Tales of a Traveler

I've been meaning to blog about my trip since I got back. But, it's sort of a daunting task since there is, in a way, so much to say, and yet also so little. I mean, a lot happened in the eight days that we were gone, but how much of it needs to be said? Let's find out, shall we?

So, Charlotte and I survived the red-eye flight to JFK. That is big news in and of itself. She slept for about four hours of the five-hour flight. The first hour she was far too excited to sleep. As we were preparing to take off, she bounced ever so slightly in her seat and proclaimed "Here we go!" every few seconds. Then, once we were in the air she chattered happily about being in an airplane and asking questions about her surroundings and where we were going. Once she finally fell sleep, I tried to do the same, but the turbulence popped up and was all, "Hey! Hello there. I see you are trying to sleep, but I would just like to remind you that you are thousands of feet in the air in an airplane that may or may not fall out of the sky. So, keep alert. Constant vigilance!"

So, I didn't sleep until after the hunting for the bags, finding my sister, (who graciously picked us up from the airport at a perfectly ridiculous time in the morning) and finally arriving at her apartment. The next few days were marked by periods of leisurely sipping wine on the back porch, taking Charlotte to the park, and visiting with my sister's friends, permeated by episodes of panic, planning, making wedding favors, arguing, packing, laundry, and getting Charlotte to sleep in an unfamiliar environment. The madness was unavoidable. Weddings are joyous, but stressful times. I tried to remind my sister and her now-husband of that fact, but no one wants advice (however sage, if I do say so myself) when they are in the throes of wedding angst.

Charlotte hangs out with her new uncle

Stress mounted as the big day drew nearer, but we also managed to sneak in some fun times. We took my sister out for dinner, and then her friends took her dancing as a sort of tame bachelorette party. Though, I did hear a rumor about a veil lined with little, plastic penises. Unfortunately I do not have a picture to show you of that. We also took a midnight swim in the indoor pool the night before the wedding.

I woke up on the morning of the wedding to a text from my sister telling me that she was nervous and could feel it in her entire body. I rushed over there to find her two best friends already taking good care of her. The day seemed to lull as we had our hair done, played with the kids, ordered pizza, and put together the finishing touches on our outfits, when all of a sudden it was time to go, and we were scrambling to get out the door on time.
My kind of bride!

My mom gets Charlotte ready to go

I'm one of those people who always cries at weddings. Always. Sometimes I don't even know exactly what is setting off the waterworks. But, as I watched my little sister being escorted down the aisle of the palatial church by our father, I knew exactly why I was crying. She was just so damn beautiful. The most beautiful bride I have ever seen, hands down. And, all of a sudden we were kids again, walking down the hallway of our house with veils made of pillowcases, arguing over whose fake wedding was the more elegant and whose imaginary husband the most handsome. I was overwhelmed by the sight of the little girl I once knew transformed into a gorgeous bride, now a wife. I can't explain it, really. After all, we are only two years apart. And, I don't see her as a little girl in our everyday lives. She is my peer. My confidant. My friend. But, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia the day of her wedding, and it was nearly impossible to keep from weeping all through the ceremony.



We're not exactly dressed as brides here, but you get the idea.

And here we are post wedding. Gorgeous, isn't she?

But, I made it through, and we all enjoyed the lavish reception and coming together the way we do best: on the dance floor. Charlotte danced all night. She danced with her daddy, her grandparents, and with anyone who happened to be near. But, mostly with her daddy. She even protested when Chris tried to walk away from the music with her after we thought she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. I'm sure we looked like incredible parents, what with the comatose child that we seemingly would not take off the dance floor.
All. Night. Long.

The next day Chris, Charlotte, and I ventured to New York City with Chris's mom, sister, Janay, and her boyfriend, Josh. We had a really nice hotel in Times Square and spent a day and a half just wandering around, braving the subway, taking Charlotte to an awesome playground in Central Park, and ending the trip with seeing "The Lion King" on Broadway.

So, you know how that particular show is famous for its opening number? You know how during "The Circle of Life" all the animals approach the stage from the back of the theater, and it's really incredible? Yeah. Well, I don't. Because my husband was in charge of the tickets.

We all kept asking him what time the show started, and he told us over and over again that it started at 7:30. So, imagine our surprise when we were drinking wine in our hotel room, chatting with my sister and her husband who had come to watch Charlotte, when Chris looked at the tickets and announced that the show started at 7:00.

It was 7:06.

We kissed the baby goodbye and sprinted the two blocks to the theater, where we were escorted to our seats as the opening number was ending. I was crushed. And, Chris felt so guilty it was almost impossible to be mad at him. Almost. But, after profuse apologizing and promises of tickets to future shows, I had to forgive him. And, the rest of the show was phenomenal. We'll go back and catch that opening act when Charlotte is old enough to see it with us. And I will be in charge of the tickets.

So, that's about it. We came home the next day, and I've been doing laundry ever since. And Charlotte has been making up for lost time with her toys. And Chris is going to work. You know. Business as usual.
We'll miss you, New York. You and your kick ass playground.