Dog Years

So, I’ve been away on business for 9 days…not straight, but almost. When I got back and saw Stan walking thru the airport with the kids, I was struck by how much bigger Jonah looked. They came running up to me and Jonah repeatedly kissed me on the lips and hugged me….as did Zoe. Happiness is truly the love of your children. Anyway, we waited for my suitcase and once it arrived, Jonah took my computer roller bag and dragged it all the way to the car for me. Such a little gentleman! We headed to dinner and Jonah asked me to take him to the bathroom, which I was very thrilled about. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to actually result in him successfully using the toilet, but wanted to be encouraging anyway. I was wrong! Yay, Jonah. I tell Stan and he says that they had been working on that, especially before bath time. So when we got home, I ran their bath and Jonah wanted to try and use the potty again…this time he said he wanted to stand up. You know, like boys do. So I put the seat up, he peed, shook and was done. I. could. not. believe. it. I told Stan and even he hadn’t ever seen him do that.

In a little over a week, he’s grown up so much…if a year is the equivalent to seven dog years, how does a week equate to toddler years??

My fabulous vacation to the British Virgin Islands

Or: A Series of Unfortunate Events, Martin-style

So, my MIL decides over Christmas to get married to a wonderful guy, and they decide to have the wedding in Virgin Gorda. Okay, so maybe Stan and I suggested that might be cool. Whatever. So, they settle on getting married on 3/25/08. But I have to go and ruin it by having to go to work – an offsite meeting that I can’t miss on 3/26/08. (I dunno…I’ve been there 5 months already…I don’t know what the big deal is about how much vacation I’ve taken. Two weeks in India. One week in Yosemite. One week in Mexico. Two days in BVI. What??!??) Okay. Back to the subject at hand. So, they move the wedding to Monday 3/25 to accommodate me, thankyouverymuch. We leave the Bay Area on Sunday, 7 am flight. This is where the fun begins.

0.1 {Prologue to Sunday} My BIL gets robbed at gunpoint while getting cash at an ATM for his vacation.

1. Sunday: we wake up late and rush like bats out of hell to get to the airport.

2. 7 am flight is delayed. For three hours. Mechanical problem.

3. Can’t fix plane. Get another one.

4. That plane is broken too. We are now going to miss our connection to St. Thomas, which means there is no way we can make the wedding at 11 am the next day. Wedding must be delayed.

5. We get re-routed to Tortola Island through New York, but have to spend the night in a hotel. When we get to JFK airport, there is no luggage. Shit. We have exactly one diaper left for Jonah.

6. Arrive at hotel around midnight. Request 4 am wake up call. If you’re doing the math, that means 4 hours of sleep if we had been able to go to sleep immediately. With the two kids. Stan calls American Airlines to see about our luggage. They don’t know where it is.

7. Monday, 4 am: take cab to Walgreens to get diapers, underwear, and tampons. Great.

8. Arrive in Tortola, meet Alice and Jon, take ferry to Virgin Gorda. Get a voicemail from my sister: “Hi Ali. Give me a call – I want to talk about Mom.” I think she has something to vent, like Mom bought her girls more dolls or something. Oh, no. My mom has been hospitalized. Thought she was having a heart attack. (She wasn’t, and she’s fine…it was just over-exertion. But still.)

9. We all have to find borrowed/new clothes to wear to the wedding. All our fancies were in our suitcases.

10. Wedding is beautiful. So are Painkillers.

11. I prepare to leave the next morning at 8 am. F*%K. I haven’t even gone swimming in the lovely, warm ocean. Not that I could have, since I didn’t have my bathing suit. It was in my suitcase.

12. Tuesday morning, 7 am: leave for Virgin Gorda airport. [read: long, gravel path they claim is a runway]. Weather is stormy, pouring rain, wind sock flying straight out. Did I mention I have a fear of flying? Especially in small planes? I call Stan to tell him I love him…you know, just in case. Then a tiny freaking airplane lands.

Me: You have got to be kidding me. I’m not getting on that plane.

Stan: I didn’t think you’d like it.

Me: Oh, okay. That’s not my plane. Here is my plane landing. (thought to myself, not vocalized: “Wow. That plane is going really fast and there isn’t much room left on the runway.”)

pause

Me: The airplane just crashed.

Stan: What?!?

Me: The airplane just crashed INTO THE AIRPORT.

Both: laughter [Note: no one was hurt. However, I am notoriously bad at inappropriate laughter]

Stan: I guess you can stay longer now?

You know I couldn’t possibly be making this up, but just in case you don’t believe me, read this.

13. I call my boss, explain that my plane has just crashed (sans moi), and I won’t be able to make the meeting in person. Can I just call in?

14. Did I mention that my Zoloft was in the lost suitcase? (Yes, I do know you’re not supposed to check medicine…) Did you know you’re not supposed to quit cold turkey? Otherwise, this is what can happen. I did get that s*!t refilled this morning and now I am almost feeling normal again.

So, I am home now, sans family because this is Stan’s spring break week. They’ll all be home on Monday. Yes, I will have three whole days alone. {guilty smile. bad mama.} American Airlines still has no clue where our luggage is. I even looked at all three airports where they would logically be as I was traveling home. This I do not understand. I’ll save that rant for later.

Do I sound like I had a great time, or what? We Martins know how to take a vacation.

My little gentleman

So, this morning as we are scurrying about trying to get out of the house, Zoe misplaced her Ariel doll that she was planning on bringing for show and tell. It was a little doll that you can change from mermaid into princess with the switch of an outfit. Needless to say, Zoe was quite upset about this, crying and carrying on. Jonah (my one year old) looks at her with a concerned expression, walks over to the tissue box, takes a tissue and hands it to Zoe. My sweet, sweet boy. (We did end up finding Ariel, so all ended quite nicely.)