happy days

I'm so happy to hear that you all haven't ditched me, despite the long absence! Thrilled to be back.

We're still in Buenos Aires and things are still going swimmingly over here. Weather has been lovely, the kids are loving school, and miracles of miracles, they have actually started to speak some Spanish! Halting, broken, incorrect Spanglishy Spanish, but whatever, I'll take what I can get. Poor Josie has been putting together particularly mixed up sentences like, "I need to limpiar the mesa," or "donde is my conejo?" Baby steps, you know? Gabe has been learning by astonishing leaps and bounds. A few days ago, he was having a hard time of things. He was tired, and cranky, and not saying a word in Spanish, and asking to go home. And then all of a sudden, he picked up a coloring book and said, "quiero colorear esto," and I almost fell over. Since then, he's thrown out several phrases or short sentences throughout the day, and he is clearly understanding 99% of what people are saying to him. I'm amazed, honestly.

Amazed, and feeling a tremendous pressure to lock in the Spanish in the 10 days we have left. I know that sounds crazy, but there it is. I'm so nervous about slacking off when we get back and everyone is speaking English and the kids go to school. Maybe you all could contribute to my accountability? Yell at me periodically. I would appreciate that.

Besides that, we just finished up an amazing visit with Josh for 16 glorious days. 16 days! Of no work, and no work calls, no housework, no laundry (because there isn't a washing machine in the house), and the kids in preschool all morning. We kept pinching each other to see if we were dreaming as we walked the busy avenues and stopped for coffee and ate treats and took the kids to parks and enjoyed the tremendous weather (71 degrees in winter!). It was one of the best vacations we've taken in a long time, certainly since before we had the kids.

Now I'm feeling sad that Josh is gone, and not just because he washed the dishes every day, although there's that too. We've been planning this for so long and now we're nearing the end and it feels surreal. I can admit, though, I'll be happy to see my home and all my things and back to separate bedrooms for the kids!

If I'm being perfectly honest, there is one difficult part of this trip, and that's the sleeping. The kids are sleeping, but I am decidedly NOT. We're in a rental, obviously, and I can't shake this idea that tons of people could have copies of the key. Tie that in with a busy apartment building and echoing hallways and doors opening and closing in the elevator all night long, and it makes for sleepless nights for me. Plus, the kids have lucked into a series of colds and fevers, so we're up a lot at night. Sigh. I'll have time to sleep when I'm dead, right? Or maybe when they leave for college.

Other than that, we're good. I'm eating my body weight in dulce de leche per day and loving city life. Quite a change from our sleepy suburb. I can confirm that this is a great place to visit with kids. Very kid friendly!

I know.

No, really.

I know.

I don't even have a good excuse beyond the fact that sometimes I think this might be our theme song. You know, minus the "jack in a local bar" and "the unemployment line". Geez, that sounds melodramatic when it shouldn't. Life- just regular old 2 kids 4 and under, husband who works all the time, struggling to be a good mother and partner- has been challenging. Sometimes I look at Josh, sitting at the kitchen table at 1am, still working, for the 4th night this week and I think, man, these times are hard.

But I did what the song mentions, sat up with Josh, made plans with him, talked to him, LOOKED at him, and actually reconnected. Took a step back from other demands and made my family my top priority. It always was, but I'd let other nonsense, irritations, stupidity get in the way. And it has been good. Really good.

Not to mention a stretch of no accidents since March, although let's not say it too loudly and knock on wood while we're at it. We're great.

If you are lucky enough not to see my twitter ravings, the insane plan I mentioned a few months ago is in effect. I brought the kids to Argentina, Buenos Aires to be exact, for 5 glorious weeks. We rented an apartment, put the kids in school, and Josh is taking his first non-working vacation in 4 years. Not the whole time, of course, and I'll keep his exact dates private in favor of the whole safety issue, but a decent chunk of days. And so far, so good. The kids are thriving and venturing out of their Spanish resistant holes and making friends and trying new vocabulary, and I'm reveling in my non-cooking, non-cleaning, non-laundry, children in school every morning days.

And yes, it is every bit as fabulous as you'd imagine. The last few days, though, I keep thinking about blogging this, or that, and thinking about how much I will regret not writing about this. So here I am. Hoping some of you are still around. Hoping you're all well.

now we just need to find time to breathe

Day 3:

We ate breakfast at the flat (Nutella on toast, baby!) and headed into London via a double decker bus to catch the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. By the way, I've never tasted bread as delicious as the straight off the shelf bread from the Fulham grocery store. Not even in Paris! This stuff was nutty and delicious and supposedly from the countryside outside of London. Yum.

Buckingham Palace was crowded, but exciting, and felt very London-y to be standing in the crowds watching the British guards with their tall hats and different colored plumes playing Christmas carols. The Queen wasn't in London, since she was celebrating Christmas in Sandringham (see how I learned so much about British royalty?), but I guess there is always a changing of the guard and the crowds come no matter what. It was actually surreal to go see The King's Speech last weekend and see scenes from Buckingham Palace and know that I was JUST THERE! The miracles of modern travel, huh?

Anyway, we left as the crowds thinned and walked up to Hyde Park again, and bought a Big Bus Tour to give us an overview of London, because seriously, I've been a lot of places and never felt quite as overwhelmed as I felt in London. This place is GINORMOUS. Huge. Monstrously large. The bus tour was fabulous because it made London seem manageable and helped us to understand how the whole city fit together and how where we were standing related to the rest of the city. The best part was that as part of a winter promotion, we got two days of touring instead of one day, AND we were allowed to take a free boat cruise and free walking tours from a local tour agency. It was great!

The only problem (and don't laugh) is that we could barely understand the tour guide! Of course, he was speaking English, but with the thickest accent ever! We sat on the bus as it weaved it's way around London and got off when it neared the theatre district and went over to the TKTS booth to purchase tickets to a show. After several minutes of indecision, we finally settled on Chicago for that night. I was desperate to see Andrew Lloyd Webber's newest show, but eventually decided I thought Josh would enjoy Chicago more. We grabbed a bite to eat, and then jumped back on the bus. Thankfully, our new driver still had a British accent, but was totally understandable. Even better, we got the front seats on the top deck! It totally felt like London!

As we approached Trafalgar Square I realized THIS is what I was missing from London. All the rest, the shopping, the parks, the squares, it didn't feel like my image of the city. This. This was the London I'd been waiting for. The National Gallery, the monuments, and THEN, further down the road, Downing Street, Parliament, Parliament Clock Tower with Big Ben inside, Westminster Abbey. LONDON, people, we're in LONDON! It was amazing.

The tour continued across the river to that (sorry) hideously ugly London Eye. What is WITH that thing? Ugh, Josh and I could barely stand to look at it. Then the Tate Modern, the Docklands, the recreated Shakespeare Globe Theatre, eventually crossing back over the Tower Bridge (what I'd previously thought was the London Bridge), passing by the Tower of London, and then through the actual city of London (where the financial district is), and St. Paul's Cathedral (where Prince Charles and Princess Di were married).

The bus looped back around and we got off next to The Ritz, where of course I took some Notting Hill dedicated pictures and pretended to be Julia Roberts. I mean, wouldn't you?

And then we grabbed a coffee and booked it back over to the National Gallery to do a SPEED TOUR of the museum. Literally, a speed tour in under an hour. Kind of shameful, but kind of awesome, I'm not going to lie. The museum guards booted us out promptly at 6pm, in such a hurry to close the museum, I lost my only winter hat inside, which was kind of a bummer, and they wouldn't let me back in to look for it! Bastards.

I did take several precious minutes to stand on the balcony of the National Gallery and just be. Stand in the shadows of the setting sun and breathe in London. Glimpse the mess of traffic, the crowds, the street performers, and as I was standing there, Big Ben began to sound. Surreal, honestly, and gloriously wonderful. Not a moment I'll soon forget.

We were quickly approaching THEATRE TIME so we started walking back in that direction and stopped in a pizza place on the way, before seeing the show. It was around this point that I realized, rather stupidly, that my wish for seeing a show featuring actors with British accents wasn't going to be fulfilled. Because, you see, Chicago is set in, oh wait, you guessed it, CHICAGO. So the British actors and actresses were going to be modeling American accents. Isn't that freaking fantastic? I'm practically a genius. Regardless, the show was fabulous. Sexy, and sultry, and funny, and everyone was ridiculously talented, and the music was gorgeous, and we loved it. When we came outside it had started raining, as it does in London, and Josh and I walked the streets at midnight, hand in hand, in the rain, singing the music. Sigh.

Another bus ride home, another Skyped call with the kids (where they asked me again to please come home tonight) and to bed, to bed, for another crazy day tomorrow. At this pace, I might be wearing Josh out. What do you think?

lesson learned, london is crazy at Christmastime

I know, I know, I stink. This pesky family thing keeps getting in the way, plus all the SNOW, good lord, it won't stop snowing around here. Moving on, though...

