the trip

I realized I never posted anything about Lizzy's and my President's Day weekend trip to the West Coast. Though mosty of my blog-reading friends have already asked (and been told) how it was. Isn't it nice to have friends who care enough to notice when you're away, and who seem interested how your time went? I love that. I hope everyone has friends of that sort, either where they live or a phone call away.

The highlight: Seeing my parents. I really enjoy spending time with my parents. I know that's probably uncool, even when I'm in my 30s. Oh, well. It's true. The intent of the trip was to see my grandma (88), and my aunts and uncles and cousins with whom I spent childhood vacations and holidays, and whom I rarely see now that my parents have moved from Washington state to Alaska. Still, it was the time with my parents that was the best. Second best thing: Well, okay, seeing the rest of my family. But the third best thing was definitely the CD player we got to test-drive in my parents' rental SUV. Lizzy will never be the same. :) Neither will I, after five viewings of Toy Story II.

The lowlight(s): Lizzy threw up all night in our hotel room the first night we were there. In all my optimism, I hoped each hurl would be the last. I threw down a towel on the messy bed and hoped for a bit of sleep. When the next round came, I found another towel and put it on the heap. Pretty soon, I was running out of towels and wishing I'd just gotten a bowl in the first place. I left the hotel housekeeper a note and a tip. What a thankless job. (Motel maid, not motherhood, lest that was unclear.)

Also, I got a weird eye infection on the one day everyone came to see me. Arghh! Plane travel. Expensive, wildly inconvenient these days, and a roiling mass of germs for us to pick up en route. And ample opportunity -- much like car commuting -- for people to behave at their worst. The man on the outside of our row who insisted on taking up both his armrests, and kept his reading light on from midnight to 3 a.m. of the time zone we'd just left, despite the fact that he wasn't reading much. The man who wanted to tell me, on my roughly 737th time using a security checkpoint since 9/11, just how it was done -- and who then forgot his I.D. at the x-ray machine afterward. The woman who, too chicken to tell people on the plane to shut up, kept whirling around and shooting them (behind me) dirty glares instead.

Then, the fabulousness of a delayed flight to and from Dallas, because, of all things, snow and sleet. In Texas.
Then, our bags -- including Lizzy's carseat -- were lost.

I'm sorry to report that the days of Lizzy sleeping for half the flights are gone. I should have known better to fork over whatever it cost to avoid a layover. NEVER HAVE LAYOVER WITH SMALL CHILD. I know this. Silly me. She has manic energy that I can only dream of, the later it gets. I am despairing of ever getting her to bed before 10. But that's another angst-filled tale.

I finally got home -- eye infection, check; bags, nope -- at 5:10 a.m., and crawled into bed, grateful not to be bedding down in Dallas (where I feared the copious plane de-icing would strand us).

So, yeah. Happy times.

To balance this mass of negativity, I want to point out that I ran into at least three incredibly polite people (by d.c. standards) on my way to the office this morning. I wish I had little gold stars, or money, or some sort of affirmation, to give them by way of reward. Maybe a prayer for their well-being will do.