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Ghost of Vacations Past: Part I

It should not be shocking to anyone that life changes drastically once you have kids, so much of my reality as a mother to young children is not that daunting to me. I'm okay changing or nixing evening plans to be present for Kara's and Nathan's bedtime (as a working mom who misses the bulk of daytime hours, this is insanely important to me). At our house, 6:30 a.m. wake-ups are to be expected, so I try not to gripe about it too much (though when my sister Ryan complained on Facebook over the weekend that her dogs wouldn't let her sleep past nine, I admit to dying a little inside). And Luke and I have accepted that with little family nearby and no discretionary money in our budget to hire a baby-sitter, date nights must be few and far between. We know many of these issues will iron themselves out over the next few years and that we just have to be patient until then.

One of the biggest parts of my pre-parenthood life that I DO miss, though? Vacationing.

A few weeks ago I was dusting some picture frames and came across a photo taken during a whitewater rafting trip back in 2003, and I realized that the majority of Luke's and my travels took place before I started blogging. Which means they are not documented here. Which means I spent more than two hours one night in late February sorting through photo albums and scanning low-res images onto my computer in the hopes that one day I would tell you all about them. And today is that day! Aren't you lucky?

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WHITEWATER RAFTING, HICO, WEST VIRGINIA (2002-2004)

Growing up, vacations were not a priority for my family, mainly because there wasn't enough money but also because my parents have never been comfortable sleeping away from home. So once I was on my own and able to make more strategic decisions as to how to spend my paycheck, I learned that I wanted to make travelling a bigger part of my life. My first trip came about in 2002 during my first year working for Saint Joe, when I was able to attend a whitewater rafting trip hosted by our alumni association so that I could cover it for the college's quarterly magazine. Since my expenses were paid for by Saint Joe, I was technically on the clock, and thus one could argue that this trip doesn't count as a vacation, but prior to this my only experience with whitewater was the clear stuff drizzling out of my shower nozzle, so, dudes. It totally counts.

We left for Hico, West Virginia, on the Friday before Labor Day and reached our hotel by dinnertime. Early the next day, we were bound for the New River, where the waves ranged in classification from 2 through 5 (2 being tame, 5 being more challenging). We spent a day and a half on the river total and were home late on Sunday.

And IT WAS AWESOME.

I'm not a strong swimmer, and I've never had fantasies about snorkeling or scuba-diving or any other activity that requires carting around a tank of oxygen to enjoy, but man, did I love rafting. This river was relatively calm, so it was a great introduction to the sport, and there were plenty of peaceful moments where I remember leaning back, holding onto my paddle, and thinking, I could sit like this forever. I got along great with all the alumni who attended, and we bonded over lunches of hot dogs and hamburgers grilled along the river's edge, and I never cared that my hair looked like crap. Again, AWESOME.

 

Here I am with my raftmates "surfing" a righteous pocket of whitewater on the New River. Clearly, I had not yet joined Weight Watchers.

I had so much fun that the following year, when our alumni director planned a second whitewater trip for Labor Day weekend, I couldn't say no. I paid my own way this time, though my boss chipped in a hundred bucks from her own pocket since she knew I would write another piece for the magazine, and I even sprung for my sister Samantha, a senior there at the time, to come with me. Luke has always been an outdoorsman at heart, and it didn't take any convincing to get him to join us.

We went back to West Virginia and used the same adventure company as before, but this time we spent our time wrestling the Lower Gauley. As you can see in the below picture (which was obviously taken by the rafting company), it was a little more challenging than the New River.

 

When rafting, the guides stress the importance of everyone doing their fair share of paddling if you want to stay afloat when hitting the more aggressive waves. This was the biggest wave we encountered on our entire trip, yet Samantha completely ignored the rules in favor of diving to the middle of the raft to keep from falling out. This picture hangs in my stairway and it is one of my favorites to this day.

With all that fun, though, it was such a rough Saturday that we skipped the half-day allotted for rafting on Sunday and stayed behind to walk the grounds of the drop-off site.

 

My sister was preparing to graduate, so I loved being able to have this time with her.

 

Meanwhile, after two years of dating, Luke and I had settled into a pretty nice rhythm. By this point we had gone on several overnights to various state parks in the area, but this was our first time doing anything Big. The whole time we were there, we couldn't stop ourselves from talking about coming back.

 

Last but not least, I was enjoying a healthier, lighter me, thanks to losing 17 pounds through Weight Watchers.

 

The Three Whitewater Musketeers.

