I can't wait to get old

Here was my Thanksgiving: I had to travel 220 miles by myself. And when I say "by myself" I mean with three children. And no husband. (Having an awesome schedule is not a benefit of working in the healthcare industry.)

We stopped at McDonald's for lunch in Nowheresville, Iowa. At the same exact time as a van full of folks from the local retirement home. Fortunately I made it into line in front of them. (I was not in the mood to listen to six elderly ladies try to decide whether they wanted a chicken sandwich or a hamburger to go with their decaf.)

But as I got my tray, I noticed an Old Guy (really. old.) looking pointedly at Evan, who was holding onto my pant leg. He looked for a minute and said to me, "His shoe's untied."

I had one armful of squiggly baby and my other hand was precariously balancing a tray loaded with Happy Meals and life-sustaining Diet Coke (for me, not the kids, because pumping them full of caffeine and sticking them back in the van for the remainder of the trip would be suicide). Oh, and I'm a nurse. I've worked in a lot (lot!) of nursing homes in my time. Just so you know.

I smiled and said, "Yes! It is!" Evan's shoes are untied approximately 107% of the time. I really don't care. But Old Guy was not okay with this situation.

"Well, aren't you gonna tie it?" he said accusingly.

This struck me as ridiculous.

We exchanged blank stares for a minute, Old Guy waiting for me to tie the shoe and me considering the possibility that he was experiencing some degree of synaptic failure.

"Right, then!" I chirped and turned away.

Turns out Old Guy was seated at the table next to us. He was the only gentleman present, surrounded by a bevy of glowing, bewigged female admirers. Over his coffee and fish sandwich, he was holding forth about all sorts of stuff. I was kind of caught up in making sure the baby wasn't trying to steal my fries and listening to the big kids argue about important plot devices in "Madagascar 2," so I certainly wasn't paying attention to Old Guy's diatribe.

But then. Then I overheard him say, "And that will definitely get you laid."

I swear that's what he said. His adoring audience smiled benignly. They didn't really react as I would have. But I swear to God he was telling them how to get laid in The Home.

I think Evan spilled his milk right about then so I had to tear my attention away from his geriatric wisdom. But this half-unglued-alpha-male-octagenarian totally made my day.

Forty years

So sorry my posting hasn't been more consistent this week.... It's been one of those weeks. My house is only borderline clean, meals have been last-minute improv kind of affairs, and I've been lucky to shower. Needless to say, compared to food and sanitation, my poor blog is rather low on the priority list. But I'll try to do better in the future.

Why so chaotic, you ask? I'll try to explain, but it won't seem nearly as overwhelming in writing.

Anyway, my first obstacle to productivity: Caleb continues to be very unhappy. He started antibiotics for an ear infection on Monday. By yesterday morning, he was still yowling and not eating and not sleeping and very uncomfortable. So I took him back to the doctor, wondering if his ear was still a problem. No, she said, his ear was improving. She looked him over to see what else could be the problem. And it seems he's getting MORE TEETH. (He got four last week; isn't that enough?!) So basically, I took my kid to the doctor because he's teething. I'm sure they promptly slapped a big red sticker on the front of his chart that says, "Crazy Mom." The point here is that if he's awake, I have to carry him.

Second problem: we're traveling this weekend. (With a very unhappy baby. Great.) Traveling with three kids is ridiculous. Correction: preparing to travel with three kids is ridiculous. I have been packing for three days now, and am still not ready to go. It requires about six loads of laundry, because for each kid, you need approximately one outfit for every two hours you'll be gone. Since we're going for 48 hours, that's 72 outfits. Sounds about right. It takes forever to round up the half-ton of baby equipment you need: diapers, toys, medicine, feeding paraphernalia, monitoring devices, sleeping equipment.... Then I have to pack for myself, which becomes a mere afterthough. (I will forget important things. I routinely forget my own underwear and toothbrush.) Throw in some duct tape and we're good to go. Just hope that Caleb doesn't scream the whole way and that Evan doesn't puke in the van.

Okay, but here's what I really wanted to write about.... The reason for all this packing is that we're going to my mom & dad's 40th wedding anniversary party. I want to just take a quick minute to acknowledge that. I like to give them a hard time about how very long 40 years is... then I remember that I'm 38, and realize I should probably shut up.

But: Mom & Dad are a shining example of a wonderful relationship. They are stable, they are honest, they are patient, they are committed. This is how they conduct their marriage. I'm coming to appreciate all that they have taught me through their example, about marriage, about parenting, about being a family, and about love. They are rock-solid, and their marriage is exactly how it should be. Their party this weekend will pay tribute to that.

Honoring that is well-worth the chaos of packing.