Day 2- December 26th, otherwise known as Boxing Day:

The airport's Hilton is connected to Heathrow's Terminal 4 by a walkway, so we took our two carry-ons and a purse (AND THAT'S IT!!!), well and our scarves and gloves and hats and jackets and all that, and walked to catch the subway to LONDON! And then discovered that the subway was on strike. Yes, that's right, the Tube workers were on strike and we were left with no way to get into the city, which was precisely why we'd spent the money to stay at the stinking airport the night before anyway. After shuffling back and forth in the terminal trying to find someone, ANYONE, who would give us advice on what to do, all the while cognizant of the fact that the flat owner's housekeeper was waiting for us at the flat only until 10:30am, I sat down with our guide book (highly recommend) and determined that our only option was a more expensive train. We were stuck, though, so we bit the bullet and paid our $60 and hoped the subways within London would be running once we made it to the train station there.

Surprise, surprise, they weren't. The Tube was completely shut down, and the clock was ticking away, and we hadn't even changed any money into British Pounds yet, and I didn't have a cell phone, so I had no way of calling the housekeeper, and frankly, we were both starting to panic. We surfaced onto the street to see if the buses were running and if we could figure out where we were. At this point, the logical thing would have been to take a taxi, right? But we had a serious budget, and taking that train had already blown the budget for the whole day and I didn't even know where we were in relation to Fulham, and plus, we had no cash, and I didn't want to get stuck with another massive taxi fare on top of the train, so buses it was.

Thankfully, a good citizen told us which bus to take to get us into the general vicinity of Fulham, and then, miracle of miracles, I spotted a Hilton hotel across the street. I raced in there, explained my situation to the concierge (just stayed at the airport Hilton last night, have no coins, can't find a phone, subway not working, etc.) and he lent me their phone (sweet wonderful man), so at least the housekeeper situation was squared away.

We took not one, but TWO buses, at which point I was almost kissing my little carry-on for its ease of transport, and we made it to Fulham. Then my brilliant husband used his Blackberry gps to get us to the house and we were able to collapse onto the couch and consider what to do next. Honestly? We were beat at this point. We'd already been up for several hours and running around in a rather stressed state, so all my plans to take a bus tour and hit all the major sights were kind of thrown out the window. We decided to call today a lost day and relax as we enjoyed the city.

We took a bus to Hyde Park, where a traditional German Christmas Market was being held (and you know how much I love German Christmas Markets). We walked through the market and admired the food and the stuff and exclaimed to each other HOW FREAKING COLD IT WAS. Seriously, it was fuh-reezing. Frigid. It was so cold, I started to worry Josh was going to pack up and leave me to change his ticket to Jamaica. Hat, gloves, scarves, coats, long underwear, and still freezing our butts off cold, so we briskly walked through the park and headed to the shopping area.

Now. A friend had told me that Boxing Day is to Londoners what Black Friday is to us- i.e. a total freaking shopping nightmare. We still didn't fully realize how much Londoners love their shopping until we reached Oxford Street, and then holy smokes. It was like walking in New York City's Times Square crossed with Rockefeller Center, at Christmastime. I have no words. We were totally overwhelmed and squished and were being pushed and shoved and pulled apart by the crowds. It was nuts. I thought the British were orderly people!

We finally ducked into a department store to grab some food, which happened to be Selfridges, the second largest department store in London. Um, wow. The food, the displays, the goods, we were awestruck. We stuffed ourselves, and warmed up a bit, until we felt ready to brave the crowds again. We had a plan this time, though. We side stepped through the crowds, on a mission to reach Regent Street, an upscale street full of shops that would lead to Piccadilly Circus and the Leicester Square and Covent Garden. Regent Street was gorgeous, a mix of old buildings and new shops, on a curved street, where all of the building followed the curve of the road. It was pretty impressive, but my only disappointment was that the stores were your typical US stores, exactly what you'd find at your local mall- Banana Republic, Gap, Clarks, Victoria's Secret, etc. It was around this time that Josh and I started playing a game where we'd punch each other in the arm every time we saw a Starbucks. It sounds strange, but honestly, it was hilarious because we were punching each other every couple of minutes! Londoners LOVE them some Starbucks! Not surprisingly, though, the tea menu in Starbucks takes up more than half of the menu, as opposed to our typical lattes and mochas.

We walked for a couple of hours, enjoying the sights, relishing in the British accents we were hearing, and then stopped at a coffee shop (not Starbucks) for a pick me up. We sunk into squishy chairs at a tiny table next to the window, and then, um, I passed out. Like completely fell asleep in mid-conversation. No exaggeration. Josh tried to wake me up, couldn't, so he took a picture and let me nap for 20 minutes. With a tiny snooze under my belt, I felt awake enough to continue on. We perused some of the theatres and their shows because I was dying to see a musical or play or something. We wandered through Covent Garden and its shops, had a quick kiss at the Merry Kissmas Tree (very cute), and completed half of Rick Steves' walking tour through the West End of London, until I was falling over on my feet and I waved the white flag of defeat. We boarded another bus (on our way to becoming the bus experts we would be at the end of the trip) and grabbed dinner in Fulham on our way back to the flat.


(I can't believe I'm posting this picture for the world to see)







A quick note to say, I hadn't actually believed the food in London would not be good, because it is a major city! How could the food be bad? Can't you find good food everywhere? But, um, it was less than stellar. I think out of 6 days we had one halfway decent meal, and several really unappetizing meals, but the rest of London totally made up for it.

A quick Skype call to the kids, where I listened to their sad little voices ask me if I was coming home tonight (a question they would ask every night) and we crashed. I think the combination of the time change, the walking, and the COLD did us in. We fell asleep at 10pm, with big plans for Day 3 of London!

(**to be updated with pictures tomorrow, I SWEAR, but I'm falling asleep on the keyboard right now)

london!

London! London! London! I still gush when people ask me how it was because, oh, wow, you guys, it was totally worth it.

For starters, we really couldn't afford (financially) to take this trip. It was a terrible idea from a budgetary standpoint, but you know what is really expensive? A DIVORCE. So I decided to scrimp and save and pinch pennies and take every last holiday and birthday present I've received over the last 5 years and put it toward our trip. Since I stopped working four (!!!) years ago, we've cut out so many things- trips, dinners, clothing, shoes, haircuts, dry cleaning, babysitters, and anything else you can think of, and lately I've realized that there are some things we really shouldn't be cutting out.

Somehow and somewhere we need to find the money to hire a babysitter, even if it is once every couple of months, and spend a bit of time together as a couple. We need to continue to go out for pancakes every Sunday, because we've done it for 12 years and it is important. It means something to us. We need to go sit in a coffee shop and have an actual conversation without little people interrupting us or demanding our attention. We shouldn't have taken the trip, but I needed to walk with Josh, talk with Josh, hold hands with him, spend time alone. It was magical.

For starters, I was totally flexible on where we would go, as long as the tickets were a good deal, and London ended up being the best deal (although sheesh, I didn't realize the British Pound was quite THAT strong). British Airways was the airline, and we both highly recommend it.

Then, I knew I wanted to rent an apartment because we've done that before, and it's worked out well for us so far. I found a flat in Fulham, which is a suburb of London right on the "Tube" (subway) and lots of bus routes. Fulham ended up being a really cute and trendy suburb full of shops and restaurants. The flat was an entire floor of a woman's house, and we had access to a full kitchen, bedroom and private bath. Best of all, it was less than HALF the price of even cheap hotels in London. Housing is expensive in London!

The place was great, very clean and comfy and large, and the owner was very friendly and kind, and even brought up electric blankets and trays of tea when it turned out to be colder than anticipated. The only strange thing, I will admit, is the knowledge that you are in someone else's house, with the owner sleeping directly below, if you get my drift. I felt the teensiest bit awkward about the, um, romantic parts of our vacation. We had complete privacy, but still, it is weird. When we rented an apartment in Prague, we never even met the owner, and probably I'd opt for something closer to that in the future, but I can't deny that the owner was incredibly helpful and generous throughout the trip. We were a 10-15 minute bus or Tube ride into the city, depending on where we were going, and it meant I got to sit on the top floor of a double decker bus multiple times a day. Yay!

Day 1: Christmas Day
We left on an 8am flight, and remember, Josh STILL didn't know where we were going! I'd spent all of last night packing for the two of us, and stressing over forgetting something crucial. Like gloves or his jacket, or enough pants, or something like that. At one point, I made a joke about us bringing back a little "souvenir" (i.e. a baby) and naming her London, which, what the hell was I thinking because I totally thought I gave it away?! But I realized fairly quickly what I'd done and then said we might be naming our souvenir Guadalajara, or Paris, or Rome, so I made a good attempt at covering it up. No worries on the souvenir, though! I made sure of that.

Anyway, my mom drove us to the airport in the morning and I'd pre-printed our boarding passes, so we were able to go through security, get a coffee, sit in a centralized location in the terminal before I revealed we were going to London! And he claims he was surprised, so yay! I'm never doing another surprise trip again, though, because UGH, the stress!

