Family Sick Week

I often think one of the cutest things about my husband is the big tough guy's fondness for all things holiday- and birthday- related. He loves occasions to celebrate, and surprises, and presents, more than most small children-- a quality that I find endlessly endearing until his birthday rolls around. I actually dread February every year, knowing there's no way I can ever pull off a Seth-caliber birthday.

This year, though, was a failure of epic proportions. We were all sick, fighting some torturous version of a daycare cold, and Seth's birthday was on a Wednesday (after we had been out of town the long weekend prior.) I managed cards from Finley and I, and the vague promise of a new TV (what to get the guy who buys himself whatever he wants...?), and poor Seth had to settle for a slightly-charred steak at 9:30pm. Complete with a sniffly-but-wired 15 week old. And, because she rocks, homemade lemon cupcakes from Mom.

In my head, I got better and redeemed myself later in the week, maybe with a date night and a halfway decent meal and some new-TV shopping, but my cold went from bad to strep by the end of the week and I spent the weekend fighting chills and fever and not being able to take any decent cold meds, thankyouverymuch breastfeeding. Seth was still battling a horrible cough too, and Finley- the little germ factory- was under the weather (although not nearly as sleepy as we were!), so we spent the weekend learning the hard way that babies don't care if you're sick. They still want to play hours upon hours of peekaboo and helicopter and whatever bizarre acrobatics routines Seth had invented for his little prodigy. Although we were miserable, we have never been more appreciative of the value of teamwork, eventually just taking shifts with our energizer bunny. The photo at right shows what happens when Seth gets the dinner shift. (Some highly bubbly mimosas and a very messy venison concoction. Keep in mind that I was too sick for mimosas this weekend. I have no idea where all that champagne went... although I have a suspicion.)

And this photo shows the very rare Sleeping Finley, who enjoyed her family sick weekend immensely.

Luckily, we got a ton of snow, so we didn't feel too bad about being housebound. (This is the view from the kitchen window Saturday, probably taken as I fumbled around desperately for coffee.)

And I took this because I was unbelievably impressed by the "rain or shine" dependability of our farm delivery.

It's now Wednesday (according to my phone) and- having finally demanded antibiotics after several worthless trips to Walter Reed and at least two "lost" throat cultures- I'm almost feeling human again. The past five days have been a blur, and I'm sad to have missed the hot chocolate run at work, Mamma Gran's birthday, Jackie's crew rest in town, and lunch with BA (to name a few)- but here's to the end of the awful family sick week and the wonders of modern science (in the form of antiobiotics). I'm toasting both with wonton soup, which I picked up on my Very Expensive "finally hungry again" Trader Joe's stop on my way home from Walter Reed today.

But I digress. The photo of the week, hands down, is this screenshot of a text I got from Seth, after he bought Finley sunglasses and then snuck this photo in his rearview mirror on the way to daycare. Not easy, indeed.

A Very Important Postscript

I wrote my last blog entry tired, a little overwhelmed at work, and beyond cranky to be fighting Finley's vicious daycare cold (I really am the world's worst sick person). It had indeed been an exhausting weekend- Finley's first big trip, accompanied by an awful lot of moving parts. But I realized last night that I had left out the most important part of the Foutzberg weekend, and that is this:

On Saturday, I got to be there (literally, right in the middle!) while my dear, sweet, funny, driven, fun-loving, free spirited, loyal friend Jackie married the man who loves her as much as I do (and the only person who has ever admonished her to "make good decisions" and lived to tell about it.) I've known Jackie for the better part of my adult life, and have admired for years her grit and determination as she held a bad marriage to an alcoholic together by the skin of her teeth, finally left him and did a bit of finding herself, put herself through college and then grad school, became an Air Force pilot as the young Airman I first met always said she would, and eventually committed to a kind, compassionate, and- yes- patient man who will finally take care of her. It was an honor to get to be a part of their forever vows. Their relationship is- as all good ones are- perfectly imperfect, and last weekend felt very much like watching them cut the docklines and set sail on life's grand adventure. There is no one more deserving of happiness and laughter, and both in abundance is my fervent wish for the Foutzbergs.

The photo says it all.

And, as I'm "PS"ing, I have to share this one too, because I keep forgetting it and it's a classic. Our little princess loves admiring herself. I wish I could say she was looking at photos of her cousins, or figuring out how to use Dad's blackberry, but she is actually just checking out a photo Dad had taken of her earlier that day. With some approval, apparently.

