross, only tiny.  And it was eating--

Wes:  Rossby threw up in the playroom!  (giggle giggle giggle)

Ryan:  OK, everyone, time to get ready for bed.  Everyone say goodnight!

Charlie, Wes:  NIGHT!!!!!

James:  Might might!

Ryan:  I can't wait to see you tomorrow.  Love you!  Night!

Me:  You too.  Goodnight.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Leaning In. But I'd rather lean into my bed for a long nap.

Going to the old town tomorrow to show my students the instrumentation we are using for our project.  As always I am utterly convinced that something terrible is going to happen while I am away, but it's only two nights (she says resolutely while inhaling on a ten count).

Couple of things... I only have one pair, possibly two of maternity pants that I actually enjoy wearing and that fit.  I've been rocking the same two black maxi skirts pretty much every day since the beginning of May.  Which is fine most of the time, but doesn't exactly scream "working in a dirty warehouse, crawling around, and sitting on the floor."  So I guess two days and two pairs of pants isn't exactly that big of a problem, though both are of the highly professional cargo-capri variety.  And pants do make me look like an oompaloompa.  So that's an issue.

The students and I are staying in the hotel where my family stayed (and almost got kicked out) when Ryan and I got married.  It is also the hotel where I stayed during my defense, which means it is the hotel in which I tried to finish up my powerpoints in the bathroom while Ryan got the kids to sleep, the hotel where Ryan and I ate a spaghetti dinner sitting on the floor in the six inch wide shaft of light coming in through the curtains after the kids finally went to sleep, and also the hotel where I had to line my bed with towels after missing three baby-Wes feedings (he had formula) due to my post-defense activities (ahem) and then laid awake until four AM when he woke up mercifully hungry (always travel with your breastpump valves, friends!!).  So many memories!

And also, the students have done an excellent job preparing for the research meeting we will have while we are there.  *I* have not finished my contribution yet because the freaking computer won't work the way I need it to.  Isn't that the story of my post-graduate life?  I have warned the rest of the team via email, but I have a feeling that I will feel just as stupid in front of Dr. Advisor now as I did five years ago when in a similar situation.

And then there is the whole absentee mother thing that is bothering me a LOT.  I just missed a week of their lives!  Every time I sit down James and Wes crawl into my lap, heads down, thumbs engaged, for a cuddle.  This has been the toughest part of the summer.  Charlie is pretty unhappy (and highly verbal!) about the situation and I really REALLY want to take him with me, but Ryan doesn't think it would work.  We will all be in Maine together a week from today and I think individual ice cream cone dates with me and each kid are on the agenda.

Monday, June 10, 2013

It may be time to revisit "The Boy Who Cried Wolf"

When Wes asked forty-nine times if he could wear his shorts and tshirt underneath his church clothes to the wedding we went to on Saturday I told him in exasperation "As long as I can't see it, you can do what you want. But you might be really hot." He was undeterred and happily tugged his khakis over his black soccer shorts and his (thankfully dark) blue dress shirt over his turquoise "Learn to Surf" tshirt.

There was lots of fooling around in the hotel before we made it to the car but eventually we fired up the GPS and pulled out of the parking lot with an hour to spare. We have learned to allow extra time before things like weddings to account for the invariable poop accident, throw up episode, encounter with fire ants, and the like. Twenty minutes later we arrived at the wedding with no issues.

It was a Christmas miracle.

The wedding was at a sprawling college campus so Ryan parked the car and found a campus map. He located the only building on the map with the word "chapel" in the name and we all started walking. And walking. And walking. Wes complained that he was getting hot. I ignored him.

After walking the entire perimeter of the "chapel" and not finding any open doors or other relatives we figured we were not in the right place. I was exhausted so Ryan took James to go get the car to pick us up. I stayed behind with Charlie and Wes. Charlie found a bird's egg to admire. Wes continued to complain about being hot. I was patient at first, reminding him that we were all hot and that there was nothing we could do about it. When that didn't work I started taking pictures of him looking angry for my amusement.


It was a good chance to practice with the new camera.


Because, you know, complaining kids are nothing new around here. They can complain about ANYTHING--"Charlie counted the holes in my Crocs but *I* wanted to count the holes in my Crocs" is what I got to listen to all the way home from the Y tonight--so we tend not to take incessant whining seriously anymore. Go to college and get a good job so you can discuss it with your therapist one day, I say. It was all I could do to stop myself from saying "No KIDDING you're hot, you have two sets of clothes on and it's over ninety degrees out here."

Finally Ryan arrived with the over-air-conditioned car and we all piled in. Ryan had to help Wes buckle because (we assumed) he was pissed off about something. Like being hot. Which he continued to complain about. Because I am sensitive and nurturing I finally lost it and said "WES! WHAT do you want me to do? I know it's hot! Everyone is hot! It's SUMMER! There is nothing we can do about you being hot!"

And then he refused to get out of the car at the ceremony (which Ryan had found in the mean time). Ryan suggested I take Charlie and he'd take the little kids to find a parking spot. Probably because he saw all the veins on my forehead popping out like a relief map of the New York City subway system.

