Remember that thing where that one part of my life exploded into a flame ball? Not to whine or anything, but I really needed to back away from the flame for a little bit so my eyebrows wouldn't get singed. At about 3:30 on Friday afternoon 2 weeks ago, Schmoopsie and I booked a hotel room in Logan for a weekend get-away. He raced Lupe over to DogMode (which I think she enjoys more than being home) while I threw some diapers and baby formula into a duffel bag. In less than an hour, we were holding hands on the freeway and singing along to Jack Johnson with our sunglasses on.
Being back in Logan in the summer doused my whole spirit with a waterfall of love for that city. Everything was fabulously, wonderfully, incredibly gorgeous. Turns out hiking in the Wellsvilles is even more fabulous with a baby tied to my body and a husband 2 steps ahead of me than it was when I was in college.
And even better with the aforementioned baby strapped to the aformentioned husband instead.
(Doesn't Bug look a little apprehensive about the change in her human donkey?)
It was so breathtakingly beautiful that I honestly had to squeeze my eyes shut on a number of occasions and force myself to envision everything with 6 feet of snow and filthy air before I accidentally made Schmoopsie move there immediately.
We went to Second Dam up Logan Canyon, which, although I'm sounding completely repetitive, was beautiful. We ate Aggie Blue Mint icecream on the grass outside the Aggie creamery. Let me tell you something very important: you should try Aggie Blue Mint. Right now. Or Bull Tracks, but now we're off track.
We ate at the Bluebird, which has been around long enough that my great grandfather courted my great grandmother at the very same soda counter Bug and I played at while Paddy paid for our food. The portions are so huge that we ate the leftovers at midnight in our hotel room while Bug snoozed in her Pack N' Play.
We took the Bug swimming for the first time in the not-very-hot hot tub at the hotel.
You know how sometimes it's irritating when you're reading a blog and author is blabbing on and on about how wonderful her husband is and how he's handsome and patient and thoughtful and yada yada yada and pretty soon you're dry heaving a little over your Cherrios? Well, I'm actually married to that person she's blogging about. I won't bore you with the details, but if he was a superhero, he'd be Secretly Pay For My Wife To Get A Massage While I Entertain An 8 Month Old In A Hotel Room Man.
An 8 month old who is crawling.
Oh yeah. That's right. As of our tiny family vacation, our Bug is on the move.