As we took off and the plane turned over the water, I did have a moment of panicky OH MY GOD WHAT ARE WE DOING? I was leaving my babies and crossing an ocean. To another continent. For SIX days! What's done is done, though, and I told myself not to spend another minute worrying about it and just enjoy the luxury of reading a book and watching a movie and eating a meal in silence! The flight was fabulous, and Josh and I had an empty seat between us so we spread out and relaxed. We landed at Heathrow at 7:30pm, but after security and customs, we didn't get out until around 9pm, at which time I stood at the exit doors of the Heathrow arrivals terminal and stared at the signs and pinched myself thinking, holy shit. I'm totally in London.

Oh, and I should mention, we somehow, shockingly, traveled with only a carry-on, which was a freaking miracle and I still don't know how we did it. 6 days of clothing (plus extras, just in case) packed into a tiny roll-aboard, but I highly recommend it. We didn't have to worry about lost luggage or waiting for bags, and I felt like such a jet-setter with this tiny bag. Plus, we were moving around the city before and after on public transportation, so small bags made everything much easier.

I'd tried for weeks to find a flat to rent that would take us on Christmas day, but London apparently shuts down for Christmas, including the Underground and the buses, and the taxis charged exorbitant fees to get into the city, so I finally bit the bullet and got us a room at the Heathrow Hilton for the night. I was disappointed not to be seeing London that same night, but honestly, it was great. We didn't have to rush and were able to walk into the hotel within a few minutes, check in, and grab some tea and dinner before it got too late. The hotel was modern and luxurious and totally sufficient. We turned on the television and breathed in the British accents and lounged in the comfy bed, and planned our day tomorrow. We skyped the kids before going to bed, and then turned in by midnight London time (7pm Boston time) so we'd be on the right schedule. I was exhausted, but didn't sleep great that night, probably due in equal parts to the time change and the excitement.

Tomorrow, we'd finally be in London. I could have screamed in excitement!

Day two- tomorrow!

just for chatty cricket

I thought of Chatty Cricket when I took this! Also when it ate my 40 pence today while I was trying to make a phone call and I called it a "stupid bugger." Just because it sounded cooler.

I'm also going to say "rubbish" from now on instead of garbage. Additionally, I shall be going to the bathroom in the loo from now on. I asked for a restroom and they looked at me like I had two heads. Oh, and a skim coffee is a skinny- don't you love it!

four!

Big Ben! Parliament! Westminster Abbey! Buckingham Palace! The National Gallery! Hyde Park! It's all been stunning and fabulous and we are having the best time.

For now, though, I'm here to wish my beautiful sweet boy the happiest birthday ever! Worst mother ever, right? I went back and forth on whether or not we should be traveling over Gabe's birthday, and although I'd love to be with him today, truth be told, he doesn't even know today is his birthday. We celebrated it a few days early with cake and gifts and lots of hugs, and we'll celebrate it again on Friday, and then again in school, and then again with a small party in January. I think he'll get plenty of birthday fun, and a happy mom and dad is probably more important to him, so for now, I'll push my mother's guilt to the side.

So... onto more important things (written the night before I left for London)...

To My Dear Sweet Gabriel,

Happy Birthday!

Four years old! How is that possible? How can you be growing up so fast? I can almost believe it, though, because I see and hear the ways you are changing. Your speech is more complex, your mannerisms are more grown-up, you're getting taller, stronger, more coordinated
every day. You're wonderful and amazing and funny and the sweetest son we could ever wish for.

My favorite part of the day is when you come down the hall in the morning and climb into my bed. You snuggle up against my side and whisper, "Mama..." into my ear, and I just melt. For now, at least, you are so affectionate, so loving, so ridiculous disgustingly adorable, it just kills me. You hug and kiss me constantly, and want to climb onto my lap to snuggle with me. You love to be "comfy cozy" and we'll get under blankets and watch movies or read books, and
sometimes Josie will come and sit with us and you'll kiss her and say, "Hello baby girl!"

You love your sister to death, although since you two are interacting and playing together all the time now, there are also many moments where your screams and complaints drive me crazy. You love to run and laugh and tackle each other, and you are such an excellent big brother, teaching her, sharing with her, being (mostly) patient with her. You tell her you love her and get upset at bedtime if she won't give you your nightly besito and abrazo.

You adore your daddy too, and seeing him play with you and enjoy your company is such a treat. Last night you asked him if he missed you while he was at work, and when he said of course he did, you said, "yeah, I miss you too." You tickle each other and laugh until you can barely breathe, and you tell him stories about your day and of course, Buzz Lightyear.

What would we do without Buzz Lightyear? He is your one true obsession these days, and shopping for you has become the easiest thing ever because all you want is Toy Story All The Time. You're hilarious because you tell us complete stories about what Buzz said or did or what you think Buzz might do if he were here. You are growing up so fast and gaining this amazing imagination, it is such a pleasure to watch.

You are the most amazing blessing to us, Gabe, and I thank God every day that you're my son. You are so sweet and easy-going and happy, and I pray you stay this innocent and content forever. You are perfect and wonderful and gorgeous and brilliant. The things you learn every day astound me.

Tonight I told you that you were the most perfect Gabe to me, and I was so thankful that you were mine, and you told me you didn't want anyone else to be the same Gabe as you. You don't have to worry, my sweet boy, no one could ever be you. No one could ever take your place in my heart, and forever and ever and ever, you will be my baby.

I love you,
Mama

happy chrismukkah!

Happy Holidays everyone!

We're off tomorrow morning, well, this morning actually, and I'm proceeding to freak out over planes going down and terrorist threats and well, pretty much everything.

I know I shouldn't be thinking about all of this, but since it's my first time leaving the kids for longer than 48 hours. And definitely my first time leaving them on an overseas flight with Josh on the same plane, I am giving myself a bit of leeway to have a little breakdown. I even wrote them each letters, morbidly, just in case.

I figure if I really plan for every possibility, then it won't happen. Right? That's totally the way it works, isn't it?

Here's to a wonderful holiday season for each of you! And a happy new year too! (although I plan to update before the new year) And here is to a safe and happy trip for Josh and I! At least London has called off the snow long enough for us to arrive! Hurray! Wish us luck!

josh, if you're reading this, step away from the computer

I don't need to tell you that being a parent is sometimes hard. Often times, draining, even frustrating. Staying connected to your spouse can be difficult. As one of my friends keeps reminding me, "those little suckers will take it all, if you let them!" Josh and I are not immune to that strain, although we both do our best to make our relationship a priority. Still, newborns and infants and toddlers are REALLY FREAKING DEMANDING, in case you didn't know.

Florida was great, warm, exciting, and I have so many stories to tell you about Disney World, and cute children, and of course, what vacation of ours would be complete without a trip to the Emergency Room? We're working on hospital "Platinum Status." After our 10th visit, the 11th co-pay is free. While it was crazy fun, it was crazy stressful too. Remember, we went to Sarasota for 4 days, Orlando for 5 days, Sarasota for 2 days, Orlando for 2 days, Sarasota for 2 days, and Fort Lauderdale for 3 days. Oh, and except for Thanksgiving day, and the two days we spent at Disney World, Josh worked every.single.day. sometimes from 7am until 9pm at night. I was ready to tear my hair out by the end, and I think the kids are still adjusting to life at home and regular schedules.

Josh and I were bickering, a lot. Spending the little bit of time we spent together not speaking because we didn't want to continue arguing in front of my in-laws or the kids. It stunk, in many ways. By the end of the trip, I felt so exhausted by the whole situation, I started counting the hours until I was back in my house. Thankfully, THANKFULLY, things have been great since we've been home. Back in our own environment, we reverted back to our regular non-stressed selves and things are fabulous. Everyone is thrilled to be home.

But, all that bickering reminded me that we need to spend time together, sans children, just us, staying connected as a couple, enjoying each other's company. So... I asked my parents if they would watch the kids for us if I could find a deal for us to get away for a couple of days. Even better, my mom said, I'll fund the whole thing if you two will get away. And so we are.

TO LONDON!!!!

I know! I know! I'm jumping up and down over here!!!!! I've always, always, always wanted to go to London. Always, seriously, it is on my "Life List" of things to do before I die (which reminds me I need to post my incomplete list and maybe you all can give me suggestions). Anyway, I spent 2 straight days researching packages and found an impossible to refuse, ridiculously inexpensive flight to London, and so WE'RE GOING!

But shhhhhh! Josh doesn't know! I'm planning the whole thing as a surprise getaway, and all he knows is that he needs to take off of work and be ready to go. Today he told me it was "totally obvious we were going on a boat." Um, what? Apparently because I told him he couldn't work while on vacation, and that there wouldn't be wi-fi where we were going, we're going on a cruise. I guess it doesn't occur to him that I just don't want him to work while we're on a romantic vacation. Go figure.

