So. I leave for California on Thursday, to attend this little bloggy-type shindig conference thing. (You may have heard about it? I don't know. It seems like it may have been discussed recently on a blog or two or four thousand, yawn.)
I leave on Thursday, but would just like to point out that Noah does not leave on Thursday.
In what seemed like a super swell idea a few months ago, Jason proposed taking a mini-vacation post-BlogHer. I leave on Thursday. He leaves on Saturday, after dropping Noah off with his grandparents. Then we return on Wednesday, refreshed and invigorated from a few blissful days of sleeping in and champagne for breakfast and also sleeping in. (Jason: Also sex! Amy: Okay, but only if it doesn't impose on the sleeping in.)
Now that the trip and the reality of non-refundable airline tickets are upon us, this does not seem like such a super swell idea. It seems like a HORRIBLE IDEA. THE WORST IDEA WE EVER HAD, AND PEOPLE, WE PAINTED OUR LIVING ROOM ORANGE.
So I have lately been dealing with this absolutely horrible, terrible idea of ours (we also painted our front door purple. PURPLE!) by pretending that I am not actually going anywhere. I have not packed, or even considered packing. When I get excited emails from blogging friends about BLOGHER! BLOGHER!, I smile wanly and talk about how great it will be to finally meet everybody in person, and then I go drink some tequila.
Yesterday I decided to give myself a little pre-BlogHer pedicure, and then put my shoes on before the polish was completely dry. So judging by my feet, I've actually done NEGATIVE preparation for the trip. I found a suitcase at TJ Maxx to replace the one I kind of broke in New York when it got stuck in an elevator door and I decided that brute force is waaaay better than pressing the "Door Open" button, but then I didn't actually buy the suitcase. I don't know.
I did type out a very detailed schedule for Noah, working from the assumption that Jason and our parents are complete idiots who would feed him a buckets of raw KFC if I did not specify that Noah can eat "SMALL cooked pieces of chicken."
So. Things I Must Do Before Thursday:
1) Teach Noah to express his needs verbally, lest no one remember to clip his fingernails.
2) Illustrate the concept of "sometimes Mama says bye-bye and it's for a little while, but Mama will alway come back because Mama loves you more than anybody on earth, even Daddy, who by the way doesn't feel guilty about leaving you AT ALL, NOT ONE LITTLE BIT, so perhaps you could knock off the delighted screams of delight whenever you see him, or at least try to not KICK MAMA IN THE FACE in your attempts to get to Daddy, but actually, never mind, kick me all you want if it means you won't forget about me, ME, MEEE, I LOVE YOU BAYBEEEEE, WAAAH."
(I'm not sure how to best illustrate that one. I am thinking finger puppets?)
3) Actually purchase suitcase or simply start tossing clothing into a large plastic trash bag, claim it's performance blog art.
4) Locate various batteries and chargers for about four dozen different pieces of electronic equipment, including my brand-new webcam, purchased just so I can watch Noah and pretend that he totally can see me and won't forget about me! And that he cares! See! NOAH! See Mama? Hi! Hi! I am in the computer Noah! Noah! Over here! Over...okay, that's fine! Grandma is great, isn't she! We LOVE Grandma! What? Oh, um. Yeah, hang on. (turns around) People? Could you please stop flashing my webcam? My mother-in-law is not impressed. Thanks.
5) Re-do pedicure.
Anyway, due to the unrelenting march of time, it appears that Thursday will come, ready or not. And I will leave. And I can only hope that the actual leaving will not feel like the actual severing of limbs with a chainsaw.