Tag Archives: travel

Why you (but not too many of you) should go to Iceland

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A few weeks ago, I posted a poor attempt at giving Iceland some cred. Today, I am handing the reins over to Eva from I’d Rather Be in Iceland. She will now undo all the damage I’ve done. Take it away, my British friend! – Emily

I’m very honoured to be guest posting for Emily, who is one of my favourite bloggers.  Emily asked me I volunteered to write a post about Iceland after reading her post about how she can’t remember much of her trip there. After her post, she got a lot of comments about why Iceland, and isn’t it expensive, and what’s there to do, blah blah blah. Well, let me tell you a bit about why I like Iceland. I have to be careful here as Iceland already thinks it has a tourist problem and I shouldn’t be encouraging too many of you to go.  I could (and do) talk about Iceland all day, but here are my top 5 reasons to visit:

1. The way of life. OK, the people are a little strange – so would you be if you lived somewhere where you at least recognised if not knew everyone you passed on the street. They also have weather which is rarely just calm or what most people would consider “good”, and daylight hours which can be all or nothing. So they’ve got some things to contend with that most of us don’t, including having to live up to a reputation of being “creative” that Björk has landed them with.

Despite this they are generally nice people and have the common sense that comes from living in a population that is isolated and small enough that they can do what they want without a lot of world interest. Why shouldn’t a stand-up comedian be the mayor of Reykjavík? So what if there’s no word for “please” in the Icelandic language? You get my point – they’re a bit different and not as bound by rules as other European countries. Iceland also consistently tops world rankings as the best place for women and children to live, has low cost university education and prisons that try to rehabilitate people rather than just locking them up. The bookstores tend to have longer opening hours than anything else, which says a lot about a place.

2. Exciting nature and wildlife.  Yes, you have to like nature if you go to Iceland as there’s not a lot else there. But within a small area you can see volcanoes, waterfalls, a geyser, boiling hot mud bubbling out of the earth and glaciers. You can get as close to it as you want to so there’s all kinds of accidents waiting to happen! The Blue Lagoon aside, there are natural hot springs everywhere. And there’s Northern Lights! What more do you want?

Arctic fox

A glacier beach

Is this a rock or a troll? Any guesses?

Iceland has tons of beautiful waterfalls.

 

At the right time of year Iceland is a great place for whale watching (sightings practically guaranteed in Husavík), seeing huge colonies of puffins and if you’re lucky an arctic fox. Even the domestic animals are quite interesting – the horse has its own unique gait (the tölt), and we had to pull over to take a picture of some cows as they were so pretty (and no, we weren’t the only ones, someone else had done it first).

3. Creepiness. Iceland is creepy beyond belief if you have a good imagination and like being scared. Most of the towns are really only one street with a few houses and the mountains you see by day turn into big looming shapes next to the road on a dark night. Leave Reykjavík and you can feel really isolated,  as you can usually see for miles around you and there are no other people or buildings or well, anything. Trolls and elves are still talked about as a part of life. You can see elf houses in the countryside (insert elf door image) and in fact building projects are sometimes stopped or planned around areas where elves live.

Elf door!

The popular Icelandic author Arnaldur Indriðason’s mystery books definitely have a dark side, and even some of the popular TV comedies such as Næturvaktin manage to convey a real sense of sadness and bleakness while still being funny.

4. It’s expensive but also cheap. Bear with me here. Yes, it’s expensive and this is a reason you should go – it keeps away all the stag parties. It’s not the place to come to buy a whole new wardrobe or lots of beer on a night out. There is a Scandinavian mindset that it is worth paying more for things that will last and are of good quality. This is pretty much at odds with the more common mentality  that you want to buy things as cheaply as possible because then you can buy more of them and then just throw them away. Iceland doesn’t “do” mass production so although you might pay a lot for a traditional Icelandic sweater, if you have bought it in the right place it will have been hand knitted and it will last forever. (I won’t go into the recent controversies about lava jewellery being sold using lava not from Iceland, and some of the sweaters being made in China!)

Knitter’s paradise!

It’s also cheap. You might spend a fortune on food, petrol and everything else you have to buy but all of the scenery that you would pay an admission fee to see anywhere else is free. The countryside is generally free of people and you will often find yourself the only ones at something really spectacular, which is pretty priceless.

