Lame Sauce

Sorry for the blogging hiatus... things have been crazy, crazy busy (and it's not gonna settle down anytime soon). I am determined to keep on keepin' on, though... so here we go.

For weeks (and weeks and weeks) I had been dreading last Friday. More than any other day of this gonna-take-three-months-to-get-it-done move. More than any day of my ENTIRE life, even: Like a root canal with no pain meds. On a Saturday. While all your friends are at the beach... being slathered with oil by Chippendales dancers.

It was to be an entire, 16-hour-day of traveling, with my 9-month-old and mother-in-law.

Our morning began at 5am, waking Evie up so that we could begin the long drive from one side of Connecticut to the other so that I could teach from 9-12 before we headed to the Boston Airport. The stars aligned, though, and Evie napped the whole way to UCONN. Then, on the second leg of our drive, Evie took another nap. By the time we got to our gate (all the while carrying two carry-ons each, a baby and a stroller) we were so proud of ourselves that we were fartin' rainbows.

Then, because of Debbie's I'm-BFF-with-the-inventor-of-Delta Diamond Medallion Member status, we got to hop on an earlier flight, sit next to one another, check our bags for free, and BOARD THE PLANE FIRST.

Next time you see her you should channel your best Robin Leach and say "Diaaaaaaamonds, dahhhhhhhhhhling". She would like that. (She was seriously such a rock-star all day...Evie would have probably eaten my tears for lunch if Debbie hadn't been there to help me).

The day was going really well; and guys, leaving the Atlanta airport with SMILES on our faces felt pretttty good. After a full day of traveling I would have been satisfied with everyone having all of their appendages intact. But no: we go big. We were SMILING. Diamonds, y'all. Diamonds.

But then we got into the car. With a tired Evie. At 5:15 on a Friday evening. In Atlanta. And here's where I will tell you that listening to a baby cry, neigh... scream, for 2 hours is worse than getting a curb sandwich. So now you know.

But then, just 120 minutes of sheer misery later, we were home. The day I had been dreading for weeks was over. And it was beautiful.

Wednesday is the New Monday

Today has been a giant string of miniature disasters. Aside from Wednesdays being generally sucky because I have to be on campus from 9am - 9pm, Graham is sick, I slid down a snow embankment and ruined my new flats (I know, I shouldn't wear flats in the snow. Stop yelling at me!), I forgot my wallet at home (and had to get my sick husband to drive to campus and bring it to me) and I am still here. In class. Blogging. That's almost the same as listening and learning. Right?

But none of that matters friends. Know why? KNOW WHY!?! Because tomorrow I will be hopping on a big, steel bird and flying out to sunny California. Because - have you SEEN this commercial?

So. I'm going to california because David Beckham wants to play soccer with me.

In addition to the whole "David Beckham clearly wants me and is using soccer as a ruse" thing, I am going to visit one of my favorite people on the planet: Miss Catherine Herzog. She is so beautiful it's disgusting. I can barely like her because of it. Despite the nauseating attractiveness, however, I am going to go spend some time with her. I haven't seen her since Evie was born. I haven't told the story about how she was there for those first two weeks... but let's just say that I am beyond lucky to have her as a friend. Beyond. Lucky.

I also get to visit my niece: Sophalinaloafa. That is the name on her birth certificate. At least her birth certificate that exists inside my head.

All this to say that there probably won't be much posting this weekend... but I will catch everyone up when I get back with a post that will inevitably start "HA HA, SUCKAS, I wore hawaiian shirts all weekend while you were all stuck in the cold... with runny noses!"

Tomorrow I'll post about how I have an EIGHT MONTH OLD. And, while we are on the subject: WHAT THA WHAT?!?

First Week Away

Our first day of 2010 began in tears. My tears. As I watched Graham pack the Jeep, knowing that we would be driving back to Connecticut without our little girl. We've been at a photography conference (which, by the by, rocked my face right off my head) so Evie is staying at Camp Deanie - my mom's house - for a few more days and then they're flying up on the 8th.

So there were tears; lots of tears. And just when I would think I had finally pulled it together I would look up; and there would be the cheeks. And the tears would recommence. Because, well, what if those cheeks change while I'm away?! What is those cheeks start crawling?!?

There were moments when I didn't know if I'd be able to bring myself to leave. But then I did. I got in the car. We drove away. And I waited. And waited. But more tears didn't come. Instead, my internal dialogue was something like:

"Yaaahhhhoooooooooooiiieeee, Yiiiipppppppiiieeeeee!"

I feel like I am in adult nirvana: on vacation with no child and no work. Granted, I cannot wait for her to come back so that I can squeeze that 67th percentile head of hers... but I am also enjoying these last few nights of quiet.

And if you think that my less-than-sad reaction makes me a bad mom; well, get ready for this: I fed Evie grilled cheese sandwiches all last week. And she LOVED them. HAH!

