Category Archives: Travel

baby's first flight

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Our flight to Mississippi was really not so bad. The TSA folks were very helpful in getting my car seat & stroller on the conveyor belt, which was difficult for me since I was carrying Cate. One of the TSA guys even talked to her and called her adorable. Shocked the heck out of me, since I have never known them to be even remotely polite. I guess that shows what traveling with a baby can do for you.

However, we were running a little late, so once we got through security, we had to go straight to the gate to board. No time to stop and use the bathroom, which was unfortunate for me since I had downed two Diet Cokes already. Hmm.

We got on the plane, and I immediately whipped out the Baby Tylenol plus Cold medicine. I figured the decongestant would help Cate with the ear pressure, and maybe it would also make her sleepy, which would just be a bonus. I gave her a half-dose, and she dribbled half of that onto her outfit, so I figured it probably wasn’t enough to do any good. Five minutes later, she went from bouncing and laughing on my lap to being totally zonked. She proceeded to sleep for the next 2 hours. She’d occasionally wake up and look around, and she seemed completely stoned. I know it’s wrong, but it was completely hilarious.

Oh, back to that other issue. So as soon as we were in the air and the “fasten seat belt” light was turned off, I got up and bolted for the restroom. There were 3 flight attendants: two women and a very obviously gay man.* I asked if one of them could please hold Cate while I went to the bathroom, and they all looked at me like I had three heads. Absolute disgust. Finally the guy stepped up and said he was afraid of babies. I told him that Cate didn’t have teeth, so she couldn’t bite, and I’d go as fast as possible. He held her out in front of him like she was an hors d’oeurve tray. Yeah. Totally natural. I peed at lightning speed and got us back to our seat.

*Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

But Cate did really well – she fussed a little bit when the plane started its descent, so I popped a pacifier in her mouth and she was fine. Oh, and she did indeed poop on the plane, but there was a changing table in the bathroom, so no big deal.

Our connection was in Houston, and the flight from there to Jackson was one of those tiny little 35-seater planes. I didn’t realize until we boarded that Cate and I were in one of the bulkhead rows, which is great for legroom, but that means there’s no seat in front of me to put my diaper bag under. I asked the flight attendant if I could please keep the bag behind my legs, so I could reach bottles/pacifiers/etc., and she said that was fine. I thanked her, and then muttered to the guy next to me, “That’s the first nice thing a flight attendant has done for me all day.” She overheard me, and said, “Really? Oh, bless your heart!” (God, I love Southerners for that expression.) After that, she kept coming over to check on us and see if we were ok, and she helped me with my bags after we landed, and she was just generally awesome. I really hope she’s on our return flight, although I know the odds are pretty slim.

Anyway, my folks picked us up, and everything’s gone well so far. The weather’s been nice, my dad and I took Cate for a walk around the neighborhood, my mom made an awesome dinner (fried shrimp, steamed sugar snap peas and baked potatoes… yum), and we’ve just been hanging out. Cate slept pretty well last night, probably because she was exhausted after such an adventure-packed day.

Oh, and tonight we get to have dinner with Sally. And maybe Larry Ferrari too. Yay!

mad poetry skillz

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Cate and I are flying out crazy early tomorrow morning. 7:15 a.m. flight means that I have to get up around 3:30 in the morning, so I can be ready to leave the house by 5. Fun! At times like this, I really wish we lived closer to the airport. That also means that I’m spending most of today getting as much stuff packed as possible so I won’t have a lot to do in the morning. And cleaning, because I hate coming home to a messy house. (You hear that, Dave? You keep it the way I leave it, mister!)

So since I need to go get back to work, here’s a post that I started last week and never finished. Enjoy.

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In honor of the fact that April is National Poetry Month, I present you with my own haiku (haikus? haiki? how do you pluralize that word?), titled “Why I Hate Spring”:

Dave says the cats have
fleas. I’ve only seen one so
far. Yay! More vet bills!

Mosquito bites all
over. One on my toe. The
hell? I had on socks!

Spider in shower.
Are you the kind that bites? Oh
well. So long, Charlotte.

Go spin your web in
the comfort of my septic
tank. “Humble,” indeed.

Wasp in my bedroom.
Fantastic. Clearly I can’t
sleep there anymore.

