I’m back. In the States.
And I am looking rough. I was going to break out the Photobooth because my hair situation has crossed the line straight from “bad” to “funny”…but…no.
Why so rough? Well, today’s extravaganza started around midnight last night, when our son, experiencing some cataclysmic combination of a cold and the imminent arrival of a new tooth, decided to do the sound-effects equivalent of triple-lutzes around our bedroom for a few hours. The only thing that made him feel better was if I held him and ran around like a cheerful, singing Bouncy Castle.
And then, at 4AM (that would be approximately twenty seconds after Indy finally fell asleep), the alarm rang, and it was time to pile into freezing-cold taxis and teeny-tiny airplanes and take an international journey, all before the sun even rose.
Honestly, it wasn’t even all that dramatic (certainly not as dramatic as the travel experiences we’ve had in the past; this one, involving car accidents, explosions, and fire trucks, took the prize for me); Indy was either asleep or doing his thousand-yard-stare (basically asleep, but with an expression more reminiscent of an exhausted Angry Bird) 99% of the trip. And asleep/thousand-yard-staring = not crying = no one on the plane hates me = win.
I am grumpy.
These, discovered at the Superstore in Moncton, are making it all better.
(They’re so good that they make me say things like “hot damn.” I’ve never said that before, because I don’t live in 1946.)
Also, I need a nap. Can you tell?