Monday morning I was awakened from my residual post-tryptophan stupor by a racket that I could only assume was what a root canal would sound like on a really bad acid trip. Turned out our landlord decided to bring in a gaggle of workers to tear apart the balcony and rebuild it. A post-holiday gesture which screamed, no, DRILLED AND HAMMERED, “Back to the grind, dear tenants!!”
This after a late night arrival back into SF on Sunday night, and a 5 AM trip BACK to the airport Monday morning to drop The Brit off for a business trip to Chicago. I can only assume that somewhere in that 6-hour interim period (while I was diligently studying the back of my eyelids), The Brit somehow managed to unpack, do a load of laundry, and re-pack. Because if not, The Brit’s work colleagues are probably right this second trying their best to overlook the current state of his dress shirts which surely have a little caked-on mashed potato and gravy…carnage from a Thanksgiving holiday dinner that mostly made it into The Brit’s cakehole.
And oh, what a glorious holiday it was! Boston was many things…among them: Great! Fun! Pretty! And let’s not forget: WICKED COLD! Yes, ‘twas indeed quite frigid! But the risk of flash-freezing my mucous membranes every time I stepped outdoors was well worth the treat of finally having my family meet The Brit’s. (Though a few heat lamps, preferably along the entire length of the Freedom Trail, wouldn’t have hurt…Mayor of Boston, get ON that, eh?) It’s not too often that both of our families are on the same side of the pond, much less in the very same city, MUCH LESS in one of the very cities that is so deeply steeped in our country’s historic separation from…errr…Britain. So, it was…special, to say the least!
Yes, there was much fine dining…and much fine drinking…probably in some of the very same places that our forefathers dined and drank. (And when I say “our” I mean any of “you” that fit into that category, because there certainly wasn’t anyone in our group who ever had a forefather in the New England area.1) Between several dinners out and many visits to cafés and a walking tour there and a shopping expedition here, Mamacusa and Lulu had plenty of time to get acquainted. And I have to say everything went swimmingly…not that I expected anyone to bust out their nunchucks or anything, but still! It went fantastically! So, yay for that. And, of course, Mamacusa got to tell all of her 3 decade old jokes about my ass (her favorite one being the one about how she didn’t need an episiotomy to get my head and shoulders out but BOY DID SHE NEED IT WHEN SHE HAD TO PUSH MY ASS OUT…HA HA HA) and I got to smile politely and pretend that I thought it was funny for the gazillionth time. And, of course, Lulu got to share stories about her son. And, bless her, she came armed with pictures!
Exhibit A:
Is that not the cutest 7 month old chubbers you ever did see? Yep…he was a good eater, that one. To be fair, though, so was I…
With any luck, our future children will get his dimples, my hair, and his easy going temperament.
1. Considering our group of people consisted of mostly British, a few Cubans, one Gibraltarian (The Brit’s Uncle) and one Vizsla (my brother’s new adorable puppy). Only one of our group members insisted on chewing on everything in sight…let it be known that’s the last time we invite the Gibraltarian anywhere!
Dear la cubana gringa. Sounds like a great holiday. Hopefully the Brit did get the washing done. Lordy, what an uninspired comment from moi.
Indeed, LCG! Mija, if you ever give birth to a daughter like you, you will be talking about it into the next century! Seriously, you will do well to have a daughter like you and a son like the Brit, as we love you both very much and couldn’t be happier for you! ;o) We just hope it will be while we can still remember who they are!
The weekend in Boston was super, and meeting his family was fantastic. Lulu and Mamacusa could make a frighteningly awesome Mom-team, eh?
We could have sworn we heard Paul Revere’s ghost shouting “The British are coming, and they want to eat, drink, and shop!”
My oh my, wasn’t that a party?
I hope the kids get your wit and razor sharp hilarious sense of humor!
Boston is lots of fun, but damn cold, glad you had a great time!
Gotta get Boston Cream Pie from Mikey’s on Hanover street. OOOOOh yah. After an Italian dinner, of course.
That’s really cool that everyone got to be together!
Scarlett & Viaggiatore
Awwww, look at that blond hair! And you with your pierced ears and pink frilly dress… ADORABLE. Isn’t it funny how EVERY child from the seventies who had a professional portrait taken had to pose atop the orange rug?? But I guess the eighties were no better, what with their fake landscape backdrops.
Anyway, glad you made it back!
I’m so glad it went well. Hurray! You guys are so very very cute. I love your little smile. It shows your willingness to take on the world. Hurray for you!
LMM – Turns out, he DID do laundry. (And not to worry…I LIVE for uninspired comments like those…well, that and cheese, of course.)
TLM & Mamacusa – It was most certainly grand!
Scarlett – Boston Cream Pie? Is that like Banana Cream Pie? Because I do love me some banana cream!
Catherine – My guess is that you are indeed right…that orange rug saw a LOT of ass in the 70’s.
Claudia – Either that or my willingness to take on cheese. Toss up, really.
Nice post i really enjoyed
Your babies look sooooooooo cute