About sixteen years ago, I met him for the first time. My trainwreck sibling brought home this adorable puppy he had no business adopting because he had not one thing in his life that wasn’t a mess. I was furious at my sibling – he didn’t even take care of himself, how could he drag
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September 21, 2016
We dubbed him Seamus in the first, rough, weeks of his homecoming, a play on “Shamey-y”.
I can’t be more grateful that we weathered those days, welcoming him even when he broke almost every rule trying to learn the ropes, even when we had a baby on the way and weren’t sure how it would all happen.
From the moment he met JuggerBaby, the squirmy little bundle of noise and mess, with interest and hope, he’s been a trooper, the saintly dog you’d always hope for in just such a circumstance.
Life with DOG!
JuggerBaby and Seamus have a curious sibling relationship. You’d think they didn’t care whether the other existed, until you made the mistake of raising your voice or provoking screeches (which, to be fair, is really easy to do for a toddler of JuggerBaby’s age). Seamus would quietly insert himself into the room and check on everyone, clearly concerned that ze would survive the day, and leave just as quietly when it was clear no one was a casualty.
Likewise, you’d think JuggerBaby was kind of a jerk the way ze petted him like he was a first class drum set, until you notice that zir carefully leaning in to give him Mmmmwah! kisses, before and after overenthusiastic pets. And woe betide you if he looks bored and ze knows where the Chuck-its are hidden. Like an extension of Seamus’s will, ze unearths the toys, presents it to you with a demand: BA!! and points at zir brother. Throw that thing, parent, and do it now! He’s bored! And soon after, carrots! Ze pulls them out and points insistently, EY! Give him treats!
As part of my weekly grocery shop, I prep packs of carrot sticks for Seamus. They sit sit together on the floor, box of carrot sticks clutched in JuggerBaby’s still chubby fist, staring at me for permission to hand them over, one by one. Once in a while JB’s enthusiasm brims over and ze offers him the entire container. He’s no fool, he looks at me for the nod. Even when ze dumps the entire box on the floor in front of him, he waits for the nod before reaching for any.
We do bedtime together, he lays at our feet while we read bedtime stories and sing bedtime songs, then he and I decamp to the living room for his care: brushing teeth, pedicure, cream for his itchy and raw skin. He lays his head on my knee and naps for a while, before his last nighttime stroll with PiC.
Medical woes
His weight has stabilized, he’s lost much of that sympathy pregnancy weight, but he has had a rough road.
He’s had an ulcerated eye, twice.
JuggerBaby nearly poisoned him (maybe).
His skin looks worlds better than it did when he first came home but he still breaks out into hot spots so I’m always on alert for any new trouble areas. Twice a year it gets bad enough for the heavy hitting meds. They’re effective but we don’t want him on steroids more than 20 days a year, they aren’t great for his organs, so I aggressively treat all flare-ups to keep them from progressing past hot spots.
He’s had an endless stream of infections. They crop up when he gets scraped up playing too enthusiastically and sometimes just because it’s fun to make me jump. I’m his on-call emergency medic, always carrying a full kit of topical antibiotics, ointments, bandages and gauze.
We make it through each one because he’s generally an astoundingly good patient, for a dog who surely doesn’t understand why I’m making him lay still while I poke and prod his painful parts, and our vet is good about working with me in filling the appropriate medications when we need them instead of making me bring him in for an exam every time. This saves us anywhere from $200-500 a year.
A Dog and Our Money
I’ve been using the saved proceeds from the blog to pay for his numerous medical needs. Unfortunately, since this isn’t a cash cow, we’ll need another way to fund his care soon.
We can cashflow his food, supplements, the occasional toy, and any other gear a good pup needs out of our regular income.
I do most routine maintenance at home for the cost of materials: war cleaning, nail clipping, pilling, first aid. These could all add to the price tag but luckily I enjoy animal husbandry.
