are things complicated yet?

Independence Day, by the numbers

Wagons, bikes or strollers decorated: 0

Parades seen/participated in: 0

Fireworks witnessed: 0

Cute red/white/blue outfits/accessories Claire wore: 0

Parental Fails: 4 really colossal ones

***

Houseguests: 2

Pounds of ribs and brisket smoked: 23

Bacon-wrapped jalapenos: 36

Rounds of Margaritas made: 4

Bottles of Grand Marnier emptied: 1

Margaritas I drank: 0 (Not sure how this happened; everyone was awfully thirsty while I made dinner and then, all of a sudden, the Grand Marnier was in the trash.  WAH.)

Batches of chocolate chip cookies: 2

Birthdays: 1

Movies watched: 2 (Edge of Darkness, Brewster's Millions)

Episodes of "Whale Wars" watched (and made fun of, my GOD what a bunch of stupid hippies): 2

Trips to the pool: 2

Jaguars seen: 1 (Oddly enough, the Dallas AQUARIUM has a Jaguar.)

Times I unloaded the dishwasher and loaded it again: TOO MANY TO COUNT

Parental and General Wins: A million.  

When life gives you a broken dishwasher, you make a cardboard playhouse

I'm not going to bore you with all of the particulars (and believe me, I tried to write THAT post and it was 500 words before I got CLOSE to a point) so here's the short version of how I ended up with no dishwasher on Saturday:

The dishwasher in this house has black and slimy crud inside of it and it's gross.  Blech.

I bought a new dishwasher two weeks ago. I got it on crazy sale. It was a great day.

I spent the next two weeks waiting for it to ship, since it was a special order.

It arrived last Wednesday, but couldn't be delivered until a week later.  I was too antsy. I could not possibly wait ANOTHER week for my beloved dishwasher.

I finagled a plan. My grandfather has a truck so I asked him to lend us a vehicle.  Chris took out our OLD dishwasher, put it in the truck and took it to Lowe's to be recycled/disposed of.

He picked up the new dishwasher and brought it home. Was feeling quite clever at this point.

We opened the box and it was crumpled and smashed and totally inoperable. I stifled a cry of despair.

We called Lowe's.  They have to special order it again.  It's going to be another 2-3 weeks.

In the meantime we have no dishwasher because we (stupidly) gave up our old one before ensuring the new one worked.

But, really, WHO EXPECTED IT TO BE ALL CRUMPLED AND SMASHED UP IN THE BOX? It was like someone had put something very heavy on the back and it went smush.  It even broke out of the wood frame on the bottom of the box. The door only opens halfway and the racks are crooked.  It's a pile of junk.

Claire seemed to enjoy the box though. 

So, that's how we came to be A Family Without A Dishwasher.  This hole in my kitchen is nice, right? 

What's annoying is that I'm not sure exactly how long we'll have to deal with this.  We're on Day 3 and I can say without hesitation that this totally sucks in the most snobby, modern, first-world way possible and I NEED A DISHWASHER.  I'm just one of those uppity people.

*SIGH.*

I said I wasn't going to cry, but I just might

Goodbye south side of this house, that floods with water when it rains even a measly 1/4 inch and breeds mosquitoes and then allows the dog to trample mud inside.

Goodbye master bathroom, that took 10 minutes to get hot water and even then the pressure was so-so.  Okay, it sucked. And the sinks never drained well either.

Goodbye kitchen that never seemed to have enough storage for even the most basic set of things.

Goodbye neighbor Sean, and your questionable lawn mowing habits what with your flip flops and using the weed eater upside down as an edger. We were always ready to call 911 on your behalf.

Goodbye bathrooms and hallways with no linen closet, which annoyed me every damn time I washed towels and sheets and then had to cram them in the office closet next to the paper and envelopes.

***

Goodbye backyard where I first took pictures of my engagement ring and my happy face to show friends and family.

Goodbye house that we had parties in, back when this group had two kids, rather than the seven we have between us now.  (We don't have parties like this any more.)

Goodbye patio, that was host to so many fun, long, wine-soaked nights under the stars with friends.

Goodbye living room/dining room that was sometimes awkward to host 10+ person dinner parties in, since you weren't designed to handle both sets of furniture, but I crammed it all in there anyway.

  

Goodbye to the room where Jenni taught us all about Facebook, back when only students could sign up for it.

Goodbye house that hosted toasts.

Goodbye house where Jake often misbehaved.

Goodbye kitchen where we hosted friends.

Goodbye tiny bathroom that I took bloaty pictures in.

Goodbye house we brought our first baby home to.