5. Unique food and drink. Yes, I know you’re probably thinking of rotten shark and all the other “weird” things they love to show on TV. And yes, you can eat puffin and minke whale, although this is really just for tourists and you won’t find them on the menu in most places. Iceland is a fish lovers paradise and traditionally food has pretty much centred around fish and lamb. Now, Icelanders are getting fatter as junk food has taken over the country. But I ask you, where else can you get pizzas with toppings like peanuts and bananas? Or my personal favourite, a 4 cheese pizza with a side order of jam? Really great hot dogs? And don’t even get me started on the chocolate liquorice. Junk food aside, you can also get really tasty meals that taste like home-cooking even at service stations – we had some surprisingly good lasagne with potato gratin.

Cream cheese pizza

Given that Icelanders love to stay up late and eat junk food, it is perhaps fitting that their biggest superhero Sportacus from Lazytown advocates a healthy lifestyle rather than having any kind of magical powers.

Sportacus from Lazy Town

Something tourists are often initially alarmed about is that the water in their hotel room smells bad – this is sulphur and in fact Icelandic water is amongst the purest in the world. Geothermal heating also means it’s cheap and even in the most basic accommodation limitless hot water is a luxury you can count on.

So what’s all this I said at the beginning about too many tourists? This is a topic that comes and goes in the Icelandic news as more and more tourists visit, and Iceland has become dependent on those tourists since the financial crash.

Some of the more popular natural sights are feeling the strain. This is a debate that will continue for the foreseeable future, although I suspect Iceland’s current reputation as “trendy” and being put at the top of many travel companies “best place to go” lists won’t last. If you do go and visit Iceland, you won’t be disappointed. Come on over to my blog if you’d like to read more!

About the Blogger:

My name is Eva and I’ve been visiting Iceland since 2005. Some day I would love to have a second home there, but I may need to win the lottery first. I was initially hooked on Iceland’s nature and then started discovering the music, books, knitting and many quirks that make Iceland a really interesting society. I also love running and watching trashy reality shows. I’ve been blogging for nearly a year now and have been surprised to find how much I love reading other people’s blogs, which continually inspire me.

 

Remembering the Wrong Things

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Last week, Lily and I were conversing in the comments of her blog, and she suggested that I talk about Iceland. Since I haven’t talked too much about Iceland, I decided that this was a good idea. B and I went on vacation there last year before I got pregnant.

Here is a picture of me in Iceland eating what is regarded worldwide as the best hot dog in the world:

I wasn’t as angry as I look.

I’m looking through all these pictures we took in Iceland and I’m remembering the things we did there, but I’m sorry to say that without the pictures, I likely wouldn’t remember much about Iceland. It’s not Iceland’s fault. It’s my brain’s fault. Sometimes it doesn’t do as it’s supposed to and remember the things that are worth remembering.

Allow me to demonstrate: we spent 10 days in Iceland and did all kinds of cool things. We met fascinating people and ate strange things like whale. (Hold your buckets of red paint, not the endangered kind.) Yet the thing I remember the most about Iceland was going in a convenience store and overhearing one of the teenage employees describing Rebecca Black’s “Friday” to the other teenage employee. Almost everyone in Iceland can speak English in addition to Icelandic, but hearing the girl giggle in Icelandic and say, “Jgfbydgfyvdbshffyal fhbusafh fbgshyugf ‘Friday, Friday’ psyndhudhdyn”* to her coworker was just funny and bizarre.

*My apologies to the nation of Iceland for parodying their language above, but for reals, it’s all freaking consonants. Exhibit A:

So we flew across continents, spent nearly a week and a half in a foreign country, and what I take away from our cultural experience is a pair of teenagers laughing about a viral video on YouTube. I remembered the wrong thing. What’s disappointing is that B remembers it really vividly too. Sigh.

It gets me thinking about when I was like six or seven years old and Halloween was rolling around. I had acquired a peach princess-y dress that I think had belonged to my Aunt Jaye when she was a little girl, and I was going to wear it with a sequined tiara that had been part of a ballet costume. I was so excited to wear it for Halloween. Then on Halloween night, it suddenly got super, super cold and my brother and I had to wear our matching navy blue knee-length overcoats over our costumes when we went out trick-or-treating. It was pretty much the lamest thing ever. There are pictures of us looking totally defeated and sad in our costumes and coats.

I have absolutely no idea what that has to do with me inappropriately remembering the Icelandic teenagers singing “Friday,” but the two seem connected. I guess that’s the point. Remembering the wrong things and all. In any case, here’s a picture of a taxidermied two-headed sheep in Iceland:

“He gave his life for tourism.”