I mean, if it takes sandwiches to get this peanut the gain some weight well... then... it's sandwiches she'll get!

Just Plane Lucky

People, the travel gods seriously smiled down on us yesterday. Evie slept the entire way to Providence (that's 1 1/2 hours in the car, folks). The agents at the security gate were super kind and helpful. My husband didn't get a hernia from the umpteen carry on items he was lugging through the terminals. We got to board first and there were SEVEN vacant seats all around us. Then Evie did not have a giant poop on the airplane (a possibility that Graham had been waking up in cold sweats over for weeks).

And then? AND THEN?!?! Evie fell asleep! The first 1.5 hours of the flight were spent in complete silence. I got to brush up on my Tap Defense skills. Very important. Have I mentioned how I like Evie the best when she is asleep?

Well, asleep-Evie is my fllllaaaaavorite.

So she naps. And then? AND THEN!?!? She wakes up and is all "Hello. I feel incredibly rested and would like to giggle at you for the remainder of the flight."

So of course I'm all "Yes please. And thank you. I'll make moronic noises to further exacerbate your laughter."

So, to summarize: Thank you Jesus.

The only bad part: my foot fell asleep during her nap. And instead of doing the it-tingles-in-a-bad-way dance I just sit there. I take one for the team. Because, people, only an idiot would chance waking a sleeping baby at 20,000 feet. In fact, had the plane been an ocean and a shark had swam up and begun slowly gnawing my foot to a bloody stump, I still wouldn't have moved. Not in a million years.

We got really lucky, and that is not lost on me. This trip was infinitely better than the last plane ride we took with her: when I had to pump in the lavatory, proceeded to spill my hard-earned milk all over the nasty, urine-caked floor, and then threw myself out of the exit door. Or maybe I just thought about that last past.

Regardless. It is so good to be home. I hope that you and your's have a wonderful and blessed Thanksgiving.

Tumbleweed

I have this really bad habit of getting antsy when I have lived in one place for more than...oh...two years. Antsy like I have little creatures who normally live in a hill marching around in my underpinnings.

In fact, we move around so much that we have our own moving crew. And our own T-SHIRTS...and everyone knows that having your own shirts makes you legit. For reals.


And so I talk about it. And talk and talk and tallllllk. And plan. And Graham mostly looks at me like: girl's crazy. And then I talk some more.

We have lived in Connecticut for a little over a year now...so (although we still have another solid two years here) I am all bored with it and ready to go someplace new. Here are my top choices:

Los Angeles: *THUD* That was the sound of my mom hitting the ground somewhere in the Metro Atlanta area from the coronary that she had when she read that. But, I mean, Southern California is just so beautiful...and sunny...and beachy -- all of the things that I love the most. And my favorite place on the planet, Pepperdine, is there. And, well, if I ever got the opportunity to teach there it would just make me jump so high that I would be the first official Grad Student to ever orbit the earth without a space-suit.

Nashville: I lived in Nashville for a few years and it has this great balance of city and country. Plus it has the Puffy Muffin. And Baja Burrito. And Mazatlans. Mostly I would want to move there for the food. Obviously.

New York City: Everyone likes a happy spouse. And moving to Manhattan would make my husband the happiest human being on the planet. ON. THE. PLANET. Plus I have always wanted to live in a truly, truly walkable city. And the take-out options! Geeze-Louise!

Atlanta: There will always be a pretty hefty chunk of my heart traveling, in a little heart-shaped-vehicle, up and down 400 and around 285; because that is just how much I love this city. It is where I grew up and where all of my very favorite people live.

Where would you live if you could move anywhere?

Long Overdue

In August we went to Atlanta and, besides the part where I had to milk myself, it was an awesome trip. Evie got to meet all of the amazing Southern Folks who love her so very much. And suffice it to say that there are a LOT of them. So we did what any good Georgian Family (albeit a transplanted one) would do: ate a lot of food and traveled around handing out free hugs everywhere we went.

I'm just gonna say it: Southerners do it better. And I don't just mean cooking, decorating, and partying. I mean they are better at being humans. (Oh, wait, what's that sound I just heard? The tapping noise of my non-southern readers clicking UN-FOLLOW). But really, once you dip below the Mason Dixon Line it's hard not to compare everywhere else you go to That Place where the people are just soooo naice (that's "nice" in Georgia-speak)... and I'm not gonna lie: there is a piece of me that dies every time I think about the little, twangy accent that Evie could have had.

And the love. Ohhhh the looooove. There were people who we saw on this visit who have loved us our entire lives, so to see them snuggling on Evie just made my heart look like a scene straight out of Disney's Fantasia.

Three cheers for Grandpa. Hip-Hip, Horray!

Snuggling with the Meemers...who drove all the way from Mississippi to hold Ms. Evie.

