In which I reluctantly give in to the advance of technology

Deep down inside, I am a Luddite.  Not so deep down, or really at all inside, Brandon is a Luddite too. Which is probably good for our marriage that we both have those leanings.

I think my anti-technology leanings spring from various sources, one of them definitely being resistant to any trends, and especially popular trends.  I'm still halfway ashamed every time I pull out my skinny jeans, and I didn't wear them with boots until Brandon was in Turkey and so couldn't mock me for being so trendy.

Brandon's own leanings come from various sources, one of them being an inability to spend money without having blood come from his pores.  The other is a desire to live in the woods and eat squirrels in order to own as little 'stuff' as humanly possible.

Thankfully for my sanity, Brandon lets me be in charge of spending his money to buy more stuff, and only grumbles very rarely about having to haul all of it home from the embassy.  I miss the days when those packages from J.Crew arrived on my front porch and could be quietly squirreled away before Brandon came home to see them.

Neither of us own iPhones.  Brandon finally got a Blackberry from work when his boss forced it into his resisting, clawed hands.  I got my first iPod as a hand me-down from my father, which unfortunately got me hooked and necessitated a replacement when Edwin dropped it in the Sofitel Athens bathtub while I was glued to the TV watching riots in Cairo.

We don't own a TV.  I have the same cell phone Brandon bought me in 2009, the cheapest kind available at the local Mobinil shop in Maadi.  Since it has no camera, I don't even have to lock it up when I go to the embassy.  And although we own three computers, we have no tablets and have no intention of buying them either.  When we're on long airplane or car rides, my strategy for coping with the children's boredom is, well, to ignore them.

Like I said, Luddite.

So when I started bringing up the subject of a Kindle six months ago, Brandon wasn't too happy that the subject had been broached.  And I wasn't sure about the subject either.  I knew that eventually we would be a Kindle-owning family.  It's like they were made for the Foreign Service lifestyle where you count your possessions in pounds, and books weight a lot of pounds.  Throw in the long-term plans for homeschooling, and suddenly a Kindle is the only way to handle the text-heavy curriculum that we're using.

But surely we didn't need one yet.  After all, I like the physical sensation of holding a book.  I like having a shelf full of books to idly choose from without having to navigate an electronic screen.  I don't want my whole library to be destroyed if Joseph tries to copy his older brother's trick with the bathtub.  And really I just like owning the actual book.

But still.  When you're at least three weeks away from your next book in the mail, a Kindle starts looking really good.  And when you add in all of those books that you'd like to read once but not haul around for the next twenty years, it starts making sense.  And that need for school books is maybe closer than I thought...

But of course we can't get a Kindle through the pouch - no items with lithium ion batteries.  Brandon, in his deep and abiding love for me even looked into getting it delivered another way for a Christmas present.  But when the delivery costs half of the item itself, it's just better to wait until your next trip to the States.

Then I started corresponding with a family coming to post this month.  Is there anything they could carry over for us? they wanted to know.  At first I broached the subject tentatively with Brandon.  If  I we wanted to get a Kindle, that nice family could... maybe... you know... bring it over for us.  After a few weeks of delicate hinting, I moved up to the next stage.  "You know," I told Brandon, "I think that it really would be a good idea..."

Then I told him that of all of the Kindles, the paperwhite would be my preferred choice.  Brandon pointed to the shattered screen of my iPod nano, "If this is how you treat your electronics, what will happen to your Kindle?  Remember that bathtub in Athens?"

"Ah," I responded quickly, "You can get such nice cases for Kindles!  And they're pretty leather!"

So a few days ago, hands shaking, I wrote the email.  Could they, if they didn't mind, carry a... Kindle... over for me?

I confessed later that day to Brandon.  Sighing theatrically, he rolled his eyes.  "Fine.  I guess you can get one.  But if I catch you neglecting your children in favor of reading trashy novels all day long, I'm confiscating that thing.  Do you understand?"

I meekly nodded my yes.  Two more weeks.  Then hello, trashy novels.

The World at My Fingertips

Today I got my Kindle.  The family who was bringing it had a few delays and didn't make it to Baku until this week.  They profusely apologized for making me wait for so long, but I really wasn't too distressed.  I've gotten used to waiting a month or so for stuff to arrive, and honestly I lose track of how long it's been since I've ordered something and so when it does come it's always a pleasant surprise.  I'm always shocked to hear that people in the U.S. can order something and have it come two days later.  It's like magic.

I'm also in the middle of a stack of books that Brandon gave me for my birthday and so am not dying for reading material.  What's the point of having more books at your fingertips when you're still finishing the ones in the house?

So when I opened the stylish black package this afternoon and pulled out my newest electronic toy, I enjoyed how pretty it was, but didn't immediately rush upstairs to get all those books I've been wanting.  Trying to have someone be excited about my new possession, I showed it to the children, and told them that this was a magic book, one that you could read lots and lots of different books on and they were all just there.  All of those big books squeezed into a little tiny electronic thing that you can hold.  They looked at me and then ran off to play, not remotely impressed.  Then I realized that they live in an age of computers and internet where the whole world is contained in a screen.

So I plugged my Kindle into the computer and charged it, not knowing what else to do.  I looked at the complete works of Anthony Trollope, and wondered about the capacity of the Kindle's hard drive, or whatever it stores things on.  After all, Anthony Trollope wrote long books.  Should I dedicate so much storage space to his complete works?  Unable to make up my mind, I decided to finish the books I already have before getting anymore.

A little while later Brandon wandered through and picked up the Kindle.  "So, what's on this thing?" he asked.  "Nothing," I confessed, "I've got to finish the books I have before getting new ones."

"Can I download something?"  Excited to find someone who was interested, I went on Amazon and  showed him how he could get his book, The Winning of the West, for free.  I've always been cheap, and I'm planning on making sure Amazon loses its bet about selling the Kindle to me for less in exchange for making money on the books I buy for my device.  There are a lot of very long, very free books that I can read before I pay a dime for anything else.

I couldn't figure out how to transfer the book to the Kindle without going through our finicky wireless, so Brandon left to put the children to bed.  After a few minutes and some manual-reading I moved the book file to the documents folder and two seconds later, the entire text of The Winning of the West, Volume 1, was in my hand.  Intoxicated with my success and greedy for more free reading material, I went back to Amazon and downloaded volumes two, three, and four.

And then my head exploded.

