So we’re here in the frozen north, er, in the temperate north, attending to family and wedding festivities. We are staying with Otto’s brother and sister-in-law, who live in a gorgeous house and are always gracious hosts. Usually when we stay here we camp out in their spare room, which is a smallish L-shaped space that has two twin beds catty-corner to each other. I enjoy sleeping in there because I never tire of saying “Good night, John Boy!” when we turn the lights out, but this time they opted to put my younger nephew in his brother’s room and put us in his room on an air mattress. This is awesome for a couple of reasons, really.
For one thing, sleeping on an air mattress with two people is rather like sleeping on a trampoline, because every time one person moves the other person gets bumped around as the air shifts. For another thing, my younger nephew’s three-year-old brain is rather blown by the whole idea of us sleeping in his room. And he wants to talk about it.
“Do you want to go see my room?” he asked us, the first morning (after we’d already slept in his room the night before). When I mentioned that we’d just been in there, he took a different tack: “Well, do you want to see it NOW THAT YOU’RE AWAKE?” Again, I demurred, and he rethought his position and then came back with, “How about we go see MY BROTHER’S ROOM?”
I was—at the time—doing some work on my laptop, so I ruffled his hair and told him I needed to do a little bit of work before I went to see anything, and he nodded and ran off.
Only to return two minutes later, to ask me if I wanted to see his room. I had forgotten, but three-year-olds are a lot like very energetic midgets with Alzheimers.
My older nephew—a worldly 5 years old—has recently developed an interest in NASCAR. And by “developed an interest in” I of course mean “memorized every track, car, and driver stat.” This kid is phenomenal, and he really wants to share his knowledge because maybe, JUST MAYBE, you don’t know that the number whatever driver always wears blue and drives the such-and-such car and favors the track at this other place. (You can see that I’ve been paying close attention.)
My sister-in-law and I left the boys with our husbands and went out for pedicures, yesterday. It was very fancy—the place we went to actually had massage chairs, so in addition to the swirling foot bath things, we got to have a nice back rub while getting all pretty. The only snafu was that earlier I had nicked my leg while shaving (damn citrus scented handles!) and the band-aid came off when I put my legs into the whirlpool. That was fine; I grabbed the band-aid out of the water and figured it was no big deal. But then the nick started to bleed again. And it wouldn’t stop. And the nice lady making my toenails pretty kept dabbing at it and then got me a new band-aid and then when I bled through that one got me ANOTHER one and then she started joking about calling 911. So I was looking for a relaxing outing that ended with us driving home feeling all refreshed and pretty, and instead my sis-in-law had to drive us to CVS so that we could waddle inside with the foam toe-separators still wedged on our feet so that I could buy some styptic and not have to go to the hospital. Fun!
[Side note: I forgot to note the color of my polish, which is a shame, because OPI nail lacquer color titles are the best. It's sort of a shimmery orange-tinged red, which doubtless is named something like My Other Blender Is a Ferrari. Also, I picked it because I thought it would be a cheerful splash of color poking out from my peep-toe pumps at the wedding, but as I walked around in flip-flops yesterday I could not help thinking OH MY GOD WAS I ON CRACK WHEN I PICKED THIS?? because it turns out to be Very Very Bright. Whoops.]
Then we all piled into the van to drive over an hour to the very scenic location of the wedding, so that the wedding people could rehearse and then we could all have a nice dinner together. My younger nephew spent the entire drive down there asking his mother for some water. First it was “I’m thirsty, I need some water,” and then it was “How about some water?” and “I would like some water, please,” and “Mommy, can’t I have some water?” and no matter how any of us pointed out that we simply didn’t HAVE any water in the van, he was not to be deterred. My older nephew wanted to know how much longer until we got there, and then once we were there he wanted to know how soon until we could leave.
All of which is to say, we got to the restaurant and the boys commenced drinking a gallon of water apiece and eating dinner rolls by the fistful, and we all found this to be great entertainment because, really, they had been AWFULLY PATIENT and deserved as many carbs as they could stuff in their little mouths.
Meanwhile, I was in an EXCELLENT mood because while at CVS buying styptic earlier, my sister-in-law and I had looked for the August issue of Redbook magazine and found only July… but right by the restaurant my charming (and handsome; did I mention handsome?) husband had snagged a copy of the August issue. Do you know what’s in the August issue? Me! With writing! And a picture! It’s not the first time I’ve done something for print instead of the web, but it’s the first time I’ve done something for print which is GLOSSY. Somehow that just conveys an extra little thrill. And it also meant that when we tired of watching the nephews stuff bread into their gaping maws, we all passed around the magazine and I felt SPESHUL.
Then the restaurant had a dinner special called “Lobster Fantasy” which did, indeed, turn out to be a fantasy—a lobster covered in other seafood, served with a cereal-bowl sized dish of melted butter. I didn’t wear the bib that came with it, but I did wave my hands around majestically whenever I said “Lobster Fantasy,” as that just seemed like common sense.
After the drive back up here (“Are we there now, Daddy? Mommy, how much longer til we are home? I want some water. Do you have some water? Maybe you could just PRETEND to have water, Mommy? Because I want some water.”) we all settled in to watch a movie. Charlie Wilson’s War, I think.
I’m not sure. For some reason, after three pounds of seafood and a stick of butter, I lay down on the couch and fell asleep about 10 minutes into the film. I cannot imagine why, but if I had to hazard a guess I suppose I’d say that my body needed every ounce of energy available to keep my arteries open.
Today we apparently have to strategize everything that needs to happen for the wedding, which is tomorrow (motto: Why make it all happen in the traditional two days when you can make the madness last for three?), and I have to figure out what in the world to do with my hair now that it is too long to be short and too short for any sort of updo I actually know how to accomplish.
Your mission—should you choose to accept it—is to refer to these recent pictures on Hair Thursday and tell me what I can possibly do with my hair for a fancy evening wedding that won’t look like crap. (I have elastics, bobby pins, clips, a “fancy” ribbon-wrapped headband, and barrettes in all sizes at my disposal.) The resultant ‘do should go with this dress. (Yes, I did only pay $20 for mine. Don’t hate me because I rock.)
Bonus points for pictures and/or detailed instructions. Also for a bottle of water to take in the van.