In bed, sipping coffee. Kids are gone, house is quiet(ish) except for the occasional and adorable monologues by the hot husband at foot of the bed. Outside my window there is a squirrel sleeping on a tree-branch; allegedly already exhausted from the heat.
I'm procrastinating a little. Buncha stuff to do. Post weekend away stuff: Unpack, do laundry, organize the overnight bags, clean the puke up from the back of the car...
Let me back up a bit, k?
Day 1
The ride to Plymouth on Friday to see my family for a long-over due reunion/wedding was pretty f'n great. I was open minded, packed lots of snacks, water, apple computer products and accessories, Toy Story paraphernalia, minions, you know, the usual. There were no urinary tract emergencies, expended crying jags, extended crying just some annoying bouts of unwanted sisterly physical contact. I was feeling lucky.
Excitement was at a fever pitch when we got to the hotel (my kids love hotels, like unnaturally so. And the vibe out immediately on the ambiance & the possibility of room service and unlimited down pillows). And I was caught up in it, too. Link was so good and so happy go lucky that I took it for granted he would remain so.
Fast forward 30 minutes and we're sitting in the little tavern inside the hotel waiting on some grub and mah boy is tweaking. A little at first, just some background whining and fidgeting which I thought would be quelled by the crayons and paper the servers brought us. Nope. Within minutes, things were worse and me and Mimi and Ruby and PJ were all in it. Each one of us offering our own brand of comfort but nothing worked. Even when his food arrived he was still randomly screeching, hitting me and crying. I knew he needed to eat, so I didn't want to leave. I poured another glass of wine from the bottle I ordered and dug in deep with my baby.
Eventually, his brain received the signal that glucose was flowing, that the hunger pangs were gone and his thirsty, thirsty self had more water available than he could possibly need. He ate. The girls and Mimi ate. I picked at their plates and had glass #3 of my Chilean Sauvignon Blanc at the ready.
Ruby, who although had been an insufferable jerk to her little sister the whole day, was ready and able to scoop up baby boy and carry him back up to our room as I settled the bill. Fragile P, took up Lincoln's real estate in my lap and seemed to relax, too. The unknown and Penelope are not friends and this trip could be potentially nerve-wracking for her. Because even though she was familiar with the town (we'd been to Plymouth a few times before) and some of my relatives, there was still a whole lot of mystery in her mind. Having me to herself for a moment was like a little alka seltzer for her sweet self.
When we were all reunited upstairs, it was time to suit up the young'uns to take a dip in the hotel pool. We had two adjoining rooms so I didn't always know where everyone was and I lost track of Ruby for a minute. When I found her, she was crying in one of the bathrooms. Ruby is taller than me and is built more like a woman than I am, so physically comforting her can be a little awkward for me. Like my arms don't go all the way around, I can't kiss the top of her head with out standing on my tip toes. But when I did hug her, she melted and cried harder.
"Why do people have to stare at him like that, mom?"
Ah, "other people". Those fuckers and their self-control and typically functioning brains.
Apparently on their way back to the room, Ruby had the unpleasant experience of seeing people see her brother. And when that happens, it feels awful. It feels like I-will-get-my-flamethrower-and-scorch-you-judgmental-bastards-to-the-hell-you-came-from.
"Aw, Rube, don't worry babe. In a few hours there will be an entire ARMY of family around our baby."
And as usual, I couldn't have been more right.
I'm procrastinating a little. Buncha stuff to do. Post weekend away stuff: Unpack, do laundry, organize the overnight bags, clean the puke up from the back of the car...
Let me back up a bit, k?
Day 1
The ride to Plymouth on Friday to see my family for a long-over due reunion/wedding was pretty f'n great. I was open minded, packed lots of snacks, water, apple computer products and accessories, Toy Story paraphernalia, minions, you know, the usual. There were no urinary tract emergencies, expended crying jags, extended crying just some annoying bouts of unwanted sisterly physical contact. I was feeling lucky.
Excitement was at a fever pitch when we got to the hotel (my kids love hotels, like unnaturally so. And the vibe out immediately on the ambiance & the possibility of room service and unlimited down pillows). And I was caught up in it, too. Link was so good and so happy go lucky that I took it for granted he would remain so.
Fast forward 30 minutes and we're sitting in the little tavern inside the hotel waiting on some grub and mah boy is tweaking. A little at first, just some background whining and fidgeting which I thought would be quelled by the crayons and paper the servers brought us. Nope. Within minutes, things were worse and me and Mimi and Ruby and PJ were all in it. Each one of us offering our own brand of comfort but nothing worked. Even when his food arrived he was still randomly screeching, hitting me and crying. I knew he needed to eat, so I didn't want to leave. I poured another glass of wine from the bottle I ordered and dug in deep with my baby.
Eventually, his brain received the signal that glucose was flowing, that the hunger pangs were gone and his thirsty, thirsty self had more water available than he could possibly need. He ate. The girls and Mimi ate. I picked at their plates and had glass #3 of my Chilean Sauvignon Blanc at the ready.
Ruby, who although had been an insufferable jerk to her little sister the whole day, was ready and able to scoop up baby boy and carry him back up to our room as I settled the bill. Fragile P, took up Lincoln's real estate in my lap and seemed to relax, too. The unknown and Penelope are not friends and this trip could be potentially nerve-wracking for her. Because even though she was familiar with the town (we'd been to Plymouth a few times before) and some of my relatives, there was still a whole lot of mystery in her mind. Having me to herself for a moment was like a little alka seltzer for her sweet self.
When we were all reunited upstairs, it was time to suit up the young'uns to take a dip in the hotel pool. We had two adjoining rooms so I didn't always know where everyone was and I lost track of Ruby for a minute. When I found her, she was crying in one of the bathrooms. Ruby is taller than me and is built more like a woman than I am, so physically comforting her can be a little awkward for me. Like my arms don't go all the way around, I can't kiss the top of her head with out standing on my tip toes. But when I did hug her, she melted and cried harder.
"Why do people have to stare at him like that, mom?"
Ah, "other people". Those fuckers and their self-control and typically functioning brains.
Apparently on their way back to the room, Ruby had the unpleasant experience of seeing people see her brother. And when that happens, it feels awful. It feels like I-will-get-my-flamethrower-and-scorch-you-judgmental-bastards-to-the-hell-you-came-from.
"Aw, Rube, don't worry babe. In a few hours there will be an entire ARMY of family around our baby."
And as usual, I couldn't have been more right.
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