I think I have successfully given you no idea of what Iceland is really like. I am confident I owe all of Iceland (and Lily) a whopping apology for this blog post. One of these days I’ll get around to actually writing about our trip.

Tales of the World: Get Naked

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Awhile back, Maggie wrote a hilarious post about her experience at a Korean sauna in America. After I read her account, I realized that I’ve been holding out on y’all. I have defied one of the most basic principles of life for far too long: the law that says it’s virtually impossible to go to a 찜질방 (jimjilbang) and not share the experience with every living soul around.

The universal sign for the jimjilbang in Korea Source

But where should I start? Should I start with the gauntlet of lockers and keys? Should I start with the salt room? Should I start with how you can drink beer and get Dippin’ Dots there?

Should I start with the karaoke and computer rooms? Should I start with the pink and blue uniforms? Should I start with the tanks of little fish that nibble dead skin off your feet? Should I start with the unabashed nudity?

Yes, I will start with the nudity.

At the jimjilbang*, there are two sections: the co-ed saunas and lounging areas, and the communal bathing areas. When you use the communal baths, you are stark naked. Upon entrance, you are issued one towel (two if you’re lucky) the size of a beverage napkin, and those things can’t be expected to cover up a dinner plate, much less a regulation-sized human being. Bathing in a swimsuit is not permitted. I tend to believe that it was because the Koreans wanted to see us foreign fatties in all our glory. So you enter the bath and you see it all. There are girls and women ranging from ages two to 100 (not kidding). Once, my fellow foreign friend ran into one of her students there. Yeah, both were nakers. And there is no personal space. There is no personal space in all of Korea, but when you’re naked and everyone is looking at you because you’re foreign and fat different, you’re much more aware of it.

*I swear I’m not being pretentious by calling the bathhouse/saunas by their Korean word; it’s just that I lived in Korea and this is what we always called it. OK so I’m being pretentious.

At the jimjilbang we frequented, there were several bathing areas: the showers, the warm baths, the hot baths, the close to boiling baths, the tepid baths, and the ice baths. All are right in the open and non-chlorinated. People would submerge their heads in the water and it always left me a bit throw-uppy that they felt OK doing this in human stew. But whatever. Just eat some kimchi and that’ll knock any bugs out of you.

The nudity will lambaste you if you are not used to it. I didn’t really want to get used to it. I have body issues that will never go away, and the bathing sections only exacerbated them. For that reason, I only used the baths once, the first time I went. But what B and I DID go back for again and again were the coed saunas. These are not the  saunas that I was used to in the US and Europe. For one, you have to wear the uniforms that are issued to you upon entrance. The women’s were pink and the men’s were blue, and the kids’ uniforms were yellow. Everyone has their own place.

The big central room at a jimjilbang Source

You enter a huge open communal area where people of all ages are just lounging around. Families always spent the day there since there was a restaurant at the jimjilbang. There are TVs, bookcases, a snack bar, massage chairs, and even little hovels where you can curl up and take a nap or sleep off your hangover; people used the jimjilbang as a super cheap hotel all the time because they were open 24 hours and you were just charged one fee upon entrance. Off the big room are multiple little doors to the separate saunas, which are all different temperatures. My favorite was the salt room where you could pile salt stones and pebbles all over yourself. I tended to forget that thousands of sweaty people had done the very same thing with those very stones.

The salt room at a jimjilbang. Ours was better because there were tiny salt pebbles all over the floor too. Source

The saunas were all hot, but the mother of them all was the room that was literally shaped like a kiln:

Here’s where you bake yourself. Source

The door to the kiln was only about 3 1/2 feet tall, so you felt like a Hobbit when you go in, which is kind of fun. Baked Hobbits – doesn’t that sound like some kind of pastry? I digress.  B and I can’t remember exactly how hot it was in there, but we both guessed that it was about 140 degrees Fahrenheit. It was sweltering and humid as all get out. The floor was made of dirt because I think anything else would have gotten way too hot. In the middle of the room was a 15 minute hour glass, and I don’t think we ever saw that thing to its completion.

There was an ice room too. The room was literally walled in ice coils. It was pretty cool (har har). You were supposed to alternate between the hot and cold rooms to get your circulation amped up. Kids were always playing in the ice room. Half the time there would be an impromptu Pokemon convention going on.