We’d love a companion pup for him, he does best when he has appropriate canine company, but I’m not sure we can take on Number Three any time soon. It’s nearly as much work as a kid in a lot of ways and the costs pile up quickly if you’re not careful.
And another pup would make travel even more expensive. When we go on vacation, so does he. Turns out all the dog sitting I did as a favor to friends back in the day, because I knew I’d appreciate it if I needed the same? Well, there is no dogsitting karma. Nor is there babysitting karma.
Please, keep reminding me of that, because I might still lose my head and adopt another senior dog one day.
:: Are you a dog / cat / other animal person? What makes them great?
September 14, 2016
My Little Dobby
This child cannot be convinced of the one sock & one shoe per foot rule. Ze is constantly asking me to add another shoe on top of the one ze is already wearing. The best we can do is layer socks, though, and ze has stolen several pairs of socks from me so as to better mix and match zir footwear.
Transitions and weanings
It’s occurred to me that, despite my worries about never managing it or fighting over each step, our several weanings, off the bottle, off pre-sleep milk, and fuss-free naps ended up going much smoother than I’d been led to expect.
At daycare pickup one day, I overheard a parent telling the teacher: yeah he’s still on bottles. His doctor would kill us if she knew but it’s just easier! The kid was two years old, at least, and was running around with a bottle clenched in his teeth. I think I let that, and JuggerBaby’s general stubbornness, get in my head.
Looking back, though, it really didn’t suck. One day I realized that no part of me wanted to be dealing with bottles, bottle brushes, or any of that nonsense on our travel in 2016. In the Spring I decided we were doing it. Ze had been using a sippy cup for water already, so I started offering both milk and water in sippy cups during the days with meals. After a few days, since ze didn’t seem to care much, I offered the milk in a sippy cup for pre-nap fill-up. The first time I did that, I got Such A Look. Ze firmly pushed it away. It took three tries for zir to convince me that this was not happening. Fine. I switched to the bottle and ze sucked down the milk contentedly.
But the next time, I offered the sippy again. Ze considered it, and decided that yes, ok, this was acceptable. And so for about four days, ze only got milk in a bottle before bedtime. Otherwise, it was all sippies.
By the end of the week, because ze was eating so well and drinking plenty of milk at dinner, I changed it up again and gave zir a water sippy cup at bedtime. This changeover was accepted with equanimity, as long as there was something to occupy zir hands and mouth while we read bedtime stories, zir full belly didn’t care if it was milk.
This was strategic: zir teeth were coming in and I didn’t want zir to be so in the habit of having milk right before bed that those teeth rotted out of zir head before permanents come in. (#ParentingHorrorStories)
Naturally, it was time to introduce a few new habits since ze was going so well! We used to let zir nurse or get milk drunk before naps, now I’d give zir a sippy, change zir diaper and started rocking zir on my shoulder for a couple minutes with a song. Same song, every time.
Sooner than even I anticipated, ze absorbed what I was hoping to ingrain, and that was if I’m holding you and singing, it’s time to nap. Within a couple weeks I was able to stop giving nap sippies and ze responded very positively to the Pavlovian signal of being picked up, patted on the back and sung to. This is a kid who normally pops up like a jackrabbit the second you lay zir head on your shoulder – no way was ze going to miss any action! Now, unless ze is overtired, if you scoop zir up at the right time and start singing, plop! Zir head goes down on your shoulder. It’s a pretty reliable signal – if ze isn’t ready to sleep at all, ze stays head up and alert. Mostly we’ve finally gotten the timing right.
Sometimes we get it very wrong and even just suggesting that we’re going to pick zir up sets off a wail and collapse to the floor like you cut zir strings. That’s when you’re unforgiveably overdue and zir heart is broken. Broken, I tell you!!
We’re getting better at avoiding that, too.
Most days, the transfer from shoulder to crib is smooth. Tuck zir in, ze hugs a plushie or kitten-pounces a blanket and folds over on zir side. There’s not a lot of the popping back up to stare at you accusingly like in days of yore. I thought we’d NEVER get a baby that would sleep like a reasonable human, but nowadays ze just mumbles to zirself for a while and then passes out.