At least there are no
cockroaches. Still, seems it’s time
to call Terminix.

yet another change of plans

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The hospital where Catie was born has a support group for new moms (the 0-3 month crowd). I’ve been meaning to go for, oh, the past 7 weeks or so. But every week, I’d end up sleeping through it, which is the kind of thing that happens a lot when your schedule is dictated by a newborn.

I finally managed to get there this week, and honestly, I totally hated it. Have you ever been in a situation where there’s a group leader who goes around the room and everyone has to introduce themselves? And then you have to say some interesting tidbit about yourself too? Those scenarios remind me of school, and they give me anxiety attacks. So I guess I’m just not a big group type, and that’s fine.

I realize, of course, that there’s a difference between a support group, and, say, a mommy playgroup or something. So it’s entirely possible that I might enjoy a different setting. But there’s this other strange thing that I learned about myself yesterday: I generally feel like I’m doing ok at this mommy gig, but if you put me in a room full of other moms, I feel completely incompetent. It isn’t just the breastfeeding thing, although, yes, I was self-conscious about mixing up a bottle in that room when a lot of other women were nursing their babies. I have no idea why I feel this way, but as soon as I walked in the room, I had to fight the urge to either cry or run out of there. I know that it’s all in my head, and it’s not at all a reflection on the people there. All the other moms seemed lovely and nice, this is just my own little neurosis.

After I got home, I started thinking that since I’m obviously not the mommy group type, I have to come up with something else to get myself out of the house so I don’t go crazy or turn into some kind of hermit. Before Cate was born, I had this romantic notion in my head of being a stay-at-home mom, and how I’d meet and become friends with other moms, and life would be one big happy playdate after another. Clearly, that is not going to be the case. And that’s alright, this is just reality setting in.

So I’m thinking about going back to work. Probably just part-time, and I’m not in any big rush – I’m not even planning to update my resume until Cate is consistently sleeping through the night. But I think it’d be good for all of us: since Dave works from home, it’ll keep us from getting on each other’s nerves (trust me, 24/7 is a bit much for even the healthiest marriage), and I think part-time daycare will be good for Cate too.

In light of that little epiphany, I decided to make the most of my remaining time of unemployment. So next month, Cate and I are going to my hometown to see my folks. I found a great rate on airfare, and I’m calling it my parents’ combination Mother’s and Father’s Day gift. They’re thrilled to get a week of grandbaby time – I mean, I’m sure they’re happy to see me too, but mostly it’s all about her.

So hey, if any of you happen to be in the vicinity of Jackson, Missisippi, from April 18th to 24th, let me know and we’ll have cocktails. Bonus points if we can include fried okra. (God, I miss the South sometimes.)

behind-the-scenes in New Orleans

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So, when I wrote the New Orleans recap there were a few things I left out. It’s kind of funny that I had so convinced myself that I wouldn’t be pregnant because I didn’t want to be disappointed again, that I had gotten myself all psyched up for this trip to New Orleans, where I could eat oysters and drink hurricanes from Pat O’Brien’s. Since I found out I was pregnant about a week before we left, obviously my dreams of alcohol and raw shellfish were dashed, but I didn’t really care when I considered the trade-off.

That whole first week when I knew I was pregnant? I didn’t have a single symptom. I mean, ok, I was a little more tired than usual, and my boobs were sore, but it wasn’t anything bad. Friday, the day we flew out, is when all of this morning sickness stuff decided to rear its ugly head for the first time. I hate to fly, and I would normally have a drink or take a Dramamine before getting on a plane so I could sleep most of the way. Neither of those are an option for me right now, so instead I learned the hard way that:

motion sickness + morning sickness + one layover + 6 hours of actual flight time + the middle seat (because I’m short, so I always give Dave the aisle) = absolute, pure hell.

Seriously, when we were taking off from Dallas (the location of our layover), I thought I was going to have to make use of the barf bags that they put in the seat backs. I’ve never been that sick on a plane before. (Well, except for the time I flew from Atlanta to Seattle with quite possibly the worst hangover of my life. But at least on that trip, the airline accidentally upgraded me to first class, so I suffered quite comfortably.)