Then there were the random rooms. There was something called an Oxygen Room which always perplexed us because all the rooms had oxygen in them. But there was a TV in there that always had soap operas on, so I guess “oxygen room” sounds better than “soap opera room.” There was a PC room, which just had a bunch of computers where boys played Starcraft. There was a noraebang, which translates to “singing room”, where you could sing a song on stage with all your friends.

I don’t know if Miss C will ever live overseas. I hope she does at some point, just so she can experience a culture other than her own. I hope she goes to the equivalent of a jimjilbang, whatever that may be. I hope she dives into the hottest water she can reasonably handle and savors the experience. And I may come to regret saying this, but I hope she gets naked.

I mean, as long as the only other naked company she keeps are 95-year-old Korean women. If not that, I just don’t want to know.

Questions? I know you have questions. It took me forever to write this post because I had to edit so much out of it so it wouldn’t be 15,000 words long. And some of the best stuff got cut just because they need posts of their own. So ask away. Give me the opportunity to tell all the extra stories in the comments.

Finding Flow

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When we were there, the national motto for the Philippines seemed to be “please bear with us.” There were handwritten signs at the resort with that line, asking us to have patience with certain doors that weren’t functioning correctly or credit card machines that were on the fritz. The currency exchange booths – which were essentially refrigerator boxes manned by a young woman with a folding chair, a cash box, and a calculator – also had these signs. You had to wonder whether they were ever taken down. Perhaps most disturbing were the “Please bear with us” signs at the ticketing desks at the airport. At one point, a woman in a polo shirt bearing the insignia of Cebu Air came out to the line of mostly Korean passengers and started collecting everyone’s passports. We handed ours over, the woman disappeared, and immediately we started wondering why the heck we had just done that. Oh, but there was a sign that asked for our patience. That’s reassuring.

Lately I’ve been feeling like the Philippines. I’m trying my hardest to be a better version of myself and to get things started, namely this supposed book that I’ve set out to write. Since last Wednesday, I’ve written about 2,500 words. When I step away from my computer, I’m pleased with what I’ve written, and then the next day when I reread it, I’m dissatisfied with it. The problem is that from one day to the next, I shift from being a beautiful place where everyone is friendly and the beer is cheap, to an island rife with violence and people getting their heads chopped off.

Neither are “bad,” as long as it’s not my head and the beer is mine. Both are interesting and make for good reading.

But which one do I want to be? Which one will this book be?

The answer is that it will be both, but the real challenge is creating something that isn’t completely disjointed and random.

So bear with me. I’m going to be trying out some new-for-me styles on the blog just so I can feel my way through them and see what works best for a long format piece. Your comments, as always, are heartily appreciated and extremely helpful. Have I told you all lately that I love you? Because I do.

Snapshots of Chicago

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Today I miss Chicago.

I miss my apartment in Rogers Park at the corner of Sheridan and Pratt. The walls in the hallways of the building were purple and one time there was a guy passed out in the hallway in front of my door. I got mad at B who left first that morning for not warning me about him. I miss hearing Fresh Air for the first time in that apartment. There was an interview with John Waters about his Christmas album.

The first apartment

I miss eating Chicken McNuggets on the benches in Union Station while waiting for my Amtrack train to Memphis. I miss meeting B there at 8:40 in the morning when his train arrived. It was like a movie; we’d see each other from opposite ends of the great hall and then kind of pick up the pace to meet one another. Then we’d go to Lou Mitchell’s for breakfast and play footsy.

I miss the El. I would often take the Red Line from Loyola to the Chicago stop and then just walk up the Magnificent Mile to the Art Institute, which at that time was pay what you can. I felt classy getting off at Chicago because there were some colorful tiles on the walls of the subway. I loved the way the train slowed down and lurched around the Sheridan stop. I always felt like something must be wrong at first but there never really was, not there at least. I miss the heat lamps that you could turn on to stay warm on the platforms during the winter. They were awesome because they actually heated you up.

I miss Chinatown on my 22nd birthday. I have never felt so cold in my life. B and I took the train to Chinatown that Sunday. It was completely sunny with no cloud cover to lock any remaining heat in. It registered 2 degrees Fahrenheit but it was also very windy. We were the only people out and we ducked into each shop, all selling the exact same sets of chopsticks and bamboo plants. Then we ate at the Three Happiness Restaurant (or was it six?) That night we went home and ordered a pizza from Giordano’s because that seemed like the thing you were supposed to do in Chicago on your birthday.

