sometimes you feel like a mom...sometimes you don't

We drove to Boston for a long weekend and to spend Mother’s Day with Donnie’s mom. We packed up the car and were ready to go ahead of schedule (I’ll wait if you want to applaud).

Bug asked that I sit in the backseat with him. Fine with me—and probably easier in the long run than craning my neck around the seat to talk to him throughout the 8-plus hour trip.

About an hour into the trip, Bug told me his “froat” hurt. No surprise, the family we share a sitter with had strep throat during the week and even though the boys hadn’t been together for a couple of days they played together before he was diagnosed and we were hope, hope, hoping that Bug wouldn’t get it. Shortly after that, he announced his tummy hurt and then about two minutes later that he was going to spit out. Oh, and spit out he did. From my vantage point it seemed a bit like a scene from a badly acted/badly written horror movie a scene that I would look away from if I were watching it on the big screen. As Donnie pointed out, it was a gift that I was in the backseat and not in front of Bug.

So, why did I feel like a mom?

Prior to leaving the house a little voice inside my head told me to take Lysol wipes, paper towels, trash bags and a big towel just in case something like this happened.

Why did I not feel like a mom?

Everything I needed was in the trunk except for one itsy bitsy teeny weeny partially dried-out package of wipes that was left in the backseat from another time.

To make a long story short (or maybe just less long), we got the little guy all cleaned up and back on the road again. He was fine—even singing along to Bruce. (Yes, I LOVE it that he requests to hear Bruce on the drive…and he does so all on his own!) Then shortly after lunch he got sick again (I had my goods next to me this time and was more or less ready). We ended up in rush-hour traffic everywhere and got to Boston about three hours later than planned. Bug was terrific despite having to get cleaned up twice, being stuck in traffic, begging for a cookie (yeah, right) and a malfunctioning DVD player.

The weekend was nice. A rainy day in Boston on Saturday then off to the Public Garden on Sunday to see the ducklings and ride a swan boat. We prepped Bug by reading Make Way for Ducklings a few times last week. When we arrived we saw children dressed as ducklings and Officer Michael. Had we been earlier we could have taken part in the annual parade. Who knew?! Apparently everyone else in Boston from the crowd size. Oh well…it was great being there. (The photos below are NOT from Sunday...I'm not that organized.)

The drive home yesterday was uneventful other than a bit of construction on the Jersey Turnpike. We were home in 8.5 hours. As we left my in-laws' house, Bug announced he wasn’t going to spit out and stayed true to his word…I sat in the backseat just to be safe. Luckily, I can hear Bruce just fine from there.

When we were about 10 minutes from our house, Bug announced he wanted to drive for a little bit instead of going home. Sigh...

Oh, Boston, you're my (wannabe) home

We'll be spending Thanksgiving in Boston with Donnie's family, which has become our tradition. We'll see some of Donnie's--and now my--friends and please oh please oh pretty please we'll get to spend a chunk of time at my favorite bookstore, too.


On the list of things to be thankful for...you should add this:


Be thankful you aren't on our flight. Bug told me several times that he wants to "drive" the plane. I expect to hear screams when he learns he's not really a pilot.

cheers

My in-laws visited this weekend, which is always fun. (Really.) They arrived on Friday afternoon after an 8-hour rain-filled drive so we kicked off the weekend with happy hour. Bug loves happy hour particularly because he gets to do ‘cheers’ with his sippy cup. He quickly picked it up last year while on vacation and some things just stick with a guy…we’re convinced he was the only kid raising his cup at snack time!

My theory when having company over for dinner is/always will be to get some liquor in them before they sit down and eat my cooking. Works every time—twice this weekend, in fact.

The weekend was low-key and relaxed but Saturday we opted to go out for breakfast. Dining out with Bug is always a bit of a nervous adventure and we don’t do it on a frequent basis for a couple of reasons:

1. He’s 2 ½ and often acts his age.

2. With his allergies I can’t safely order off the menu and don’t feel I can trust a server when I ask whether there are eggs or nuts in __________ (insert any menu item here). Plus, there’s a chance that if I were to order something, Bug’s food would be prepared on the same spot where the guy-sitting-at-booth-in-the-corner's eggs were just being scrambled. We're trying to avoid that happening again.

We take Bug's food with us when we go to a restaurant so I packed his (already made) bacon, (previously toasted) English muffin, yogurt and grapes and put them on plates at the restaurant. He loved it because his plate looked similar to what everyone else was eating...and, yes, we did cheers at breakfast, too.

After we left the restaurant, I took the opportunity to add another item to my list of reasons why we should move to the Boston area: the law that was passed this year to make restaurants safer for people with food allergies. Even though my list keeps growing, I think we're staying put but I'll keep trying. And if we do ever decide to move I'll raise my glass--maybe even at that bar where everybody knows your name.