The First (and Last) Flight For A While

Ok, first let me say that I'm sorry. I cannot believe that it's been 8 days since I last posted something on the most exciting blog in the world. My bad. This whole being-a-mom-thing takes a little more time than I originally anticipated.

ANYWAY, I am so thankful that my sister decided to make the trip to Columbia with us because I really don't know if I would've survived without her. Some babies don't mind flying. And, to be perfectly honest, after our flight TO Kansas City I would've told you Connor fits into that category. After our flight back to Atlanta, though, I am confident when I say that we do not have one of those children.

When I say that the flight to Kansas City went well, I am simply saying that he didn't really cry while we were in the air. I have never felt as un-welcome as I did when we boarded the plane and everyone looked at me as if to say PLEASE, PLEASE KEEP WALKING. DO NOT SIT NEXT TO ME.

The first problem is that the people at Delta Airlines suck. All that we needed was a microwave or some means to warm up Connor's bottle before we boarded the plane but OH NO they didn't have one of those. In fact, Kelly took the lead on our search and we somehow ended up in a Delta breakroom. She asked if they had a microwave and the guy gave her a blank stare. She said, "y'know, one of those things that heats things up?" Needless to say, he didn't end up helping us out. The nice people at Starbucks gladly took his bottle and zapped it in the microwave. Ahhh....finally. A bottle that Connor would accept.

In what seemed like an eternity later, Kelly, Connor and I boarded the airplane and found our seats. Right next to a nice - but weird - lady named Pat. She was fascinated with EVERYTHING that we were doing with Connor but she didn't seem to be a big fan of ours when we needed to change his diaper. She quickly started waving her hand in front of her face and kept saying, "PU" as she looked around the airplane for moral support. Yes, you read that correctly: we changed his diaper right in the middle of the plane. Seats 14A and 14B, to be exact. He had a poopy diaper and man-oh-man did it stink. I haven't checked to confirm that airplane bathrooms do not have changing tables but I think that I'm safe to say that the worlds smallest bathroom is unlikely to have any type of changing table in it. So, we did what we had to do. The worst part was that it was not only poopy but it was green, messy and smelly. Nice. Way to go, Connor.

We managed to survive the remainder of the flight and when we exited the plane, we walked into the welcoming arms of Connor's Nana. I gladly handed him off for a few minutes and we continued on our never-ending-adventure as we drove 2 hours home.

Once we got home, we were ecstatic to learn that the electricty had been cut off from our house. Suh-wheat. It's not like we wanted to actually be able to relax and SEE each other after the days events. So, we did what any normal family would do: we sat in our living room and talked. In the dark. As I held Connor in my lap, I felt some movement and knew that he needed another diaper change. So, being the great mother that I am, I changed him. In the dark. By candlelight. I wasn't too excited to use the flashlight because I noticed a new spot on my shirt that was right where Connor was sitting. Again, suhh-wheat.

The electricity eventually came back on, but we were all ready for bed by that time. I mean, it was almost 9pm. And we were still awake?

The next day seemed to be off to a better start as we did have electricity and we didn't have to fly anywhere. Connor was able to meet one of his Great Gradma's, Megan and her daughter Georgia, a few of his aunts/uncles, and tour his Grandpa's office. What more could a little man want?

Our trip on Saturday to Peach Tree Farm was a spectacle, as well. We saw billygoats, pumpkins, "midget horses" (aka donkeys), chickens and Connor was introduced to the cold Missouri weather.

Sunday was our final adventure. All that we needed to do was to survive a 2 hour drive to the airport and then a 1.5 hour flight to Atlanta. It sounds so simple when I type it but in reality it was the most exhausting event of my life. I'm not being dramatic - - just truthful. He cried, fussed, and complained the entire flight. I bounced him on my lap, blew on his face, sang (yes, SANG) to him, but nothing worked. The bad weather and turbulence that we encountered probably had something to do with it, too.

As much as I say it was crazy and a true adventure, I have to also say that it was so much fun. It's always great to see good friends and family. And I absolutely loved introducing my grandma to her very first great grandchild. Connor didn't ruin the trip. Instead, he made it more fun. More challenging and more eventful but definitely more fun.