I had made it very clear to my immediate family beforehand that I didn’t want the news of my pregnancy to be announced. This weekend was for my cousin and his fiancee, I didn’t want them to feel like I was stealing their thunder by showing up and being all, “hey everybody, guess what?” Plus the fact that it was still so early that I just didn’t want to talk about it yet. (For the record, I’m still terrified about the risk of miscarriage. I think I’ll feel safer about that when I’m in my second trimester.)

The trip started off ok. My uncle Stanton and aunt Susie (Cat’s folks) went with us when we toured the city on Saturday, and I’m sure they might’ve wondered what was up with me when I was the only one crying over all of the devastation. Or, when we stopped at a gas station to use the restroom, and all they had was one un-air-conditioned porta-potty outside, and it was well over 100 degrees in there, and I seriously almost fainted. Which, ew. Can you think of a grosser place to pass out? I kept thinking that I just needed to get my pants up so I could open the door – that way, if I needed to faint, I could fall forward, land on my aunt (who was next in line) and that would cushion my fall somewhat. (Sorry, Susie!) I made it out of there ok, but then I was all, “Um, could someone please get me a bottle of water and an apple juice, like, oh, NOW?!?!!” (My sister came to my rescue on that one.)

The wedding was that night. And I did ok at first. Then, you know the part of the Catholic service where everyone kneels on the little prayer benches? While I was kneeling, I started to shake and sweat (even though the church was probably 65 degrees), and I thought I was going to pass out. I tried to hold it together, I really did. Dave got me to sit on the pew rather than kneeling, and that was ok. I was still sweating and feeling sort of cotton-mouthed, but the shakiness wasn’t as noticeable as it had been when I was kneeling. The next part of the service was where everyone stood up – everyone except for me, that is, and Dave, who was holding my hand and looking at me really intently because he was waiting for me to keel over any second. I lasted about about another minute like that before I said, “ok, I need to get out of here.”

Both Dave and my mom helped me out – it was mortifying because it was one of those really old cathedrals that doesn’t have a restroom inside. Instead, we had to go out the huge 20-foot door on the side of the sanctuary, and when it opens you can suddenly hear all of the street traffic outside, so it’s really, really noticeable. I think only – oh, everyone – saw me leave in this very non-discreet fashion.

Then, my aunt Michele came chasing after us to make sure we could find the bathroom, because it was sort of confusing – you had to go around the back of the church and through a fence to enter the rectory, and somewhere hidden back there was a bathroom. With no air-conditioning. Again. And no lights, either. Lovely. I drank some (disgustingly warm) tap water out of the sink, splashed a bit on my face, and my mom flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and made me sit on it. After a minute or so, it started to occur to me just how big a spectacle we were, leaving the church like that. I said to my mom, “I guess I’m busted now, huh?” She said, “Well, unless you want people coming up to you all night asking if you’re sick…”

So. We snuck back into the church just as the Communion part was wrapping up. We sat in the back while the ceremony finished, and then we went forward to catch up with the rest of the family. Everyone was sort of milling around the church and chatting, so I went ahead and told everyone then about being pregnant. It wasn’t quite the way that I wanted to handle it, but it was pretty cool. Everyone was really excited for us. And throughout the reception, people kept coming up to Dave and me to congratulate us – all people we hadn’t told, of course, that’s just how fast word spreads in our family. But that’s fine.

Also, when I said to one of my great aunts that I wasn’t planning to talk about it yet because it’s so early, she said, “You told people in church, honey. It’ll be fine.”

Let’s hope so.

New Orleans recap

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First order of business: the photos from the trip are here.

Friday, we flew most of the day. It sucked, because I hate to fly and I developed a bad case of motion sickness. Yuck. That night, we went to a family gathering at my aunt and uncle’s hotel suite. This particular aunt and uncle (Pam and Mark) are the parents of the groom (Kevin) whose wedding we were all there to attend. It was nice and low-key, just family, lots of catching up and all that good stuff.

Saturday, we got up relatively early and went out sightseeing with a different aunt and uncle (Susie & Stanton, my cousin Cat’s parents) (aside: Hi, Susie!). We drove around to some of the more devastated areas – the lower 9th ward, St. Bernard parish, etc. We saw Mark and Pam’s house in St. Bernard parish, totally destroyed. We went in and took pictures, and it didn’t occur to me until later that it might not have been the best idea for someone who’s allergic to mold (such as myself) to go in there.


