I know that on Friday night I grandly promised that I would be back the next day with pictures and more tales and perhaps a pony and a decorative vial of crack for each and every one of you (who even KNOWS what I promised; I was just the smallest, wee bit tipsy), but it turns out that I lied.
But as we know that I am always blaming others, I have chosen to blame this on Mr. Kutcher. Do not even attempt to talk me out of it; it’s all his fault and you cannot convince me otherwise. Exhibit A: We rented another Ashton film on Saturday night, hoping to have a repeat of ceaselessly mocking his emoting “skills” as it was such fun the first time. But DAMMIT, the movie we selected was actually pretty funny. Damn you, Ashton Kutcher! You are the reason that today’s kids are lazy!
Also, Atlanta is apparently located in a bizarre band of magnetic weirdness where batteries get a single wiff of the moist, verdant landscape and are immediately depleted of all energy. I brought two sets of batteries, took hardly any pictures, and all of the batteries died. Ashton’s evilness knows no bounds, I tell you. Hide your children. And batteries.
So, pictures, not so much. And yesterday I was very busy. I will attempt to summarize the things which kept me from blogging, yesterday.
Being upright. I was not hungover yesterday. In truth, Friday night I had about a glass and a half of wine (although if you must know, Joshilyn’s wine glasses are the size of fishbowls), so a hangover would be a little bit too much melodrama even for me. Still, we stayed up late, and got up a reasonable time, and I am a lightweight amongst lightweights, and being awake was not my favorite thing.
Trying to find a pocket to tuck Maisy into so that I might smuggle her home with me. We had a “girls’ day” (guh-wuhls dayeeeeee in Maisyese) and in addition to single-handedly bringing the entire staff at Talbot’s to their knees in admiration of her tiny, energetic, princessly self (“See me in dat mee-yore dere? I am DANCIN’!”), Maisy sealed my adoration for her by being positively agog at my refusal to try on a dress in the shoe section of Ann Taylor Loft. The shoes are in somewhat of a nook, and Maisy just REFUSED to believe that this was not the fitting room, and DEMANDED that I strip and PUT ON DAT PURTY DRESS NOW-UH! So I ate her in two and a half bites, licked my fingers, and still smell faintly of waffles.
Eating grits at Waffle House. Kira and I are no longer grit virgins. I will not attempt to speak on her behalf, but I approve. Joss’ description of grits as “the perfect vehicle for fat and salt” was dead-on, and who am I to refuse fat and/or salt? I am now officially southern. And also 400 pounds. Two greasy thumbs way, way up!
Trying to convince Joshilyn that nipples aren’t scary. I’m not sure that it worked. But you know what they say… mental illness loves company. Amen.
Eating the best pizza on the planet. I have glimpsed heaven. Twice, actually. Look, I don’t want to exaggerate. But if they do not open one near me I am going to have to move, is all I’m sayin’.
Being mentally ill, then being aggravated with myself for being mentally ill, which in turn made me more mentally ill. I’m logical, that way. Once I start down a slippery slope, I figure, why not take the direct route? And then I just hurl myself to the bottom of whatever pit I was skidding towards. I find that it saves time. And really, why completely enjoy a delightful vacation with a couple of my favorite people when I could, say, be tormenting myself for reasons I only partially understand? Yay!
It does somewhat cut into the energy I have left over for blogging, though.
Anyway, it was an incredible trip. Joshilyn is a gracious hostess, both of her children are charming, and her husband is a pod person (and I mean that in the nicest possible way). I’ll blame it on Ashton, later, but I will admit to jealousy while witnessing their family in motion. They not only have something really wonderful, I think they all know it. Truly amazing to watch. And being welcomed into their fold with such easy generosity was humbling.
Kira is probably winging her way home right now, thinking that I am a complete loon. Once upon a time, Kira and I forged a bond built largely upon a common experience of pain and endurance. Our lives have changed along the way, and now we’ve finally met and I expected to spend our time together laughing until my face ached. And there was a lot of that. But I also found myself awash in an intensity of emotion that stunned me. Kira is on the cusp of big changes in her life, and she GLOWS. Not as much as one of those gloworm toys, but VERY CLOSE. And as much as I also wanted to find another pocket to stuff HER in (but not the pocket that Maisy was in), I also struggled with a little problem wherein talking with her often made me weep for no apparent reason.
I’ll continue blaming Ashton, but I’m thinking my therapist may wish to discuss alternate possibilities.
Why these two amazing women like me BACK is somewhat of a mystery to me, but I’m so glad that they do. I came home exhausted, missing my babies, worrying about the animal in my woodstove (it has disappeared from whence it came), and very grateful.
I hope we can do it again. As soon as I sleep a few days and recover from this one.
Girl. I can’t believe you never had grits until now. However, I eat ’em with SUGAR and butter. Now THAT is some good stuff.
Glad you had fun!
Oh, honey. They like you back because you’re wonderful. I’m so glad you had a good time. Not that I had any doubt!
I giant pink puffy heart the Mellow Mushroom! Not at all jealous of the grits, though. YEEEE-UCK, as my boys would say!
I love grits. As breakfast or as a side w/ dinner. Add cheese. Or butter. Yum!
Welcome home. I’m glad you had such a great time.
The companionship and love of friends is way better for the soul than therapy.
But then, therapy has its place.
ps: Did Josh check all your pockets before you left?
Welcome home, Mir…sounds like a terrific trip. And shocked as I was, don’t worry, I won’t tell the folks at The Nines about your pizza-heresy. ;)
Grits w/cheddar cheese, butter and black pepper! YUM!
Grits w/fresh grated parmasean cheese and butter! UPPER CLASS YUM!
I’m glad you had a good time in our little piece of paradise!
Why do they like you BACK? WHY DO THEY LIKE YOU BACK???? Oy vey, woman. Because you are a delight. You are funny and insightful and have great taste in children and in food (but not in the same way…). Sure you’re crazy but we’re ALL crazy!
Now. Here’s your assignment. Go stand in front of the mirror. Repeat after me, “I am delightful. I’m loveable and sweet and funny and amuse total strangers with my charming blogs. I am delightful.”
Am SO glad you didn’t come home to find poopy, sooty animal footy prints all over your house. And now…back to the mirror…repeat after me…
I would venture to guess that you picked the right place to have your vacation. If you actually had an nth amount of fun as your (& Joshilyn’s) blog posts indicate you had a hell of a good time.
You’ll have to come back and sample more of what the South has to offer. (I didn’t hear anything about collard greens, cornbread, squash casarole, etc.)
P.S. – I grew up mixing grape jelly in my grits. I’ve outgrown that – mostly.
For three days I have been reading your posts in Paula Deen’s voice.
Welcome home, Mir.
Well, I am totally jealous of the grits and the fun time had by all!
You were in ATLANTA and I didn’t know it? I so would have met you at the Mellow Mushroom, I so would have loved to be there. I mean that in the nicest, least stalker type of way.
Of course, you WOULD pick the weekend that I was NOT in Atlanta. . .I’m sure that’s the only reason I wasn’t invited.
You are just like one of my coolest mommy friends, or you would be if most of my mommy friends weren’t way lamer than you.
I think I said that right.
Oh honey. I don’t think you’re one bit of a loon. Well, no more than the rest of us. I ADORE you. I wish I’d hit on your stuff-your-beloved-in-your-pocket-plan, because you would have fit, and the only thing that would make me happier is if you lived here like you should.
Love you, dear.
I knew it was Ashton’s fault! And everyone called me paranoid!