I have always loved reading.  My parents, walking past my room after bedtime, got in the habit of telling me to turn off my light and put my book away without ever looking to see if I was awake.  I remember struggling to read by the light of the flashlight.  For years I couldn't stand going to the bathroom without some printed material to keep me company.  If I was really desperate, I would read the kleenex box.  Breakfast was always peppered with squabbles over who got which cereal box to keep them company as we crunched through our bowls of Lucky Charms.  My high school boyfriend almost dumped me when I chose Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire over him while at the beach.  In college I had to stop reading altogether so that I would sleep and do my homework.

After Sophia was born, Brandon lost me to the salty embrace of Horatio Hornblower and only got me back after I'd followed him through every single one of his adventures.  When we were evacuated from Cairo, one of the first things I did was look up my closest library and haul the children in to get a card.  I discovered that I don't deal with stress by eating or shopping - I escape from my life into the pages of the closest book.

My love affair with reading has always been tainted by the problem of finding my next book.  Since I'm cheap, the library has always been my source of choice.  But any library only has so much space and so much money and so I've been limited to whatever my local library carries.  I have fond memories of strolling through the stacks of the Harold B. Lee Library and stumbling on the complete works of Andre Dumas, which kept me company for a few semesters.

When we moved overseas, my supply of new books slowed to a trickle, completely dependent on books that I was willing to spend money and HHE shipping weight on.  I started rereading the books we own and discovered that aging memory has certain advantages - give a book four or five years and I can read it all over again without remembering much of the previous reading.  I knew that eventually I would give in and get a Kindle, but I fought it.  And lost.

When I downloaded Roosevelt's writing for Brandon, my whole world shifted.  I looked out an saw endless streams of books coming to me over the internet, not limited by the buying tastes and budgets of my local library or my HHE shipping weight or sometimes even cost.  If I want to reread the entire works of Dumas I can.  If I want to read the biggest, thickest, trashiest book of The Wheel of Time, I can.  I don't have to wait three weeks.  I don't have to decide if this book is worth keeping around for the next twenty years.  I don't have to ask the library to purchase a copy of the book.  I just have to look it up and download it.  I will never ever again be without a new book to lure me into it's inviting pages, escaping to a land where children aren't my responsibility, dinner is cooked by someone else, and the problems are always sure to be figured out by the end.  I can read almost any book I can think of just by looking it up on the magic internet and downloading it into my magic device.  I can own all of the books.

I think Amazon may have just won its bet, and Brandon may have to stage an intervention.

In which I (again) reluctantly give in to the advance of technology

First I bought myself a Kindle.  Then, not wanting to share with Brandon on R&R, I bought him a Kindle.  Then Kathleen got a Kindle when she started fourth grade.  And finally my parents gave Sophia a Kindle for Christmas.  We now have four Kindles.  We also have a laptop and a desktop computer.  We have lots of technology, enough that almost everyone in the family could rot their brain on electronic media without having to share with anyone else.  Sharing is so last millennium.

Then a friend offered to sell me a used iPad.  Brandon and I had discussed tablets many times and had always come up with the same answer: no tablets.  There were a variety of reasons - we already have two computers, we don't use the computers we have that much anyway, we didn't want the children wasting their times on games, we prefer to spend time together as a family (whether anyone likes it or not!), we didn't have them growing up.

But the most compelling reason of all was to hold the moral high ground.  Because if you can't be snotty about something, how can you feel better about yourself than everyone else?  We don't eat organic food, we don't buy carbon offsets, we vaccinate our children, we drink sodas occasionally, and even let them eat breakfast cereals colored with red dye 40.  We didn't have much of a leg to stand on except technology.

But deep down, in that place where Brandon can't see, I wanted an iPad.  I justified it with the excuse that the girls wouldn't have to carefully arrange their computer time when Sophia starts using a more computer-intensive curriculum in the fall.  After all, that really is almost inhumane.  Nobody should have to fight for computer time.  It's a basic human right, to have all the computer time you need.  It's for school after all.

But really, the lure of pretty, expensive, cutting edge technology sang its siren song in my ear.  "Look at me," it whispered, "look how thin I am, with my smooth oleophobic glass.  I can give you computer access half a second faster than any other machine you have.  No more cumbersome typing, just fancy tapping.  You don't have to look so unfashionable with your laptop.  Nobody cares if it's a MacBook Pro.  It has a keyboard.  I don't have a keyboard.  Just a smooth, shiny screen.  I'm so sleek and sexy.  And I can bring you apps."

Mostly I ignored it.  For all of its whispering, it cost money and Brandon wasn't about to agree to any more internet ordering any time soon.

But then I got diagnosed with hypothyroidism.  Which in itself isn't really an excuse for ordering unnecessary technology.  But taking a four year-old to your endo appointments because you're in a foreign country is a pretty good one.  I pitched to idea to Brandon, and surprisingly, he agreed.  About five minutes later I was drooling over the offerings showing off their thin lines and alluring specs on the Apple website.  Within a day my new toy tool was on its way.

It arrived with plenty of time to get everything kitted out for my upcoming trip to London.  I bought movies, downloaded apps, purchased books, and learned about all of the super-fancy swiping I could do to make my iPad experience even more user-friendly. The children enjoyed making slow-motion and time-lapse movies of themselves, and Brandon even enjoyed the feel of his finger slipping across his iPad's smooth oleophobic coating.  There's nothing so enjoyable as conspicuous consumption of consumer electronics.  It's all so very American.

And so now we are like everyone else.  When our airport waits stretch to interminable after twenty hours of traveling and the children just. can't. sit. still. and we used up all of our polite asking two continents and an ocean ago, we have the magical iPad to bring out and shut down their little brains with.  When we're waiting at a restaurant for our food to arrive and it's taken 45 minutes and everyone is half an hour past their bed time, the iPad can come to the rescue.  And of course when I'm taking with my doctor in London, Joseph can keep his incessant little voice quiet while he watches his favorite Wallace and Gromit episode for the fourth time that day.  Technology really is amazing.

But still, I'm not getting an iPhone.  I still have to have that shrinking moral high ground somewhere, right?  Cause I'm not planning on giving up those breakfast cereals.  Ever.

Kindles and Babies

I've been reading a lot lately.  I've read more books in the last six weeks than I've read in the last six months.  When you have to spend an hour or more rocking your baby to get her to go to sleep (she only sleeps for thirty minutes before she needs to be rocked again), there's not much to do other than read.  Which I'm perfectly happy with because I love reading and don't mind hiding from the children under the guise of putting the baby to bed.  One evening Brandon had to come over after blessing the food and ask me if next time I could please put the book away during the prayer?

