visits, vomit, Starbucks, and a pickup truck

Nana and Pipop (Claire's name for her grandpop) came down from New Jersey for a nice visit last week.  Almost as soon as they walked in the door, Claire had them reading to her as she showed them all of her favorite things.  And so it went for a few days.  Read, read, read.  Play, play, play.  Love, love, love.

Oh how that girl loves her Nana and Pipop!

I came down with a stomach bug the last day or so of their visit and luckily it left as quickly as it came.  Two nights later I found myself in bed with a babe who was having a lot of trouble getting settled.  She woke at 3am and vomited, and continued to do so until about 7am.  I've said it before, and I imagine I will continue to for a long time: nothing makes me feel like a mother more than mothering my girl when she is feeling unwell.  I changed her into clean pajamas twice before deciding we were gonna stick to diapers and towels, and held her as she heaved and then fell quickly to sleep on my chest (over and over again), so so tired of all that work her little body was doing at such wee hours.

Mike got home from work at 7:30am and we all got into my car and headed to Virginia.  Yes, I know.  That doesn't quite sound right.   I must be getting story lines crossed, right?  No.  Mike was purchasing a small pickup from someone 2 hours away and that morning, despite the sickly baby girl, was the most opportune time for us to make the trip to get it.

Not ideal, of course.  I was exhausted and clearly Claire was not up for a road trip.

But we made it~  the truck was pretty much just what Mike was looking for, and after a little paper signing and hand shaking we were on our way back home.  (He found the truck on craigslist and we were a little surprised when we discovered the seller was all of 17- in fact his grandpa even had to go get him out of Spanish class so he could meet us to complete the transaction.  Ha!)

Sleepy eyed, I grabbed some coffee to help keep me awake on the drive home and Claire slept most of the way, as she had on the way there, as we followed papa in his new (old) truck.

That coffee, by the way, came from Starbucks.  Generally I am NOT a fan of Starbucks for multiple reasons, but that morning it seemed like the best option.  The girl looked at me like I had two heads when I ordered a small and a medium coffee to go.  Okay, I know.  It's Starbucks.  I'm supposed to say I want a tall and a grande to go.  Or is it a venti?  I don't know.  Maybe I'm unsophisticated.  Possibly I'm just too stubborn to give in to silly coffee lingo pressure.  The coffee, (since I'm already rambling here) though hot and caffeinated and therefore fitting the bill, left a lot to be desired.  It tasted burnt.  And not in the way that some people think very strong coffee tastes burnt, because I'm used to that.  I like strong coffee.  This tasted burnt in a "that coffee is burnt" way.  Oh, and they don't have butter for their bagels. I actually laughed out loud when she told me.  Because I guess I kinda thought she was joking.  But no.  It was for real.  Why sell bagels if you don't have butter? (is what I wanted to say)  Instead, I put on my non-whining grown-up hat and thanked her for the cream cheese.

I am done complaining about Starbucks now.

I suppose I just really like my small local coffee shop.