Sweet, Sweet Relief

After three straight months of 100-plus degree days, our corner of Louisiana got rare break from the heat this weekend. Today was absolutely gorgeous, and we made the most of it. I think everyone felt a euphoric high from all the fresh air, as well as sunshine that finally did not feel like the burning fires of Hell. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, this summer had made me bitter about summer in general. The severe drought and the dangerous heat killed most of our lawn, landscaping and garden. The lake was so low, we were never able to swim or fish, and when we tried to swim at my sister’s pool, the water was so hot that it felt gross. The excessive heat has prevented the kids from playing outside, even during school recess. I’m sure you can imagine how infuriatingly stir-crazy two energetic boys can get when they are confined indoors. And, ooooh, the electric bill…how I would love not to cry when I open the electric bill.

A day of perfect weather could not come soon enough, and we practically threw the kids out the door as soon as they were dressed. Though we started the morning with a healthy dose of yard work, my husband and the heathens found time this afternoon to burn off some energy.

Boys + Trampoline= Happy Mom.

No, I’m not jumping. I’m growing a person. Though the boys seemed to think that was a lame excuse to skip out on the trampoline antics.

Don’t try this at home.

After nearly a full day outside, the boys are more sedate than they’ve been in months.

And I’m so happy, I could spit.

Airport Boredom

Things I’ve learned in the airport today:

  • People wear some pretty strange get-ups when they travel…it’s like watching a combination of Survivor and My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, with a healthy dose of Jersey Shore thrown in the mix.
  • Many people forget that talking on their cell phones is not equivalent to being in a phone booth. The airport is a veritable hotbed of TMI.
  • You can always spot the asshole who will be an overhead bin hog later…his sense of pompous urgency radiates clearly in the boarding line. He’ll also be the guy to shove his way to the front of the plane on landing,  just so he can be first in line for his gate-checked bag.
  • People are fall into two camps: escalator or stairs. Oh, and those stair-climbing escalator rebels who get huffy when they want to walk up the escalator, and some stationary rider blocks their path to the top.
  • Even when you project your best “leave me alone aura,” some bored, lonely traveler will see your solitude as a ready excuse to strike up unsolicited conversation.

Not-So-Fun Travels

I’ve been out of town this week, in what I hope will be my last business trip for a while. Traveling while pregnant has been about the most miserable experience I’ve had recently. Why?

Well, I’m pregnant enough to be perpetually exhausted, which makes this work-trip a herculean effort. I’m also unable to drink away my anxiety of flying, which as you can imagine, has made me an oh-so-pleasant person. My pregnant nose was sensitive enough that the stinky guy next to me on the plane had me dry heaving. And I’m putting down enough food at each meal to have bystanders looking at me like I’ve got some binge-eating problems.

To add insult to injury I’m not pregnant enough to have the obvious belly, so I get no sympathy in bathroom lines or help with my luggage.

When I first started my job, I thought the travel component would be somewhat exciting. I’d get to explore new cities, see new sites and discover fabulous food. I planned on taking tons of pictures and collecting exotic souvenirs for the heathens. We travelled quite often when I was a kid, and my parents really spoiled us by using even the smallest road trip as an opportunity to explore anything and everything off the beaten path. I thought I’d find a way to at least experience something unique on my trips, even if it was just eating at some fabulous hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

I obviously did not grasp the “work” concept of a business trip; I’m often lucky to see anything but the airport, my hotel room and whatever conference venue I’m there to work. I usually end up eating at only the restaurants within walking distance to my hotel (rental cars are a luxury I don’t have), and souvenirs consist of whatever I can hunt down in the airport gift shop.

So, I’m headed back home tomorrow, where I will kiss my boys, relish in the comfort of my house and sleep in my own bed. Let me tell you, after five days on the road, that sounds better than a double margarita.

But, I’d better hit the airport gift shop first.