Luke and I did go rafting one last time in 2004, again with Saint Joe, again on the Lower Gauley, again taking a pass on Sunday rafting to recover from the day before, our "recovery" involving a pretty steep hike round-trip to access a spot on the Gauley where most rafters and canoers get into trouble (aka flip over). Coincidentally, that was also the last year Saint Joe sponsored the trip, but in 2005 I had moved to Indianapolis, so I wouldn't have had the time or money to attend, anyway. Luke and I still talk about when we can go rafting again. What an amazing time.

LUKE'S 30TH BIRTHDAY SURPRISE, ANGOLA, INDIANA (2004)

I haven't been part of many surprise events, but the one I did orchestrate turned out to be one of the best vacations I've ever had. I was a new 24 with a steady paycheck and willingness to do something extra special for Luke's thirtieth birthday which, as many of you know, falls on Valentine's Day, so advance planning was critical to making the day a success.

His birthday fell on a Saturday that year, so on Friday morning I had a single rose in a vase delivered to his work, with instructions to go home, pack a bag filled with warm clothes and at least one nice outfit, and be outside his apartment by 10:30 a.m. Of course, weeks prior I had cleared this with his boss so that he wouldn't be surprised by Luke's cutting the day short.

We drove about three and a half hours from Rensselaer to Angola, Indiana, eventually parking in front of the Tulip Tree Inn.

 

Forgive the shit-poor film quality, as this picture was taken with a (gasp!) manual camera, and the prints didn't come out all that great to begin with, so scanning them in makes them look even worse.

Our room was adorable, so quaint and pretty, and while we had to share a bathroom with another couple down the hall, it was so, so worth it for the atmosphere.

 

That night we grabbed pizza in town and prepared for our big Saturday, which involved enjoying the toboggan run at Pokagon State Park. I had been tobogganing once as a kid and loved it, and Luke and I had talked about doing something like that several times in the past. The line was insanely long, so we only took a single run, but man, was it fun.

 

Afterwards, we had lunch at the park's inn and spent the afternoon hiking the trails.

The recent snowfall made for some tricky moments on stairs, but overall it was a wonderful few hours spent walking, talking, and indulging our playful side.

I included these photos in a do-it-yourself snowglobe as part of my Christmas present to Luke that year, but now it sits on my dresser among stacks of paperwork and unmated socks. Again, these are two of my favorite pictures ever, because of the memories they invoke.

After our hike, we drove back into town and walked some more of the downtown area, and eventually stopped for a break of hot chocolate (me) and coffee (him).

Another hour of talking and laughing. Our whole day was a conversation that I didn't want to end.

That night, we had dinner at The Hatchery, which was described by the owner of the Tulip Tree Inn as the nicest restaurant in town. My planning foresight involved making reservations on the same day I booked our room, more than a month before, and still we waited over an hour for a table, but again, so worth it. I don't remember what I had - probably steak and some form of potato - but Luke still raves about the bolognese sauce he had with his pasta dish. Our waiter was kind enough to snap our picture with my crappy camera.

After dinner we went back to our room and enjoyed some red wine. The following day, we drove to his parents' house in Merrillville, where his mom, dad, and brother were expecting us, and sang a hearty round of "Happy Birthday" around a cake made by Luke's mom while the birthday boy blew out his candles.

It was an absolutely perfect weekend, and another trip that gets talked about all the time.

I can't believe that was SEVEN YEARS AGO. What babies we were in our relationship, with so much ahead of us to navigate, and even more to learn about each other. And yet still, perfect.

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There are a couple more trips I have in mind to address in a future part two, but that involves digging through even more photo albums, so that may take awhile. If you want to read about some of our more recent adventures, though, check out:

Niagara Falls Honeymoon 2006 (couple of actual pictures here)
Indiana Dunes Camping Trip 2006
Mackinac Island Babymoon 2007
New Buffalo, Michigan Anniversary Weekend 2009

Wednesday in the park

Before Kara and Nathan came to be, Luke and I spent a lot of our free time hiking through state parks throughout Indiana. Before him, I wasn't much of an outdoorsy person, and our first trip to McCormick's Creek back in 2002 left me winded and feeling very WTF? about nature in general. But the more we did it, the more I came to enjoy it, walking on the trails, breaking a sweat, being surrounded by so much quiet. Quite a few of our overnight getaways have been to state parks, and once we were married we talked a great deal about spending time there with our kids.

Then we found ourselves dealing with two pregnancies in two years, and mostly homebound, except for scattered visits back home to see family. We were both bummed over not getting out more, but I was so tired, and anyway, it seemed too cumbersome to do all that planning just to take Kara for a few hours, back when her life centered around eating, napping, and eating some more.