I checked five or six books out from the library in preparation for Eleanor's birth, both paper books and on the kindle.  After having spent some serious time reading in both formats, I have to confess that I have a definite preference for the kindle.  I know that since I love books and have snotty preferences about wooden toys with no batteries and synthetic fabrics, I should really prefer a paper book to its shoddy electronic version.  After all, reading a book is a tactile experience with the feel of the paper under your fingers and the weight in your hand and the specific type font that has a little blurb about it in the back of the book.  And who doesn't like bookshelves as interior decorating accent?  Books are real and e-books are just electronic imitations of the real thing.

But when you've been rocking a baby for an hour and she is in that state of perfect stillness with her eyes glazing over and eyelids imperceptibly drifting ever so slowly down and you've reached the end of the page, you can't just reach over and turn the page on that tangible, heavy, paper book with the carefully chosen type font.  Because then the eyelids would snap back up and your baby will stare around wildly in that way that spells at least thirty more minutes of rocking while the children are busily dumping out every single container of drawing supplies on the floor and tipping glasses of water over them.  So you don't.  And you are stuck reading "Adelaide opened the door to find..." for the next ten minutes while you pray to all of the pagan gods that those eyelids will just stay shut so you can administer some serious hurts to the mess-makers before starting in on the clean-up.  After seeing who was waiting for Adelaide.

And suddenly type font isn't nearly as important as finding out who was waiting on the other side of the door for Adelaide.  Was it her lover?  Her wicked father?  Her long-lost mother?  Ten minutes is an incredibly long time when you're waiting for resolution.  But if you had a kindle, all it would take to answer the burning question would but just one little tap of the finger and the story would continue without any eyelids opening or babies stirring (although it still wouldn't stop the crayon deluge) and you could enjoy blissful escape from everyday life until the baby was well and truly asleep.

So yes, I have abandoned my snobberies and will only read books on my kindle, at least until the baby learns to put herself to sleep.  Then I might reconsider paper books.  Maybe.

iPhone, One Year Later

So I've now had an iPhone (my very first smart phone) for a little over a year.  I always swore that I would never get a smart phone because I didn't want to spend my whole life staring at a little screen.  I've seen all of those phone-shaming ads (which are, ironically, posted on Facebook) where the mom misses her child's first step and the dad his son's game-winning goal and felt morally superior because I didn't own a smart phone so I saw all of that important stuff.  But now I've got one.

So after, a year, here's my take on owning a smart phone.

Pros:
1.  I reply to emails and texts a lot faster.  Sometimes I would leave my regular cell phone in my purse for several days.  I don't get phone calls that often, so I'd forget and leave it in some random place.  When I finally found it, I'd see that a friend has sent me a text days ago I hadn't answered her.  I also used to check my email on the computer and then never bother to reply because I was too lazy.  Now I'm a lot better and almost always respond to texts and usually respond to emails.  It's a lot easier to type on the keyboard and I can do it quickly while I'm in the middle of other things.

2.  I don't waste as much time on the computer.  I would look forward to checking email so much that when I checked email, I would then go and check Facebook and look for other things to do so that I could avoid getting back to work.  It would turn a two-minute task into fifteen minutes of time wasting.  Now the emails just come all the time so email checking isn't some special thing that I look forward to.

3.  I take more pictures and videos.  The pictures aren't as good as the ones I take with my DSLR camera, but I do take a lot more of them.  Now I can take a quick picture to remember that we went bowling so that twenty years later I can remember that particular new year's day.  I wasn't taking any videos before I got my phone because our video camera's battery was never charged.  Now I can catch clips of the kids doing cute things and I'm happy about that.

4.  I can listen to things more easily.  I had an iPod nano that I would listen to general conference talks, podcasts, music, and audiobooks on, but I had to transfer everything manually.  Now everything magically updates on my phone, which also has a lot more memory.  I listen to music more while I'm cooking dinner because I have my phone on me anyway, and it's nice to have access to my books when I'm unexpectedly stuck waiting for awhile and didn't bring my Kindle.  I still prefer reading on my Kindle, however.

5.  I can text friends and family much easier.  Between iMessage and Facebook Messenger, I can contact anyone anywhere in the world, which is really nice.  If I have a question for my mom or my sister or my friend who lives in the US, I can just text them and skip having to deal with emails and we can have semi-conversations.  If I'm really committed to the conversation, I can use the phone feature on Facebook or the Magic Jack app on my phone.  I used to be tied to the computer to do these things (which meant they mostly didn't happen), and now I can do them anywhere, which is nice.

6.  Maps.  This is a lifesaver every time I travel.  It was great to be able to use my phone for navigation while I was in London and not worry about getting lost.  Same for the the US.  I even use maps while I'm here, although it's more just to see where I am than to let it navigate me.  It really is great to not have to be lost ever.

Cons:
1. I really do sit an act just like those moms in the shame-videos.  Now that I have a constant source of entertainment, my first reflex when I have thirty seconds of down time is to pull out my phone.  I've gotten better about not doing it (partly because it turns out that there's not that much that is interesting on the internet anyway), but it is irritating to have Pavlov's bell ringing constantly.  Sometimes when I'm on my phone and one of the children are trying to tell me something, they'll trail off after a few sentences, ending with "Oh, you're on your phone.  I won't bother you...."  Ouch.

2.  I'm now stuck with having to update my technology every few years, which is just more money on stuff that will be obsolete.  So now I have to update my computer, laptop, table, and phone.  That adds up to some serious cash.  And when I'm in the US, data plans aren't cheap (although they're cheaper than they used to be).

So, that's my take on having a smart phone.  Obviously, I'm okay with it because I haven't gotten rid of it.  And just like everyone said, it really did make parts of my life easier.  I guess I'll just have to find something else to go and hang my principles on.

Happy Birthday, Brandon!

Brandon decided to start his birthday celebration this year by having a migraine.  He has had migraines since a teenager, but they haven't bothered him much during our marriage, with one exception.  Other than that one, however, he's been pretty trouble-free.

We managed to make it to the baptism of a child in our ward in the morning before he fell apart.  Since we have no building and no members with a pool, the places to be baptized are fairly limited.  Having nowhere else to go, she was baptized in the Caspian.  Usually the sea is pretty calm; last time we went to the beach there wasn't a single wave.  That day, however, was the roughest I had ever seen it, and the few locals wandering around must have been pretty puzzled.  Man and child fully dressed in white wade into the water.  They attempt to stand for awhile, after which he raises his arm, then shoves the child under the waves.  Then he does it again.  Gotta love strange religious rites.