Goodbye kitchen sink, where she took her first baths.

Goodbye nursery, where we spent so many long nights.

Goodbye to the room where she took her first steps.

Goodbye, little house.  Goodbye to our home.

We fell in love with each other here, thousands of times over.  I hope your new owners enjoy you just as much as we did, even for all of your faults.  You were a good home to this little family.

Love,

Chris, A'Dell, Claire and Jake

Texas Aggie Bonfire 1999

10 years ago at 2:42 am Texas Aggie Bonfire fell.  I was a sophomore.

It twisted in a nightmarish pile of logs that were tied together.  The logs were on top of the students.  Students were trapped in the logs.  It was horrific and shocking.  It took hours to rescue them.  12 students died.

This is Tim Kerlee.  He directed workers to at least 5 other students before allowing them to help him.   He did not survive and was, by all accounts, an amazing young man.  Look carefully at his legs; they're not in a normal position. 

It's a really painful picture for me to look at, even a decade later, and I'm only posting it to give you a grasp of the scale and reality of the scene.

It was horrible.  The day was horrible and the weeks that followed were awful.  We were a dazed student body. 

***

When I was at school there were 2 types of students: those who were REALLY REALLY into Bonfire and those who planned to watch it burn.  The REALLY REALLY group had t-shirts that said things like, "Up on Stack all night...test at 8 am." 

That's what they actually did: they stayed up ALL NIGHT stacking logs on the Polo field and then went to class at 8 am in their dirty overalls and Carhartt jackets, reeking of cigarettes and Copenhagen, took the test and then went back out to stack.  The Bonfire guys were an unofficial fraternity that had many layers of unique traditions.  They formed friendships for a lifetime out there. 

The other group loved Bonfire, but we preferred not to get our hands dirty.  In any case, it's fair to say that there were only a small handful of hippie students who piteously worried about the poor trees and the rest of us loved the ever living hell out of Bonfire for a variety of reasons.

When Bonfire fell it was sort of this watershed moment for the University.  We knew that the school would never be the same; there was a level of enthusiasm, spirit and camaraderie that Bonfire created for us, that nothing else could replace.  We knew that after such an accident there was no way the University could allow the activity to continue on campus.

And so Bonfire just...ended.  It was there and then it wasn't.  It was strange.  It was this fall ritual that a lot of activities and traditions were built on and then POOF.  It simply vanished and we sort of didn't know what to do with ourselves to achieve that same level of excitement and activity. 

People tried to continue.  The traditions with odd names like Elephant Walk, Yellow Pot, Red Pot, Pass-Down, Crew Chief, Grode and Replant carried on.  It was strange though because these traditions were predicated on Bonfire and without Bonfire it felt weird continuing to follow through the motions.

And so, as traditions are wont to do when their purpose becomes unclear to their new keepers, the old ways and rituals and purposes gradually faded.  Some are gone.  And some probably have a new stated purpose that has nothing to do with Bonfire.

Bonfire truly was an impressive event and it's tragic that the story ended this way.  I only ever saw one burn - 1998.  I so would have loved for it to be all stacked up this week, ready to burn next. 

***

The Last Corps Trip

By P.H. DuVal Jr. '51

It was Judgment Day in Aggieland

And tenseness filled the air;
All knew there was a trip at hand,
But not a soul knew where.

Assembled on the drill field
Was the world-renowned Twelfth Man,
The entire fighting Aggie team
And the famous Aggie Band.

And out in front with Royal Guard
The reviewing party stood;
St. Peter and his angel staff
Were choosing bad from good.

First he surveyed the Aggie team
And in terms of an angel swore,
“By Jove, I do believe I’ve seen
This gallant group before.

I’ve seen them play since way back when,
And they’ve always had the grit;
I’ve seen ‘em lose and I’ve seen ‘em win,
But I’ve never seen ‘em quit.

No need for us to tarry here
Deciding upon their fates;
Tis plain as the halo on my head
That they’ve opened Heaven’s gates.”

And when the Twelfth Man heard this,
They let out a mighty yell
That echoed clear to Heaven
and shook the gates of Hell.

“And what group is this upon the side,”
St. Peter asked his aide,
“That swelled as if to burst with pride

When we our judgment made?”

 “Why, sir, that’s the Cadet Corps
That’s known both far and wide
For backing up their fighting team
Whether they won, lost or tied.”

“Well, then,” said St. Peter,
“It’s very plain to me
That within the realms of Heaven
They should spend eternity.

And have the Texas Aggie Band
At once commence to play
For their fates too we must decide
Upon this crucial day.”