We are technically in that same timeframe with Nathan--he can't go longer than a few hours without eating or he goes all sorts of crazy--but this time around, we are hungry for activity, and his age just doesn't seem to be a factor anymore; at least, not for a lengthy day trip. Overnights apart from family? That's another story.

Anyway, the whole point of this is to say that I took a vacation day on Wednesday so Luke and I could take the kids to Fort Harrison State Park, a park with smoothly paved trails and a lovely restaurant and scattered playgrounds throughout the property. In short, the perfect place to go as a family.

The look on Nathan's face, however, would make you think we took them to watch paint dry. Or puppies being maimed. "The distastefulness of this outing hurts my eyes! I cannot bear to look into the face of tragedy!"

Luckily, Kara was cool with it, and full of kisses for Daddy.

Ah, the baby carrier. How did I manage before the baby carrier? Anytime we're out together, I wear Nathan in the carrier, as it allows him to bask in the glory of my motherly aura while keeping my hands free to throw groceries into a cart/browse through books at Barnes and Noble/follow along in the hymnal at church.

My cutest accessory.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...a lot of trees!

Talking about sticks and leaves.

Kara loves water, but I doubt she was able to see much of it over the side of this ledge.

An attempt at capturing mother, daughter, and son, with...candid results.

Run, Kara, run!

(Will I ever stop working Forrest Gump references into my entries? The world may never know.)

One of Kara's new favorite things is to go down slides at the playground. We were happy to oblige.

I love seeing her so happy. Bonus points for getting it on camera.

It was tempting to leave out everything from this series of shots of Kara and me on the swings (hello, blindingly white thighs!), but in the name of fully documenting the day, I'm including just one.

Kara liked jumping up and down on the bridge and walking back and forth.

Luke normally isn't keen on using the carrier himself, but he graciously wore Nathan for a bit so I could run around with Kara.

Nathan was digging the one-on-one man time with Daddy.

Kara and me on the way to the car after eating lunch at the park's on-site restaurant, The Garrison, which isn't as fun with kids because the park has a golf course that attracts local businessmen in droves, which meant we got lost in the shuffle. It took fifteen minutes to get a high chair because they're all stored in the basement. Um, okay, then.

The sign of a properly tuckered-out toddler. She was out before we hit the expressway.

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I ended up having one more unexpected day out of the office yesterday, as Luke was sick with stomach pains and a headache, and when I e-mailed my boss about working from home to take care of the kids so Luke could get some rest, she made an off-hand comment about H1N1 and I was like  OH, MY GOD, I DIDN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT, and an hour later Luke was at the doctor's office even though he didn't think it was necessary, but I was all, THINK OF YOUR CHILDREN. Luckily, it was not H1N1, probably just a bacterial thing, so...not so much with the close call, there.

It's our anniversary

In honor of our three-year wedding anniversary, Luke and I drove to Merrillville last weekend to drop off the kids with his parents and enjoy some one-on-one time together. Even though things are getting easier at home (Nathan has four weeks of sleeping through the night under his belt, holla!), life is still crazy busy for us, and most of our energies are funneled into changing diapers, washing dishes, folding laundry, or some other maintenance-related activity. We weren't gone twenty-four hours, but oh, my gosh, we SO needed this.

Our destination: New Buffalo, Michigan, and the surrounding wine trail. Since we didn't want to spend the whole day parked in front of a bar, we decided to hang out at the Round Barn Winery, where for five dollars you can sample five traditional wines, one dessert wine, and one house vodka. Luke and I have never been regular drinkers, but we do enjoy wine and also hella-cheap activities for the older-than-two crowd, so this was a perfect way to kill two birds with one stone. We bought a bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon to take back to our hotel room that night. Neither one of us tried the vodka--I sampled a second dessert wine (note to self: not a fan of dessert wines), while Luke traded his vodka and his dessert wine for beer.

 

I'm not an idiot who fake drinks out of paper bags but I play one on the Internet!

Afterwards, we drove into town and spent some time at the New Buffalo City Beach, just talking as we strolled along the lakeshore.

 

It's only been through my relationship with Luke that I've grown to love the beach, and since a lot of our vacations have been beach-centered, it makes sense that I think of it as "our" place, no matter where we are.

 

After making a quick pitstop at our hotel to change clothes, we went to dinner at Timothy's Restaurant at Gordon Beach Inn. It was a pricier meal than we originally planned on, but there was a fireplace in the dining room and no high chairs to be found. Worth every penny.

