Happy Fifth of July!

Is that title unpatriotic?  I don't mean it to be but we were busy celebrating our country's freedom yesterday with ribs, pecan pie, and - as it will forever now be known - "blowing sh!t up".  Our dear friend just left and my kids will be in mourning for the next several weeks.  Because mommy doesn't generally play them cartoons on her iphone like this:

Auntie M is under there somewhere.

On Friday we sent the kids off to camp/school and went to the movies. Heartless, I know.  I'd defend myself with talk of the limited outdoor activities in 98 degrees (!) but, really, I was seriously coveting some movie popcorn.  [Super 8, if anyone cares.  I didn't know what we were seeing & wouldn't have cared if we watched 90 minutes of previews, given how infrequently I get to go these days... but definite two thumbs up.]

On Saturday we took the kids to Dave and Busters.  There was grumbling (from me) - I thought it would be a slightly bigger but equally grimy version of C.Cheese but it was surprisingly nice - my girl loved the lights and noise, the slightly upscale bar food was yummy, and I got in a few rounds of battleship - when not stopping my girl from tripping their electrical breakers.  Also, bonus, we won so many tickets we left with a new ice cream maker, amongst other trinkets.  [No one needs to do the math on what that ice cream maker runs normally.  We were victorious!]

On Sunday we went to an airshow.  The local DS group had mentioned a special needs airshow in conjunction with the big one downtown - all the planes were going to repeat their tricks at the small airport they were using as a base, and we could go with the promise of shade and smaller crowds.  Since I already confessed my kid-free Friday, I don't mind telling you that I jumped on this not because of my daughter, but because of MY non-diagnosed issues with crowds and heat.  Judge if you must!  I could try to convince you we went to increase my son's disability/diversity awareness levels and/or meet similar families... but sadly, no.  I was lured by an umbrella. 

Photo by Auntie M & her trusty iphone.  Doesn't she take fabulous pictures?   

Couple of random observations - in 2009 my girl used to cry at soccer practices/games when anyone yelled or clapped too enthusiastically.  Her tolerance had skyrocketed for the 2010 season and she even really seemed to love the casino sounds at Dave & Busters, but she did not like the planes - or the free ear plugs.  So that was fun.  The planes were of little interest for her when not making her cry with their dastardly racket, which I expected - but I did not expect they would hold equally little interest for my son.  Whose dad lives, eats, and breathes jet fuel.  They set up one of those $1.99 sprinklers for the kids and he ran through that with his girlfriend, whose family also came with us, declaring it the "Best Day Ever".  Dude - I just drove almost 50 miles for you to watch planes in uncrowded shaded comfort.  LOOK UP.  

Exactly!  UP!  [All photos taken by M.]



Up!

Yes, we get it... UP!  Stinker.

Gratuitous cute photo from the car ride home.

Also, at a couple of these events I've told him that we're going to see people that might look a little different and it's OK to ask questions but don't point [or say anything that might make their parents hate me ....what that might be I haven't clearly defined]. I shouldn't fret - he doesn't notice. Granted he was running around with the 2nd cutest girl ever but he hasn't noticed at other events, when not distracted. I've worried about him growing up in the whitest suburb in Middle America (potential sibling issues not being front & center yet) - but I think we're doing OK.
[*Furious knocking on wood*]

On Monday we made 16x more food than necessary and... blew sh!t up. 
Photos forthcoming!  Laundry and my DVR are calling. 

*hack*hack*hack*

Turns out my dry hacking cough was bronchitis.  Fabulous.  I'm pretty sure all my co-workers loved my efforts to lose a lung but that's what Purell is for, people.  A dear friend of ours arrived Thursday for a long weekend and I couldn't take sick days right before taking fun vacation days off.  Well, I could actually, legally, but then I'd slit my wrists with my staple remover when I got back, in despair over my inbox.

Yes, it was terribly hypocritical of me to go in and cough on the copy machine since I usually give snifflers the Evil Eye, hating them for bringing their microbes in, potentially breaking the work/life barrier and getting my kids sick.  But I dutifully took my Z-pack, was most likely not contagious, and I was a careful cougher (so, actually, not on the copy machine).  Still... sorry 'bout that, people! 

Matt finally made me go see someone because he alleged I was keeping him awake.  You probably won't appreciate the screaming irony of that statement but ... it starts with an "S" and rhymes with NORER.  But joke's on him because once I was given a bonafide diagnosis and pharmaceuticals I abdicated all household duties and went to bed early ...three whole nights in a row.  Whee! 

Which reminds me once again, for the 7456th time, that my mood is largely dependent on how much sleep I get.  The last couple weeks I've been fighting off, not only random pathogen, but also a wicked case of the woe-is-me-fml's.  It comes and goes, it's usually financial, and I usually just ride through it, remind myself that I have running water, etc, etc, etc and that these are nothing but first world problems but this bout lasted longer than most.  Not coincidentally about as long as my cough, which was worse at night, and was keeping my husband awake - the man who suspiciously can sleep through screaming babies.  So with my brilliant scientific mind I observed once the cough eased up, I started sleeping better and, 'lo and behold, the effin' rainbows & unicorns returned.

[I also got some screamingly-awesome news at work right before vacation, and my girlfriend arrived for a luxurious FIVE day visit].  Anyway, I'm back!