So throw your advice at me! Have you been to London? Do you have must-see tips? Our housing isn't totally cemented, but I'm looking at the Notting Hill/Kensington area, because HELLO? I'm obsessed with the movie. Big Ben! Parliament! Double decker buses! Here we come!

the zombie look is totally in

In a moment of pure and glorious selfishness, I decided to attend a dear friend's wedding this weekend ALONE. Totally and utterly alone, as in sans husband and children.

It was... well... FABULOUS.

The wedding was in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and I left on Thursday afternoon and returned Sunday morning. Josh's mom was kind enough to come out on Wednesday to watch the kids while Josh worked, and then he took over on Friday night and Saturday until my return on Sunday morning.

My outrageously fun law school girlfriends were there, and we had the best time. I haven't laughed that hard or that often since our ridiculously crazy girlfriend's bachelorette party in April in Vegas. Remember? The crazy bride who made me take seductive dance classes?

We did an impromptu bachelorette party on Thursday night with hibachi, a karaoke bar, a piano bar, and a dance club, and stayed out until 3am. On Friday, we had a small shower and bridal lunch, then I spent most of the day sitting by the pool overlooking the ocean, reading a book and drinking pina coladas. I know, I hate me too. We followed up with dinner, miniature golf, and then another crazy night at the Myrtle Beach dance clubs until 4:30am. That same ridiculously crazy friend from above (T), did her signature seductive dance moves up on a platform at the club, and ensured that I was LITERALLY beating all the guys off of us with a stick. I flashed my ring and told guys I was married so many times, I actually scolded her and told her to stop attracting so much attention to us.

When we returned to the hotel at 4:30am, we learned the hotel had given away our room reservation (insanity, I know), so after using our combined legal expertise, T finagled a free upgrade to a 2 bedroom suite, with a living room, kitchen, dining room, laundry room, a gigantic terrace, and even a doorbell! It was so huge, our other friends went ahead and canceled their own reservations and moved in for Saturday night.

After waking up at NOON on Saturday, we ate pancakes at a local greasy diner and then took a swim in the ocean. The water was gorgeous and warm and the sand was soft and the company was lovely. We pulled ourselves away from the beach with no time to spare to get dressed and attend our friend's wedding. It was intimate and fun and I've never seen her look happier, and we danced until we were beyond sweaty, and then I stole every last sea star and sand dollar from the decorations and brought them home with me.

The rest of the night was spent down at the tiki bar, laughing, enjoying beachy drinks, and ordering pizzas. We finally retired to our room, where we decided to stay up for the rest of the night (yes, I'm still yawning), until it was time to drive me to the airport for my 6:30am flight. We sat out on the giant terrace and talked, and talked, and TALKED about anything and everything until it was time to go. We definitely soaked up every last bit of friendship during the time we had. It was amazing.

I was, however, totally fried all day yesterday. I basically stumbled through the airports in Myrtle Beach, Washington D.C. and Boston. I fell asleep before the plane took off and woke up when it landed, and could barely stay awake during layovers. Josh and the kids were sweetly excited to see me and had planned out a fun breakfast, and I barely kept my eyes open while eating before collapsing at home for a multi-hour nap.

It is great to be home, and I did miss Josh and the kids, but man, it was so nice to get away and worry about only myself for 3 whole days. I feel so peaceful and happy and relaxed, and ready to get back to my regular life. And best of all, I feel like me. Fun, and funny, and energetic, and interesting, and refreshed. I spent 3+ years never leaving Josh or the kids, and finally taking a little bit of time for myself feels really great. And thank goodness, being home feels even better. And best of all, this weekend, my parents come to visit for the first time in 10 months! Now I just need to recover enough to finish all these house projects before they arrive!

the beach! the shops! the food!

Yippee! Yippee! Yippee!

We're off to Nantucket for one glorious night!

I'm so excited, I could scream! But I won't, because the kids are sleeping and that won't help our early morning departure.

It's a long story, but I started pricing out all these different day trips, and we decided on Nantucket for the day. The fast ferry to Nantucket, though, is twice as expensive as the slow ferry, and for the price difference, we could basically pay for almost a whole night of a hotel! (cheap hotel prices thanks to a weekday arrival, and the not-really-a Hurricane Earl) Plus, leaving and coming in one day was turning out to be super stressful, and this will make for a much more relaxing couple of days.

Who cares the reason? I'm thrilled! And now I'm off to frantically pack for our quick little getaway! Hurray!

worst vacation ever, part III

If you missed the beginning, parts I and II of WORST VACATION EVER are here.

Dwelling on this whole trip is making me have flashes of post traumatic stress, so let's get this story done and over with so we never have to speak of it again.
_____________________

We left off from the story when Gabe was discharged from the hospital at 2am, with surgery on his hand scheduled for 6am the following morning. Gabe was asleep before we left the parking lot, and Josh carried him into my parents house, changed him, and put him to bed without him ever waking up. My parents house is small, so the idea was for me to sleep on the couch and Josh on the twin bed on the floor of Gabe's room, but both of us were so anxious and upset, we opted to sleep together on that tiny twin bed on the floor. Neither one of us slept. I couldn't stop dwelling on the surgery to come, and envisioning horrible scenarios where Gabe died under general anesthesia for something as stupid as a hurt finger.

By the way, I can't believe I left out how it happened. My parents have a heavy door between the garage and the house, and it slams automatically. We've never paid any attention to the door, except to keep it from slamming because it wakes up the kids. My mom and Gabe were leaving the house on Friday afternoon to run a quick errand, so my mom held the door open for Gabe, and then realized she'd forgotten the car keys. She turned back to grab them, the door slammed, and at the last moment, Gabe stuck his hand into the closing door. The door slammed on his finger, and it was heavy enough to partially amputate the top part. My mom said Gabe started screaming, and when she turned around and pulled open the door, there was blood everywhere. (shudder)

So Josh and I spent a miserable and unhappy night on the floor, both of us sitting upright at the faintest sound, both afraid Gabe was in pain, and afraid we might sleep through the alarm (not a chance) and both terrified of what was to come. In particular, I couldn't stop getting myself riled up over the possibility of an iv. I was DONE with Gabe being in pain, and I was ready to go to the mat with anyone who disagreed with me. There was even one moment where I honest to goodness hallucinated my mom coming into the room. It was totally crazy.

I finally got up around 4am, jumped in the shower, woke Josh up, he got dressed (same clothes since our bags were still at the hotel in Napa), and got the car ready to go. We woke Gabe up at the last possible second, lifted him from the bed to the car- totally asleep. We drove to the hospital, lifted him out of the car, carried him through the hospital, checked in at admitting, argued at the desk for 20 minutes because the paperwork wasn't complete- totally asleep. The surgeon finally called down to admitting and threw a fit because they wouldn't let us up and he was afraid an emergency surgery with more precedence might take our slot, so they let us go upstairs to pre-op while my mom kept arguing downstairs.

We made it upstairs, and in the one shining moment of mercy throughout this whole nightmare, we got an anesthesiologist who also had a 3 year old, and she told us she would put Gabe under before doing anything else since he was asleep. Josh laid Gabe gently down on the gurney, and somehow, impossibly, he stayed asleep. We did the whole pre-op preparation with the nurses and the anesthesiologist and the surgeon, and he stayed asleep. They actually WHEELED HIM IN to the operating room, put the mask on him and put him under, and he never woke up. I cried big fat hot tears of relief for that, and actually got on my knees to thank God later for that small gift.

The surgery took about an hour, so he was intubated and had an iv once he was already under anesthesia, and thankfully the iv was done after he was asleep because they later told us it took multiple tries to get the needle into a vein.

I was strangely calm during the actual surgery, although I did have plenty of moments of envisioning that surgeon walking through the door with horrible news- you know, the nightmares you see on television. I went downstairs for a coffee, tried to be calm and reasonable and told myself this was the best thing for Gabe. I wasn't prepared for the surgery to take as long as it did, though, so after 45 minutes, I became pretty antsy. Finally, the surgeon came out and said everything had gone well, and it was as he'd expected.

The cut had gone almost all the way through, down to the bone, so he'd examined the growth plate at the end of the finger, cleaned it, sewn multiple layers of stitches through the skin, repaired the nail bed, removed the nail, and inserted an aluminum nail to protect the nail bed until it was healed. He said the bone was actually broken, despite the ER doctor's assertion that it was not. The whole finger was wrapped up and bandaged around the hand, and Gabe would be out of commission with that finger for 4-6 weeks, with follow-ups for the next 4 months to make sure everything was healing. I was pretty surprised by the length of time for recovery, to be honest. We have swim lessons scheduled at a nearby lake for the end of June, and the surgeon said he couldn't get his hand wet for closer to 6 weeks.

We were allowed back, and Gabe looked fine. His tongue was swollen and protruding through his lips from the intubation, but besides that, he just looked asleep and I was so thrilled to see him whole and safe and alive, I could have cared less about anything else. The surgeon had been kind enough to get Gabe a large blue bandage with cars all over it, and then accent the bandages with Toy Story band-aids so Gabe would be sure to love it.