I don’t know what’ll happen when it’s time to free the creature from zir cage, though. Ze is already outgrowing zir crib and I dread giving zir the freedom of crawling out of bed to play. It’s almost inevitable. Because of how we sleep trained zir, the school of drop off and run, there’s no staying by zir side til ze sleeps, that would be an undeniable invitation to play. How much worse will be once we remove the crib door?
We’ll see. That’s a fight for another day. I’m just going to be grateful that these transitions went as well as they did. It was anyone’s guess how ze would take losing bottle privileges or pre-nap milk top-ups, and so the next step is a mystery too. Unless I can dig up some kind of trial run to ease zir into the idea of sleeping voluntarily when not caged in a crib, or perhaps devise a netted dome situation. Or a stationary human baby hamster ball.
Things we are loving
Since our transition off bottles, and the arrival of teeth, we’ve been fighting a losing battle against JuggerBaby’s biting and shaking of sippy cups. The standard Munchkin sippy cups with straws and biteproof / leakproof cups were no proof against the chompers. Everything leaked or dripped after ze had zir way with it. Since ze also knows how to drink from a cup, I hunted down our latest aquisitions, the Munchkin Miracle 360 Trainer Cups, and they work wonderfully. 
Ze figured out this new set within seconds and sucked down three cups of water in zir fascination with the new cups.
The only bad thing is that they’re not easy for me to open, my hands can’t get a grip on the slippery outside, but they’re ten times easier to clean, and except for one user failure (mine) to properly re-affix the silicone lid to the trainer handles, we’ve had zero leaks despite all zir best efforts. And believe me, ze tries. Ze shakes them upside down, slams it against the tray, walls, zir head. I love them. I highly recommend them.
September 12, 2016
Big news!
We will not die intestate. JuggerBaby will not have to relive the plot of A Little Princess.
Best case scenario, we won’t need to execute any of this for so many years that this day will be a faint memory. But if we’re not so lucky, we’ll be as prepared as we possibly could be.
Our estate is relatively simple so it was a little embarrassing to take as long as we did (rather, that I did, since this was my project) and I didn’t expect to be anything but impatient and exultant in wrapping this up. It’s taken a record 10 and a half months to get these documents in order. But as usual, simple doesn’t mean easy.
It was held up by two things. One was sensible – we had to complete the refinance so we could easily retitle that property.
The other just feels, for lack of a better work, absurd. I’ve spent most of 2016 down with one plague or another. Right this moment I’m weakly trying to fight off the latest one to creep its way into my respiratory system. Begone, ye foul germs! It seemed less than civilized to go to fancy law offices, a dribbly, germy zombie, signing legal documents I couldn’t make heads or tails of.
Going into this whole thing, PiC had a natural reluctance to get into the nitty gritty that I disregarded on the principle that, yes, it’s depressing and terrible to think about but NOT doing it is worse! I was completely rational when sharing our thinking and process over a year ago, laying out the steps we were taking in my In Case of Emergency series kickoff. Of course I did. And of course, when the paperwork was sent over for review, the weight of the decisions we were signing to fell like an anvil in my gut.
As it turns out, when you’re planning for the future like this, you’re imagining the events that you’d want to transpire after your death. Then the inch-and-a-half tall stack of text is in front of you, you’re staring at a check box next to “do everything possible to prolong life” and another one next to “Do Not Resuscitate,” and your family’s possible future where either question is a reality flashes, slow motion, in front of you. It’s not a stretch to imagine, either, we’ve already gone through this with family members. We know how it feels to make the decision to keep trying or pull the plug. Suddenly everything feels awful and real.
We had a tough conversation over those documents, where we mutually avoided talking in detail about our long-gone parents, having to make that decision, and the idea of leaving JuggerBaby way too early.
