Next time: Valium
Two long days of towing, and we’ve finally landed in New England with Otto’s family. This is very, very good.
It will be even better once I finish hyperventilating. Which at this rate will happen… never. It turns out that I don’t even have to be driving to end up being completely stressed out by the trip. I eventually ended up just going to sleep at every possible opportunity, because being aware of what was happening was an adrenaline-fest. And I can only take so many hours of sitting there with my heart pounding.
In the course of just two days, we:
1) Had a mower on the side of the road clip a reflector pole, which then came flying at us and hit the underside of our truck (remarkably, no visible damage)
2) Had a woman in a tiny Acura zip up at 80+ mph and cut us off, necessitating a swerve that I was sure was going to flip the camper and crash the truck (remarkably, neither happened, but inside the camper the force of the swerve opened and emptied our pantry, then slammed the door shut on the newly-empty cabinet)
3) Nearly ran over a car that thought the proper response to our approach behind it on the highway was to jam on the brakes (no collision, but a whole lot of swearing) (also: news flash, a truck towing a camper is not the vehicle you want to play jam-the-brakes chicken with, you know?)
4) Realized that towing kind of sucks.
I have already informed Otto that for the drive home he is to pretend that I am Mr. T on The A Team and we’re boarding a plane. In other words, he is to drug my milk, load my unconscious body, and wake me up when we get there. Given his reaction to my various screams of terror, I suspect he is completely on board with this plan.
Home is where the love is
Today marks the beginning of an auspicious event: Our first big tow. At this very moment, I am in the passenger seat of our truck, tapping away on my netbook (and its infuriatingly teeny tiny keys), while Otto steers us northward towards the kids and our first Big Camping Trip. By next week—after doing the requisite family rounds, like spending some time with Otto’s mom now that she’s post-transplant—we’ll be hanging out at Lake Placid and telling my darlings to please just stop touching each other.
I feel compelled to point out, here, that I grew up AND went to college in New York, and I’ve never been to Lake Placid. I realize how pitiful that is, yes.
I’ve never done a lot of traveling, is my point, and yet Otto is nothing if not the consummate wanderer. Because I trust him, I’ve agreed to load up this monstrosity with everything we might need (just now, after a bit of a swerve he remarked was due to a wind gust: “We’re basically towing around a garage behind us, you know”) and go wherever he takes us. Because it’s sure to be an adventure. read more…
Storytellers
Last night Otto and I went out to run some errands, and found ourselves stopping at a restaurant across town for some cheap Mexican food. Now, generally the advantage of Mexican food for dinner when the kids aren’t around is that we can take our time and have a margarita, but we had a bunch of things to do and opted to stick with a quick meal topped off with diet Coke. Because we are FANCY.
We talked about things we need to pack for our upcoming camping trip, and how the food was not nearly as good there as at our local place, and wondering how the kids are doing. And when we finished eating, I forgot that the booth we were sitting in was somewhat raised on a little step. I went to stand up—placing one foot into thin air (whoops! no floor!)—and promptly slipped off the ledge and nearly busted my ass. Somehow I managed to scrape one calf down the corner of the booth, and Otto was teasing me (“Did you have a drink while I wasn’t looking?”) until I showed him the back of my leg, where an impressive bruise was already blooming. He was nicer to me, after that.
But late last night he told me that once we get up to New York, he’s totally planning to tell my parents I got drunk and fell down. And I said that’s fine, I’ll just tell them that’s what he always tells people after he kicks me.
(I know. We’re so sappy it makes you feel a little sick.)
Love, honor, and other things
Last night started out sort of tragic, because we have five gazillion television channels and there were THREE different episodes of CSI on, and we had seen all three of them. That put a crimp in our plans for an evening of Terrible Television, but THANKFULLY we had a recorded episode of Ice Road Truckers. Phew!
Later, a CSI: Miami we hadn’t seen came up, and we were in the middle of watching that when, somehow, during a commercial break we found ourselves in the middle of a long discussion about infidelity.
(Should the surprising part be that I don’t find this weird or unusual at all? We have all of our best discussions while people try to sell us life insurance and “performance enhancing” pills in the background. Doesn’t everyone?)
Anyway, Otto and I are perfectly in tune on this issue, thank goodness. What we ended up wondering was how people justify their actions, as you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who’s cheated who think it’s OKAY, though there are plenty of people who cheat and somehow justify it, all the same. read more…
Maybe I was Swedish in a past life
My darling Otto was kind enough to pick me up at the airport on my return to Atlanta, last week. Sure, I could’ve driven myself in, left the car in long-term parking, and then driven myself home after I got back, but there was one small problem with that plan.
Otto took the GPS on HIS trip last week. So the conversation before we left went like this:
Me: I need the GPS to get to the airport.