 

Part of the reason we felt comfortable having such a fancy dinner was that our hotel room was free. Luke had leftover reward points saved from his last job, so he used them to snag a reservation at a Fairfield Inn that had only been open eight weeks. I really loved the decor and took silly pictures of the carpet in the hallway to adequately capture the memory.

 

After dinner we grabbed some ice cream and headed back to the hotel, where we watched The Suze Orman Show and the end of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and then turned off the TV to drink our wine and talk and talk and talk. We were up by 6:30 a.m. the next morning, so eager were we to get back to our babies, even though they were in perfectly wonderful hands and probably wouldn't have minded a little more play time with Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe.

 

This trip will live in my memory as one of my favorites. It was the perfect amount of time to be away--long enough to recharge the marital battery, but not so long that missing the kids affected our ability to have a good time. It was so nice to just hang out with each other like we used to. We won't be doing it every weekend, but we have talked about making it a point to get out, just the two of us, every month or so. We're even trying to institute a weekly date night at home, though we have yet to actually follow through on that one. To be fair, Tuesday was the Billy Joel/Elton John concert, and while we had to miss the finale in order to relieve our baby-sitter, we did spend a good portion of Elton's "Levon" performance looking at pictures of the kids on Luke's cell phone. That counts as quality time when you're parents, right?

 

Happy (belated) anniversary, honey.

Things that make you go SOB

Since last Friday, I've been subjected to the following delightful one-liners:

Coworker: Look at you! I'm gonna have to start calling you "Big Belly."

New Hire: So, our interview's on for tomorrow? You won't have any labor stuff happening?

The Cash Register at Cracker Barrel: December? You sure there's not two in there?

To top it all off, Luke and I went to Babies R Us to register last night (it's one-thirty in the morning; I can say "last night," right?), and I sat next to a woman with a December 26th due date whose belly was equal in size to my 19-week bathroom snapshot.

Are those good enough reasons to cry into your husband's shirt sleeve? No? How about this?

I'm completely overwhelmed by all the crap we'll need for this baby. I'm not talking about yuppy things like shopping-cart covers or wipe warmers, but actual essentials, you know, like the three-hundred-and-twenty-dollar breast pump that I'm praying to God will allow me to maintain an adequate milk supply once I go back to work, and the bottles necessary for Freka to eat in my absence, and good God, how many bottle sizes are there?

I'm worried that I'll fail at breastfeeding, so no, Similac, I don't want to sign up for your free tote right now, can you give me a chance to at least try the boob before you bombard me with advertising?

I'm amazed at how quickly money is about to run through our fingers. New car for Luke? Ha! We'll need that dough for leftover registry items, maternity leave, extra life insurance, and last-minute hospital expenses, because even though I think we're all set, you never know with insurance companies. We'll also need to pay a lawyer to establish official guardianship for our baby in the event of our untimely demise, because rumor has it babies are totally co-dependent and won't lift a finger to sustain their own livelihood. Good luck finding someone to take you in with that attitude, kid.

I'm obsessed about my size (thank you so much, coworkers and RANDOM STRANGERS) and convinced that I have gestational diabetes or a womb filled with multiples who were somehow clever enough to avoid the scrutiny of the ultrasound camera.

I'm nervous about preparing for my three-month hiatus from office life. Is there some kind of maternity leave etiquette that dictates how often I should communicate with coworkers? Do I have to check my e-mail? Show my face under the guise of a social call? Pretend I'll miss my job and be super-dee-duper excited to come back?

Before you call the suicide hotline on my behalf, know that it's not all gloom and doom around here. Luke and I had a great time this weekend checking out the Real Pirates exhibit on display at the Cincinnati Museum Center. We also took a boat ride on the Ohio River, visited friends in Kentucky, and went fossil hunting at a state park on the way home. The closer I get to losing my DINK membership, the more grateful I am for moments like these. Even if they involve watching visually horrific clinkers like The Hills Have Eyes and Saw III and begging my husband to walk me to the bathroom at two a.m.

Me in my 26-week glory. You'll notice my belly button decided to host its own "coming out" party, and those track pants? Are my favorite pants in all the world. Most elastic irritates the hell out of my stomach these days; either the bands are too tight or too itchy or too...too. Can you believe they expect pregnant women to wear clothes for the entire nine months?

Shit. Maybe I'm having twins after all.

How We Spent Our Last Baby-Free Vacation

Growing up, the concept of vacationing was foreign to me. With five children and a stay-at-home mother, time and money never seemed to be on my family's side. Visiting new places never seemed possible, and I was constantly in awe of friends who frolicked on the beach in Florida or camped out at a nearby park. They had to be rich, I remember thinking. Normal people can't afford to sleep in hotels or rent cabins or pay for admission into Disney World. And then I met Luke.