The surprising part? Something had shifted in me. For most of my life, I didn’t care if anything happened to me because I didn’t have a deep emotional attachment to anything or anyone. I had responsibilities and a duty to take care of my family but while that was strong enough to anchor me in working, earning, and paying off debt, it was no replacement for having a compelling reason to live. It’s not to say I didn’t want to live, I just wasn’t worried about not living either, if that makes any sense.
Now, I do not want to imagine leaving my family to fend for themselves without me. I have a lifetime of guidance to give, and money management to share, and hopes for a future with my partner. But like we’ve always said, failure to plan for the events of your death are both futile and selfish. If either one of us were horribly injured or died, it would be terrible. But not having our financial affairs in order, not knowing what the other person wanted, and having to untangle all of that while grieving? MUCH worse. It’s also irrational to act as if planning for your death means that you want or you’re tempting fate, I think, but I’ve heard a lot of people use that excuse. Pardon me, but we ARE going to die someday. The least we can do for our loved ones is spare them some turmoil to go along with the pain of loss.
So. Now then. As I said, we talked, we emoted, we had feelings. And then we went to the lawyer’s office and signed everything officially with a notary witness. IT IS DONE.
Next steps: they will send us a binder for our records. We will begin moving our assets into the trust because an unfunded trust is an empty shell. That’s a story for another day! For now, I’m going to toast a glass of watered down juice (for the purposes of avoiding heartburn because my body is 89 years old) to completing the last huge To Do on my list from 2015!
:: Have you completed a will and/or a trust? Have you ever received, or expect to receive, a distribution of assets from either a will or a trust?
September 5, 2016
ON MONEY
I use Swagbucks. Here’s a handy tutorial if you’d like to join and earn.
Spending
Credit card churn, Card #2 of 2016: After $1,000 of paying bills, I’ve crossed the threshold for the required minimum spending to earn 35K Alaska miles. I don’t have a specific use in mind for these miles but I suspect they’ll come in useful in a year or two. The first card was also an Alaska card, in my name, but only earned 25K bonus miles. Humph.
Open ended travel planning: 3 free RT domestic travel tickets costs 75K miles and $36 (we paid $75 for each card, so the actual total is $186). Our current total of 60K miles is still 15K miles short. It doesn’t look like Alaska does discounted mile redemptions like United does, so to shore that up, I’ll sign up for dining miles programs so that any spending we do also earn miles on top of any credit card award points. Then we’ll be set for a trip that costs more than $500.
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August 31, 2016
A ramble on friendship, prompted by links
Like this woman, I once believed I didn’t get along with other women. I didn’t have a best friend, and it seemed like everyone had one of those, but I couldn’t ever quite get the hang of it.
In middle school, my personality and interests weren’t aligned with other girls’. Animals, yes. Stickers and stationery, JOY! Sparring and wrestling? Comics? Fighting bullies? No, nyet, and nope. My weirdness they could overlook but fighting bullies, physically, scared the girls. They made no bones about how they didn’t want me mad at them because apparently they didn’t trust me not to beat them up. I was barbaric for fighting back by polite society’s standards. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t bother me.
Maybe I was barbaric but at 8 years old, it never occurred to me to do anything but punch the boy when he laid hands on and shoved me. Does there exist another, equally effective and satisfying, response? Because not one of those bullying boys, and it was always a boy, came back for seconds, I’ll tell you that much.
I craved a close friendship, a best friendship that was second best to having a sister (possibly even better than a sister). But I didn’t understand social conventions, the girls didn’t know that non-conforming was ok, and thus, no friendship blossomed.
Male schoolmates thought of me “like a guy”, their way of reconciling a girl who wouldn’t take their crap. For a minute, it made sense that I felt like I wasn’t like other women and maybe that’s why I got along with boys better. That was simple truth – for that period of my life. Some years on, it struck me that the “not like other girls/women” compliment wasn’t at all a compliment to me. It was a poorly disguised way to put women down. It implies that being like other women is a bad thing, that women are inferior and to be better than them is a good thing. That’s insulting and stupid. We’re not a single monolith but neither are men and you don’t hear women complimenting men by saying “you’re not like other men”, suggesting that men as a group are inferior and being unlike them is the best possible outcome. Or maybe you do, I don’t.
