Time Travel

Flying to Oregon my brain was on overdrive, so excited to finally be home again, home again jiggety jig. Traveling with two young children is decidedly easier with the husband in tow, but I did find that I had fairly well organized my little entourage to the point that all J had to do was take H for a couple walks during our four hour layover. Alex had given H some Elmer's stamps that stamp only on the pad of paper provided. Having a McDonald's and restroom within spitting distance of our gate also ensured that we would have a rather uneventful stay at Midway. Despite leaving a State of Disaster and arriving in Arctic Blast (which brought snow and ice rendering the city paralyzed), we had no delays and arrived at midnight to the hotel where we were spending our first night, ready to pass out in the comfort of the two queen beds; each manning a child.

A mere three hours later, I heard what I thought were the rumblings of a distant DV incident, but were really J explaining to H quite delicately that it was nowhere close to time to wake up. A cry of "I peed!" brought J jumping out of his bed, rushing to the bathroom with H. A quick change of the diaper and pj's and we were ready to fall back into blissful slumber.

Or not.

3am Pacific is 6am Eastern, so H had technically fulfilled his sleep quota. He was up for the day. I thought that we (and in this case I must mean the royal we, as J was already drifting back into dreamland...oh, to be a man.) may be able to eek out a few more minutes of sleep by just turning on the TV and 'resting my eyes', but C chose that moment to announce that he wasn't really all that sleepy anymore either.

I tossed back the covers and jumped in the shower, (Tag! J, you're it!) welcoming the warm spray and the sloughing away of airport grime. There's nothing like cross-country travel with kids to make you feel fresh as a daisy. After I was done getting ready, we decided to go get breakfast, and my heart sank as imagined the local IHOP when one of the things I'd been most looking forward to was all the great breakfast places; Cadillac Cafe, Mother's Bistro, Rose's Deli (just to name a few)...a far cry from the offerings of White City. When you're traveling on a budget, it just felt so sad to spend you first vacay money on airport food with a chaser of Denny's. I had a sudden resolve to not eat crap food for breakfast. Driving away from the hotel, J remarked that we were like fugitives; checking into a hotel at midnight with our little kids and then slinking out again before 6am.

After double-checking the business hours of one of our fave restaurants with no dice, we remembered The Reedville Cafe, which has a great breakfast menu, awesome french toast and other specials and is really family friendly. As providence would have it, it opened 5 minutes before we pulled in.

I loved every morsel of my eggs Florentine and three cups of coffee, then rushed to my best friend's house as it was now the every-parent decent hour of 8am. And we'd already been up for five hours.

Did I mention that I'd failed to sleep the night before leaving? Apparently, I was so excited, I forgot to go to bed. I kept looking at the mountain of clothes and diapers, the over to the three suitcases and it just seemed like too much to commence, so I knit more of the socks I'm working on, watched a little Law and Order while doing laundry and just generally procrastinated the task of packing. Before I knew it, it was 5am and I'd yet to hit my head to the pillow. Three hours of sleep is paltry on its own, but when it's all you get in 72 hours, it leaves a little to be desired.

Yesterday, I made it through a busy day of meeting with old friends, touring the new building of my old job, lunch at Burgerville (Sweet Potato Fries, yum!) and a dinner at Cafe Mingo with my best friend, her family and another couple with their kids where I was barely able to hold it together while H cried loudly after being awoken on the short walk from the car to the restaurant. Luckily, we'd had the foresight to inquire about their private room, so it was almost like having dinner at one of their homes without the work of cleaning for and preparing a meal. By the time the calamari came out, H was sleeping on a bed of coats and I was happily finishing my second glass of wine.

At home, with all the kids asleep, we got to stay up and visit hitting the sack at about midnight. It's now 5am, and I've been up for over an hour. What? What's that you're asking? Where's my husband? Right. He's upstairs. Asleep. And I'm not one bit bitter. Nor did I make any snarky comments about his level of helpfulness as I awoke. And I won't be rude to him when his well-rested ass finally makes it downstairs. Or hold it against him the rest of the day. I. am. Zen. Mother.

Namasté.