And the drum major so hearing
Slowly raised his hand
And said, “Boys, let’s play The Spirit
For the last time in Aggieland.”

And the band poured forth the anthem
In notes both bright and clear
And ten thousand Aggie voices
Sang the song they hold so dear.

And when the band had finished,
St. Peter wiped his eyes
And said, “It’s not so hard to see
They’re meant for Paradise.”

And the colonel of the Cadet Corps said
As he stiffly took his stand,
“It’s just another Corps Trip, boys,
We’ll march in behind the band.” 

All I have to offer is a simple thank you. Somehow, it never feels like enough though.

At 4:38 pm on January 17, 1991 , I was wandering the halls of my elementary school in California, impatiently waiting for my mother to finish her after-school duties.  I was eager to go home and and dig into the candy drawer for a Little Debbie Nutty Buddy. 

I was in sixth grade, Mom taught fifth and my brother was in fourth.  We spent a lot of time at school that year.

For some reason I had wandered up to the front desk and a radio was on.  (A radio!  Ha!  Remember when we used to get news from the radio?)  I don't remember anyone else being there.  Maybe there were other adults or my brother, maybe even my mom.  I can't picture them though.

The voice was telling us something that we'd all known was going to happen.  I think the way he phrased it was something like,

"Well, we're really at war now folks.  It's started.  It's official.  War..."

War.  His voice was heavy with concern and anticipation.  I briefly wondered if our family was going to plant a Victory Garden, like I'd seen the families in my textbooks do.

I remember standing there and thinking,

"Oh.  This is kind of a big deal.  And my Dad is probably going to war.  My dad is going to war.  AAAUUUGHHH MY DAD IS GOING TO WAAAAARRRRRRR."

I was pretty freaked out.

The last military engagement authorized by Congress had been Vietnam.  The Korean War ended in 1953.  In 1991, we had not kicked Saddam Hussien's ass even once yet. The limited context I had wasn't very positive.

It would be later that evening or maybe the next day before we saw missiles light up the Iraqi sky like fireworks on CNN.  It would be several more days before everyone started to make jokes about how much Iraqi ass our military was kicking.

Point being, on January 17, 1991 it had been a while since widespread scary shit had happened to the Marines.  But all of the previous scary shit from WWII, Vietnam and Korea had made its way into my textbooks in all of the 4-color glory that McGraw-Hill could get the State of California to sign off on. 

It wasn't gory but, you know, message received: War is some scary shit, it'll last a long time and a lot of people will probably die.

At least, that's what my 12-year-old brain got out of it.  Up until that point, I'd never really considered that my father might actually see combat during his tenure in the Marine Corps.  I'd never had any reason to think otherwise.

Besides a lack of recent war, January 17, 1991 was before the modern day crazies and terrorists started showing up.  It was before Columbine, Oklahoma City, September 11, Virginia Tech and the horror that happened just days ago at Ft. Hood. 

Can you even remember what it was like to feel insulated like I did in 1991?  Can you recall what it felt like to not be on edge and wonder about that freaky dude you just saw?  Do you remember a time when you thought everything was gonna be ok - no matter what? 

Sure, I was young and naive, but compared to today's 12-year old?  I might as well have had the worldview of Bubble Girl.  There was no internet.  We didn't have cable.  I wasn't allowed to watch PG-13 movies (As my mother so pointedly reminded me, I was not 13 yet.)  War-wise, life had been good in the United States for a while in 1991.  

War, an official, real WAR felt very disconcerting to pre-teen me.

I often toggle between my 12-year-old self and my 30-year-old self when I hear people, the media and politicians talk about our current war.  What I often consider is that it hasn't been 8 years; it's really been 18.  Our troops and their families have been invested in this for 18 years - long enough to turn a newborn into a college freshman.

That's an awful lot of troops and families to thank today for their recent service, in addition to those who have served in the past.  Thank you.

***

My father was deployed from May 1990 to March 1991. He was supposed to go to Okinawa for 6 months but that didn't really play out as planned.

In July he performed rescue operations in Manila after a 7.7 magnitude earthquake.  He assisted primarily at Christian College, where a six-story building completely collapsed and approximately 250 students and teachers were trapped inside. 

Nope, no cell phones.

He was in Saudi Arabia by January 1991 and led ground combat operations as part of Task Force Grizzly. 

Their mission was to be a foot-mobile infiltration force tasked with breaching enemy minefields.  This means they spent a lot of time walking, in the desert, with a full pack, sleeping in holes and trying not to step on mines.