Children vs childfree
A blogger friend I’ve gotten to know over the years was shocked to find that at least half, maybe more, of my close friends are childfree. Whether by choice or not, they are childfree. Her surprise was a surprise to me. It’s completely normal to me to hear a friend state that they never want to have kids, or maybe more confidingly, they did want them but couldn’t, so have moved on to enjoy their child-free lives.
In so few cases has the choice to have kids, or not to have them, changed a friendship for us that I was surprised by this AAM reader’s question: Has any childfree person successfully maintained a friendship with someone after they had kids or vice versa?
It seems that this is the adult version of othering women.
Of course having a kid will alter your reality when you become a parent. But so will many other things. So why wouldn’t you treat having a child, or treat a friend having a child, as another life adventure that’s happening and react accordingly?
Parents don’t get a pass on participating in friendships that they would like to maintain any more than workaholics get a pass on doing so. Speaking as an almost former workaholic, I think that’s fair. Speaking as a parent, I think that’s fair.
You get to choose how to adjust the friendship so you don’t knock yourself sideways accommodating it, and you have to have respect for each other’s life choices, but unless you loathe the very idea and presence of kids, kids don’t have to be the reason you break up with your friends.
Growing up
I’m still mostly the same person but I’m a little wiser, quite a lot older. More patient, mellow, comfortable in my me.
I still don’t fit in with any crowd, male or female, but I do have deep and fulfilling relationships. It turns out that you don’t need to click into place with other puzzle pieces. I used to think that was my irredeemable flaw that I’d never overcome: I just couldn’t FIT.
I saw Mom in myself. We struggled to create and cultivate friendships. We struggled with having faith in those relationships. We struggled to extend a hand of friendship to others, not knowing if they were in the market for a friend or an accessory. I wondered if I just had to find more people like me. I wondered if there were other people like me. My flawed assumption was that my classmates were a representative sample of the female population and that I’d always fly solo.
Now, my clan of kindred spirits is composed of singular women and men who seem to be nothing like me.
They are avid beer lovers and teetolars, dog lovers and cat people. They are reptile people and mammals-only people. Some are stars in their careers, some are building their career foundations, or finding themselves. Some are super stylish, or wizards with makeup wands (I am not and NOT). They’re librarians, goatherders, craftspeople, lawyers, romance novelists, consummate professionals, teachers, horror authors, doctors, feminists, activists, small business owners, journalists, bringers of proper hugs, hilarious stories, goofs. They’re passionate about money, stories, ancient textiles, traveling the world, helping women learn about finances, investing, creating youth initiatives, rescuing dogs, going to concerts, drinking all the coffee in all the world (or the wine). They’re loud and brash, quiet, thoughtful, intellectually without peer. They’re raising half a dozen kids, or a few, or one, or eschew human critters in favor of four legged critters. They remember JuggerBaby’s birthday, they dote on JuggerBaby stories, and gush over JuggerBaby pictures. They text, they DM, they email, they call.
I’d go on but I can’t feel my fingers anymore. Some of you will recognize yourselves in this list, some of this list have no idea this blog exists. But to the many of you, the multitude of who share with me a little of your lives, I’m lucky to have you.
I had to learn to be comfortable with myself, and learn that relationships with people will ebb and flow. They will almost always thrive when based on mutual respect, not need, friendships happened. I learned that some people are friends for the moment, and that’s fine. Some people are friends for all the moments, and they became family.
Someone once noted, for a misanthrope, I sure do have a lot of friends.
