Wednesday, February 23, 2011


We just got back from a long weekend in Boston, where we mixed some sightseeing with the occasion of my cousin's wedding. Now the house looks like the soot-covered village after the volcano explosion, except each of those particles of soot is a piece of dirty laundry or a new toy, Massachusetts-acquired, that doesn't have an assigned home yet, or a new book or one of three half-full boxes of Triscuits we pulled out of the minivan upon our return. The Triscuits on their own couldn't possibly be worth mentioning, you think, except that G loves Triscuits and L loves to hand him Triscuits. G only 3% of the time will consume a whole Triscuit. 14% of the time he'll crumble the whole thing because the texture is! and the other 74000% of the time he'll bite a corner, lick one surface, try to feed you a soggy bit, and then crumble the remainder across the house, where it will stick like glue because everyone knows gluten+saliva=exactly the papier mache recipe your momma used to help you make your first volcano, the third grade science fair one you baking-soda-fizzed in your basement. I could use some of that baking soda; it's a good cleanser. And the house, you know, the soot covering everything...

Right now my dad is stuck six lines back, shaking his head: Robin should know better. If 3+14+X=100, then X is not 74000. But I'm tired -- it was a long drive and it's a mountain, a spurting one, of laundry that I have to climb tonight. That math is close enough.

The takeaway from Boston:
  • Boston is a fantastic city, and entirely too cold for me in February.
  • If a hotel offers boasts low window seats along the hallway from the indoor pool, you must give your instructions in careful order: "Let's get back to the hotel room, and get those wet bathing suits off." If you say something less specific, such as "we need to get those wet bathing suits off!" those low window seats will soon be sporting two child-sized tushie prints. We did indeed have some public nudity.
  • Our family is really good at a nine-hour road trip. Hour ten is a little ugly.
  • It always feels good to come back home.

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1 comment:

a li'l bit squishy said...

Welcome home. Roadtripping is kind of awesome, especially when the mountain of laundry has been conquered.