The sign says, "Better Holes and Gardens, Hole of the Month." 

They made their jokes where they could.

They covered approximately 45 miles, carrying a combat load, over eight days.  They took 68 prisoners of war when an entire company of Iraqis surrendered to them.  When it was time to come home, two Marines had been killed in action and 14 wounded.  A very detailed description of the entire mission can be found here.

When he finally came home, safe and sound, in March 1991 it took all day for the battalion to make the few hours drive back to the base.  We thought they'd be there by lunch but it was long after dark when they arrived. 

The cause of the massive delay?  The highway between the base and airport was jammed with joyful, thankful, ebullient people who reached into the bus to shake their hands and say thank you.  FOR MILES AND MILES.

These thankful people passed buckets of fried chicken, cases of beer, bags of potato chips, dozens of cookies and whole cakes into the buses for the Marines.  Keep in mind that they had been in the desert for months with no television, internet or newspapers, fighting a war on foot.  They had no idea what the mood was at home or how they would be received upon their return. 

To say they were surprised by the reception would be a massive understatement.

***

I know that almost every family has a service member they're proud of.  As the great military tradition in this country continues, there are very few families out there who don't have a somebody deserving of great thanks and respect on this Veteran's Day.

It's just that I am so privileged to claim him as our Marine. 

Thank you, Dad.  Thanks for spending your career, the prime of your life, working to save and better the lives of so many people who may never know the freedoms that I do, but are perhaps a little bit closer after you crossed their path. 

Thank you.

Dear Jenni, please be really, really, really awesome at your new job in Memphis

After we located the liquid Tamiflu and began giving it to her, Claire proceeded to go insane.  As in, BATSHIT CRAZY, even for a nearly-one-year-old.

She was unreasonably fussy, threw tantrums at the drop of a hat and one after the other, had the attention span of a goldfish and walked in small circles around the room while making a high pitched whiny/distressed sounding noise.  She had incredible separation anxiety: if I walked across the room she flipped out.  She refused to take a bath.  (She looooooves the bath.)  She barely ate.  She didn't go to bed until 2 hours past her bedtime and it was a grand and mighty fight when she finally hit the rack.  Her care providers made a specific comment about how crazy she had behaved on Monday.

I know that all of this could be described as typical toddler behavior but she was just weird and not herself.  The change was sudden and dramatic.  I found myself wondering this morning, as she threw a gigantic fit about something really stupid, that this is what parents of kids who have reactions to vaccines must feel like.  Where was my darling, happy daughter?  Was she going to come back?  And, more importantly, what the hell happened here?

The answer was pretty obvious: Tamiflu.  Dr. H had specifically warned me that some kids have very severe behavioral reactions to it.  After 4 days on the medication, we stopped giving it to her.  Today she was happy as a butterfly, smiled oodles, waved to everyone at Wal-Mart and went to bed by 7. 

Weird.  And scary.

So, we're just sort of hoping that she doesn't have a flu virus incubating in her body since we're no longer prophylacting her.  It also turns out that a child didn't even have the flu - it was one of her care providers!  It's an airborne virus, easily transmitted through a sneeze or cough, but the fact that it wasn't one of the people who LICKS things that Claire then decides to lick, well, it made me feel like her chances of getting it are at least a LITTLE bit more remote.

However, there's obviously the problem that it's only September and there are months and months of cough, cold, flu and generic crud ahead of us.  She's going to get sick and then I'll get sick and it will suck.  I'm prepared for that eventuality.

We will all be getting flu shots next week.  I haven't decided yet if we're going to get H1N1 vaccines though.  I have yet to do the research on what exactly is in it and how I feel about the cost/benefit of something that is so new.  Generally, I'm a bit distrustful.

What rattles me to the core is 14-year-old Chloe Lindsey who died over the weekend from complications related to Swine Flu.  Chloe attended the same middle school in Ft Worth that my mother did and we regularly drive by it when we visit my grandparents.  She got sick on Wednesday and died on Sunday.  it is heart-breaking and so close to home.

You can bet your ass that if Claire has anything that resembles a sniffly nose we are high-tailing it to Dr H this winter.  With a cycle that could run so fast, single days count. 

Obviously, the media are hyping this up a bit.  The total number of forecast and historic flu deaths pales in comparison to more ordinarily tragic deaths that happen year-round.  They say her chances of being seriously impaired as a result of flu are remote.

And yet, I can't help but be hyper-aware that Claire is still so young and fragile.  She's not even going to be 18 months old by the time spring comes around.  She had bronchiolitis as a 7-month-old and this puts her at increased risk for future respiratory problems.  It's not the actual flu that kills most people; it's secondary bacterial infections like pneumonia that don't respond to antibiotic therapy.  This is what killed Chloe Lindsey over the course of 5 measly days.

