the district

I'm going to do it.
I'm going to put you through another trip recap.
I'm a sinner - you're a saint, I know!

Theo feels you.

After this trip I solemnly swear that I am not leaving the house for an extended period of time until luh-hoooong after the baby is born. So ... you're just going to have to suck it up and hold on tight or click out.

The last time I was in DC was a few months before our wedding for a bridal shower (and I really wish I had been big on capturing every blessed moment on cellular camera back then like I am today because my team was totally robbed of first place in the toilet paper wedding dress competition and I would've liked to offer photographic evidence for you to validate my retroactive cries for justice to be carried out) .... so it was kind of crazy flying in almost five years later with Patton child number three to my left and Patton baby #4 in my person on Sunday morning.

That's right.
We crushed Titan.
Simon got off work Sunday morning with ample-ish time to come home, change into his fancies, scrape the Odyssey down, and drive 30 MPH through the storm to the port where we did not miss our flight.

Nothing brings out the nervous in Simon like an airport and security lines and if I had a dime for every time I heard, "where is my boarding pass?!" .... when it is sitting in his right hand ... right where he left it 0.3 seconds ago ... I could treat you to a tall latte. He's starting to rub off on me and so we were a fun bunch to usher through security with the car seat and the stroller and the liquids that had to be tested and the laptop and and and and AND .... I don't know how we didn't just crumple up and cry when we brought three kids through back in September because one child was enough fun for a lifetime.

But we made it.
The security guards guessed that Theo was "2 or 3?" and tried to have a full on conversation with him. The 14 month old mute responded by gnawing on the security badge sticker they presented him and we just politely laughed and went on our harried way.

Just call me Aspiring Grace.

There were 80 empty seats (we were told on 80 different occasions by the gate attendant) so we let Theo have one of them.

Speed it up Grace - you haven't even touched down.

Basically with Simon off at his various conference duties and the snow dump that went down on Monday ... I've been pent up in our hotel room with terrible views ...

And angelic friends that risk their lives to trek through the snow to keep me and Theo company during this time of hardship.
 

Is it just me or is he looking retirement age all of a sudd?

I've been lapping up the television with channels and Oscar coverage like a little puppy ...

And Simon forced me to take some touristy photos this morning before he dashed off to his meetings on the big bad Hill.

Simon calls that his ball gown length coat.
I call this collage the "Capitol photo of the year" ... throw it in a contest and watch it dominate.

There.
Feast your eyes.

The big kids have been home loving life with my mom where they've been treated to trips to the grocery store with permission to use the little carts ...

(my mom reported that Sebastian just tossed whatever "looked good" into his cart and Julia didn't understand that you can't push the cart AND hold hands at the same time. I rest my anti-little cart case.)

Play-doh, Shirley Temple, Bambi and the list goes on, I'm sure. I keep telling myself they miss me but a brief chat with Julia on FaceTime tells me otherwise ...

Grace: "I love you, Julia"
Julia: "mm hmm"

And a little sampling of the texts from my mom who has proved herself a saint ...

"where are the attachments to your vacuum?" (no clue)
"do you have any vinegar?" (I'm not sure)
"does your garbage disposal work?" (no)
"where is Sebastian's tooth brush?" (Simon accidentally packed it)
"do you have any rags for cleaning?" (they're called baby wipes)

... I'm guessing my love for deep cleaning has become abundantly clear back at the homefront.

And now I'm off to not have a Holstein over the onslaught of emails from Southwest that keep pushing and pushing and pushing our flight back late into the night and then sending a, "just kidding! on time!" email to Simon who thinks I've certifiably lost it with my, "we're never leaving" texts.

Pray for Southwest. Or me. And Simon.

Thanks for riding it out.

(... we still have a few hours of trippage left so if you're in the mood for more Patton fun in the notsun and maybe a shot of Simon in his finery on the flight that may or may not take off ... go here here here)