I miss the Newberry Library book sale. I liked imagining where the books and tapes we bought came from. A bungalow in Hyde Park? A brownstone in Lincoln Park? We would each bring $30 in with us and leave with close to 45 books apiece. It wouldn’t matter if the books we bought ended up being crappy because we only spent like $0.60 on them anyway.

I miss brunch in Boys Town. And dinner in Andersonville. Once we had the same waiter at two completely separate restaurants on the opposite ends of town within the space of a week. He didn’t seem too impressed when I pointed out how coincidental this was and how amazing truffle fries are.

I miss the second apartment. When we saw it for the first time, the previous tenant who was still living there told us that it was a lucky apartment. Looking back, that seems like a pretty hokey thing to say but I didn’t think so at the time. It seemed 100% plausible that the place could be lucky. I moved in two weeks later.

The second apartment

I miss working in Evanston. I miss walking through the residential neighborhoods on Hinman to the restaurant where I worked. One time, I was walking on Hinman around 2:30 on Saturday. I walked passed a building with some condos. There was a couple lying on the front drive way, completely naked and doing The Do. It was one of the most bizarre things I have ever witnessed. I looked around to see if anyone else saw it. I was the only one around. I still kind of think it may have been a mirage or something.

I miss the restaurant culture. I never went to Alinea, but I knew enough people who had either worked there or eaten there that I felt like I pretty much got the gist of the place without having to spend my month’s salary to experience it myself.

I miss who I was when I lived in Chicago. I arrived a 21-year-old student who had never really lived on her own and I left a 26-year-old married woman eager to see the world. I love that city so much.

And I hate to admit it, but that Sufan Stevens song makes me tear up a little.

If any of my former students read this post, they will be mortified.

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For the past couple nights, B and I have been editing all the photos on our computer after Miss C is down for the night, so as to make room for the colossal influx of pictures that has occurred since she was born. This has forced us to go through all the film we took while we were in Korea. Life these days is a little different than it was back then:

Taken around 4AM after the consumption of several adult beverages

Obviously the above picture made the cut. Obviously. But we did far more in Korea than go to pubs at 3AM and pose for pics with rubber chickens. Most of the time we were hanging with the kiddos:

The day before we finally left Korea after two years. I had only just gotten over the jetlag.

Luckily, we also have a big box of notes and art that kids gave us that helps us remember those old days.

And today is sharing day!

Kids were always drawing pictures of me.

Art by Clara, age 7

We weren’t allowed to play Hangman because according to the parents, it was too brutal and violent, so instead we played Petal Drop. I’d like to know what word I’m spelling on the board. I’d also like to know why I’m apparently teaching a class of jack-in-the-boxes. The child in the right corner is perplexed as well.

Just to clarify, I haven’t worn a vest since I was in sixth grade, thank God. That is a scarf (or sling?) I am wearing in the picture.

Of all the things my student Leewon (age six) could have put in my conversation bubble, she chose ”Look at me, please.” Wow, way to make me look dictatorial. Perhaps if they don’t give me 100% of their attention, I will slap them with my wooden baton. Those four kids who aren’t looking at me have it coming. Hell hath no fury.

We often got letters from the kids. B got this one on Teacher’s Day:

B wants me to mention that he thinks that the idea behind that last line is that since teaching is a service rather than a item, it is technically “nothing.” Right. Michelle is just a young Korean Chelsea Handler.

I got this card from Joe on White Day (basically Valentine’s Day but specifically for women):

Judging by Joe’s own handwriting (he was seven), I take that compliment extremely seriously.

The older kids didn’t make stuff for us as often. They were too busy playing Starcraft in their spare time. Therefore, when Scarlett – a nine year old who had been learning English since she was four – showed me this booklet she had made just for fun, I had to trade her a book of stickers in order to get her to give it to me permanently. Have you ever wanted a handy instruction book on how to put on silly makeup? Here you go. You can thank me later.

This must be concealer for Smurfs. *Wink.*

Step four results in blindness, FYI.

I’ve never been to a real ball. My life is not complete.

Fainting very hard should be avoided by all means necessary.

And this, my friends, is why we teach.

 

 

 

 

 

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It seems that since I changed my web address, everyone is still subscribed but updates of new posts may not appear in your WordPress feed. Pooh. Well, it is a free service so I guess you get what you pay for. The best way I’ve found of fixing this is to unsubscribe and then resubscribe. Updates should then appear in your feed. Thanks for bearing with me through this small change!