I'm not scared of Claire getting the flu.  I'm scared of it morphing so quickly into something we can no longer treat.  That scares the shit out of me.

My very good friend Jenni happens to be a post-doc research associate at St Jude in Memphis and she is privileged enough to be studying this very topic: secondary bacterial infections as a result of influenza.  I know that she's smart (like, really, ridiculously smart) and practical and she'll tell it to me like it is if I called her to ask her what I should really spend my time worrying about.

But, for some reason, I can't find the courage to dial her this week.  I can't decide if she'll make me feel better or worse.

***

Edited to add that apparantly I have more smart friends than I realized!  My friend Holly studies influenza vaccines at a lab in California!  I have demanded that she tell me everything she knows and I will report back.

The story about Claire's first football game. All two minutes of it.

Labor Day weekend started early for us on Thursday.  I love taking time off during the week and just staying at home doing nothing.  It feels so frivolously luxurious to take time off, have no plans and eat cheeseburgers.

We went for a run in the morning.  This is QUITE unusual since I refuse to do this if it's hotter than 90 degrees.  The brutal summer heat seems to be breaking, so I leashed up the dog and off we went. Of course, Jake was a total pain in the ass.  He is old, can't see or hear as well and walking next to or in front of the stroller at a consistent pace is just BEYOND his capabilities as man's best friend at this point in his life.

It's ok though.  We love him anyway.  He came with us on the first half mile then we dropped him off at the house and continued on.  He was tired but obviously completely thrilled that we went on a WALK!  WAAAAAALK!  WALKWALKWALKWALK!!

After we got cleaned up, we hit the local hamburger shop for some lunch.  Claire discovered lids.  She likes them.  (Also a moment of: Why Do We Even Bother Buying Toys?)

That night, Claire threw a gigantic, humongous fit if I dared to tell her that she could not play with and LICK my flip flops.  Flip flops that I wear to dirty WAL-MART for crying out loud.  Obviously, these are totally inappropriate for her to gnaw on and many tears were shed since I refused to give in and hand over the dirty shoe.  (Responsible parenting at its best, people!)

Everything turned around once she found the chairs on wheels in the kitchen.  She merrily pushed them back and forth all day long, at a speed that was both alarming and impressive.

(Also?  These monkey pajamas?  Are my New Favorite Thing.  They're so funny.)

On Friday, we loaded up the family and flew to College Station for the season opener of Fightin' Texas Aggie Football.  The last time we took Claire flying she refused to wear her headset.  I thought it might have been a fluke, but it turns out not. 

As soon as she saw the earmuffs she looked at them as if they were a Giant Black Monster That Eats Baby Heads (OH MY!).  I still tried to cram them on her wildly moving head.  I figured that maybe once she saw how quiet they made things, it might be ok.

Nope.  She refused to have anything to do with them and actually, she preferred that they be removed from her direct line of sight.  She sat in the plane for an hour without ear protection.  It's not that loud in there, but still, it's THE POINT.  I cannot be responsible for damaging her precious little ears.  (I can comfortably sit without earmuffs on, but I'd rather wear them so I can talk to Chris and hear the radio.) I have an appointment with Google to figure out how other parents do this; we can't be the only people with this problem.  (The answer to "how to best protect a toddler's ears in your personal aircraft" is likely on a website called Truly First World Parenting Problems.)

When my parents bought our season tickets in January, Claire was a mere 3 months old.  In the spirit of all-inclusiveness and not radically changing our lives just because we have a baby, my parents and I agreed to buy Claire a season ticket and we'd evaluate whether she'd be attending games this fall when the time came.  At least we'd have the option.

Truly, we had no idea what sort of kid she would turn out to be.  We didn't know if she'd be walking by football season, when bedtime would be or what sorts of things made her happy or mad.  It was all a big mystery.  (Really, you could call the entire experience of being a parent that: A Big Mystery.)

So last weekend when we had to make a choice about whether she'd be attending her first Aggie Football game or not, we decided to go for it.  We take Claire to a lot of places and she does just fine.  She's generally a flexible kid who enjoys seeing new things.  As long as we make time for her to get some naps and keep her belly full, she rolls with it.

This is why we weren't all that concerned about taking her to the game.  I was a little hesitant since it was a 6pm kickoff (bedtime is 630 for her), but she has been known to stay up late and party with the proper motivation.  We figured that the worst case scenario was that she would be wiggly or tired and someone might have to go sit with her on the concourse and let her run around or fall asleep.