To which I reply, “pshaw.” I’m lucky to know good people. And maybe that’s all it is and it’s folly to claim all these interesting, eccentric, awesome people as friends. Not a one of them match me. They outmatch me. That small doubting voice, that one I inherited from Mom, points this out. I know why they’re great but how do I fit with them?
I don’t.
And yet that’s the beauty of it. We don’t match. We don’t need to look or be similar to be a good fit. What we do have is a shared sense of responsibility, a willingness to learn and make things better, to leave the world a better place for having had us in it. We don’t have a prescribed way to enjoy each other’s company: we talk, we text, we email, we tweet. Whatever works is what we do.
Even if they don’t feel as fondly toward me as I do them, or vice versa, there is fondness. It doesn’t have to be this perfectly calculated level of friendship to work.
At this stage of life, I appreciate what that’s worth. My nearest and dearest are far-flung and scattered and that’s ok.
Since we’ve become parents, we’ve found ourselves making the acquaintance of other parents in passing but we can’t and won’t force those relationships solely on the basis of their having reproduced. It’s nice to have friends in the same life stage, but those friendships, if they’re a good fit, will grow naturally, or not.
:: Do you have a best friend or many best friends? Who are you grateful to have in your life? Why?
August 29, 2016
Background: 2 years ago November, J. Money and I had a quick chat that spawned this post on earning side money and then I started tracking our earnings publicly because it’s always more fun that way. PiC is our resident Craigslister and I’m the resident Try Anything Once-er.
One of my challenges in the Great Wardrobe Curation has been getting rid of clothes that need to exit stage left. They normally still have plenty of wear in them, don’t fit quite right but aren’t worth the cost of tailoring, or that I can’t tolerate wearing any longer, like heels. It doesn’t make sense to keep them and getting both space and money back would be double the fun.
With plenty of encouragement from Penny to give it a try, even with my decidedly unfancy wardrobe, and armed with her quick tutorial, I quickly made up an account on Poshmark and listed a handful of shoes. One pair of heels I’ll hold on to, for faking professionalism until I get better flats, but most of them can go.
At first it didn’t seem like it was meant to be. It took 4 hours to download the app. First, I never remember my Apple ID so downloading isn’t the breeze that it was from my Android. I mean, sure, security but sometimes you just want to be able to get your darn free app! Then it wanted 3 hours to think about downloading. Awesome.
Once the app was running, it was pretty simple to start listing things. They encourage you to list 10-12 items to start but in reality there was no requirement to do that so it seemed like the perfect way to tiptoe into selling a few things at a time. I just can’t commit to a huge overhaul in one go.
I created an account (I loathe creating usernames) and started snapping pictures. It only took 20 minutes to list four items, and most of that time was spent looking up the information and coming up with useful descriptions.
It was easiest to start with shoes since I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. There was immediate beginner’s luck with a rash of sales, and three sales and three weeks later, I’m still waiting for more real nibbles.
What I learned
Most people want to negotiate so set your prices a little higher than you’re willing to sell for. That way you can compromise more.
You don’t need to bargain in the comments, your potential buyers have the ability to make an offer which you can ignore (it expires in 24 hours), counteroffer, or decline. If you decline outright, Poshmark will send you an email suggesting that you counteroffer so that there’s dialogue. Declining the offer means that attempt at a sale is over.
USPS ships you free shipping envelopes and boxes, as Penny had pointed out in her very helpful post. They’re really slow, though, and only ship in packages of 10 items each, so if you’re not dropping by the post office to pick up a box or two, it’s a bit of a commitment.
I’m incredibly impatient. I sold three items in the first 4 days of selling using existing packaging and then it’s been all quiet. After the first sales, I ordered a few basic shipping supplies from USPS and now I have STUFF sitting around the house, waiting to be used. I knew I should have waited!
You’re encouraged to package your sold items nicely. This means wrapping things in tissue paper, and adding a note for your buyer. As an inveterate recycler, I dug into my abundant stash of used tissue paper, sealed them up with thank you labels from one of my last labeling projects, and shipped in repurposed Amazon boxes while waiting for the USPS shipping materials. All were accepted by the buyers quickly and happily.