It took a while for Gabe to wake up, and I think Josh and I were a little nervous because the anesthesiologist kept hovering around him and checking on him and running her hands across his head to see how he was doing, but eventually, he snapped awake and sat up, just like that. He looked totally and utterly confused, because remember, he had no recollection of even coming to the hospital, so why all these people were around him and he was hooked up to tubes and monitors, he had no idea.

The removal of the iv went off without a hitch, and I carried him out of the hospital to the waiting car, and that was that. I could have kissed the surgeon and the anesthesiologist, I was so thrilled to be done and for my baby to be safe and finger repaired. For the rest of the day, Gabe was in a stupor, acting drunk and falling over his feet, and lying dazed on the couch. We put him down for his nap, and while he slept, Josh and I talked about what to do about all our stuff still in Sonoma.

We had no clothing or toiletries or shoes or anything, and after all, we'd come to the Napa/Sonoma area principally to see our dear friend T get married. We didn't want to miss the actual wedding, so we decided to start packing up the kids, rent my parents a room at the same hotel, and leave that same evening. Gabe could continue to recover at the hotel, armed with dvd players and toys and food. My parents could watch the kids while we attended the wedding, but we'd be close by in case something happened. So we did.

The next couple of days were rough, I'm not going to lie. We were all terrified Gabe would hurt his finger again, and the four of us (Josh and I and my parents) did a lot of yelling to keep Gabe from jumping or climbing, especially because the painkillers made him unsteady on his feet. Worst of all, the painkillers seemed to remove his inhibitions (who even KNEW three year olds have inhibitions, but I am here to tell you- THEY DO) and Gabe was incapable of listening to anything we said. He was acting like a maniac, and we were so terrified and stressed that any further injury to the finger might cause permanent damage or undo the surgery. Not to mention, the four of us shared a hotel room and let's not even TALK about how that worked out. We were all a mess. I know my parents were thrilled to drop us off at the airport hotel in San Francisco because they were done being stressed, and were sick and feeling guilty over the whole experience.

We did make it to the wedding, though, and even to a late Saturday night event, and we had a great time. I tried to put the weekend's events out of my mind for one night and enjoy seeing all of my girlfriends during that time period and for the most part, I was successful. I rarely drink, but I did consent to a few margaritas during the wedding, and truthfully, it probably helped.

On Monday afternoon, we left the Napa/Sonoma area, and drove to one of the San Francisco airport hotels for our flight on Tuesday morning. The hotel was fabulous, we turned in early, and Josh and I breathed a sigh of relief to be heading home. Josh turned to me at one point and said he needed a vacation from this vacation, and I agreed. The kids actually slept through the night even though we were sharing a room, and the next day, bright and early we headed to the airport for our flight home.

On the shuttle bus on the way to the airport, Josh got a text message from Delta saying our flight was delayed. I was concerned we'd miss our connection, but Josh assured me we wouldn't. We checked in at the front counters, sent off our luggage, asked about the connections and the agent assured us we were fine. We stood in line for security and got another text message saying the flight was further delayed and we were definitely missing the connection. We decided to go through anyway, and spent the next 3 hours arguing with gate agents and over the phone because according to them, we were stuck in San Francisco with absolutely no options for getting home.

We finally exited the terminal and went back to the front counters to argue and were seated on an overnight flight departing at midnight that night. With two kids, one of whom was drugged and acting crazy, and we were totally and completely sleep-deprived. When I tell you the Delta agents were horribly rude and unhelpful, it is an understatement. I almost started crying while standing at the counter when the agent told me I was lying about our 19 hour flight from Boston to San Francisco, and when he said that because we'd booked our flights with mileage, we were pretty much screwed because there was nothing they could do for us (which by the way, WHAT? So I am a loyal customer and you reward that loyalty by screwing us over?).

In desperation, I finally called the hotel back in tears and told her what was happening and asked if there was any way we could have our hotel room back (it had already been cleaned and checked out) for a few hours so the kids could nap and we didn't have to stay at the airport for another 12+ hours. Would you believe they said yes? She told us we were welcome to come back and she would set the room up again with a pack and play and we could stay as long as we needed to. That, my friends, is good customer service, and you better bet I will go out of my way to stay at that hotel chain again.

We returned to the hotel with just our carry-ons and car seat and jackets, and I let the kids sleep for the afternoon before the flight home. Thankfully I'd packed a pair of pajamas for each of them in the carry-on suitcases, so I dressed them in those for the flight back to Boston. We returned to the airport at 9pm, grabbed a couple snacks in the airport, and finally started our trip home at midnight.

It was AWFUL. We had a stop along the way, and Josie pretty much cried the whole way home (6+ hours) because she was too exhausted and uncomfortable to sleep, and Gabe couldn't get comfortable either, and after sleeping 3 hours, decided he was up for the day. Josh and I propped our eyelids up with toothpicks and did the best we could to manage the two of them. We finally landed in Boston at 11am, at which time Josh had to head straight into the office and I had a message from our pediatrician that I had an appointment with a hand surgeon that afternoon at 2pm, and I had to make it, because he didn't have another appointment for 3 weeks.

We rushed home, I dressed and fed the kids (dry cereal, since we had no food in the house) and we headed out to the hand surgeon appointment. On no sleep, with one drugged child and one sleep-deprived and screaming child. The appointment took 2 hours, and honestly, I have never been more mortified as a parent. Josie cried for the entire 2 hours, and Gabe was completely and utterly freaked because this was another doctor looking at his finger and trying to touch it and do x-rays and he was clinging to me like a spider monkey and crying and begging me to take him home while Josie clung to my legs and cried and gnawed on the bone models they had in the office.

I wish I were joking, it was beyond awful.

Thankfully, the surgeon said the surgery looked great and was healing well. It was exactly what he would have done, he said. We had a quick chat where he recommended casting the arm because he said little boys are notoriously untrustworthy with stitches and surgical sites. I agreed, but when the nurse who did the actual casting came in, she poo-pooed his suggestion and said she'd rather try to splint it. I was skeptical, but when she said it would be much easier for me to have a splint, I agreed. She did a half-assed splint, which I quickly made her re-do, we got our follow-up appointment, and I promised the kids cookies in the cafeteria on the way out.

I pushed the two of them in the stroller through the halls and got into the busy cafeteria where I tried to buy cookies and a grilled cheese so they'd have actual substance in their stomachs, while Gabe and Josie cried and argued, and somehow in the midst of the commotion, Josie got back and RIPPED THE SPLINT off of Gabe's finger, gauze, metal splint, bandages and all.

I swear to God, I almost left the two of them in the middle of the aisle.

My second thought was to sit on the floor and cry.

I did neither, but as best I could, calmly walked them back to the hand surgeon's office, waded through the crowds of waiting patients with the stroller, and told the front desk receptionist that I couldn't possibly do the splint and needed to talk to the doctor again. I was brought back, where we had another quick chat and after examining his finger, we decided to go for the cast after all.

I had several hours of horrible guilt that night when we got home because the cast is massive, from beyond the tips of his fingers to his shoulder. I had some kind of crazy post-traumatic stress anxiety attack where I started crying and couldn't stop and became convinced I was ruining his life because his arm was going to become atrophied underneath the cast and he'd never play sports again. It got so bad at around 3am that I started trying to figure out what I could do to cut the cast off myself. In the end (and after assurances from Josh and a few hours of sleep), I really do believe it is better. Gabe said to me as soon as she'd wrapped up his arm, "Now no one can hurt me! Now my finger is safe," so I think he is happier too.

So that's that. This Wednesday, we go back in to the surgeon's office and hopefully the cast comes off and a splint comes back on. Gabe is managing beautifully with the cast and has impressed all his little friends with it and gets lots of attention. He is definitely having some lingering issues about me leaving him and has been particularly teary and clingy lately, and will burst into tears and ask me not to leave him out of the blue. I'm also having some anxiety and especially have had some strange moments where I'll start thinking about everything that happened and break out in a cold sweat. It's been stressful, and as soon as we got home Josh had to leave on a business trip and both Gabe and Josie have been sick. It's been a little crazy, to say the least.

But, and it is a big but, Gabe is going to be fine. We're all fine, and I have a renewed appreciation for parents who have to deal with seriously ill or injured children. This seemed like such a nightmare to us, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a minor injury and we'll all recover and one day we'll hopefully laugh about it. Well, maybe my mom won't, but hopefully we'll look back and not want to cry. I don't know how parents keep it together and advocate for their children day after day and keep it together. My hat is off to you.

Thanks for all your kind thoughts and words. As always, they are great to hear, and make me feel better.

worst vacation ever, part II

When last we left off, our heroine (oh, who am I kidding? basketcase, is more like it) was speeding along the highway to reach her son who'd been admitted into the emergency room.
________________________________

10 minutes onto the road, the doctor called and told Josh she was hopeful Gabe wasn't going to lose his finger. And that was when I lost my mind.