We came home quickly after that and left Brandon moaning on the floor in the bathroom to go to a barbecue at the friends' house.  I felt bad, but he probably had a better chance of surviving the pain without four noisy children making their usual ruckus.  I remember leaving my father at home one Thanksgiving, sick as a dog, while we went off to party with friends that believed in half a pie per person for dessert.  Such is family love for a sick father.

The next he spent recovering.  I had the kindness to make him a cake, but he prepared the things for grilled cheese and green beans while we left him again for church.  I did have pity and took Joseph with me so Brandon could get a nap.  I hadn't remembered to order presents in time; I kept meaning to, but got busy and by the time I finally did, it was too late.  Sometimes I really miss two-day shipping and the mall.  So instead he got a burned copy of Boston greatest hits, and a Kindle book for presents.  When he opened it up, he was really confused why I had wrapped up my Kindle for him.

So, this year's birthday wasn't the best.  I have a history of Brandon birthday fails and he is used to the off years, or so he says.  And the last two in a row have been good so that means I have the good balance on my side and I can slack off next year.

It's probably good Father's Day is near his birthday so I can try again.

Happy Birthday, Brandon!  Even though it may not show, I love you!

Buy One Holiday, Get One Free

Today is Fathers' Day.  Monday was Brandon's birthday.  It's a really, really good thing that Brandon is an incredibly easy-going husband because this year has not been the year for celebrating birthdays.

I suppose if you added the two days together, you could maybe scrape up a decent celebration, but neither one was much of a Brandon Celebration, which is too bad because last year didn't work out so well either.  It would appear that in fact I'm just not doing very well with anyone's birthday.  I really need to work on that.

Back before Eleanor was born, I had some grand ideas about picking Brandon up for work and surprising him with lunch, but then Darth Baby hit and the chances of someone taking five children for several hours in the middle of the day when from slim to nil.  So instead we all came and picked Brandon up from work after he was done for the day.  He was nursing a nasty, nasty cold (which we all got to share later) so he tried to take a nap while reading but instead hid in the bathroom constantly blowing his nose.  Eleanor and I were sleeping and he didn't want to wake us up.

After I woke up from my nap, I took all of the children out so he could have some time to himself to read.  But unfortunately, I left Eleanor with him.  She had been sleeping peacefully so I figured she would keep at it.  Wrong.

While we were out picking up cupcakes, buying candy at Target (I think the cashier was less than amused by the time she rang up the third candy bar and was handed a fistful of sweaty change to pay for it), and waiting at Red Hot and Blue for some pulled pork, Brandon was rocking fussy Eleanor.

Normally I make a delicious cake and dinner all from scratch, but I had to lower my standards this year.  Brandon kept on swearing that he'd rather have cold cereal and calm than chaos and a gourmet meal, so I took it him at his word.  I will forever be ashamed, however.

So after getting home and getting Eleanor to sleep, we attempted to watch a movie with the children while eating dinner.  Then we sang to Brandon and he opened his presents, while the children attempted to surreptitiously stick their fingers in the cupcake icing and smear them over Brandon's new book.  Then we put all of the children to bed and by then it was time for us to go to bed.

Today started out a little better - I managed to make breakfast for Brandon (crepes with caramelized apples, buttermilk syrup and whipped cream) and even took care of baths and dishes so Brandon could read.  But when we made it home from church, the wheels came off again.  Brandon ended up helping me cook and strip the disobedient ones down for cold showers because they wouldn't just sit down and eat their dinners.  When you have small children, it always eventually devolves into chaos.  It's just the way life is.  I don't think that I've ever had a single day with them that didn't have at least a half hour of chaos in it somewhere.

But they're all in bed now and Brandon is reading his book that he bought with birthday money from last year (thanks, Mom and Dad!) on the Kindle that I bought him this year (yes!  A two-Kindle family!).  And even though life is crazy, he's still a year older and a father.  Another year I got to spend with him and father of my children.  So in the end, I guess that's all that counts.  Maybe.

Next year, I swear it will be better.  Really.  I mean it.  For real.

How the Mighty are Fallen

I have always sworn that I would never own a smartphone.  I also said that about a Kindle.  And now, of course, we have four Kindles, which I absolutely love.  I can't remember the last time I actually read a paper book.  I also said I'd never get an iPad.  Now, unsurprisingly, I use my iPad every single day - and am looking forward to having it in about a week when we trek halfway across the world again.  The only moral high ground I had left - because we just had fruity pebbles for breakfast - was a smartphone.

And I just lost that one.  Sigh.

It all started when I began planning for my three-month medevac for William's birthday.  I have always used two different phones, one for the States and one for overseas.  My overseas phone - a cheap Nokia the embassy issued when we moved here - actually works in the U.S., but our charger is a European plug 220 charger.  My American phone is a Net10 phone that I just refill when we got back every year.  It's a solution that works, but isn't very elegant.

And if there's anything I enjoy, it's an elegant solution.  Which is, of course, a phone that works in the States and overseas.  Obviously.  I've thought about buying a GSM regular phone before, but we all know the most elegant solutions of all.  An iPhone.  After all we do have an iMac, a MacBook, an iPad, and iPods.  We're just missing one member of the family.

I brought up the idea with Brandon.  "You know..." I started out one evening when the children had been particularly good and we had just finished watching an episode of Poldark, "I've been thinking...."  He immediately got the wary look that inevitably follows that opening and sat up.  "What have you been thinking?"  He's been married to me long enough to know when I'm up to something.

I explained to him how I'd be going to the States and would need a phone and wouldn't it just make so much sense to get an iPhone because then he could always communicate with me and I would never miss his emails and I would take more pictures and could text with my family and friends in the US and I would have a GPS and really it would just make so much sense.  He listened, skeptical, as I attempted to justify adding one more piece of Apple technology to our stable.  I finished with the kicker, "And the B---s have several older ones just sitting around because T-- just go a 7 and gave his 6s to T---- and I'm just sure they'd be willing to sell T---s old 6 to us....." I trailed off.

Brandon sighed, recognizing the rationalization hamster spinning madly at its wheel trying to justify something that really, in the end, I just wanted for no better reason than it was shiny and cool.  He sighed again.  "I don't think it's a good idea. But you can do what you want.  However, if you put Candy Crush on that phone, I'm throwing it into the trash."  I tried to hide my delight and acted very obedient.  "Okay, thanks.  I'll talk to T--- about it."