Neither of these things happened.

Claire fell asleep in her stroller on the way to the stadium.  We parked the stroller in the designated area and I put her in a sling.  I figured maybe she'd just stay asleep, tucked nicely next to me in a safe spot.  Instead, Claire woke up and sleepily waved to everyone as we walked up the ramps.  She smiled and waved and laid her head on my chest.  It was cute.  I was feeling good about this.  We were going to be Impressive Parents!  People would smile at us and wonder How Do They Do It?  YES!  WE ARE AMAZING PARENTS!  Claire was going to retain her title as Best Baby EVER!

Um, that didn't really happen. 

When people started applauding (which is like, every 90 seconds at pre-game for the home opener), she flipped out.  Completely.  Flipped.  Out.  She did the open-mouthed silent scream.  Her entire body vibrated in fear.  She was frightened and scared and more distressed than I'd ever seen her.  She started screaming in a guttural, undulating way, all the while looking up at me like, "Stop this.  Make it stop!  I am so scared Mommy!"

My reaction was completely visceral.  I knew we had to leave immediately.  My baby was frightened and we needed to go.  So we left.  We left our seats not two minutes after we'd arrived in them.  We walked across campus to a friend's home.  I put her to bed. 

Claire will not be attending any more football games this year.  I feel kind of dumb that it never even crossed our minds that the noise might frighten her.  We thought it might wake her up or she might want to explore, but we didn't count on the atmosphere scaring the everliving DAYLIGHTS out of her.

So, Claire's first trip to Aggieland was good, but it turns out she's not ready for football.  We'll try next year. 

Conclusion:  So, THAT'S why I've never seen a one-year-old at a football game.  Huh.
 
***

This is me and my HELLO FOOTBALL SEASON I MISSED YOU SO adult beverage.

Chris really hates this big bow, but I kind of love it.



Here we are, mere moments from The Scary Meltdown in the stadium.





The next day we went to Central Market to pick up some supplies and I snapped The Best Photo Ever of Claire in the grocery store.  Please note that Claire isn't wearing any PANTS, because her father didn't think they were necessary.

(Personally, I think Claire is of an age where she should be wearing both pants AND shoes in public.  What do you guys think?  What's the age cut off for pants and shoes on a kid before people start giving you Looks?)



And then on Sunday we went over to Jennie's house for her fabulous housewarming party.  her new house is so, so, so cute.  Claire got to meet Kyle, and while there wasn't a lot of interactive playing going on, Claire enjoyed Kyle's toys.  I think Kyle was thinking something like, "Duuuuuude.  This girl is like, ALL OVER THE PLACE."  She was standing up a lot and showing off her new moves.  Two days later she was full-on walking.



Thus concludes this post with Far Too Many Pictures.

Cancun Adventure, Part One: We have to get out of the country first

Wednesday

My parents pick up Claire at 11 am.  I go over detailed instructions, pack her things in the car and kiss her goodbye.  She is totally oblivious ("Wheee!  A car ride!").  I am already starting to miss her even though she's still in the driveway, but I let them take her to Austin anyway.

I get the first of many, many photos a few minutes later from my mother's iPhone:

 

Nope.  She's not missing me.

I work from home for the first time in ten months that afternoon.  I get more done in 5 hours in the kitchen, totally uninterrupted, than I can tackle in three days at my desk. 

Thursday

We get to The Parking Spot at 730 am for a 1030 am flight on Wednesday.  The attendant tells us that there are spaces available on aisle V. 

There are no spaces available on aisle V.  Or any aisles actually. 

The entire place is full and it took us ten minutes of circling to figure this out.  However, there are tons of spots with cones in them marked "Reserved."  Chris wants to park in one of the reserved spots.  I don't want to park there because I'm afraid that we'll get in trouble when we get back.  He puts the car into a reserved spot and runs over the cone and I get all sissy on him and wring my hands and say something like, "But Chriiiiiiis.  We'll get in TROUBLE."  Exactly who I think we will be in trouble with, or what the consequences might be, I have no idea.

All I know is that I have an unreasonable desire to follow the rules.

We roll up to the attendant and inquire, ever so politely, "What. The. Fuck. No. Parking. Spaces."  She shrugs her shoulders indifferently and says that they must be full.  We leave The Parking Spot in a fit of rage - they've wasted 20 minutes of our time and it's almost 8 am now.