While we haven't exactly traveled the world, my husband and I have done our fair share of enjoying the U.S. since we started dating in 2001. We've hiked and camped and tobaggoned in various state parks throughout Indiana; gone to Pennsylvania to visit friends; accompanied Saint Joe's Habitat for Humanity chapter to Texas; seen the view at Niagara Falls from Canada and New York. And just this weekend, we embarked on our first trip to Mackinac Island, prefaced with a couple of days in Ludington and Traverse City, Michigan.

First day in Ludington, and the first of FIVE glorious days in the sun. A welcome change from our last few trips.

Luke's original plan for Friday was to hike to the lighthouse in Ludington State Park, but leaving Merrillville right around lunchtime, encountering one wrong turn, and fighting through interstate traffic meant we didn't even arrive in Ludington until early evening. We had dinner and spent the night in a quaint little motel watching two hours of Law and Order. All I did was sit in the damn car and I was still exhausted.

To make up for our lack of activity the day before, we were packed up and on the way to the park by nine o'clock the next morning. Hiking to the lighthouse took almost an hour, but I savored every minute. In between laying on the couch, gagging over the toilet, and sitting in front of the computer, I'd forgotten how good it felt to move my body. Meanwhile, Luke was so happy to be out and about I could have cried for him. He really has been so wonderful to me these last couple of months, and he more than deserved this time to play.

View from the top of the lighthouse. It's hard to believe we weren't overlooking an ocean.

Afterwards, we walked along the beach, grabbed our car, and moved on to our next destination: Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.

With all the hiking we did that morning, I knew I couldn't do any more, so we opted for a scenic driving tour that had twelve designated spots where you could get out of your car and take in the view. This was the third one, I think.

The sign isn't kidding about the 450-foot drop. Can you believe people were actually attempting to climb it? Because they were. Luke seemed interested, and I told him he was more than welcome. The baby and I were perfectly willing to wait in the car.

One of the few shots we have together from the trip. Every time I see the beach in our photos I die a little inside, wishing we could've taken a dip in the water, but the lake's temperature was cold, colder than your mom, even, and I decided that splashing around in our pool at home would suit me just fine.

A day ten times busier than our first, and I was ten times as tired. I swear I thought I was sunsick, even though I'd lathered on SPF 30 sunscreen before we left the motel.

Sunday was the big day--the day we headed for Mackinac Island! We made it to Mackinaw City (yes, correct spelling) in the early afternoon, amazed that the weather was still on our side. I can't tell you how many trips we've taken that were tainted with clouds or rain or both. Apparently, June is "the" month to travel.

Mackinac Bridge. We didn't cross it, but Luke took this shot from the ferry.

By the time we reached the island, it was three o'clock. After checking in at the hotel and making our way back to the main strip, it was almost four, making it too late to get in on any of the activities we'd planned (read: Luke planned) for our stay, so we basically just walked around and looked for a place to eat dinner. We were both a little bummed about not doing more but knew the second day would more than make up for it.

Here's where I'll say a few words about our lodging of choice: Mission Point Resort, one of the fancier overnight options available on the island.

Arrangements for our stay inspired a bit of a squabble back in April because Luke wanted to stay at one of the chain establishments in Mackinaw City and I wanted to splurge for something nicer, like a bed and breakfast. For each trip we've taken, we've always scrimped on our hotel; for our time in Niagara, we (read: Luke) chose a hotel room on the base level of the building, as in, we could see our car and the rest of the parking lot from our window, because the rate was fifty bucks a night. Seeing as this is the last "big" vacation we'll take together before Freke's arrival, I wanted to upgrade to a place that didn't market a box of doughnuts and a gallon of milk as a continental breakfast, nevermind that we'd be staying at the height of the tourist season, nevermind that two nights at this charming resort cost half a grand. Luke actually picked this place because it offered a package that included round-trip ferry tickets, breakfast at two of their four restaurants, and tickets to their in-house museum.

And was it worth it? you ask. Well, the breakfast buffet featured sausage, bacon, waffles, omelets, fresh fruit, and pastries. It was definitely worth it.

On Monday morning Luke went on a bike ride while I slept in, and the rest of the day was spent taking a leisurely carriage ride, visiting Fort Mackinac, walking in and out of fudge shops, and reminding ourselves to add Somewhere in Time (filmed on the island) to our Blockbuster queue.

The above picture is of the famous Grand Hotel, which charges twelve dollars per person just to walk in front of the damn building, so Luke took this from his seat in the carriage. The guide said they feature a suite available for three thousand dollars a night. THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS. A NIGHT. Holy God.