Him: I’m… taking it to Pennsylvania. Because I’m driving. You’re FLYING to Colorado.
Me: I’m not flying to the airport. I need it to get to the airport.
Him: You’ve driven to the airport before. Lots of times.
Me: With the GPS. I can’t get there without the GPS.
Him: Sure you can. Just take a map with you.
Me: *sorrowful look*
Him: You are pitiful.
Me: *sorrowful look augmented with nodding*
Him: Also, you are cute. Fine. Take the shuttle in, I’ll come pick you up.
He’s a gem, isn’t he? read more…
Shopping my way rich
Way back whenever it was… I guess about three years ago, now… I started Want Not on a lark, because I tend to bargain-hunt the way other people have actual, you know, hobbies. I mean, normal people are all, “Want to play tennis this week?” Whereas I’ve always sort of been like, “Oh, exercise makes me all sweaty and I hate that. But do you want to go see if there’s any Cole Haan purses over at Goodwill?”
Back during the very lean times after the divorce, I was able to put my sleuthing skills to good use: I would find rich people’s cast-offs at thrift stores and sell them on eBay for grocery money (true story). The point is, saving money is sort of a religion with me. I don’t worship at the foot of a giant golden coupon, or anything, but you know what I mean.
Periodically, though, someone will come over to Want Not and take great umbrage at the fact that I support credit card usage. Because true money gurus will tell you that credit cards are evil and bad and not to be trusted. And clearly I know nothing, because I think it’s okay to use a credit card! read more…
Rocky Mountain bye
As predicted, I remained in Colorado just long enough to get adjusted to Mountain Time and then come home and be really tired. I couldn’t seem to get to bed at a reasonable time last night, but had to get up to the alarm this morning, and the net result is that I am now typing this while face-down in a very large cup of coffee.
That’s just as well, because it’s good nasal irrigation. I don’t know if you know this, but Georgia is just a WEE BIT more humid than Colorado. It’s true! And as a result, if you take southern nasal membranes up into the Rockies, it’s only a matter of days before all of your boogers calcify and leave you with a crispy dried-out nose that feels like it’s full of glass shards. YOU’RE WELCOME. That was such a wonderful experience for me, I just felt like I had to share the joy on that one.
It was such a wonderful trip, though, that it was not to be ruined by a dessicated nose or even the marked lack of oxygen. read more…
Warm and fuzzy
It’s kind of hard to type with both a baby and a laptop on your lap, it turns out, but it is awfully warm and cozy. I make my own little travel furnace with my favorite accessories!
So far I am torn as to my favorite part of this trip. It’s a very close race between:
1) Sophia has stranger anxiety, and cries whenever someone other than her parents or brothers hold her… except that she also loves me—she never cried for me, not even the first time I picked her up. I feel like a superhero, what with this proof positive of my Baby Whisperer status. (As I said to Kira yesterday, I feel a little bad being so pleased that she clearly loves me best. Heh.)
2) Several times a day, Kira and I will say exactly the same thing at the same time to one of her boys, proving once and for all that we share a communal Mom Mind. My favorite was last night, when one of the boys—who had just been berating one of his brothers for “TMI” suddenly announced, “Hey, I think my boxers are on backwards!” and Kira and I—on opposite sides of the room—both responded in unison, “SPEAKING of TMI….”
Can’t talk. Must snoogle.
I would love to tell you all about my vacation; all about how I’ve just met Kira’s boys and yet—having “known” them virtually for five years—I feel as though I’ve known them their entire lives; how Kira is a lovely hostess with an entire freezer full of ice cream; how there is almost nothing in the world I love more than holding a baby, and yet I feel perfectly content that said baby is not mine and my children are so big and grown-up in comparison.
I would love to tell you all of that, but good LORD, I am just. so. busy. trying to inhale this child whole.
You understand.
Whirlwind
The invaders on my tomatoes were so horrible, I decided to run away from home.
Actually, I’d decided to go before that particular discovery, but nonetheless, yesterday afternoon I got myself to the airport and got on a plane and crossed the country to check out the Rockies. Oh, and also to hang out with my darling Kira. And snoogle her baby. And pick up all three of her boys and tuck them into my pockets. (Note to self: Get bigger pockets.)
Shortly before I left, we received word that Otto’s mom had been taken into transplant surgery overnight; when my plane took off, she’d already gotten a new liver. When I woke up this morning, she’d gotten a new kidney, too. I can’t speak for the rest of Otto’s family, obviously, but after we almost lost her last year we doubted this day would ever come. But it has. And so far, so good.
That means that even though I woke up at 4:30 (local time) today, I’m thinking it’s a pretty fine start to the week.