The doctor said they were taking him in to get x-rays, and then would evaluate the cut part of the finger. At that time we learned it was the pinkie finger of his left hand, and I spent many minutes of the drive taking deep breaths and trying to find that reassuring. You don't NEED a pinkie finger, right? Kids won't make fun of him TOO much if his pinkie finger is messed up. The pinkie finger is practically useless, if he loses it, it'll be okay. It worked, somewhat. But the truth is you don't want your baby to hurt, no matter what. And you don't want your baby to have any kind of deformity, no matter how minor, no matter if it is just his pinkie. And worst of all, you never want him to go through anything without you by his side.

Josh and I drove silently, willing the cars to drive faster. We sat in standstill traffic and bit our nails and stared at each other, and stared at the phone and prayed for time to move a little slower so we could get to the hospital. When we were about an hour from the city, the phone rang and it was my mom. She said the x-rays showed no break in the bone, and they'd already numbed his finger, which went horribly, as you can imagine. She said poor Gabe was screaming for them to stop and for her to take him away. And geez, I felt like the worst mother ever.

We hung up, and I finally gave in to my need to pee, that I'd been putting off for 3 hours already, not wanting to tack on those 5 minutes to the trip. We were literally sitting at a dead stop on the highway, so those 5 minutes weren't going to change our arrival. It might even help.

We got back on the road, and with 25 minutes to go, we got another call from the doctor. She opened up the call by saying, "I'm sorry we have to talk under these circumstances," which is pretty much the WORST POSSIBLE WAY you can start talking to a parent. My mind jumped to terrible scenarios, but it turned out to just be her way of talking. She said she'd been able to sew up his finger, but he didn't tolerate her trying to repair his nail, so she'd just "tacked it back on". I've never heard of that before, so after getting her to explain a little more thoroughly, I asked if that was common, and she said yes, she did it all the time. To tell you the truth, she was fairly dismissive and rude on the phone, and I later found out my mom had already had two arguments with her.

Backing up the story for a minute, when she'd numbed him, my mom asked her if she could numb him once and then wait a couple of minutes for the anesthetic to take effect before numbing the rest and she refused. Then when she was doing the actual sewing, Gabe was screaming the entire time that he could still feel it and flinging his body all over the place and begging her to stop and she told my mom he was lying and didn't give him more anesthetic. My mom starting screaming at the doctor, and they got into an argument where the doctor told my mom that "she was the doctor and she decided how they were going to handle things." Then my mom, which may not have been the best thing, told her I was already unhappy about my mom's choice in hospitals (which was true) and that I thought she should have taken him somewhere else. They had some sort of disagreement over that also. My mom says Gabe screamed for the full 7-10 minutes while they did the sewing, and the nurses were apparently so horrified with the doctor, they wouldn't help with holding him down. My mom had to take the brunt of his terror, and toward the end she said the stress was literally making her black out and she thought she might faint. My stomach is turning just writing that paragraph, so let's move on.

I hung up the phone, and told Josh about the whole "tacking on the nail" thing, and about my mom's comments on the doctor's behavior, and decided to call our pediatrician, even though by this time it was about 11pm in Boston. I made the call, told him the whole story, and he said hands were way out of his area of expertise, but he did agree it sounded a little bit sketchy. He said I was totally within my rights to ask for a hand specialist to look over her work, and if I was worried I should do that.

Josh was racing down the highway while I was on the phone, and finally, we were there. I called my mom to find out where they were, and I could hear Gabe screaming through the phone. We sprinted through the parking lot and into the emergency room, and finally, FINALLY, we were there. I threw my arms around Gabe, and held him on my lap while he sobbed and begged me to "run away from here and never come back". Nurses were trying to finalize the bandages on his finger and he was distraught, but when the doctor walked back in, I felt his whole body recoil. She started to insist on removing his bandages for us to see, while Gabe, my mom, and both nurses were arguing to just let him be. We talked her out of it, thank goodness.

I asked her about a hand surgeon, and she just about bit my head off. She told me I was being ridiculous, and a hand surgeon was totally unnecessary, she did this all the time, a hand surgeon would never come for this kind of injury. I was taken aback, but I insisted. We argued a bit, she said she wouldn't call a surgeon, and finally I picked Gabe up and told her I'd be taking him to another hospital. At that point, my mom walked out in tears, furious with me for insisting on another course of treatment that would likely end up in more pain for Gabe. I understood where she was coming from, but in my mind, I had to ask. I had to know this was the right thing to do, and I thought 5 minutes of pain was worth his hand being repaired correctly. I had to believe the Gabe in 10 years would be grateful if his pinkie was perfect and whole.

When I stood up with Gabe and told her we were going to another hospital, the doctor got visibly nervous, and said she'd go consult with a colleague. She came back and said there was a hand clinic tomorrow we could go to. Fine, I answered, we'd be there. She left, and returned again and said she was going to try the hand surgeon if I really felt that strongly about it. Great, I said. She called, returned, and said she was shocked, but the hand surgeon said he would come when he was done with his surgery. Perfect, we said we'd wait for him.

It was 9pm by this time, and Gabe hadn't eaten since noon, so she said to go out and get him food. Josh went out for some food, and Gabe scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Chicken nuggets, fries, chocolate milk, he was starved. At 11pm, the surgeon finally showed up.

He came in and chatted comfortably with Gabe, removed his bandages, examined the wound, asked my mom again to describe what had happened, and then told us everything the ER doctor had done was wrong. He said Gabe could lose his finger if we left her stitches in the way they were. He said the ends of the bones of children are more like cartilage than regular bone, so you can't see a break on x-ray. The growth plate in his finger could have been crushed, and without a repair the finger might not grow properly. The nail bed also needed to be properly repaired, the finger nail removed, and a substitute covering inserted. The hand surgeon should have been called because it was a partial amputation, and at the very least, a pediatrician.

Throughout all of this, of course, the ER doc was SILENT. Super super silent, and I couldn't even LOOK at her, lest I start throwing punches. There was talk of trying to hold Gabe down for 20-30 minutes to do an exploratory look around and see whether the hand surgeon could fix it without an actual operating room. I put a big fat thumbs down on that one, and told both of them Gabe had been through ENOUGH, and if anyone was doing anything to him, it would be asleep or sedated, or SOMETHING.

Of course, you'll recall that this same ER doctor told us to feed Gabe, so no one could do any sedating or putting to sleep tonight. The hand surgeon talked with us for a good amount of time and he agreed we should just schedule an OR for either later that night or the next day, and proceed with a surgery, which is where he figured we'd end up anyway.

He left to schedule an OR, and a flurry of activity followed. Gabe needed either an iv or injections of antibiotics (we opted for injections) and paperwork and medical history and various other preparations. The injections were horrific because the nurse proceeded to prepare the needles in front of Gabe so he started preemptively screaming and begging me to keep her away from him. I lay in bed with Gabe, holding him, and telling him all about the swing set I was going to buy him for being such a good boy, while he repeatedly asked to go home.

During all of this activity, no one returned to re-bandage his finger, and Josh and I were terrified he was going to bump it or get germs on it, or whatever happens to a partially amputated finger that hasn't been repaired correctly. We must have asked 9 times for a nurse to come put a bandage on it, and I finally had to open up the cabinet and grab bandages and antibiotic ointment and do it myself.

All of this time, poor Josie was at home with my poor Dad who has never been left alone with a child in his life, and who had absolutely no idea what to do with her. God only knows what he did with her for all those hours, although I did hear she slept in the recliner until my mom got home at 1:30am.

Toward the end of our time in the ER, the ER doctor did return to the room. She walked in and said she was sorry about the whole situation, it was a learning experience for her too, she didn't know she needed to call a pediatrician or a hand surgeon. Now, I am generally pretty forgiving and non-confrontational, but I LITERALLY could not look at her. I could not see her face, I could not make eye contact. I was so mad, I thought I could actually spit. I said, okay, fine, and when I wouldn't respond further, she bent over to try to meet my eyes and said again, "really, I'm really really sorry. I feel awful. This is all my fault." And I felt for her, I did. I understand, she made a mistake. But she made a mistake on my fucking kid, and I just couldn't give her what she wanted. I nodded, said thanks, and then turned back to Gabe and wished for her to leave. She didn't come back again.

We were eventually discharged at 2am, Gabe passed out in the car on the way home, and we set the alarm for 4:30am. The surgery was scheduled for 6:00am, and we had to check into the hospital at 5:45am. Josh and I didn't sleep a wink all night long.

Part III of this nightmare to come, after I deal with my flooded bedroom due to the broken gutter that is pouring water against our window and causing rain to flow freely onto our bedroom floor. Oh, and did I mention Josh is out of town?

worst vacation ever, part I

Josh and I had an amazing trip planned for last week. I was flying to San Francisco on Friday afternoon, taking the kids to my parents' house and getting them all settled in. Then on Wednesday morning, I was picking Josh and two of our closest friends up from the San Francisco airport and heading off to Napa/Sonoma for a wine trip that culminated in another dear friend's wedding.