We drove around a bit longer after that, and I was ok with seeing all of this devastation until we passed City Park, and I saw that the little toy train ride was gone. I know they’ll rebuild it, I just had this idea in my head of someday taking my kids on the little train ride that I had ridden when I was a kid, and I started to cry.

Right after that, we went to my grandmother’s old house, and I lost it. That house wasn’t even the one that I generally associate with my grandparents, because my grandmother moved there when I was probably about 10 or 12 years old (after my grandfather was already in a nursing home), and it’s not the one that I associate with my childhood as much. But something about it got to me – it was such a cute little neighborhood, and it was just completely in ruins. I couldn’t even get out of the car for a good 5 minutes because I was crying too hard.


Everyone else went inside to see it – seems weird, sort of like trespassing, but the house was totally abandoned, so I guess there’s no harm in looking around. Dave sat with me in the car while I cried. It occurred to me that although it was probably fine if I didn’t want to go in, this was almost definitely my last chance to ever see the inside of my grandmother’s house. So we went in. The people who bought it after her had remodeled it, and you could tell that it was beautiful. They had added a den and bathroom onto her kitchen, where she used to just have a little carport. And… it’s all gone. I mean, it’s there, but destroyed. My sister took photos, but I couldn’t.

Also, I don’t know if everyone has seen pictures of the post-Katrina houses with big X’s spray-painted on them? In the top part of the X is the date that the house was inspected, to the left is the code of the crew who inspected it, something else on the right (can’t remember what) and underneath the X is the number of bodies found in the house. Most of the houses that we saw were zero’s, but we saw the occasional 1 and 2 here and there. The one that would have killed me if I hadn’t already cried my eyes out was one of the last houses we saw, which had a “1 dog DOA” spray-painted on it.

Is it weird that I’m more affected by the animals than the humans? I guess I just tend to think that the humans have more options for escape available to them. They can open doors that allow them to run away, that kind of thing. That’s not always the case, of course, like with the nursing home in St. Bernard that wasn’t evacuated. But for the most part, I tend to cry more for the cats and dogs who were trapped in their houses than the owners who were too stubborn to leave. (Yes, I know a lot of them were poor and didn’t have options. I’m just talking in generalizations.) And this was in a relatively nice neighborhood, so my assumption is that the owners evacuated and left the dog alone in the house, figuring they’d be back in a day or two and the dog would be fine. If something like that ever happened to one of our cats, I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself.

After emotionally exhausting ourselves, we had lunch and went back to the hotel to take naps and get all fancied up for the big wedding. The ceremony was absolutely beautiful, in this really huge old church that somehow survived the hurricane. My mom didn’t bother to mention until after the wedding that it was the same church where my grandparents got married. I wish I had known that in advance, because it’s a pretty cool part of my history. I also wish that I had taken pictures of the church, but sadly, I had left my camera in the car.

The reception was a lot of fun too. Very loud and boisterous. And man, if you get either my father or Dave around an open bar, you are in for one hell of an entertaining night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either one of them dance as much as they did that night. It was a riot.


Sunday, my folks and my brother dropped Dave and I off at the airport along with my sister (who was flying out around 10 minutes before us). We ate brunch there and headed in our different directions. I had motion sickness again, all the way home, which sucked. But when we landed in Seattle and it was only 70 degrees? Both Dave and I nearly kissed the ground the minute we stepped outside. Seriously, this trip was emotional and wonderful and a lot of other things, but it was also a great reminder of why I try to avoid the south during the summer months.

Confidential to American Airlines

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First of all, you guys really need to work on improving your in-flight movie selection. The Pink Panther? Really? Have you watched that movie? Because I watched the first 15 minutes, and trust me, it sucked. I never laughed once. And I’m pretty sure that I was supposed to. A few times.

And on the return flight, Aquamarine? What the hell is that, a movie about 14 year-old girls befriending a mermaid? I’ve never even heard of this movie, how on earth did you people track it down and decide that it was worthy of adding to your in-flight movie repertoire? My poor husband accidentally left his iPod and Gameboy in my parents’ mini-van, so he watched the movie out of desparation for something to do to pass the time. I can’t believe you subjected the poor man to such utter drivel.