When you're on Mackinac Island, you gotta have fudge. On our first day we snacked on a quarter pound of Ryba's peanut butter but later remembered that we can get Ryba's any ole time we want to from Navy Pier, so when it came time to bring some home, we went with JoAnn's, and it actually tasted better. I was chowing down on some chocolate peanut butter goodness last night while yelling at the soon-to-be American citizen on Deal or No Deal to take the freaking seventy-one thousand dollars already and quit talking about rising like a Phoenix from the ashes or whatever.

Here's a view from Fort Mackinac. Are you seeing all the bright sun and blue sky and shimmery water? So gorgeous.

And the bonus to all that fun? The resort had HBO, so on Monday night we caught the premiere of the second season of Big Love.

Luke and I had such a wonderful time on this vacation, and all throughout we talked about different trips we want to take in the future and how we don't want the fact that we'll have a baby to hold us back from all the exciting things we want to do. Call us naive if you want, but we firmly believe that life is as easy or as difficult as you make it out to be, and if you approach traveling with children as a big deal, it's going to be a big deal. We don't want to it to be a big deal. We want to explore the country and eventually the world, even during the years Freke will be too young to remember, because life is not all about Freke. It's about the two of us being in this adventure together and how we choose to raise our family, and I refuse to make choices that might lead Freke to believe anything is out of reach or impossible.

Nothing is impossible.

As I continue to catch up on work and apartment upkeep, please forgive me for not responding individually to comments left in my absence. Consider me back on the bandwagon starting today.

Sweet Home Chicago

At the time I sit down to publish this, there's still one minute left of Weight Loss Wednesday, but right now I don't care about Weight Loss Wednesday. If you think that's due to Frema gaining two pounds in one week, you're only partly right.

Luke's and my weekend extravaganza kicked off with the long-awaited Jerry Seinfeld show in downtown Indianapolis. Prior to our living together, I had no interest in Jerry Seinfeld, in his stand-up or his trivial, nothing little show, but the minute Luke's bags dropped at the front of my door step, all preconceived notions flew out the window and soon I was pissing my pants with the best of them over Jerry's housecleaning prostitute and "not that there's anything wrong with that" bit. On Friday night we hurried home from work, scarfed down a couple of bacon sandwiches (bacon sandwiches for me, at least, as in, no lettuce, and tomato on the side), and scurried out the door a good forty minutes before the seven o'clock start time. And if all we had to do was pull into the Murat Theatre parking lot, claim a space, and make our way to the ticket booth, I would've had plenty of time to relieve myself before finding our seats. However, coming from a city as ginormous as Chicago, I never in my wildest dreams imagined we'd actually have to deal with something as "big city" as parking issues and therefore allotted zero extra time to address the crowds.

The Murat lot was, of course, full, so our only option was to seek comfort in the arms of another, less sophisticated one, one with lower standards and no ability to accept credit card payments. This meant wasting ten minutes of pee time circling the block, rejoicing over the spotting of a bank and simultaneously cursing the fact that IT DID NOT HAVE AN ATM, WHAT THE HELL CENTURY ARE WE LIVING IN, PEOPLE, before victory was ours.

Once the car was secured in a no-tow zone, we flew up eight flights of stairs, during which I realized I paid seventy-seven dollars a ticket to squeeze my legs together, attempting to hold back the yellow flood, in the middle of the damn balcony. But we made it on time, seconds before the opening act, and twenty minutes later Jerry skidaddled onto the stage, and I actually shed a tear, so happy was I to see him. Urinate, schmurinate. What's another eighty minutes of holding it in for Jerry freaking Seinfeld?

The next morning, we saddled up for three glorious days in Chi-town. Luke was on assignment at a national housewares exhibit, and his room just happened to be at the W Lakeshore, one of BlogHer's own hotels of choice, and also the place where Molly and I and Isabel and Hollow Squirrel will be partying like it's 1999 this July. I felt it was my duty as a blogger to take two days off from work and test the waters.

I've just laid the framework for the perfect segue into hotel pictures, but first I have to tell you about this.

For the first time since my dad purchased his rad Harley motorcycle last summer, he took me for a ride around town. We zipped along on Archer Avenue, past our local Jewel, past the McDonald's that issued my first paycheck, past the abandoned lot behind the train station where my first boyfriend and I would make out like rabbits. There are condos there now. It's all very sad.

(I didn't tell my dad that, though. It was traumatizing enough for him to catch the two of us sucking face in the very alley you see above. I'm glad we're able to share such treasured memories surrounding my coming of age.)