Ten Things I Learned On Vacation

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1. It’s good to misplace your own antiperspirant among your bajillion pieces of luggage because then you get to use your husband’s Old Spice deodorant, which actually works.

2. Cracker Barrel is a great place to bring your three-month-old because the place is basically run entirely by grandmothers and aunts. Also, there will always be another child there who is louder and more poorly-behaved than yours. Fact.

3. Just when you’re ready to laud your Garmin as the miraculous culmination of all the technology that came before it, it will pronounce Whole Foods as “wa-hole foods.”

4. The relief you feel the moment you pull in to a Hampton Inn after an eleven hour car ride with an infant is comparable to the feeling Industrial Age children experienced when getting off of work from the coal mine.

Nothing says “business suite” at the Hampton Inn like this classy touch.

5. Many alternate lyrics to “If You’re Happy and You Know It” can be concocted while in the car with an infant. For example:

“If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.

If you can’t do that, just sit right there.

If that is still too difficult for your cognitive level,

Just blow spit bubbles and blink your eyes.”

6. The moment I take over driving for my husband, a hurricane will make landfall. This is the Murphy’s Law of roadtrip driving.

South of the Border, for all you fancy-schmancy people who need real roadside attractions

7. When you are on a budget, trips to rural gas stations can be substituted for pricier tourist attractions. We stopped at one BP in the boondocks of Florida that was run by three men, the youngest of which was roughly 85. They were smoking pipes and selling shriveled sweet potatoes at the front counter. I don’t think British Petroleum authorized their inventory.

8. No matter how many exciting activities you planned for the week, you will still hear a child say, “I’m bored.” And responding to this comment with a suggestion to do chores around the family’s rented beach cottage is never a sufficient response to said child.

Huzzah! Teenagers strike again!

9. Make sure you accumulate as much garbage as possible in your car. All those empty water bottles can surely be used for a craft project when you return home. When your spouse asks you if you were going to throw away the spoils from the baby’s latest diaper change, tell him that you were planning to keep it as a souvenir.

10. Always prepare yourself for the worst the instant you open the door to your home after a two week absence. That way, when all your stuff is still there and the place isn’t burnt to the ground, it’s an added bonus.

The Other Side: Notes on the Third Month

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So, maybe I’m a little late on the third month post since Miss C turned thirteen weeks last Saturday. But ever since we took our show on the road last week, it’s been a bit hard to keep up with her growth on the ol’ blog. This is humorous to me because of the proliferation of grandmothers in her life since we’ve been traveling, first in Florida with B’s mom Sidney and now in Memphis with my mom AND Sidney. I had planned on blogging nearly every day of this vacation, but the best-laid plans of mice and men… Oh, you know.

I realized a few days ago that I’ve reached the stage of her life as a baby and mine as a mom where I’m not too keen on putting her down or handing her off to others. I’m beginning to feel like I can handle her best, which isn’t always right, especially when I’m exhausted and therefore really should just hand her off so I can rest. But as soon as we get back to North Carolina, this really won’t be a “problem” for me anymore since we have no family there. I really should savor the opportunity to let others love on her.

The other day I was looking at a video of her when she was one day old. Who was that little baby? She moved in slow motion, making strange circles with her mouth and squealing like a kitten. We could swaddle her easily in the smallest receiving blankets we had and they’d stay put on her all through the night. Now, she’s a person, not just a prop in our parental pantomime. She’s what you think of when you think of a baby. She giggles, she holds her neck up, she babbles, she is fascinated with the world around her and interacts with her toys. She is trying SO HARD to roll over, and I expect that she’ll do it in a few days. Sometimes it seems like her body is in close connection with my mind because the moment I start to wonder when she’ll acquire a new skill, she’ll start displaying it.

Miss C loves faces so yesterday when we had a bona fide southern Sip N’ See at my mom’s – complete with cucumber sandwiches and raspberry ice tea – she was in heaven, looking at everyone with 100 times more fascination than they could have possibly had for her. She’s a very interactive person and is happiest when a moment of non-gassiness coincides with a moment of face time with me or B. I thought she wouldn’t make it through such a busy day full of people coming in and out of the house. She had her moments of fussiness and was certainly exhausted by the end of the day, but all in all she made it through like a trooper.