The next day I contacted my friend, who, as all good friends do, only encouraged me in my pursuit of shiny technology.  "Of course we could sell you the 6!  I'll ask T-- about it and get back to you.  But you should definitely do it!  It's a great idea!"  She talked with her husband and got back to me with the price.  I obviously hadn't done my homework because I didn't realized how much unlocked, good condition iPhones run for.  I told her that I would have to talk with Brandon about it, which meant that it wasn't going to happen and let my shiny smartphone dreams die, murdered by penny-pinching.

A few days later she dropped by to borrow a stroller.  After chatting for a few minutes, she whipped out a few phones.  "While I'm here, I thought I'd show you the 5s we also have sitting around.  It's less than the 6.  But if you're interested in the 6, it's only $75 more than the 5s."  I thought about it for about thirty seconds, and bought the 5s.  I handed over the cash before I could change my mind.  "Great!" she enthused.  "I'll have T-- come over in an hour or two and set it up for you."  

After she left I thought about good technology and better technology and how much $75 really isn't and how really, it's easier to text on a bigger screen and how a newer phone would last longer.  By the time my friend called to to tell me her husband was coming over, I told her to have him bring the 6.  Because it turns out I'm just as acquisitive as the next girl.

And that is how I ended up doing the thing I swore I'd never do.  Principle, evidently, don't stand up very well to shiny, pretty, cool, technology.  Oh well.  Time to go get Candy Crush.

Shedding the Pounds

Now that we've got Christmas over with it's time to get serious about leaving.  We leave in less than a month and the packers are coming (as soon as Brandon finally gets his TM4 back from DC so he can schedule them.  Christmas is a bad time to try to get orders processed) in less than three weeks.

I've been working on some preparations for leaving, but it's mostly been organizing computer files, collecting all of that important information like bank account numbers and passwords and putting them in one file, and organizing our music collection.  The last task isn't exactly vital but I know myself enough to realize that if I don't do it now I'll never do it.  So even though my house is a mess I now have all of the music we own organized in iTunes complete with cover art and correct genre.  Not necessary, but very satisfying every time I open iTunes.

It's a good thing Brandon has three days off this week for New Year celebrations.

Every time we move we have a weight allowance, which is generally the bane of every Foreign Service Spouse's life when it's time for packout.  When we joined and I found out the allowance I was schocked - how in the world could anyone have 7,200 pounds of stuff?  That's over three and a half tons.  It's not like we even have to furnish our own houses.  We could never own that many possessions.

All of you FS folks can now stop laughing.

The first time we packed out of Utah we had 2,500 pounds.  Then we shipped an additional shipment from VA that was about 750 pounds.  When we left Cairo we had 5,000 pounds and shipped another 1,000 from VA.  And in the two years we've been here the stream of packages from Amazon hasn't stopped coming.  Combine that with the impressive amount of leftover consumables we have (a hundred pounds of popcorn?  One-fifty of wheat?), and I'm definitely getting nervous.

So now it's time to play how much weight can we lose in the next three weeks.  I've been mentally preparing for the last six months and marking various items for the axe.  Brandon has whole shelves of textbooks from college that the internet, my kindle, and geopolitics have made obsolete and I'm pretty sure that some of the children's toys can quietly be sent to the donate pile after they've gone to bed.  But there's still just a lot of stuff that I can't get rid of.  Sure you use Christmas decorations only once a year, but they still have to come.  Children's clothing can be reused by a younger sibling, saving hundreds of dollars.  And homeschooling in foreign countries means that you get to be your own library.

A few weeks ago I was in a good mood so I attacked my closet.  I tried to be as ruthless as I could bring myself to be.  If I hadn't worn that grey sweater in the last two years I probably wasn't going to wear it in the next two.  And that swimsuit hadn't seen chlorine in at least seven.  As much as I liked the idea of those jeans ever fitting again, five children say that probably won't ever happen.  And even if it did (major illness is always a possibility), the jeans are already out of fashion anyway.

Dresses that were too short, even if I still liked them, got regretfully folded up and put in bags.  Shoes that I don't wear at least once a month were sent to the same place.  Sweaters, shirts, pants, jeans, skirts, and shorts all ended up in a rapidly growing pile of plastic bags filling up the middle of my closet.  Then I pulled out the bin of maternity clothes and filled more bags.

As the girls drifted through watching the proceedings they would occasionally lodge a protest.  "But Mom," they would wail, "maybe I could wear that when I'm a little older!"  "Not that dress!  You look so pretty in it."  But I stayed the course, keeping moving scales in mind.  Time to slim down.

After a few hours I gathered all of my bags together and admired the collection.  'That is a lot of clothes,' I marveled, 'I've done pretty well.'  Then I got out my travel scale and started weighing.  The first bag came in at a disappointing ten pounds.  I moved on.  Seven.  The next bag was shoes.  Thirteen.  Spirits sinking, I kept weighing.  Eleven.  Nine.  Fourteen.  After all was done, I totaled up the weight of my biggest clothes purge ever.  Fifty-two pounds.

So we have a lot of work left to do.  I'm hoping that somewhere in our house there is a closet full of lead bars that someone snuck into our shipment last time that will weight at least a ton or two.  If that doesn't happen, maybe another miracle might help me out.  Wish me luck.

Chicago is Always Nice in January

So far in our Foreign service career we've been pretty lucky in our travels.  I have a friend with five children with the most amazing barfing stories who has set a new standard for bad travel - no matter how long and tiring and irritating travel is, it's not truly bad until someone vomits.  So considering the number of children we have and the amount of time we spent traveling, I consider myself pretty lucky to only ever have one incidence of vomiting - and my mom got to clean that one up.

We've also had remarkable luck with delays.  A few summers ago we got stuck in the Chicago airport for nine hours, but that's been about it.  Like I said, very lucky.

And so, of course, that means that every now and then you don't get lucky.

Our day started pretty early last Friday when the alarm went off at 2:30.  I had grand plans the night before that involved unconsciousness by nine o'clock, but of course those didn't pan out.  They never do.  It doesn't matter how much planning you've put into packing suitcases, cleaning out the refrigerator, making lists, gathering clothing, and all of the other assorted 329 tasks that are necessary to prepare for international moves by airplane, something always comes up that you didn't expect.  So instead of nine, our bedtime was closer to eleven than I would have liked.

Thankfully our ride to the airport showed up promptly at three because Brandon had turned both of our phones into the embassy and our house phone had been disconnected for the majority or our tour.  I had visions of frantically knocking on neighbors' doors asking to use their phone to find out where in the heck our driver was.  You don't want to miss your flight in Baku because it may be another few days before the next one comes.