We end up parking at the airport where their shuttle bus drops us off 20 yards from the door (again, WTF?).  We decided to check a single bag and we have to pay $15 for it.  We are flying Sun Country.  (This will be important later.)

Chris produces a crisp $20 bill, fresh from the ATM.  The attendant look at it like he's trying to hand her Claire's dirtiest-ever diaper.  With a slight sneer, she says to him,

"I ain't got change."

Huh?  No change?  You're asking us for money to complete a transaction that you initiated and YOU DON'T HAVE CHANGE?

"No.  No change.  My supervisor has the change and she's not here and it's too early and I don't have change.  No change."

I can't decide if her statement is a sly way to ask for a $5 tip or if she's not intelligent enough to find the words to ask for alternate payment.  She just keeps refusing our $20 and doesn't ever offer any other options.  In any case, Chris produces a credit card.  We feel kind of smug about it since we know they'll have to pay an interchange fee and this ends up costing them more.  Suckers. 

We get on the plane.  We notice that the seats I selected at Travelocity are not the same seats we are sitting in.  I'm not sure if this is Sun Country's fault or Travelocity's but somehow our reservation has been jacked with.  It doesn't really matter though because the body-builder who sits in our row leaves after take off to go sit with his buddies in the back of the plane.

Phrases yelled out during the flight by other passengers:

• It's time to get DRUUUUUNK!  (we heard this one several times actually)
• Where's the drinks!?
• WOOOOO!  CANCUN BAYBEEEEEEE!
• Let's get trashed!

Chris and I raise our eyebrows at each other and really hope that these people are not staying at our hotel.

We land and go through customs without incident.  We pick up our suitcase and find that Sun Country has smashed/crushed/ripped the crap out of it.

 

The metal frame was crushed in and it ripped out the seams surrounding the zipper.  The rip spans the corner and it's about 12 inches long.  There are no Sun Country agents to be found in the baggage claim area so we head to the hotel and figure we'll deal with it later.  I'm annoyed about it (since I paid FIFTEEN BUCKS for them to take care of my bag) but I'm not going to let it ruin my day.

But still.  FIFTEEN BUCKS.  FOR THAT.  The damage is such that I'll have to put it out with bulky trash when we get home.

At the hotel though, people finally start to treat us nicely.  You know, like WE'RE PAYING THEM.  (Imagine that.) 

We are greeted with cold washcloths that smell like lemons.  The air conditioning is frigid and fantastic compared to the sweltering humidity outside.  Everything is white and minimalist.  I want to lay my head on the cool floor and take a nap for ten years.

Our room is fantastic.  It is chilly, with soft linens and a ceiling fan, the biggest bathtub I've ever seen, 7 showerheads in one single shower and a view of the ocean.  I immediately think that I could spend the entire vacation in this room and be perfectly happy.

 

And then I saw the pool and decided that no, I would rather spend the entire trip out there in a lounge chair while someone brought me drinks and sandwiches. 

Do you see the genius of this pool?  There are lounge chairs IN THE POOL.  There's a ledge about three inches deep and 10 feet long that the chairs sit on and then the pool is 1.2 meters deep everywhere else.  No kids allowed, so no shallow end needed.  The entire thing is chest deep and perfect for lounging and drinking.  They also had noodles so you could just float on one of those, sip away and gaze at the ocean.  GENIUS.

Ocean?  Pool?  Ocean?  Pool?  I just can't tell the difference.

 

Yes!  Another Club Sandwich please!

 

I may not be super-skinny, but I've got clean clothes dammit

Confession #1:  I bought a $400 jogging stroller and I have used it less than 15 times in 6 months. 

I considered omitting it from this public forum until I remembered that I am CONFESSING in this post. 

My lack of running has a list of excuses to back it up.  You might even say that the list is a Mile Long.   (HA!) 

It's too hot to go after work when we get home.  Seriously, like 100+ and a thousand percent humid.  Brutal.  You cannot take a baby out in that.  I'd get arrested. 

By the time I get Claire to bed at 730, I feel like it's too late and I'm too tired (even though the sun is still out) and I would much rather do something like laundry so I have clean underwear tomorrow. 

Plus, if I was going to run after the baby goes to bed WHY DO I HAVE A $400 JOGGING STROLLER?  We get up too damn early as it is, so mornings are out.  Now that I haven't used it in a while the tires are a bit squishy and need some air.  *Sigh.*

Confession #2:  Claire doesn't sleep through the night and I don't care.  She also still uses her pacifier at night, during naptimes and I don't care about that either.  I have no plans to take action on either of these items.

