Whew. Things seem to have calmed down a wee bit in my office, and I think I finally caught most of the way back up on my mail and various tasks. By which I mean, I’m only like 2 years behind at this point. As the old saying goes, “God put me here on earth to perform a number of tasks. Right now I’m so far behind that he’s probably going to smite me and give my tasks to someone competent.” Or whatever.
Does God still smite people, or are we assuming that it’s just dumb luck and poor medical care? Discuss.
So: Texas, and trip thereunto. I had purchased plane tickets back in June, not long after Charles popped out, and long before we realized an important fact about him: at about 6pm every day, he gets moderately cranky and displeased with his lot in life, mostly because he’s tired, and partially because of the whole Hezbollah thing. Our flight down was, of course, scheduled for 5:20pm. The flight back up: 6:25pm. Peak Charles Sadness Time.
Even better, we decided it would be best to fly into Austin, to which there are no direct flights from Philadelphia. So we were dealing with layovers, and plane changing, and the distinct possibility that a baggage handler would lose the base to our carseat, which would force us to secure Charles to the backseat with chewing gum and strands of hair.
Charles was, of course, a perfectly good boy. Sarah and I were, of course, sobbing wrecks. Imagine the last time you were on an airplane with a screaming infant, and how annoyed you were at being trapped in an enclosed space with it; now, multiply that stress by a factor of ten. Luckily, for most of the flights Charles didn’t make a peep. This did little to alleviate our stress level. Scotch, however, did.
We discovered at some point that airlines routinely don’t assign passengers to the first 2 rows of coach class, reserving them for who knows what, and when you get to the gate you can request to be placed in them, if you get there early enough. So we did. On the first flight, from Philadelphia to Austin, we were in a three person row with some poor soul who clearly had done the same thing, but hadn’t counted on the presence of a small infant, and was NOT pleased about it. He avoided eye contact with us at all times, except for once when glanced over his way and he immediately poked himself in the eye with the safety instruction booklet.
Charles must have sensed the animosity somehow, because he tried to pee on the guy. We were doing a quick in-cabin diaper change (simpler than carrying him all the way to the back to use the john), and Charles decided to let fly just as Sarah was starting to peel the diaper back. We caught it just in time, although I did get pee on my jeans. This is something I’ve grown to accept about fatherhood: I will, most of the time, smell strongly of urine and rancid milk.
We landed around 10:30 Central time, gathered our luggage (packing light is not an option where infants are concerned), and made our way to the rental car counter, which was right by the baggage return. Handy, that. Even better, the rental cars were parked right across the street! We didn’t have to take a bus driven by a toothless drunk to get to our car? I nearly wept for joy, which meant I dropped a suitcase on my toe, which caused me to weep fo’ realz.
We loaded up the car, and I drove while Sarah and Charles slept. The drive was about 2 hours, and was actually rather pleasant, except for when a deer ran out into the road and I discovered that the rental-car model of the Pontiac Grand Prix is not equipped with anti-lock brakes. Scared the bejeebers out of Sarah; Charles didn’t even wake up. I wasn’t able to ascertain the opinion of the deer on the situation, but I’m guessing it was “What the heck, man? It’s midnight! What are you doing out? Jeepers. I hate humans.”
We arrived in Mason late that night and got set up in Sarah’s parents house, which was originally constructed in the late 19th century, with additions and outbuildings built over the next century or so. It unfortunately burned a bit back in the 90s, but has been almost completely restored to its former glory. Sarah’s parents have been working hard on it for some time, taking up to 2 months out of every year to drive down and paint/decorate/repair. I myself spent a couple afternoons helping Charles the Elder rebuild the old fence that keeps cows from wandering onto the homestead.
The morning after our arrival, Sarah’s uncle Fred came over to greet us, and he and Sarah’s dad and I went out to do rancher things. We “moved water,” which means moving around the massive irrigation sprinklers that Fred uses to keep his fields moist in the drought that they’re currently experiencing, and also stopped by the cattle auction to watch them, well, auction cattle. It’s pretty much what you think; they bring a bunch of cattle in, and a guy is rattling off a patter that pretty much sounds like “heeeeeeey-batter-batter-batter-look-at-that-heifer-ain’t-
she-sweet-she’s-got-a-nice-wiggle-do-I-hear-50-no-60-no-that-was-just-a-
twitch-I-guess-how-about-55-then-okay-that’s-totally-cool-now-60-65-70-
okay-sold-to-the-fat-guy-in-the-hat-no-the-other-fat-guy-no-you-in-the-
red-yes-you-you-just-bought-a-cow-you-idiot-etc.” It’s pretty neat, and they had barbecue brisket available for lunch.
The following day we stuck close to the house, because it was well over 100 degrees outside. I spent most of it shooting at things with Sarah’s dad, trying not to embarrass him too outrageously, but what can I say? If I can see it, I can hit it. I am that awesome. You do not want to step to this.
Wednesday we went into town and did a tour of the local shops. The town square has hit some kind of boom; when we were last in Mason, 3 or 4 years ago, there were one or two small antique shops and a few other specialty stores. Now, the stores completely ring the courthouse square, and we went into most of them so Sarah could buy presents for people that she likes. Luckily, Sarah doesn’t really like that many people, so it was a quick trip.
Thursday, we went to nearby Fredricksburg for more shopping and exploring. Fredricksburg is an interesting place; I sort of describe it as a mini-Austin. It caters to a sort of artsy, hippie crowd, and has a fair amount of upscale shops and art galleries and the like. It also has the Chester Nimitz Museum, celebrating the town’s favorite son. We bought a few things, and went to a hot dog place and had some seriously loaded down 1/4 pound dawgs. Mine: chili, cheese, and onions. I gassed up the car real good on the way home, if you catch my drift.
Friday was a travel day, heading to Waco, where Sarah’s grandparents live. We made a stop on the way at Harry’s in San Saba to purchase me some righteous new boots, as well as a stop at Weber’s gun store in Temple (also notable for being Sarah’s mom’s hometown) because I wanted a new pocket knife. We also went to a Dairy Queen for grub. The trip took, with all the stops, about 6 hours, during which Charles slept like a marathon-winner. That boy sure does love the car, I tell you what.
The time in Waco was spent visiting with family and relaxing; Saturday night was Papaw’s big 80th birthday party, so all of Sarah’s aunts and uncles and cousins were there, including Kelli and her husband Brandon and their Brood (the capital B is for big; they have 4 kids, all born within a year of each other, due to the magic of triplets and extreme virility).
We went to church on Sunday, and then just hung out on Monday and Tuesday, watching TV and playing with Charles. Wednesday we flew back home, and that was that. Then I went to work on Thursday and immediately wanted to kill a lot of people.