We got to the airport with enough time to check in and discover that half of the family had tickets to Chicago and the other half had tickets to Missouri.  Since none of us intended to visit Chicago in January, especially without the other half of our family, some frantic clickety-clackety was in order by the nice Lufthansa agent.  Luckily we were late enough that nobody else was waiting impatiently behind us.

The tickets supposedly worked out (you'll have to get your boarding passes printed in Chicago, he told us apologetically), we made it through security and passport control just in time for boarding.  I don't like the stress of cutting timing close, but I don't mind having to wait an hour for boarding either.  But despite the airport TV system's claims that the plane was boarding, nobody was moving a muscle when we showed up at our gate.  And nobody moved for another hour and a half.

Evidently one of the engines had decided it was a nice day for electrical failure and so our plane, which was supposed to take off at 5:10 left Baku at 6:40 instead.  Thankfully we had originally had a three-hour layover in Frankfurt and cutting it in half left us just enough time to deplane onto a bus, be driven around the entire airport before unloading in the basement so we could walk the fifty miles to the train and hundred miles to our gate - the very last gate at the very end of the airport.  When we got on the plane for our nine-hour flight I sighed in relief.  We had made the two longest legs and just had one hour-long leg left.

Each time I fly with the children the trip gets easier and this time was no exception.  Brandon drew the short straw (I have to use the pregnancy card when I've got it) and so Edwin and Sophia kept me company for the flight.  I don't know how anyone flew internationally before personal video screens.  Both children spent all of the flight watching Planes, Despicable Me 2, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, (I still can't make sense of that movie), and various other cartoons before they fell asleep.  Everyone ate their own lunch, kept themselves occupied, and let me finish a book, eat my lunch, take a nap, watch a movie, and start another book (I love my Kindle).  Mothers of young children, take heart.  One day you too will be able to read a book at the same time you're flying with two children.

We landed in Chicago with no trouble (I was shocked to look out the window and see all of the world coated in white) and made it through passport control and customs without anyone stopping us.  We had another three-hour layover and so we were doing well and just had to put our bags back into the system and clear security before going to the very end of the airport for our last leg, having been up for almost twenty-four hours by that point.

I was ahead of Brandon with my fully-loaded luggage cart and encountered a helpful United employee with a scanner.  She scanned a bag, made a face, and announced "your flight is cancelled."  

And that's how we ended up spending the night in Chicago O'Hare Embassy Suites (can we stay there because Daddy's a diplomat?  Kathleen wanted to know) instead of at Grammy and Grandpa's house.  Despite having clear weather, the wind was too strong for our little 21-seat puddle jumper plane and we had to wait for the next day to finish our travels.  Thankfully we were able to rummage through our bags and pull out clothes and pajamas before checking in all three of the carseats and four of the five suitcases we had schlepped halfway across the world.

After a bath and pizza (I don't know how many times Papa John's has fed us on these jaunts) everyone including Brandon and I were asleep by seven.  Which was good because Joseph decided that midnight was a good time to wake up and bother his brother and everyone else (except Edwin) was wide awake by 4:30.  Thank heaven for cartoons.

Everyone was happy for the generous breakfast buffet before packing up and heading back to the airport for our last, uneventful leg.  We showed up a day late and several dollars poorer, but with no harm and with all of our bags.  And no vomit.  So I'm not complaining.

So How Was საქართველოს*? *Georgia (the country, not the state)

We're back from Georgia and I am proud to report that we still have all four children.  Nobody got lost, nobody got hurt, and most importantly, nobody got abandoned by the side of the road because we just couldn't stand them anymore.  And that is something that I'm proud of.

We've obviously traveled with our children before (otherwise, how would I be writing this from my home in Azerbaijan?), but this is the very first trip we've taken for pleasure that didn't involve seeing any family.  And it's also the very first international travel we've done with the children.  So even though we've flown across the world with all of the children, we've never gone on a trip with the express purpose of having fun.  Which is a pretty tall order when you throw in two overnight train rides, two nights in a hotel, lots of Georgian food, and a major amount of walking around a city with not much to recommend it other than old buildings.  Even the guidebook, under the heading "Tbilisi With Children," told us that it wasn't a good city for children.

Nevertheless, we still enjoyed ourselves.  So take that Lonely Planet.

We started our adventure Saturday night downtown at the Baku train station waiting to board the 8:30 train to Tbilisi.  Brandon and I had walked down to the station a week before to purchase the tickets which turned out to be a good thing as the train was sold out a few days before our trip.  As Brandon asked his way to the correct window and then chatted with the lady in Russian and explained what he needed I thanked the heavens (for the hundredth time) that I was married to someone who had lived in a Russian-speaking country for two years.  I imagine buying tickets would have been possible without Russian or Azeri, but it certainly would have been much more complicated.

Not wanting to park our car downtown for five days, we took a taxi down to the station and enjoyed the pleasant evening, having arrived too early to board.  As we waited we saw friends coming down the platform and soon realized we were next door to them on the train.  The children had a fun time running up and down the platform and wondering when the engine would come and if we would get left behind and which window would be ours and what would the train look like inside and how fast it would go and could we have snacks yet?  I think they didn't really care where the train was going, just that they were going on a train.

The inside turned out to be very clean and recently renovated; we had a coupe with four beds, two down and two up that worked excellently as clubhouse and monkey-swinging tree and something to climb.  Stored on the top two bunks were pillows and pallets to lay on top of the padded vinyl seat benches.  After we had been on the train for an hour or so the attendant brought bags of linens to put on the pillow and pallet and we made all of the beds while the children negotiated who would be sharing with whom.

I had been wondering ever since we decided to try traveling with four children how getting all of them to sleep on a train with everyone in the same compartment would work out.  When we put them to sleep at home, every night there are at least three requests for water, five bathroom trips, two fights to break up and seven injunctions (increasing in severity and decreasing in civility) to just go to sleep already.  And that is without Joseph in the room.

But either the running had worn them out or the excitement of sleeping on a train that was moving or the late hour or perhaps the Benadryl helped, as everyone actually just went to sleep after they had been pajama-ed and tucked into bed.  Joseph gave us a little trouble so Brandon pulled him up to the top bunk and wrestled him down to unconsciousness (in a loving, non-violent manner) in about ten minutes and returned him to the bed he shared down below with Sophia.