Ryan came in shortly after Charlie and I snuck in (which was sometime after the bridal procession) and we all settled in the back two pews with another family that had five kids. Perfect camouflage for all of our whispers and giggles and hissed reprimands to SIT UP SIT UP SIT UP SIT UP GOD GAVE YOU A SPINE FOR A REASON. Just before the Psalm reading Wes turned around in his seat and looked at me.

And he looked BAD.

Beet red face, half-open eyes, listless.


"RYAN!" I said in a stage whisper "HE LOOKS TERRIBLE!"

Ryan took one look at him and whisked him out of the back of the sanctuary to find a water fountain. Later he told me Wes was unable to walk all the way to the car so Ryan sat him on a staircase and told him not to move while he RAN back to the car to get a water bottle, which he filled up TWICE in the men's room for Wes to drink.

By the time they returned to the sanctuary (after the ceremony), Wes was completely back to normal.

Heat emergency aside, we had a great time at the reception, which was in a beautiful historic mansion with a gently sloping lawn for the kids to run around. And also to throw handfuls of ice at each other, which considering Wes's situation was probably the perfect activity for them.

All better immediately following the ceremony.

Cousin screentime break.

This ("hugging") invariable turns into...


There were cupcakes (yummy, yummy cupcakes), naturally.

Wes and I kicked up our heels.

And James drank about two gallons of pineapple and cantaloupe aquas frescas from all the kids' leftovers he could get his hands on and had to ride home pantsless. Par-tay an-i-mal.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Remember the Alamo

Greetings from San Antonio! This has turned out to be a really good trip. After another meltdown Tuesday evening after an exhausting day walking up stairs and hills and a teaching practicum that went very, very badly, I wanted to bail out and go home. Highly professional. Highly.

OH, and did I mention that my feet became alarmingly swollen from all the sitting and walking and I had to wrap them up in my baby girdle to get them back to (almost) normal? It was a great moment. I was quite proud of my wrapping skills.

But our sitter sent me these pictures, which made things seem better.



The kids had camp! And after that they went to their favorite playground! And then they got snowcones! And climbed trees! They sounded happy and relaxed on the phone. Hooray!

Ryan sent this one of them eating homemade black bean burgers.


So in summary, they are having more fun and eating better than if I was home. I do not have a problem with this. I have some limitations right now. I am just glad they are having fun.

Wednesday morning started with this!


A google hangout with two of my four favorite people! A great way to start the day. Great. We couldn't do it this morning because they had to get ready for camp but Ryan said we could tomorrow. Also, they fixed the issue with the hot water in the dorm showers, so all around, it was a great morning. (Aside: the dorm they put us in? WAY nicer than other dorms. Carpet! Private bathrooms! No roommate! A huge balcony with a pretty view of campus! I may have chosen the wrong UG institution. Possibly)

Later, my second lesson went WAY, WAY, WAY better than the first. WAY. Good feedback from everyone plus two down one to go!

That night James couldn't decide if he'd rather have ice cream or his thumb.


Today we had a regroup session in the morning where we shared concerns about issues we are having in our classes and brainstormed solutions. There is lots of time for discussion and reflection. The group is from all different disciplines and many different universities, but everyone is so smart and friendly and interested in each others work. Conversations at meals are just as valuable as the scheduled times. And for whatever reason (could it be the belleh?) everyone wants to talk to me about their kids. Which is great! I have several good pictures on my desktop all ready to go so we can compare. You hear about all the horror stories about academia and family and how it's a big secret and this is something completely new to me. They are also interested in my research and my classes, though. It's a good mix.

And at night (after a two-hour after-dinner plenary, which is kind of exhausting but in a good way) they have a room upstairs in the dorm with a big screen TV and a fridge full of beer, though I'm more interested in the bowl of halloween candy and the Trader Joe's chocolate bar supply and the nice cold water to drink.

Today we had a morning plenary and then they took us to a mission for a tour. We are taking a break now before a trip out for dinner somewhere. And then I will come back here, put on the Ladies' Support Stockings that I got at Walgreens when I figured I didn't want to leave the room wearing my girdle booties, and go up to watch the Spurs game.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Not excited.

Going on a work trip today.  It's a workshop I am theoretically really looking forward to and it's two hours away, which makes more sense than going to Minnesota like I did last year.

But, yesterday Wes had a 104 degree fever and today when I left he was fever-free but sobbing because he tripped over a shoe, which makes me think it wasn't just about the shoe, but probably the fact that I'm leaving him for a week and he still feels punky AND he tripped over a shoe.  They have swim lessons tonight and their first day of camp tomorrow (which is at a Baptist church.  A perfectly nice-looking Baptist church, but still, I told Ryan to crank NPR on the way home) which I will miss.  And someone almost ran into us at a stop sign on the way to school, which wasn't that big of a deal except it seemed like one of those bad omens Oprah says you should listen to (confidential to Oprah: If I let the crazy pregnant anxiety govern every decision, I would never leave the house).  And I had to carry my fourteen foot long maternity pillow through my building and into my office and just enough people made stupid comments to tip me over the edge into ugly-cryville.  And it hurts to walk and I'm hungry and I miss the kids already and WHOO BOY can you say hormonal?

I have eighteen minutes to pull myself together before the girl I am riding with gets here to pick me and my giant pillow up.  I don't think that's going to be enough time.

Thankfully she is pregnant too.  Our giant pillows can ride together in the back.