OK, the hotel. This was without a doubt the most la-dee-da overnighter I've ever stayed in. The toiletries were provided by the spa housed below the main level, the convenience basket featured a ten-dollar pair of flip-flops, and there was a window (with shutters!) built into the wall of our bathroom. I scratched my head on that one for a good twenty-four hours, until I realized you could number two and still catch the results of that last DNA test on Judge Hatchett. Genius!

If the architects were smart enough to marry bowel movements and the boob tube, why could they not understand the importance of being able to cop a squat on the royal throne while your spouse is lathering up?

After Luke's Monday shift at McCormick Place, we moseyed on over to Navy Pier and took turns using our new digital camera. These shots were my feeble attempt at capturing the atmosphere.

I wonder how many first dates are staged here, how many first kisses? Over the summer they hold a fireworks display over Lake Michigan twice a week. It doesn't get more romantic than that.

The Pier is home to the nationally renowned Shakespeare Theatre, so one might think Luke is auditioning for an upcoming play here, but he's actually miming my intense dismay over the fact that Pretzelmaker is gone, my friends. GONE. The salted Parmesan cheese pretzel with garlic and I never even got to say good-bye. Sniff.

It also took my husband some time to absorb the shock. "Why, God, why?"

To be sure, it was a fantastic weekend, filled with family, friends, hair cuts (praise Jesus), my father's homemade barbequed ribs, and two issues of Marie Claire (which I absolutely love. Glamour's cookie-cutter opines pale in comparison. Thanks, Matt and Patty!). The memories I carried with me to work today just about made up for neglecting to factor in the time change when programming the VCR for 24. Dammit.

Because Enough With The Damn Shoes Already

I don't know what why, but ever since the wedding, I've had a hard time maintaining any semblance of consistency with this blog. I went from hourly posts in the days leading up to Luke's and my nuptials to semi-weekly paragraphs about whether or not to converse with coworkers when I pee. I love to write here. I want to write here. For some reason, though, it's hard to sit in front of the computer screen and arrange words in a way that best represent what I'm feeling. Thanks for continuing to bear with me.

So it's been one week. A lot has happened in just one week. For example, last Friday the two of us embarked on a three-day, two-night camping trip to Indiana Dunes State Park, part of the state's national lakeshore, with Samantha and Dan, where we hiked, smored, swam, and slept. Well, they slept. That first night I spotted two Daddy Long Legs at the foot of our sleeping bag and thought I would pass out from the fear that one of them would crawl into my mouth if I dared to shut my eyes. The next morning, I woke to find a spider tangled in my blanket. I actually shouted "Eeek!" loud enough to pull a few chuckles from the campers next to our site.

That night, I was so paranoid about letting in more of God's creatures that I refused to leave the tent, even to use the Port-A-Potty twenty feet away. The pain in my bladder was so strong that it thankfully knocked me out into uncomfortable slumber.

(On a side note, while everyone ELSE was snoozing away, I did manage to devour eighty pages of Not Without My Daughter, a paperback my sister likes to make out with every couple of years or so and I'm assuming keeps stashed in her Buick Park Avenue in case she's ever stuck in traffic as a passenger in her own car. I ended up taking the book home and finishing it by Monday night.)

In other "me" happenings, I've been reading a lot again, as evidenced by my devouring a four-hundred-and-twenty page book in the span of two days. I've read all the Christopher Pike books I found at the half-priced bookstore, a Sweet Valley High Christmas special, and on a lighter note, some thoughtful religious debate. Two Mondays ago I delved into another nonfiction piece, Morgan Spurlock's Don't Eat This Book: Fast Food and the Supersizing of America, penned by the guy who digested one month's worth of "McFood" and lived to bring his tale to the big screen. The timing seemed about right, considering my latest attempts at healthy living, and when I checked out the book at the local library, I was feeling pretty confident about all things nuitritional.

Today I'm in the midst of chapter ten and pretty much want to throw up. A delightful excerpt follows:

Beef factories are models of waste-not want-not efficiency. Filthy, disgusting, and disease-ridden, maybe, but terribly efficient. Very little of one of these cows is discarded. Leftover bits and pieces are scooped up, ground together, and fed back to the cows. And then those cows are ground up and fed to you.

Other fun facts about the dangers of current American eating habits:

• By 1996, boys and girls consumed twice as much soda as milk. As of September 2004, nine million American kids between the ages of six and eighteen were obese.
• Obesity-related illnesses will kill around 400,000 Americans this year--almost the same as smoking.
• Diet and obesity have been linked to increased risk for breast, colon, endometrial, esophageal, and kidney cancer.