And the man who has, on more than one occasion, been single-handedly responsible for helping me maintain my sanity.

And the man who has, on more than one occasion, been single-handedly responsible for keeping Graham's mother from murdering him.

As you can see, the trip was a success...and we cannot wait to take Evie back to the ATL in November so that she can meet her new cousin, Sophi.

I will leave you with some sweet, sweet second cousin love.

**PHOTOS TAKEN BY THE UBER-TALENTED GRAHAM SCOBEY, DUH**

There's More Than One Way to Milk a Cow

As any of you who have ever had the pleasure of pumping breast-milk know, it is a process that requires tools. I mean more tools than a Home Depot. More tools than a Home Depot that just won a high-stakes-poker-game with a Lowe's.

There's the actual pump...then you need what I like to call the trumpets...and the bottles to attach to the trumpets...and tops for the bottles. Our trip to Alabama last week was going to be more than a 3-bottle trip (When you have a baby, hours start to lose their meaning. Time starts being gauged in terms of how many bottles or feedings your baby will require while you are away.) so we had to take the pump. While we were at Mama Hazel's and everyone was taking pictures, I excused myself to go to the restroom and pump some milk. Except that when I got to the bathroom and rifled through my bag I realized...no, it couldn't be...I am not that stupid. Oh yes. I am.

I forgot the trumpets.

No worries, I tell myself, breast-pumps have only been around about 60 years...so how did people do this before then? Well, they breast-fed. The only problem there is that, for the past week, whenever Evie so much as sees my boob she screams bloody murder (it does WONDERS for my self esteem).

So I channel my inner cave woman and I express. By. Hand.

If someone had told me ten years ago that on one humid, lowly day in August of 2009 I'd be hunched over a toilet in a nursing home bathroom, giving myself the purple-nurple of the century, I probably would have choked to death on my own laugh. Four ounces later and I have found success. My child will not starve today! And let me tell you, I haven't had a hand cramp like that since the verbal portion of the SAT.

Full Moon...Full Weekend

This weekend has been great. Despite the fact that I have been a little bit cranky lately (read: pretty much a holy terror to be around) my sweet family has gone out of their way to take my mind off of the inescapable fact that I...am...still...pregnant.

Yesterday we spent the afternoon in Mystic (which is a small town, down by the coast, that has lots of cute shops) and then ate at S&P Oyster Company. It was soooo delicious. If you are ever in Connecticut give it a try.

Here we are doing a little bit of shopping...Graham has been so wonderful and patient with me this week. I can barely stand to be around myself lately, so I would not blame him if he hopped the next flight to Tahiti...but he is here...letting me cry/complain/turn up the air conditioning as high as it will possibly go...and loving me nonetheless.

Today Graham had his first soccer match for a recreational team that he just started playing on. There are few things more attractive to me than a guy in some sort of athletic uniform...so stick my husband in one and...well...I was pretty much drooling on the sidelines for a solid 90 minutes. I really encouraged him to join the team pretty much for that very reason. Don't tell him. He might feel objectified.

After the soccer game we went to the Coventry Farmer's Market. This is seriously my favorite place in all of New England...and I look forward to it every week. I lovingly refer to it as The Most Magical Place on Earth (please do not sue me, Disney...I am but a lowly blogger) and it is...it really is.

Here is Bear getting some time with his Pop...can you tell that they really don't like each other at all? Can someone please tell this dog that he is not a person...what kind of animal with any self respect sits like that!?

On another note...there is a full moon tonight so I am still holding out hope that tonight could be the night (yes, I know that it is already 10:00pm...but I am a desperate woman, people...I will take hope wherever I can, no matter how irrational)

Come ON crazy gravitational pull...work your MAGIC!

Only 999 Left to Go...

Graham's parents flew into town yesterday afternoon. They had already cleared their calendars around Evie's due date...and we did not want her late arrival to keep everyone sitting around on their hands. After going through a local attractions guide over breakfast, we decided that it would be fun to take a tour of The Mark Twain House in downtown Hartford (and that, even if it wasn't fun, the large quantities of stairs and walking might force me into labor).

The whole experience was a really pleasant surprise. Mark Twain (whose real name was Sam Clemens) was a remarkable man with a strong sense of humor. Learning about him made me think that, had he been alive today, I would like to have been his friend. His house here (where he spent the "happiest 17 years of his life") is absolutely gorgeous. Graham is going to build me one just like it someday.


Or at least he will build me a Lego house just like it...which is pretty much just as impressive as the real thing. I mean...can you imagine the skill that it would take to make something like this? Amazing!


Our tour guide informed us that The Mark Twain House is featured in the book 1,000 Places to See Before You Die...which was really exciting to me because I love lists and checking things off of them...and there are only 999 things left on that list. And at this rate, we can get through the entire remainder of the book before our daughter is even born.


"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little to no influence on society" - Mark Twain