Foutzberg Wedding Weekend

It's Wednesday, and I have still not recovered from the Foutzberg Wedding Weekend Extravaganza in Charleston. And I didn't even get drunk, thanks to my every-three-hour pumping requirement. But all Bergey events are exhausting, and when you throw in families, friends, bridesmaid/ officiant duties, uncooperative weather, a three month old, and all the trappings of a destination-slash-Southern-wedding long weekend blowout, you get... well, a nap on the floor of my office at lunch, if I'm lucky.

Of course, there were some high points. Les and Heather and Jackie and I escaped and hung on Jackie's plane for a bit on Thursday, and I was reminded what terrific girlfriends I have.

My wedding ceremony was apparently a hit. Multiple guests stopped by our table at the reception to tell me I was way cooler than their minister. Cracked us up. They must've missed the part about my sketchy internet ordination. But I guess if this lawyer gig doesn't work out, I have a backup plan.

I had a hot wedding date with an endless well of patience, who put up with all the craziness (and my absenteeism) without complaint,

and sent beautiful Valentine's Day roses to Jackie's rental house, where I spent most of the day getting ready instead of hanging out with him.

Finley got to spend quality time with her grandparents, who generously agreed to make a short-notice, three-leg journey across the United States to take care of her when our childcare plans fell through. Although I feel like I barely got to see them, I am grateful- and we did manage to take them to the famous Poe's Tavern, on Sullivan's Island. Finley likes bars, it seems.

And the three of us survived Finley's first and second flights.  Now she's a seasoned pro.

It was a short, nonstop hop down the coast, but we were pretty proud of ourselves for nailing it. She didn't cry at all, and slept most of the way. Her only real objection was to the absolutely awful rental car carseat. (Never. Again.)

Still, we were thrilled to be home again Monday, and to get a bonus snow day on Tuesday to get things back in order at home (and squeeze in some snowshoeing on the canal.) There were also some mimosas and a little self-congratulatory back-patting in there somewhere.









My favorite photo of the week is Finley, all tuckered out from her weekend travel, her snow day, and her recent growth spurt. There is, after all, no place like home.

Another year, another Uwharrie.

I actually cringed when Jim pointed it out to me, the muddy gully in which I had hopped a large root and heard the sickening crunch in my ankle last year. (And, to hear him tell it, heartlessly deserting him in his time of need, leaving him to run his first 40 miler alone.) And then made my way slowly down the trail to the next aid station, a little amazed that I had run those next five miles not realizing it was broken. Then again, there had been a lot I hadn't known last year. I had also been a couple weeks pregnant with Finley at the Uwharrie Mountain Run, a tough trail race that has become a tradition for Jackie and the Trimbles and I.

I had flown down by myself at the last minute when Seth had a Friday afternoon meeting scheduled and we realized that us driving down after it with Finley- the original plan- would put us in insanely late and cost us many miserable hours in 95 traffic. So I bought quick-turnaround plane tickets and Seth stepped up to the plate as Mr. Dad so I could go. Revisiting Uwharrie had been my "get back in shape" plan for most of my pregnancy, and I was determined to do it, even if I was in nowhere near the shape I should have been to knock out 20 mountain miles. Not to mention that it would be a long day, requiring me to run with- and use- a portable breastpump along the way.

It was harder than I had imagined. I always thought that when people talked about "getting back" after having a baby, they just meant weight loss and fitness level. I hadn't accounted for the fact that your body is still out of whack for a long, long time. The elastin-induced loose ankles and wince-worthy pelvic pain almost did me in, and there was a lot of walking, but... I (eventually) did it. My hardest, slowest 20 ever. I barely made cutoff. And it felt like a huge accomplishment. Of course, the Trimbles and Jackie got me to the halfway point, so that helped- and there is nothing like time on the trails to work out all of life's problems. Jackie had had a meltdown and nearly called off her upcoming wedding, and Heather and Jim were getting ready to start expensive and painful IVF, so we had lots to talk about and it was just like old times, sorting things out with some of my favorite running buddies. The second half of the run, though, left me wondering aloud to the trees what in the hell I had been thinking.

There were many, many post-race beers. And a lot of ibuprofen. And I'm taking the elevator at work today, as stairs are simply out of the realm of possibility. But I'm glad to have that one under my belt, and it was nice to have a reunion and reflect on just how much had changed since last year. I wouldn't say I'm "back," exactly, but I feel like I'm on the way. (At minimum, those big hills were the kick in the pants I needed to get my butt back in gear!)