Happy 19 Weeks

Little Booger Butt,

You are now 15 pounds and 25 inches of pure sweetness. You are growing so quickly and I cannot believe that you are already 19 weeks old. Nineteen weeks old!

We are most definitely having a lot of fun at our house because time is literally flying by. The excitement starts the second that we walk in the door each afternoon and continues until we put you in bed around 8:30PM (we still haven't pushed you to go from 7PM to 7AM for some reason). Your face - which is almost always smiling - welcomes us home. We feed you at 4 o'clock and then you get a bath at 6:30, your rice cereal at 6:45 and another bottle at 7pm. We feed you your last bottle about an hour later and then whisk you off to bed. In between there we squeeze in some time for your contagious belly laughs, playing in your exersaucer, working on sitting up/rolling over and just talking about what you did that day.

I am so impressed with you ability to put away some rice cereal. You chow down (OK - chow down might be a little agressive) on two or three little spoonful's of that stuff each night. Being as advanced as you are, it is no surprise that you are well on your way to mastering the art of swallowing and learning about texture. Echo is enjoying the fact that you are starting solid foods, too. A little rice cereal for Connor usually equates to a little rice cereal for Echo.

While I do feel like we are short on time, I will make sure that we are never short on photos of you. I love - and admire - your patience as I snap as many photos of your smiling face as I possibly can. I counted last night and we officially have 189 bazillion photos of you.

And that's just from last week.

I love you.

Mom

RUFKM?

With all of the hoopla about the Nobel-piece-of-you-know-what-prize the past few days, I have had to step back and prevent my knee-jerk reaction to the nonsense. I wanted to spit, spew, puke, and rattle off some not-so-nice words like dumb, jerk, and stupid head butt face. Don't worry, I have regained my composure and won't write about any of that ridicilousness because I am not only mature but I am SO over all of that.

Or....maybe not.

So, here it goes ... While most of the educated crowd - those that don't just blindly believe what the media portrays to be true - recognized this award (The NPOYKWP) as the complete sham that it is when Al Gore won for his work on "global warming", I am a sure that there are a few people out there that still believe in the goodness behind this recognition.

If you still view this prize as being even slightly credible, Obama's nomination after a mere TWO WEEKS in office (do I need to say that again - - TWO WEEKS IN OFFICE) should prove otherwise. Or the fact that he has accomplished NOTHING since he took office should clue you in. But, hey, if that isn't proof enough for you, then that's OK because there is this bridge Ihat I'd like to sell to you...

The bumper sticker below perfectly summarizes the most recent shenanigans involving good ol' Barry:

How Old?

Feeling old is new to me. It's not fun, easy to accept, or anything that I'd recommend to someone else. It's here to stay, though, or so it seems. So I guess that I need to get used to it.

I'm not sure if its the fact that I am now a mother (read: supposed to be mature), almost 31, or that my weekends are not the same as they were B.C. (Before Connor). As I write this, I feel like I should stop because I'm not supposed to feel this way. Please don't get me wrong: I love Connor and if I could go back in time, I'd do it all over again. But (and you knew that a "but" was coming, didn't you?) I'm not good at this whole "change" thing. That's all that I can guess. I'll get there... eventually.

Part of my frustration is the small amount of time that I get to spend with Dennis. Just me and Dennis. Dennis and me. When we do get a free minute to ourselves in the evening, we are both too exhausted to really enjoy each other. On the few occasions that we have managed to escape for a dinner out, I am reminded very quickly how much I love, love, LOVE being able to talk to my husband. Isn't that sad? [Insert double-edged sword here.] As much as I enjoy our alone time, I still manage to feel guilty for not having Connor with us. WHAT IS GOING ON HERE? THIS MAKES NO SENSE WHAT-SO-EVER.

Now that I'm thinking this through as I type this post, I am seeing that more of my frustration and feeling like an old hag is due to the fact that our old-school-Dennis-and-Krista-fun-and-relaxing-time has diminished ... if not completely disappeared. I need to find a way to squeeze that back into our routine. And not just during Connors nap time.

More Rolls Than a Bakery.

And WAY cuter, too.