 |
| French much? |
- Mac and I survived our international flight with aplomb. The stateside journey, however, brought out depths of despair in both child and mother that I hope never to witness-slash-experience again. Thank goodness for flight attendants who warm bottles for moms and Overly Nice Texans (capitalized because they are deserving of proper noun-hood).
- Christmas was...the first time reality trumped expectation. In other words, difficult. And yet there were solidly good moments of cheer, encouragement, and fellowship. Ben made Flaming Rum Punch. It flamed very well indeed. Mac loved his cousin, especially when he got the chance to punch her in the face/knock her over/pull her ears, etc., etc. We're not sure if his affection was reciprocated. Christ's Advent seemed much more real this year, perhaps because I very much needed Light in the Darkness.
- Macallan turned one, his party was a success, and he now has an ungodly amount of toys. Which foreshadows many more Christmas-followed-by-birthday Decembers. I laughed when I realized that I was throwing an "old-fashioned" birthday party with only streamers, balloons, and cake. No themes, adult beverages, or whimsical decor here, thank you very much. (Mind you, this is because I planned this party a week in advance. I have a feeling that I will give into the Pressures of the Age sometime in the future).
- Our trip to D.C. was wonderfully strange. Mac decided to stop sleeping, so there's that. I decided, while sobbing over a misplaced earring, that the trials of living out of a suitcase for four weeks were getting to me. It was truly wonderful to see friends and be back in our home city of seven months ago, and yet so very strange to not be home. It was challenging to "catch up" with best friends when what I wanted to do was just live life with them instead of cramming seven-months-worth of conversation into a neatly allotted two hours and twenty minutes.
- It was equally strange to board a plane to Europe, not with a sense of excitement and oh-my-gosh-I'm-going-to Europe, but thank-God-we're-going-home. And to be happy to hear Deutsch again. What is happening.
- Exactly six days after returning home, we decided to go to France for a long weekend. Provence to be specific. Yes, insane. But mostly enjoyable. We listened to Serial on the long drive (I think he did it but shouldn't be in jail), practiced eating in French restaurants with a one-year-old (child-friendly apparently means white tablecloths to the French), slept in a Provencal country home, and wandered through tiny French villages. Ben was in truffle heaven...there was a truffle market, a mass in honor of the patron saint of truffles, and a truffle auction. I indulged my passion for old stone by investigating castle ruins and stopping in as many medieval churches as was allowed. Mac continued his sleep strike and a fun time was had by all.
 |
| Our B&B |
 |
Old stone. My favorite.
|
And now we're back. Legitimately back. No-travel-plans-for-at-least-two-weeks back. I'm trying to figure out the balance between motherhood and self-interested pursuits. Such as blogging. I've invented a new color for someone's palette: Dementor Grey. It is a color that sucks one's soul out and leaves an affinity for red wine and pjs in its place. Seriously...I haven't seen legitimate sunshine in two weeks. And the Grey continues.
Next up...why I think this season of the Bachelor is worth watching.
Just kidding. Stay tuned.