I've flown enough red-eye flights to know how to get sleep in uncomfortable places and had packed accordingly: earplugs, Unisom, and my own pillow.  So that just left Brandon, who was a big boy and had the Kindle's warm LED glow to keep him company if he couldn't sleep.

The night wasn't exactly the best sleep I've ever gotten - the room was hot until someone turned the air conditioning on and I had to keep shifting to find a comfortable position - but it certainly wasn't the worst and I didn't hear a peep from the children all night long.  Maybe Brandon did, but that's why I packed earplugs.

The next morning after dressing, waiting in line for the bathroom (we knew enough of traveling to bring our own TP, but I'm not complaining because the toilet wasn't a squat), and making our beds, we had breakfast.  When I mentioned something about a dining car to Brandon, he just laughed, "Dining car?!?  Don't you realize that this is a Soviet system?  All you get on these trains is hot water for tea.  Period."  So I had packed accordingly and we had pumpkin muffins, slightly squashed bananas, and granola bars to start the day off with.

We finished before reaching the Azeri border where we stopped for about an hour for border control and then rode for about half an hour before getting to the Georgian border where we stopped for more passport flashing and stamping.  By then we were getting close to Tbilisi and I made a vain attempt to get Joseph to sleep (and maybe catch a nap myself) which worked about fifteen minutes before we pulled in, around noon.

So in summary: train travel with kids is vastly better than air travel.  You can sleep laying down, you can shut the door, nobody has to wear seat belts, everyone can look out the window, and your children can misbehave without any witnesses.  Of course the train took longer (sixteen hours versus ninety minutes), but we spent over half of the trip sleeping.  And not once did anyone ask me to take off my shoes, empty out the liquid in my bags, or send my children through a metal detector.  The only line we had was at the bathroom.  And it was cheaper - one hundred dollars to get everyone to Georgia.

Of course, the way back was a different story.  But that's for next time.

Five children, and how I make it work

Sunday I was talking with another mother in the nursing lounge at church.  It's where all the cool kids hang out during church and I confess to having spent more time in there than strictly necessary when I've been having a fun time chatting.  We mothers have to get our socializing in wherever we can.

This mother and I had never met before (it was Stake Conference) so we swapped info: what ward are you from?  How many children do you have?  What ages are they?

She listed off her children's ages - three, two and a half, and the three-month old baby she was nursing.  Then I gave her the run down of my own - eight, six, four, two, and the baby (for a brief three-month period they're perfectly spaced two years apart and then it's back to eyebrow-raising territory).  "Five children!" she gasped, "How do you handle that?  I'm barely able to handle my three!!"

I always chuckle when I get that response from mothers of little children and then assure them that I would much, much rather have five children at the ages my children are than ever go back to three that are three and under.  And then they scratch their head, trying to figure out how adding two more children is supposed to make your life easier.

But the truth is that having five children has its benefits.  Some of these benefits come with any number of children - they're just a result of children getting older - but some of them really do come from having a lot of children.

When I had three little ones, I was everything to them.  Just about the only thing any of them could do alone was use the toilet - and that was just Kathleen.  I dressed everyone, put everyone's shoes one, fed everyone, cleaned up everyone's messes, changed two sets of diapers, played with everyone, sorted out all of the fights, cut everyone's fingernails and toenails (yes, that's eighty in a day when I did my own too), brushed everyone's hair, and was the center of everyone's universe (including my own).  Everything I did, I did with three adoring fans in tow.

Now not only have I trained up the majority to be mostly self-sufficient, I have actually trained some to be helpful.  It's amazing.  Every morning after breakfast, Kathleen and Sophia have the same discussion.  "No it's my turn today! You did it yesterday!!"  When they've sorted out whose turn it is, they both dash for the laundry closet Eleanor's room and try to squeeze through the doorway at the same time.  The lucky winner for the day picks up Eleanor and starts cooing, "Aren't you a beautiful baby?  Oh Eleanor!  Good morning!  Are you ready for your bottle?"

After the bottle, the loser looks on forlornly while the winner picks out Eleanor's outfit for the day before giving the baby her morning bath.  They both get to dress her while brainstorming what exciting thing they could build for Baby Eleanor Playtime that morning.  Eventually I pry her out of their clutches so that Eleanor can get some sleep and time away from her adoring fans.  If I wasn't nursing her I don't think I'd have to do a thing if I didn't want to (which of course I do, because who can resist such a cute baby?).

When we were in Baku and I was busy with a project, the girls would take the boys outside for walks and playground time.  I remember cooking dinner one day and realizing that I hadn't seen the children for at least an hour.  Joseph was keeping me company, but nobody else was crowding around to surround me in a forest of chairs as I stirred the soup.  Another center of gravity had been formed in the family and it wasn't me.

This summer we've traveled quite a bit, and the last three times we headed out of town, I printed off packing lists and handed them to the girls.  Kathleen was in charge of packing her and Joseph's clothes and Sophia helped Edwin.  At the end of an hour or two, I had a duffel full with everything the children needed.  And then they unpacked it when we got home!

It's been years since I hovered around my children at the park, keeping up the continual patter that includes frequent repetitions of 'watch out!' in all of its forms.  As soon as Joseph learned to walk he was off with his siblings, doing whatever he could to keep up with him.  Not once did he turn around and ask him to come play.  I often take my Kindle to the playground because there's nothing else for me to do.

But most of all, aside from the practicalities of having five children, they've taught me how to love.  As I've had each child my capacity to love had increased.  When Kathleen was born, I looked her and saw a gaping hole of Need.  I didn't see chubby baby cheeks and tiny little fingers and a perfect rosebud mouth, I saw someone who was going to interrupt my regularly scheduled life with constant needs that only I could fill.  I was worried about getting her to sleep, I was stressed about feeding her, and I was terrified about forming bad habits.

When I look at Eleanor, I see her irresistible baby cheeks and overflow with delight when she squirms, wriggling with happiness every time she catches my eye.  When Joseph has made yet another dripping mess, I can't help but laugh at his devilish cleverness even as I'm paying for it.  I relish the time spent cuddling Edwin when he has been hurt and runs to me for comfort, fitting his soft body into the folds of mine as I rock the pain away, running my fingers through his soft blonde hair.  When Sophia steals a look at me in church, I can't frown at her inattention, I can only smile back at her, co-conspirators in crime.  And I am amazed to find, despite the sarcasm and jokes, underneath it all, I love being a mother.