Still, I raced home on the first flight I could snag Sunday morning. I had missed Seth and Finley- who had been continuously texting their love and support as well as their movie choices- madly. I have never felt more grateful to have such a terrific teammate. Not only did Seth hold down the homefront the whole time I was gone, he seemed to have genuinely enjoyed the solo father-daughter time. He and Finley took turns picking out movies: The Lorax for her; Gran Torino for him. And he claimed she was jealous of the disgusting dinner he came up with for himself: microwave waffles and chicken fried steak, smothered in maple syrup. Both messages cracked me up.

We did the baby handoff when I got home, since it is literally impossible to get anything done with our anti-napper at home and Seth needed to work out and get some studying done. (Well I know, the feeling of being housebound, however adorable the company.) The weather was stunning, so I took Finley for a long walk in the sunshine by way of beating post-race lactic-acid buildup. Finley loves her new big girl stroller, and we hung out at the park for awhile. She had gotten even better at rolling over in my absence, so when I set her down on my sweatshirt to enjoy the sun she immediately rolled face-first into the mud. She looked like pigpen but seemed no worse for the wear, and Seth forgave my parenting fail via text: "we like dirt." (In the picture at left, however, she seems to be shaking her fist at my dereliction.)

And then I took my turn snuggling on the couch with my little bear while Seth studied. She really did insist we take this selfie. Heather pointed out that it looks like she's making the ubiquitous "duckface." I hope not.

 

Photo of the week is this hilarious one. Finley's father lets her sleep on the couch like this, and- as Nicole said- she looks as if she's awaiting servants to fan her with palm fronds. She probably is.

Oh- and I have to share this. Every year there's a guy who runs an aid station way out in the middle of the woods and is a gourmet cook. (Uwharrie really is an excellent event.) Last year, he made maple bacon waffle sandwiches- quite a departure from the usual PB&J and trail mix fare. Anyway, this year he served up this soup he had made over a campstove, and it wasn't just because I needed calories that I thought it was the best I'd ever had. I told him so and snagged the recipe. As I started back down the trail, I could hear him shouting after me that the fresh parsley was critical.

I love trail races.

Finley's First Super Bowl

Seth has two evening classes this semester, which caused no end of consternation in our household while we tried to figure out how in the world we were going to get Finley picked up from daycare by 6 on those days. We finally decided that I could work "flex hours" one day a week (making Wednesdays my new least favorite thing ever, thanks to the hoop-jumping required to be at work by 7:30, forego lunch and a workout, run out the door at 4:30, and sweat bullets while racing across town in traffic, only to find myself the last deadbeat parent picking up her kid at 5:59.)

No person could manage this nervous breakdown- inducing sequence of events two days in a row, so it's Mom and Dad to the rescue! this semester. On Tuesdays, Finley spends the day with Ana and Ata, where I can visit at lunch and drink beer with Dad after work under the pretense of waiting out traffic. I feel terrible because I know how impossible it is to get anything done with the littlest (but highest maintenance) Nieman around, but Mom has been a champ about it- and even made us a pizza to take home for dinner last week. That's what I call winning.

Even with the big assist, making it to Friday feels like crossing the finish line of an endurance race these days. We still try to carve out time for "date night," but more often than not it looks like this:

 

Finley's getting bigger and stronger every day, and has finally started taking a (mild) interest in her playmat. Now that she can grab things on her own, I'm pretty sure that frog's days are numbered.

She also got to attend her first Super Bowl party on Sunday. (Made easier by the fact that it was in her living room.) We had the Ballesteroses over, and between several outfit changes for Finley, keeping three year old Gabe entertained, and food/ beer duty (although let's be honest, most of the appetizers were Trader Joe's originals), I caught about three seconds of the game. But I did see the halftime show, and enough commercials to realize that the quality had gone seriously downhill. And was grateful that I had finally managed to get the tree taken down (as it would not have survived the party.)

Finley, dressed- obviously- by her father, who didn't want the world to forget that she's a Vikings fan, stayed up for most of the game. (We apparently both started snoring just in time to miss the final, nailbiting play.) I am not exaggerating when I say that she seems to be genuinely interested in the game.

Even after a late night and half of a Monday commute, I'm still laughing at the photos of the week. The first is a screenshot of a text Seth sent me last week, proving that Finley really does have terrible taste in music (and her Daddy wrapped around her little finger.)

And this picture doesn't do the outfit justice, but when I came home from Whole Foods yesterday, Seth had put his daughter in this unbelievable outfit. According to him, she wanted to wear Marshawn's colors- but required purple booties to show her Vikings loyalty. And he had done a major hack job on the hat to get rid of a giant red Christmas bow, because "Finley thinks bows are stupid."