Speaking of acceptance, the buyers have 3 days after the package delivery to officially accept your shipped product or to file a report if they feel it didn’t match the selling description. You should be really specific about your items to make sure that your buyers know what they’re getting. I take pictures of any possible flaws for the item profile to be sure.
As a seller, you’re given a week to ship, but they like you to ship sooner. I didn’t have a problem with shipping within 2 days since I’m selling such low volume.
Total earned: $37
I won’t say this is a flop, it’s only been a few weeks, even if it feels longer. The early success certainly raised my expectations unrealistically – I always knew that I didn’t have a ton of saleable items but it was worth the try. Other than the Poshmark fee which I wouldn’t have paid if I didn’t make money myself, and some time obsessing over pictures and listings, I didn’t lose anything.
:: Are any of you successful Poshers? What am I (likely) doing wrong? How long would you list items for before giving up and donating?
August 22, 2016
Our travel cost breakdown
Food and lodgings, $200
Gas, $150
Parking, trolley: $100
Gifts and things, $150
Total: $550
I normally love San Diego Comic Con. Perfect weather, all geek all the time, lots of fresh air and walking and being surrounded by people who are just there to enjoy the goodness.
These days, it’s so much more fraught to prepare for. The lottery system for the badges. The lottery system for the hotels. The lottery system for the parking passes. Everything depends on luck and that has my insides clenched with worry that we’ll miss something this time. This year I did miss something. We didn’t get a slot in the lottery and forgot to secure parking passes after the lottery was over. I panicked, then a friend saved me with her extra passes. (They were pricey but uber convenient for our JuggerBaby needs.)
I found myself dreading the week, rather than anticipating it. I wondered if it was a mistake to go. By the time we were a week out, already having spent far too much time working and hosting guests, a probable panic attack set in and if I could have, I’d have cancelled the whole thing.
Thankfully, by the time we reached San Diego, most of that feeling had dissipated.
On food.
We have a tradition of staying with family friends – friends who have become family, over the years – and San Diego just wouldn’t be the same without staying with them. They’re not just good company, Mama S is an amazing cook and does a fantastic family dinner every night. I could eat that baked pasta and garlic bread for a week straight. I could eat the pancit and lumpia for a month. It’s probably a good thing that it’s not an option…
We packed our lunches and snacks, as always, to avoid the atrocious and overpriced convention center food and enjoyed leftovers for breakfast. Best week of eating all year long.
On having fun.
SDCC is just too big. It overflows from the convention center out to all the nearby hotels and their ballrooms. The whole area out front is usually packed with promotional booths for tv shows, with prizes and treats. This year it was an enormous Superman statue, the Batmobile, and a Kristen Bell show, with an ice cream parlor theme. The crowds and the lines and the noise and all of it don’t bother me. It should. I normally hate all of that. But for this? It’s just right.
The downside is that I logged far more steps than is healthy for me. We had to walk three miles to get to the Marriott to get our badges on Wednesday whereupon they insisted that JuggerBaby had to physically be with me to pick up zir badge. So that was a wasted trip and then we had to go back with zir on a busy Thursday, wasting precious time between naps.
We took it almost as easy this year as we did when I was pregnant, but this time we shared the extra load. JuggerBaby rode piggyback in our Craigslist-purchased ErgoBaby ($50!) with me in the mornings when I was fresh, PiC backpacked zir in the afternoons. We walked the floor together discovering all kinds of new cute things, and visiting old favorites. It was a weird year, we bought more art then anything else and that’s never happened before.
I caught a couple of panels while PiC and JuggerBaby went exploring on their own. That always feels a bit luxurious because, though PiC is happy to give me a break, I always have a tinge of guilt that he’s doing all the heavy lifting whether I’m there or not so we tend to stick together more than not.
:: Do you have an annual vacation destination? What would it be if you didn’t?