Read this book. It'll change your life. At the very least, you'll glean new insights into the case of the old woman who won a mega-bucks lawsuit against the Golden Arches by claiming her coffee was too hot. (Turns out it really was!)

Finally, I suppose there's one more piece of news you ought to know about. A piece of news that is about to change our lives. A piece of news that will eventually mean savings and houses and babies and maybe even a new Web site.

Luke has a new job. He starts next Wednesday.

He's not disclosing much detail on his own blog, so I'm going to respect his wishes and keep the jobspeak to a minimum. Know it's a very good job, full time, in his field, with room for advancement, and he actually had TWO positions to choose from because he's just that good. And this opportunity couldn't have come at a better time, as we were literally *thisclose* to charging next month's car insurance renewal to our Visa card.

It's been a long time coming, and he so deserves this. I'm so thankful God thinks we deserve this. Or maybe we don't. Maybe it's like what Lost A Sock said when revealing her own husband's new career move, "When your prayers begin to be answered you know that you must be damn lucky, because there are lots and lots of people with the same prayers and the same work ethic. And you have to keep yourself in check, and go above and beyond your norm to pay it forward, because experiencing good times comes with the responsibility of sharing."

Whether due to grace, grunt work, or chance, we're more than willing to share.

Oh Yeah, I Had a Honeymoon

I'm sorry, Internet. Here I've been blathering over superficial matters like the salvation of my soul when I promised to enlighten you about the fabulous trip that was Luke's and my honeymoon.

And I would, if that new husband of mine hadn't beaten me to it.

His write-up is a pretty good one, so just go and read that. However, I will say I learned more about my shortcomings in those four days than during the course of my twenty-six years of life. Like:

I am no good at driving. Frema's a very lucky girl in that, for the most part, Luke does all the driving. In this case, there were nine hours of quality car time to endure--five and a half from northern Indiana to Michigan, where we spent the night in a hotel where the idea of a continental breakfast consisted of a Frosted Flakes dispenser and a box of Hostess Donuts, and three and a half hours to Canada. The day before, halfway to said hotel, I offered to take over and unwittingly proceeded to steer us forty-five minutes in the completely opposite direction. So, not only did I tack on an extra hour and a half to the trip, it was raining on and off ALL DAY, meaning a journey that should've taken fewer than six hours ended up equaling almost the entire length of the trip. Next morning I was eager to prove to Luke I could get behind the wheel without repeating imbecile behavior like confusing I-69 with I-96. This leads directly into my next item.

I am no good at customs. Because I was driving, our safe passage through Candian customs solely depended on my ability to utilize common sense. Apparently, though, such positions of power render me unable to take advantage of my brain bank, because when asked about our citizenship, I answered Illinois, even though it's been four years since I owned a Windy City driver's license and, you know, IT'S NOT A COUNTRY, and when questioned about the possession of firearms and/or other defensive weapons, and I actually paused to stare at Luke in wonder, like, I don't know, honey, DID we pack our nine-millimeter automatic?

Luke was not pleased.

"For future reference, we are from the United States," he said, once we (surprisingly) crossed the border. "Also, if someone asks you about weapons, just say no."

I am no good at gambling. That first night in Canada, we had a nice dinner and decided to treat ourselves to an evening of fun and potential profit at Casino Niagara. It was my first time participating in gaming activity, and I didn't expect to feel so intimidated by the hoards of men and women who probably TiVo shows like The History of Poker and rip the pants off their grandmas in no-mercy marathons of Texas Hold'em. I'd been so excited at the thought of sitting in front of the dealer, maliciously stroking my piles of winning chips, slapping the palm of my hand on that luscious green table cover until I remembered professional dealers aren't as willing to answer your questions during a hand, even the most thought-probing ones, like "How much is the ace is worth again?" and "When is it MY turn?" This meant Luke represented the Frema-Useless Clutter household by default, and he actually won thirty bucks at Black Jack, but I was so, "Do it again!" "Again!" "Yeah, baby, AGAIN!" that we walked away with nothing. I then proceeded to whittle away another six dollars at the slots because I liked pulling the silver lever.

In my defense, I am VERY good at finishing off a quarter pound of cookies'n cream fudge, falling asleep in the car, and pouting over the the rain we experienced at some point EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. of our honeymoon. Luke is already counting his blessings.

* I had pictures to share with you, but Blogger is being a stupidhead, so I'll have to try again tomorrow. In the meantime, will wedding proofs do? Find 'em by visiting this Web site, clicking "Online Proofing," and finding our last names. Enjoy.