Second, there is a flight attendant on the Dallas-Forth Worth to New Orleans route who is quite possibly one of the scariest women I have ever seen. I wish I had a photo to show you, but listen to this description: orangey fake-tanned, iridescent bright pink lipstick (all the better to accentuate her smokers’ teeth), and the hair. Dear god, the hair. Peroxided to within an inch of its life, with inches-thick crispy bangs, and which is being held in sort of a makeshift ponytail with not one but TWO giant clippies. One on the top and one on the bottom. And the clips aren’t even the same color, one is bright purple and the other is tortoiseshell-brown. But they have the effect of a semi-ponytail, in the sense that her hair is gathered up and pulled back off of her face. Unfortunately, her “faux-nytail” doesn’t hang down the way a normal ponytail would, since her hair has the consistency of straw. Instead, it sticks straight out from the back of her head, so she looks sort of like one of those pointer dogs whose found a dead bird or something. And American Airlines, you people hired this woman. I beg you, please give her a raise and the name of a good stylist.

Third, could you please explain to me why some of your flights have significantly more leg-room than others? Our hour-long connection from Dallas to New Orleans was nice and relatively roomy (for an airplane seat, anyway), but on the flight from Seattle to Dallas (and vice-versa)? We were so cramped that I was sweating in places where one should never sweat. And if I wanted to cross my legs, I had to do some elaborate yoga-like pose where I pull my knee up to my face before sliding it down on the other side of my leg. No room to just swing it over. I know you guys aren’t doing too well financially, so you want to fit as many passengers onto each flight as possible, but damn. At 5’5″, I’m relatively short, so imagine the discomfort that some of your taller passengers must experience. I’m not asking for much, just a little consistency among your fleet of fine aircrafts. And breathing room.

Also, your four-dollar snack box leaves a lot to be desired. The granola was ok, but the crackers were stale, and that cheese spread you give us to put on the crackers? Don’t even try to tell me that garbage is actual cheese. It’s faux cheese. Hell, let’s just call it feese. And it’s disgusting. Give a girl some real cheddar, why don’t you.

Just some suggestions to consider before my next flight with your airline – which, after this latest fiasco, will hopefully not be anytime in the foreseeable future.

Hugs and kisses,
Cindy

I’ll post the recap of the New Orleans trip tomorrow. I’m just too exhausted to think straight today.

sweaty family weekend

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Tomorrow, Dave and I are flying to New Orleans for my cousin’s wedding. I’m a big ol’ mix of emotions about the whole thing: happy to see my family, some of whom I haven’t seen in a very long time; sad that some family members won’t be there (for example, a certain cousin of mine who is hugely pregnant right now); and dread over the fact that we’re going to be flying for eight hours on both Friday and Sunday. Yuck.

And one more thing to dread: my dad told me that the forecast for Saturday (the day of the wedding) is “sunny and 95 degrees.” Doesn’t that sound like fun? Aren’t you jealous of me, getting to wear pantyhose in that climate? Especially knowing that I tend to get migraines in extremely hot weather? I know you’re all just pea-green with envy.

Oh well, I’m not planning on spending too much time outside or anywhere that isn’t air-conditioned. (Speaking of which, the installation of our central a/c was finished yesterday. It’s so quiet sleeping in our bedroom without the big ol’ window unit running all night. And so chilly! I had to pull the covers up under my chin. It was awesome.)

We’re staying close to downtown, which was relatively unharmed by Hurricane Katrina last year. However, my mom wants to drive around to some other parts of the city to check out the damage first-hand. I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m sure some of it will be interesting, but I worry that if I see my grandmother’s old house (even though she sold it way back in the 80’s), and it turns out to be damaged or gone or something, I just may burst into tears. I’m bringing my camera, but I don’t know if I’ll actually take any pictures or not. It may just be too weird and surreal to photograph.

So, this trip is happy and stressful all at the same time. Like so many things in life, I suppose.

Oh, and you know how I wrote a couple of months ago about how I was all stressed out about finding something to wear? Well, I bought a dress for our anniversary last month, so you’ll probably soon see many more photos of me wearing the exact same damn dress. Because it’s pretty, and I don’t feel fat in it.