That Time I Gave a Delta Flight Attendant The Finger Behind Her Back...

I'm back for good this time, I swear. Sometimes the old gray matter just decides to quit and for the past few months I have been willing, urging and basically just begging and pleading my brain to get its act together.

And it ain't just blog-related either. The last month of last semester felt like my brain was wading through a sloggy marsh of simple concepts that I just needed to write down on paper but had the hardest time doing (still got A's in both my classes. Bam. I eventually show my brain who's boss...).

So. Now that I've sufficiently excused myself and you guys aren't mad at me anymore for going MIA (you're not mad, right? I would feel awfully obliged to make you cookies if you were...but honestly, I'd probably eat them before they got to you. Whoever you are), let's catch up.

Thanksgiving is where we left off! After Thanksgiving, the kids, my belly and I went to California on an airplane. Two seats, basically four people (the belly counts).

My children were angels.

The Delta flight attendant was a real bitch.

Isla got some crayon on the seat back and the lady came and told me that if I didn't get it off right now that I was going to have to pay for damages....

...two things:
1. You're having a bad day. I get it. I'll roll with you but;
2. I've puked on plenty-a-plane (I suffered and still suffer from awesome travel sickness) and I don't ever remember having to clean that off the seat back in front of you while in-flight. So this is seeming a bit ridiculous.

...onwards. She stood there, shaking her head exaggeratedly at the other attendants while I scrubbed, Cinderella-style, and got it off. When I told her it was all gone she shrugged and walked off. Whatever, lady.

California! We left the day it snowed two feet in Utah and enjoyed 5 days of sunshine and beaches and playgrounds and short sleeves. Glorious. And as always, my apologies to Luke, who had to stay home and hold down the fort. Ahem.

After that trip we did Christmas which was fantastic and Christmas-y and noteworthy only because Luke, Finn and Isla got a bout of the flu right after and I stood there like the lone survivor in a zombie flick.

Finn still likes to brag about how he barfed that one time. Because kids have great memories for things you'd rather forget, right?

As for me, I'm 32-33 weeks pregnant with this big boy at the moment and loving every quiet minute of it. Because by baby number 3 you realize that babies cry and eat once they enter the big, wide world and frankly, that's kind of a hassle.

And I'm still going to school. I'm taking a class on Modern Irish Nationalist Literature from a teacher who; a.) doesn't seem to care much about Ireland; b.) professes that he does not care much about Ireland and finally; c.) cannot pronounce Yeats correctly and has confessed that he does not care to remember the correct pronunciation.

Which really makes for an exciting and motivating class to get into. Right.

Next post: All about this big belly and the impending fiasco it is threatening. Plus, maybe I'll get some tidbits in about those two ragamuffins I call my children.

(Also, I got an iPhone. Feel free to welcome me into the twenty-first century...)

Pictures!

Still sporting the reminder of his last terrible haircut...and being so cheesy it hurts :)

32 weeks. Whoa belly...whoa.

 

Isla loves a swing...