Our plans were fabulous, and we were so excited, and I planned and researched and planned and researched on best wineries and best restaurants and best locations and most fun things to do. We were all giddy with excitement, especially Josh and I because it was our first ever kid-free vacation since having Josie. We couldn't wait.

Friday came around and I packed everyone up, got the kids ready, Josh took us to the airport, and we boarded the plane as planned, and then sat on the tarmac. First, we sat there for an hour when they announced an ice storm in Atlanta (our connection), although I called my friend in Atlanta and she reported no ice storm, but whatever. Then it was two hours. Then it was three hours. After three hours, the crew announced that by law they are no longer allowed to keep people on the plane for longer than three hours, so we were allowed to get off the plane, but although they had to allow us off, they didn't have to wait for us to get back on. So if they got the call allowing the plane to take-off, they were allowed to LEAVE PEOPLE in Boston. They would make a quick announcement at the gate, but if we went to the bathroom or to grab a snack, they were permitted to leave us.

Now, if you have two or more children, you know even a trip to the bathroom can take forever, so I, of course, stayed on the plane. I thought the odds were pretty high if I got off the plane with my two maniacs, we might get left behind while I was chasing one or the other around the terminal.

The wait turned into 4, and finally 4 and a half hours, when the pilot finally announced we were allowed to take off. Now, at this point, we haven't moved an inch, and the dvd player has already run out of batteries and everyone is tired and frustrated. I have to admit, though, the kids were still doing really well at this point. We fly to Atlanta, I'm freaking out about our connection, but at least I've secured a place to stay that night if we can't make it to San Francisco.

We land, and sit on the tarmac for another 45 minutes because there is no gate for the plane, but finally, FINALLY, we are parked and allowed off the plane and we run through the Atlanta airport, board the train, jet over to another terminal, and are thrilled to find our connection also delayed. I grab chicken nuggets for dinner at the first food stand, rush onto the plane, without even having time to change anyone's diapers or take a bathroom break or charge the life-saving dvd player. We get settled onto the plane, and the crew announces- there are no pilots. The pilots are missing, no one can find them, they think they are on some delayed flight that hasn't even landed yet. Now, why we're all boarded on the plane and sitting here, no one knows.

I have to laugh or cry, so I laugh, and try to get the kids calm and settled in. We eat dinner, and wait, and wait, and wait. 2 hours later, they announce the pilots have landed. Another hour later, the pilots show up on the plane and everyone claps. Half an hour later, we are completing our safety check and finally heading out.

By this time, we're at 2am Boston time, the kids are losing their shit, and frankly, I'm losing my shit too. We're all tired, annoyed, stir crazy, hungry, bored, and did I mention tired? Oh, and no one has napped.

We make it through the flight by the skin of our teeth, and I tell you, it is a good thing you aren't allowed to beat your children in public because I had my moments during that flight. Josie wouldn't stop crying, and when she finally fell asleep, Gabe kicked her in the head because he was frustrated he wasn't sleeping also. She fell asleep again and Gabe announced he had to poop. I held both children in my arms for most of the flight, and if I moved an inch, one or the other would cry. My patience was being SERIOUSLY tried. Seriously. We landed, and I finally got everyone settled into bed at 7am Boston time, and were up for the day a little less than 2 hours later.

I will say, however, after those first two days of recuperating from the flight, we had a great few days. We spent quality time with grandparents, checked out the sights, played at playgrounds, I had dinner with friends, and the kids were happy.

I was anxious, but left the kids in capable hands, picked up Josh and our friends, and started our vacation off optimistic that we'd be having a terrific time. We tasted wine, ate great food, laughed a TON, ate delicious cheese, laughed a TON, and hung out with our fantastically fun friends. There were multiple times during those first couple of days where we commented to each other that vacations like these were what made growing up worth it. We were having so much fun, and the wedding weekend hadn't even started yet.

Friday came around, and we met up with the bride and started the wedding activities. Friday night consisted of Sex and the City 2 in the afternoon, and a casino night including dinner and lots of gambling for all the guests. I left Josh lounging in a square full of shops and excitedly went into the movie, until about 15 minutes in, he ran into the theater, grabbed my arm and told me he'd gotten a call from my mom that Gabe had hurt his finger and was in the hospital.

I ran out of the movie theater, our friends grabbed all of their stuff out of our car, and we jumped on the road back to Sacramento. We were in Healdsburg, about 3 hours from Sacramento on a good day, and we were leaving in the heart of rush hour, right at 4pm. We were a mess.

10 minutes onto the road, the doctor called and told Josh she was hopeful Gabe wasn't going to lose his finger. And that was when I lost my mind.

Part II to come...

vegas, baby

Well, let's sum up the trip, shall we?

I took a knife skills and self defense class from crazy marine reconnaissance mission guys, learned about the art of interrogation and lie detection from a former (25+ year) CIA operative, and then practiced the art of seductive dance with a stripper (lap dances and chair dances). Watched Elvis strip and take money off of my friend T with his teeth. Laughed so hard in a casino I lay down on the floor and thought I might actually pee my pants. Relaxed by the pool for hours soaking up the sun while Bostonians got snow flurries. Almost collapsed on Monday morning from multiple days of sleep deprivation and a red eye flight.

It was fabulous and amazing and ridiculously fun. I am so stinking lucky to have such funny and confident and beautiful and fun and kind and generous and loving friends. I saw the trailer for the new Sex and the City 2 movie, and Samantha says, "Men, babies... it doesn't matter. We're soul mates." and it made me think of these girls. We don't live in the same city with unlimited budgets and the ability to lunch together every day, but we do continue to make the effort through the years. We've been lots of places, through lots of milestones, the good and the bad and the distances, and we're still holding strong.

Now if only I could get back to Vegas where no one is asking me to change any diapers. Hmm.

home again, home again, jiggity jig

Sigh.

We're home. I think I've never loved my house more. I keep breathing a sigh of relief when I walk into my kitchen and turn on my own faucet, when I get to take a shower in my own shower, when I don't have to dig through a suitcase to find something to wear. I did have to dig through the laundry room, but at least it wasn't a jumbled suitcase with clothing belonging to 3 different people. It's an improvement.

Our flight out of Florida pulled away from the gate on time, and then sat there for 2 hours when they discovered a problem with our brakes. Eventually, the maintenance crew determined that we needed a new plane, so everyone moved to another plane at a different gate. Normally I wouldn't mind, but I had Josie, Gabe, a gigantic car seat, with the wheel board that allows me to drag it through the airport, blankets, a jacket, a purse, and a large roll aboard suitcase that was full of dvd players and snacks and blankets and changes of clothes and toys. Getting on a plane is exhausting, and getting off and then back on another is even more so. But the alternative of flying on a plane with malfunctioning brakes is no alternative at all, therefore move we did.

When we landed in Boston, way past everyone's bedtime, one bag on the entire plane was lost. Guess whose bag it was? Even better, out of all the possible bags to lose, it ended up being Josie's car seat, which meant we couldn't leave the airport without it. Eventually, the airline located a loaner car seat for me, and we headed home with a screaming baby who screamed the whole way home. The whole fairly long way home, in these great hiccuping screams of indignant rage.

They did find our car seat the next day, though, thankfully with everything inside. As the last bags were rolling around the belt in the baggage area, and it became abundantly clear that our car seat was not coming out, I realized my mistake. I'd viewed the car seat box as another opportunity to shove things in- toys, the monitor, noise machine, heavy clothing- allowing me to avoid paying another bag fee. When it disappeared, however, I realized that while I had saved myself a baggage fee, if the car seat really didn't turn up, the airline would definitely (and with good reason) refuse to pay for all those other things I'd thrown into the box. I started adding up the cost of all those lost items, and the number wasn't pretty. Lesson learned. Next time, I'll pay the $15 and throw in a duffel bag.

Now I'm facing the daunting task of unpacking and getting everyone back on a reasonable schedule, but at least we're home and with no trips on the horizon. I have some serious catching up to do with everyone and can't wait to hear what I missed.

I'm boarding a jet plane

I just booked my ticket for a trip to visit my parents in California, then on to visit my in-laws in Florida, then back to Boston from Florida. On this trip I will have actual ASSISTANCE with both of my children for the full three weeks I am gone. Perhaps I will go to a movie, or take a shower without someone screaming from the other side of the shower curtain, or maybe even go out to dinner! With adults! Oh, the possibilities.

Josh will not be accompanying me on this trip, which means that although I will have help once we land, I will travel alone with both kids. This also means that I am NOT bringing the dogs with me because I am brave but not CRAZY. You cannot even imagine the hilarity that ensues when I travel with Gabe and the dogs and have to take all three through the security line, especially pregnant.