And that’s the running theme in her life right now: whenever I think some activity will be too much for her, she always proves me wrong. At some point her life became regularized through no effort of mine or B’s. She just transformed herself into a non-chaotic little being. The hugely long drive from NC to FL to TN was difficult but manageable. The Sip ‘N See was fine. She sat beautifully for her first-ever professional photos, although this was also due to the patience and talent of the photographer. Our old, dear friend Melissa came over the other day and took pictures for her for nearly three hours. I had dreaded the shoot because I had no idea how Miss C would do being dressed and undressed and finagled into poses for hours on hours, but she did wonderful. She’s in the zone in her life right now where we can rely on her to behave like a human, for lack of better words. Here’s a little sample of that wondrous day:

When Melissa posted this sample picture on Facebook from the shoot, I teared up. No, I cried. This is my baby. MY BABY. I could explode with love. She’s my angel.

Everyone tells you they grow up too quickly. I wish I could add to this idea in a new and original way, but I can’t. Everyone is right. Every instant with her is new and beautiful. I’m just drunk with adoration for this girl.

Waves of Awesome

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This has been a great week, and not just because Florida decided to mind its manners and clear its skies once we got there. (Although I would like to give a big shoutout to the Sunshine State for living up to its name.)

First, Dear Expletive Baby had her baby. Awesome #1.

Then, Squatch from & Squatch Makes Three burst forth from his mama’s loins and into Ande’s ready arms. Score another one for our WordPress birthing club! Now we’re just waiting on Jell’s bebe and the Shotgun Fetus to pop. Not to get all kumbayah or anything, but I feel very bonded with the people whose pregnancies coincided with mine here on the ol’ blog, so when their babies come, it’s a very beautiful thing. I get just as excited as I do when my IRL friends have their babies.

Which they DO!

B’s and my friends Sam and Becca had a baby girl on Thursday night! Woot! Something’s in the air!

But it wasn’t just babies that made my week honky-dory. Nope. Come to find out that one of our besties who we met in Korea is engaged and getting married in September! I’ve had a post about weddings on the backburner for a couple months now, but it looks like now I need to break it out and just write the dang thing.

Also, I am likely going to get to see one of my best friends from high school next week in Memphis! And I haven’t seen her IN AGES; ie, she’s never even met B, much less Wee Cee. She lives in Italy and we were supposed to meet up in France last year, but the day she was supposed to fly out, her flight (and all flights out of Italy) were cancelled when there was an airline strike. BOO. I was sad. She was sad. B was sad too because I was sad. But she’s *hopefully* going to get on a standby flight to Memphis on Sunday, so cross your fingers and toes for us, ‘k?

And my last happiness: Sunday is our sixth anniversary. We’re going to be having a Sip ‘N See (or, as I like to call it, a Sip N’ Cece) in Memphis, showing off our little gal. How’s that for full circle?

We’ve had a long day today driving from Sanibel to Tallahassee. Wee Cee did well, but she got the gassies and was in a lot of pain near the end. Tomorrow we head to Memphis. It’s the longest drive we’ve had with her yet, so hopefully she’ll pull through.

Gas and too many kisses irk her.

I’ll just tell her that she’s the big girl among online blog babies now and hopefully that’ll give her the stalwart boost she needs. Still, cross your fingers for her too, will you?

Well, that was fun.

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We made it to Sanibel Island! Here it is:

And some more:

Yay.

Now we’re crossing our fingers and toes that this foul weather clears out, you know, before we leave later this week.

But the real question I know y’all are all wondering about is, how did Miss C do on the drive?

She. Was. Awesome.

She rocked out the first day and thoroughly enjoyed her first visit to Cracker Barrel. I wish I had taken some pictures of her surrounded by fake country memorabilia, but we were too busy holding our breathe for her to explode into tears to take any. Of course, though, she was fantastic.

She was pretty wiped at the end of the day.

But she was raring to go Sunday morning:

The rain through Florida was out of control. We stopped several times not for the baby but for us. Here we are at the rest stop:

And now that we’re here, she’s sleeping in a closet:

And she couldn’t be happier, despite the rain.

Miss C is now officially a member of the Awesome Baby Club. She is certified. She is Illuminati.

And we are happy campers because we have a happy baby. But we’re going to be doing some reverse rain dances anyway.

OH! And Dear Expletive Baby is having her expletive baby today! Best of luck to her and the little guy!