I never ever thought that I would ever love it, especially with young children.  I knew it would be work and I was prepared for the work.  I knew that it would pay off in time when I was old and someone would be there to care it was my birthday.  I felt it was my duty, religiously, to have as many children as I could take care of.  But I never could never even begin to conceive of the joy that my five children bring to me every single day.  It fills my entire existence and literally changes my life every single day.  Not only do I love my children, but because of the love that has grown from them I love my friends more.  I love my family more.  I love strangers more.  I view the whole world differently because I am a mother.  I am transformed.

So when you see a mother trailing multiple children behind her, don't feel sorry for her, for the time she spends wiping noses and cleaning up messes.  Don't wonder why anyone would willingly give up their life to bring mouth after mouth after mouth into the world.  Don't think of all of the things she gives up.  Think instead of everything she has gained - many to love, many to love her back, and her whole world transformed.  I think it's a pretty good exchange.

After 4 3/4 Pregnancies

Warning: this post discusses bodily fluids.  If you are disgusted by that, please skip this post and tune in next time for something a little less... liquid.

I am not a vomiter (is that a word?).  Everyone has illogical fears - spiders, small spaces, heights - that really don't make any sense when one talks through them but nonetheless give you the cold sweats when you even think about having to deal with them.

Until recently one of mine was squat toilets, but I've conquered that one.  I still don't like using them, but the cold sweats no longer trouble me when I have to use the bathroom in a third world country.  Vomiting, however, is still one of my illogical fears.  I usually go years between getting sick, which probably doesn't help me deal with the fear.  How can you get over something that happens a few times every decade?  It's like dealing with fears about comets.

The last time I got sick unto vomiting was when Sophia was three months old.  She's now coming up on six.  And I've never, not once, ever gotten sick because of pregnancy.  Or even during pregnancy.  I've had my fair share of other sicknesses - especially those that involve food and third world countries - and Brandon often makes fun of me for catching just about every bug that comes through the house when I'm pregnant.  Just none of those that involve throwing up.

So last Friday I had my first OB appointment at the practice that will deliver this baby (it's Brandon's turn to name the baby and he hasn't decided on a name yet.  I'm not just being coy).  I had scheduled the appointment within a week of landing in Missouri after faxing all of my prenatal records in so that the doctor could decide I wasn't a big old malpractice lawsuit risk.  By the time of the appointment I was 31 weeks and so it was reasonably important that I go in and get things like the nasty sugar-water test and a real 20 week ultrasound out of the way.

And of course Friday morning, after dropping Brandon off at work by seven so that I could pick him up at one so that I could make my two-fifteen appointment, I started feeling off.  Pretty soon off turned into impending doom and I started mentally flipping through options.  Rescheduling seemed like the best idea, so I called the office.  No appointments for the next two weeks.  How about their other office?  One for the next week, but only at 10 AM.  Since my babysitter (I draw the line at taking four children to the OB) has to be in class during that time, it wouldn't work.

So it was going to have to be that day.  I rested up, stayed close the the bathroom, and turned on the TV for the children.  Around 12:30 I pulled myself together, apologized to the cleaning lady who had just come in to clean our apartment, and drove everyone down to FSI to pick Brandon up.

I made it home to drop everyone off and stopped by McDonald's to get a Sprite so that my hands would stop shaking.  Thankfully I didn't have too long to wait for my appointment and made it through the preliminaries (give a 'sample', step on the scale, have my blood pressure taken) without too much trouble.  I was glad my history was easy, and therefore quick, to relate - that much faster to get home.

Then the doctor looked at my chart with a wrinkled brow.  "You haven't done your glucose level test yet?"  No, I was driving around the frozen wasteland at 28 weeks.  "Well, would you like to do it today or come in next week?"  I did some fast thinking.  It takes an hour for the test and I wasn't feeling too great.  On the other hand, coming in the next week would mean having to set up an appointment, arrange with Brandon to take the kids, and spend five dollars more on parking.  I looked up.  "I'll take it today."

For those of you who have never had to pleasure of drinking a glucose drink in less than five minutes, I'll sum it up for you: nasty.  It has just as much sugar as a soda, but somehow the combination of being un-carbonated and the most un-appetizing flavors the makers can think of, the drink manages to be one of the more unpalatable things you have to chug (in less than five minutes).  Despite being sick, I managed to get all of the bright red, fruit punch-flavored bottle of disgusting down in less than five minutes.  Then I had to wait.

Thankfully I had my faithful Kindle and nobody to interrupt me so the time passed more quickly than I had feared.  Molly had just managed to get Cynthia's letters back from Mr. Preston when I went back to the lab to get my blood drawn.  I used to be uncomfortable with the idea of needles being poked into my veins (so much that I didn't give blood until I was a junior on college) but having four children has cured me of that.  After a little bit of rubber, a prick, and a bandaid, I was on my way.  I had finished my blood test, finished my appointment, and only the drive home was in between me and my bed.  Good thing I hadn't tried to reschedule.

As I stood up I felt a little unsteady but resolutely made my way to the office door and out into the hallway to find my way back to an elevator, the parking garage, and my car.  As I started to walk down the hall I realized that I had better sit down.  I looked around.  Blood sample box?  Floor?  Then I realized I might want to look for a bathroom instead.  I remembered seeing one close to the water fountain, but it had a sign on it about getting the key from the doctor's office.  What good is a bathroom that is locked?  I might as well just go back to the doctor's and use their bathroom.

But then it was too late.  Too late to get back to the office's bathroom, too late to find somewhere without carpet, and definitely too late to find that bathroom key.  And so I got to experience my very first episode of pregnancy vomiting right in the middle of the hallway just outside the door to the office.  It was humiliating - after all, adults are supposed to be able to anticipate situations like this a little better and not just upchuck wherever the fancy strikes them.  That's what two year-olds do, not thirty-two year-olds.  There's nothing like leaning over your own mess in a public place with tears streaming down your face to wish for the days where mom took care of your when things like this happened.  Unfortunately, now I'm mom.  At least if I were at home, I would have the privacy of my own bathroom to be miserable in.  But instead I got to surprise the patient after me with a big, bright red fruit punch mess on the floor.  She was kind enough (heck, we've all been there) to go and get a nurse who brought me water and something to wipe my mouth with (after watching me having a few more rounds) and ushered me back to the office and into a room where I could lay down and recover.

Eventually I felt well enough to get myself home (we only have one car so there wasn't going to be anyone who could pick me up) and crawl into that warm, inviting bed that I had been missing for the last several hours.  Where I stayed vomit-free for the rest of my sickness.  Figures.