I'd unbuckle Gabe from his car seat/stroller combo, take off his shoes, ask him to stand RIGHT HERE while I open the dog's bag, ask Gabe to NO COME BACK AND STAND RIGHT HERE, take out one dog, tell Gabe to COME BACK HERE, take out the other dog while the first dog is squirming and trying to jump out of my arms, run over and pull Gabe back to where we are standing, tell 4 people to go ahead of us in the line, ask Gabe to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STAND HERE, load the dog bag and the rest of our bags and the car seat/stroller combo on the belt, direct Gabe through the line, discover that the car seat/stroller combo doesn't fit through the belt, take it off the belt and ask for the hand check, turn around to find that Gabe has run away and is climbing on the stacks of plastic baskets, drag him back over and push him through the security check in front of me, and remember that all of this is with two squirming dogs in my arms who are both trying to get down and scratching each other and me in the process, walk through the security line, wait for the bags, drop one of the dogs, pick the dog back up while the second dog is holding on for dear life, promise Gabe cookies if only he'll stand right here for another minute, get one dog into the bag, get the other dog into the bag, put both of our shoes back on, get the car seat back and strap Gabe back in and then start the two mile walk to the last gate in the airport, because we always, always get assigned to the last gate. By the time we board the plane, I'm always a disheveled, nauseous, hot and sweaty mess, and we haven't even begun the trip.

I feel a little sick just thinking about it. And imagining that disaster with TWO kids and two dogs and one me is beyond even my capabilities. I thought about adding them to our reservation because they really do love to visit California and Florida since they love the heat, but Josh wouldn't even discuss it. Because he loves me and would like for me to come back sane.

I'm not worried about the trip, at least not yet, and I figure I will just throw Josie into the sling and take Gabe in his car seat/stroller combo thing, and check the double stroller at the check-in desk. I'm going to ignore the fact that she does not, at this point in time, like the sling, and we'll just hope for the best. On the plane, it'll be the first time we've purchased a seat for Gabe and I plan to strap him into his car seat for the 5 hour flight and not even TOUCH the straps until we land. He can eat whatever he wants, play whatever he wants, watch 5 straight hours of television on the dvd player, but NO ONE is getting down. It may actually work because I've never let him down on an airplane, so he doesn't even seem to realize that walking on the plane is a possibility. I plan to keep it that way until he is a teenager, at least.

Best of all, there will be no snow in both California and Florida, and perhaps there will even be sunshine and vitamin D. Also, lots of assistance from grandparents whose sole purpose in life is to make and keep my children happy. It should be great. I'm counting down the days.

smokin' hot

California is very, very, VERY hot. Especially when you're pregnant. It is definitely too hot to take your child to Fairytale Town and the Zoo and Funderland and chase after him in the 100+ degree heat. Once you have soaked through all your clothes due to the copious amounts of sweat, you may actually start to feel a little lightheaded and have to retire to the car. It is too hot to take him to the park, too hot to take walks, too hot even to drive places because that means returning to your boiling hot car and waiting for it to cool down.

I feel terribly guilty because I know it is getting colder in Boston as I type and I should be taking advantage of these last days of summer, but I'm just too hot to deal. I end up throwing Gabe in the backyard and watching him through the sliding glass doors from the comfort of the air conditioned kitchen. That's not neglect, right?

Besides that, the visit is good. I am fulfilling my destiny as a pregnant woman and sleeping 10 hours at night and taking 2 hour naps in the afternoon. Every other second of my awake time is spent eating. I wish I were exaggerating, but alas, I am not. Add to that the fact that I am too hot to exercise at all, and Josh might have to roll my inflated booty off the plane in 2 weeks.

Gabe is loving his grandparents and gets incredibly upset when they leave for work or go to the bathroom. He stands at my dad's door screaming his name in the morning until he gets up to play with him. It is fun to see, and I'm glad he is enjoying them so much.

I had a pang of sadness this morning when I realized that he was missing his first day of school because we are here, but hopefully he won't be left out too much from all the social cliques of the toddlers. Toddlers don't have social cliques, right? I'm telling myself that he is also missing all of the crying and separation anxiety from the first few days and he'll be able to glide right in when we are back in two weeks.

I'm off to search for a nearby pool, because that might be the only thing I can tolerate in this heat. I'll apologize in advance for anyone who has to see my rapidly expanding body in a bathing suit. Ugh.

just looking chubby, not pregnant

I don't want to alarm you, but I think this baby might be trying to kill me.

We're 14 and a half weeks and counting and I'm STILL sick. I still spend a good chunk of every day so nauseous that I can't move, I'm so tired that I lie on the couch for hours every afternoon, I have blinding headaches at least every other day, and did I mention the nausea? The nausea is pushing me over the edge. I was feeling so much better with Gabe by this point, so there are moments that are demoralizing. My OB keeps trying to make me feel better by promising that I'll feel better by 15 weeks, but again, since this baby might be trying to kill me, I feel little confidence about her promises.

Of course, there are really great things, like some stretches of the day where I feel pretty good. That is an improvement, it used to be 24/7 nausea. Now it's more like 14/7 nausea. There are also the tiny little flutters that I feel, and those tiny little flutters feel suspiciously like baby movements. It seems far out, because I didn't think you'd be able to feel a baby so soon, but I am choosing to believe that it's more baby than gas. There's also the great news that the baby checks out as totally normal, and our big ultrasound is scheduled for July 15th. I can't wait to check out all the little bits (except for the really revealing ones, of course, although I'm so tempted).

The strangest thing of all, is that I am barely showing. With Gabe I already had a decent pooch of a belly, but these days you'd never know that I'm pregnant. Only in the last two days have I seen any kind of transformation, and I suspect part of this is the fact that I started wearing maternity shirts and pants so they at least billow out to give an impression of a belly. Even my mom was disappointed with my lack of belly when she got off the plane for her visit this week. If I hadn't seen that baby repeatedly on the ultrasound, I'd be doubtful that it was in there at all. Don't get me wrong, the appearance of lovely pregnancy induced cellulite is here. I'm bloated and my thighs and butt have started growing already. I'm just missing the telltale tummy. Sadly.

Besides that, things are good. We're planning for a last minute vacation we planned for next week. I found a fabulous timeshare rental for a condo on Craigslist in Aruba for dirt cheap. Dirt dirt dirt cheap. We booked the tickets with mileage, and since we have a kitchen, we're hoping to eat most of our meals at the discount grocery store rate. I plan to spend every waking minute at the beach and the pool, reading trashy novels, eating ice cream, and hopefully growing that nonexistent belly. We leave on Sunday, and I am counting the minutes until then. And packing bathing suits and lots of sunscreen. Oh, and hoping that I'm not too nauseous to do nothing on the beach.

the travel never ends

Gabe and I arrived late last night from another trip to California, where we've been for the last 10 days. It was a looooonnggg trip, and both of us are relieved to be home. I could tell by the way Gabe kissed each of his toys as he pulled them out of his toy basket, and the squeals of glee when he saw the dogs. I could tell how relieved I was by the way I threw myself at Josh when we got off the elevator at baggage claim. What can I say? It was a long trip, followed by a long flight with Gabe on my lap the whole time. I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

We were in California dealing with some family issues, and also attending the wedding of a law school friend. The wedding was this past weekend, and I had the best time I've had in quite some time. My law school girlfriends and I met up at the wedding locale and went out on Friday and Saturday nights until the wee hours of the morning. My mom took care of Gabe while I lived it up at restaurants and tourist spots and karaoke bars. Why did no one tell me how fun karaoke is? I don't think I've laughed that hard in months. I spent most of the time during karaoke doubled over in tears from all that laughing.

I really needed the release, because the truth is that things on the home front aren't great. My parents appear to be in the process of separating, and there are painful, raw emotions running all over the place. I don't want to talk about it much, because it is complicated and difficult and I'm very sad about it, but that is what is going on.

Gabe, as seems to be the norm around here, is sick again. He has been up coughing for the last few nights and was running a low-grade fever for several days. Tomorrow we have his 15 month visit, and I'm hoping they can shed some light on what is going on with him. Besides this sickness, though, he is cuter than ever. Now I understand how you can stand to see your baby grow up, because the person they turn into is just as adorable as the wee babe they were! He is scrumptious.

He is running around like a maniac, climbing on everything, jabbering nonsensically in the cutest possible way. When he wants you to sing him a song, he moves his fingers as if he were singing the "Itsy Bitsy Spider". He does that sign ALL THE TIME. Once I've shown him a trick once, he almost always remembers how to do it the next time. He can throw things in the garbage, put toys away, give hugs and kisses on command, go up and down stairs, feed himself with a fork (somewhat), open and close doors, retrieve things by name, throw a ball and kick a ball, share a bite of food with you, and the list grows constantly. It is a lot like living with a tiny monkey that learns things instantly, a little like a sponge. And it is so much fun.

So despite all the sadness, life is still really great. We are still really lucky. In the meantime, I'll be enjoying life at home while the three of us are together. At least until we have to leave again for Florida next Tuesday. Ugh, someone shoot me now.