It seems like every time we go through whatever flavor of sleep training we have the patience for in the moment, Claire gets the message pretty fast and it works.  She sleeps through the night....until she has developmental BIZNESS to attend to and then the sleeping goes to pot.  (Which, it seems like every two weeks that is some developmental leap or milestone of some sort.  Kids!  They freaking grow all the time!)

Or maybe she'll work on some teeth and that will wake her up a lot.  Or maybe she'll just poop in the middle of the night and wake herself up.  (NOT KIDDING ON THAT ONE, but hey Claire, I totally understand how you might not want to sleep a few more hours like that.  I GET IT.)

I am weak, oh so very WEAK, when it comes to my daughter's wails in the night.  Part of it is that Claire does not wake up with a whimpering wah-wah-wah cry that sounds like she might be bored.  Oh no, when Claire wakes up in the middle of the night she stands up and jumps on her mattress and screams like someone just set her on FIRE. 

It is an urgent cry that makes me want to die inside and if I am Parent Wuss for not letting her just go on and on and on then hand me that t-shirt and I'll wear it with pride.

Same thing with the pacifier.  Claire isn't a difficult kid, but putting a binky in her mouth helps that get-to-sleep process move about twenty times faster.  I don't want her to be 3 years old and still toting a binky but for now I could totally care less.  She doesn't seem to be getting attached to any blankets or toys (and I've tried) to go to sleep with.  So, WHATEVER on this one.  I'll deal with it later or she'll outgrow it soon enough.

Confession #3:  I'm leaving my baby in a week for 5 days and I'm SO sad about it.

We're going to Cancun in a week and Claire will be with my parents Wednesday through Monday.  I should be thrilled to pieces about this trip but all I can think is "boo-hoo-I-will-miss-mah-baybee-soooo much!"

Obvs, she will be fine.  She will have a grand time and it's important that she go ahead and start logging solo time with her grandparents so they can properly spoil her.  But oh, how I will miss her.

Confession #4  The part about my trip I am most looking forward to is club sandwiches by the pool with a good book and a lava flow.

I should be looking forward to spending time with my husband but really?  I'm looking forward to being alone with my own thoughts for ten-minute stretches at a time and not wondering if Claire is going to eat that or is Claire going to bonk her head on that or is Claire going to need a new diaper soon and where the hell am I going to change that around HERE?

Yes, being alone with my own thoughts will be quite liberating.  I will enjoy only having to look after myself for a few days.  I will enjoy not toting dirty diapers in my purse.  I will enjoy not panicking at the reality of having NO BINKY with me when we are out in public.

Confession #5  I stopped sterilizing bottles and binkys some time ago.

Seriously, what with everything she puts in her mouth and the whole crawling with hands on the floor, WHAT IS THE POINT?

Confession #6  I never return grocery carts to the proper place.  I always leave them in the parking lot - free and loose and probably dinging your car.  I am that person.

Confession #7  I haven't touched the baby book since, oh, about this time last year.

I  got out the baby book sometime in June and put it on the dining room table - just to SEE if I might want to work on it.

Aaaand, I haven't touched it.  This does not bode well.  In the meantime I have been announcing her milestones on Twitter.  I don't think it's quite as permanent.

***

I would like to leave you today with a video of Claire clapping.  I caught her in the hallway this evening clapping and grinning at herself and it was SO funny.  Please ignore my shrieky and frantic encouragement of the clapping.  (Really, nobody should ever have to hear themselves on tape.  I don't know anyone who actually LIKES how they sound when they see it later.)

Also, you can see Claire's bashed-up lip that she split open yesterday.  Poor baby.

For some reason I rendered this in standard and not widescreen and now it looks rather smushed.  But I'm not doing it over again.  I have important things to do.  Like laundry.  And not running.  GO ME.

Claire Clapping from AMS on Vimeo.

For Holly

My friend Holly sent Claire this hilarious onesie oh-so-long ago.  She has politely needled me for the past seven months for a photo and I'm finally just getting around to posting it.  She's cute, no?  All illiterate and smiley like that - you can't help but be happy.

It's sort of representative of the past seven months really.  I have an enormous list of things to do that aren't vital to survival or day-to-day living so I've been putting them off and hoping, praying, imagining that ONE DAY SOON I will have the time to tackle them.

And then I woke up and Claire was seven months old today.  SEVEN MONTHS OLD.  It suddenly became obvious to me that there are things that I've been meaning to do, but haven't done for more than half a year. 

I'm not saying that I'll start tackling projects with renewed gusto or anything KUHRAAAAAZY like that, but I would like to start thinking about it more...One day I'd like to know what it feels like to get things done again.