I have not been to the Sunshine State since 1997, yet I just booked two trips there in the last 48 hours. Guess that is what two months straight of record-breaking snow and cold will do to you … it makes you crave airbrushed t-shirts, ocean views, sandy feet and tropical drinks at a tiki bar. Throw in Aaron and Brett’s beach wedding and a house full of cousins on the Gulf, and I think we have two vacations (Key West and Seaside) that will not get here soon enough.
Point of Interest: My last trip to Florida 14 year ago was for Spring Break my senior year in college (one week after meeting Andy) and I stayed at the Sourthernmost Resort in Key West. The Southernmost will be providing my lodging again, except this time I can some-what afford the ocean front room on their southern most property (as in southern most point in the continental U.S.A.) and will not be forced to squeeze six girls into their economy-friendly, land-locked hotel. Times have obviously changed, and this little story only further showcases the fact I married a mountain or lake type of guy. Another decade plus will probably go by until I can temp (or arm twist) Andy into flying south to the land where tourism, beaches and oranges abound, so I will definitely enjoy every sun-shining, tropical shirt-wearing minute while there.
It’s true. We can easily overstay our welcome. Especially if our kids are playing nicely and quietly in someone else’s basement. It is usually a melt down or tantrum that causes us to pack our bags and run (or walk or drive) away, so when there is no kicking and screaming we either 1) lose track of time or 2) become paralyzed in our seats as if to make a motion might just disturb the peace. Ask the Festas. Ask the Coxes. Ask my parents. And luckily most everyone graciously lets us pass the time until one of our children will fall asleep on the couch (or floor) or the last bottle of wine is empty – another key signal it is time to go.
Yesterday was no exception. The kids and I went to Allie’s soccer game to get out of the house since Andy had to work and 24 hour later we were finally driving home after not ever getting a hint or reason (from anyone – kid or adult) to leave my sister’s house. The upside, the kids had a blast and thought it was so cool to have a spontaneous slumber party with their cousins. The downside, waking up on your 37th birthday in a bed with Spiderman sheets and a life-sized poster of Justin Bieber staring at you.
But thanks to Uncle Mark for reminding me you can laugh and have fun at any age. However, it helps when there is an 18 pack of Miller Lite and at least one responsible 12-year old in the house.
Bedtime (fueled by the thought of heading back to school after a long holiday break) ended our New Year’s Day family get together a bit earlier than normal, but the party did start by tapping the inaugural Heineken mini keg at the Heckler Bar & Grill.
Click here to see photos from Grandpa Foley’s birthday.Note: I am posting this about three weeks late due to all the illness – funk and junk – that has dominated our house since the beginning of 2011. Avery and I were an even more pathetic replica of ET and Elliot – joined at the hip and getting better and worse in tandem for almost ten days straight. Luckily the mother ship – antibiotics – rescued us all.
As if reading Bachelor recaps wasn’t a valuable enough use of my time, I thought keeping up with a pregnancy blog – when thanks to 21st century medicine there is no chance that any more babies will be in my belly – would be a great way to expand my 2011 reading list.
But I have a new favorite to follow after stumbling upon a highly sarcastic and – seriously – laugh-out-loud post titled Awkward Pregnancy Photos. Meet Amy from Pregnant Chicken. She will join our wish list for potential new neighbors on Hunterwood, along with Lincee, the Rapping Suburban Housewife and really anyone from England, as long as they bring their dry sense of humor and their fondness (and acceptance) of daytime drinking.
The number of times I had to put down a toilet seat. The number of times I had to wipe a nose. The number of times I had to wipe down my countertops. The number of telemarketing calls I had to screen. The number of voicemails I need to return. The number of times I checked Facebook. The number of times we watched Mickey Mouse. The number of minutes it took to find my keys. The number of minutes I had to wait on my Taco Bell/Pizza Hut drive-thru order. The number of bites I got of my Chillito before Avery ate it. The number of loads washed and folded. The number of hours I can only hope to sleep.
If you really want to know what your kids think of you, then give them the full, creative freedom to design your Wii avatar. We did just that and the final products are conclusive. Mii Sherri has long brown hair, blue eyes and wrinkles. Mii Andy has short brown hair, a narrow face and a frown.
They did not budge (or re-design) when I told them they were laugh lines, and they now insist on calling Andy “Grumpy.” But for me, it was a bit more insult to injury with another birthday on the horizon and a few other signs of old age creeping up on me -- just this last week I had to increase my computer screen resolution to 1600 x 1200 pixels, I got a full blown case of the flu instead of just a headache after a few glasses of wine and I got hooked on watching Wheel of Fortune.
I think 2011 may be the year of getting noticeably older.
It’s been three days since New Year’s Eve and we have finally assessed the total damage. No, we did not throw a raging kegger. And no, we did not leave the kids unattended to run through the house with black Sharpies or scissors. And yes, my parents will read this and scoff as it does not even compare to the infamous small gathering of friends (that turned into hundreds of acquaintances) in which I hosted on NYE of ’92: one 911 call; one broken window; one cracked dining room table; at least a dozen fights; and a least a hundred spilled drinks.
We did, however, have two other families down for prime rib (adults) and Wii sports (kids), yet we still need to repaint the kitchen ceiling, throw away Andy’s pants, buy Andy new shoes and scrub the hell out of our grout with the Magic Eraser to ensure that our backsplash turns from purple back to blue. It was an au jous sauce gone wild – overheating with too much fatty meat and red wine – which then splattered the entire kitchen and caused us to break out the 409 before the Champaign. In the end, it was still a delicious meal, good company and plenty of laughs, and Andy bravely climbed back up on his saddle and fixed some kick-ass brazen pork butt for our New Year’s Day feast. No drop cloth, dry cleaning or ammonia based products were required, so we are starting 2011 off right.
I have not been to the Sunshine State since 1997, yet I just booked two trips there in the last 48 hours. Guess that is what two months straight of record-breaking snow and cold will do to you … it makes you crave airbrushed t-shirts, ocean views, sandy feet and tropical drinks at a tiki bar. Throw in Aaron and Brett’s beach wedding and a house full of cousins on the Gulf, and I think we have two vacations (Key West and Seaside) that will not get here soon enough.
