How I Met Andrew, Part 2

So, no contact at all between Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks.  But the moment I pulled into town, the phone rang.  Halleleuigh!  (I suspect my mother kept his mother in the know regarding my arrival.)

The night I drove into town he took me out to Pyewacket.  A small, dark, delicious gem of a restaurant on Franklin St.  We ate hummus and fish and shared a bottle of wine.  And over the course of three hours we both literally fell in love.  The attraction was mutual (thank you God!) and strong and fast.  He drove me back to my parents house, walked me to the top of the driveway, and kissed me.  He sealed the deal when he held my head in his hands as he pulled me towards him into a firm, long delicious kiss.

I had two weeks off and we spent every night and some of the days together.  By the third night, I became the first (and only) girl he'd ever loved.  Really loved.  And he told me so. 

Those two weeks were amazing.  There is nothing as satisfying as the love you share after 10 or 15 years together.  And there is certainly nothing like the excitement of new love.  We both knew that our lives were changing.  It was unexpected but exactly what we both wanted.

The only challenge was that Andrew had just finished college the previous June.  And was living with his parents.  And I was, of course, staying with mine.  So we had absolutely no privacy.  Until after dinner one night when Andew pulled his car into the horse pasture near the upholstery shop.  And to this day, the smell of horses and hay and fresh mowed grass is like magic!

When I think back on that time, I remember feeling almost dizzy.

How I Met Andrew, Part 1

I was a junior at Washington and Lee University, barely 20 years old, when my dad retired from the Navy and took a job at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

I had spent ninth and tenth grades in Japan, and then eleventh and twelfth grades in Annapolis, Maryland.  We moved, mostly happily, whenever and wherever to Navy told us.

The move to Annapolis halfway through high school was tough for a while but I was lucky enough to attend a small, private prep school.  If I had been sent to Annapolis High School, I think the culture shock may have done me in.  I guess I was really lucky that my parents were perceptive enough to know this.  I met friends after not too long, made the basketball team and started taking Latin, which I loved.

During my first two years of college, Annapolis was "home."  More than any other place.  It certainly wasn't Japan or any of the other myriad of locales I had lived  prior to college.  And I loved coming home during college.  I loved to see my friends and stay on campus of the U.S. Naval Academy, which was where we lived.

But after my parents left Annapolis and moved to Chapel Hill just before my junior year, I suddenly no longer had a "home".  I stayed on campus at W&L that summer and went to summer school.  During breaks I went with my college friends to their home towns.  I had no desire to go to Chapel Hill where I knew not a soul.

Now, at the time of the move to Chapel Hill my sisters were younger and attended elementary and high school.  They both adjusted very well to Chapel Hill.  As a matter of fact, Ashley started the third grade upon her arrival and to this day considers Chapel Hill the only home she's ever known.

Allison started as a sophomore at Chapel Hill High School.  She joined the swim team and acclimated well.  So well, in fact, that she found a boyfriend quite soon after arriving.  Consequently, the boy's mother and our mother became friends.

One day my mother was lamenting to the boy's mother that her eldest daughter (ME!) rarely came to Chapel Hill to visit because she didn't know anyone her age.  The boy's mother said, "Well, I have another son who is almost exactly your daughter's age.  Let me see if he will call Christy the next time she is in town and perhaps introduce her to his friends."

And, what do you know?  The next time I came to town, for Thanksgiving in 1992, Andrew did call.  (Me to my mom who was holding the phone:  Who is is?  What!?  You set this up.  Oh, come on!  This is so embarassing!)  And he asked me out to breakfast.  Breakfast?

"Ummm...No, actually that's not convenient .  It's my break from college.  I get up really early every day, but not on break."

He then asked if I was up by lunchtime.

"Usually.  Tomorrow will be ok."

So, I was about to meet someone my age in my new hometown.

Now, let me digress a bit and explain what I have always been attracted to in men.  Number one, tall men.  And number two, dark haired men with a certain look.  The best way to describe the look is to say that three actors have it and absolutely make me swoon:  Andrew McCarthy, John Cusak and Edward Norton.  Clean shaven, thin and muscular, thick eyebrows, intelligent faces.  I have seen the look in a few men in my life and my knees go weak every time.

So...the next day the doorbell rang, I answered it and almost fell over!  There stood the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen.  6'3", dark hair, clean shaven, thin and muscular, thick eyebrows, intelligent face.  O M G!

So we went out to lunch and had a great, albeit awkward conversation.  After all, we were just babies!  Just 21 years old.  But here were definitely some sideways glances and easy smiles.  Our eyes lingered on each other's a beat longer than necessary a couple times.  There was a spark there for sure.  We ended up spending the day together.  Watched a movie at my parents' houise.  And then he left.  I thought we'd had a good time but he said nothing about calling me again. 

Probably has a girlfriend.  Shoot. 

I knew I needed to take action.  Before I left to go back to school the next day, I called him at the upholsterer he was working for at the time.  He was on a delivery so I made a crucial decision.  One that changed the course of my life.  Literally.  I asked the boss, the man who answered the phone, to tell Andrew that I called.  And I asked him to tell Andrew that I sent my thanks for lunch and that I'd had a great time.

Andrew later said that if I hadn't made that phone call, he'd probably never have had the nerve to call me a month later when I came back into town.

To be continued...

Here's a Good One

While reading an article, I saw an interesting statistic:   80% of all medical malpractice claims paid worldwide are made in the United States.

Now, there are 6.5 billion people in the world and 300 million people in the US. Our country has 5% of the total world population but 80% of all malpractice payouts. Wow. Our physicians must really suck.

As a related aside, here's a medical malpractice suit of note:  a hospital, nurse midwife, and physician (who was visiting family in Korea during alleged incident of malpractice) settled a cerebral palsy birth injury case for $9.5 million.  The case had been steadily progressing through the court system for 14 years prior to settlement.

And Obama refuses to investigate tort reform as a possible avenue to saving money under Obamacare.  It's so amazingly transparent who pads his pockets and plays his puppeteers.  And it ain't us doctors.

Things I Say Almost Everyday (home edition)

1.  Morning sunshines!

2.  I love you.

3.  No.

4.  You have to eat breakfast or else your brain won't have any energy to learn in school.

5.  Thank you so much for... (grocery shopping, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, being the chauffeur, representing both of us at events and activities and at school).

6.  What was the best part of your day?

7.  You are so beautiful.  Inside and out.

8.  You are so handsome.  Inside and out.

9.  Bring me your toothbrush.

10.  Night night.  Sleep tight.  Don't let the bed bugs bite.  Wake up bright in the morning light, to do what's right with all your might.

11.  God bless Mommy and Daddy and Jack and Alice and Clara and....(the rest of our family, name by name, every night)

12.  Whoop!  They're down!!

13.  If I help you make lunches, will you take a shower with me?

Things I Say Almost Every Day (work edition)

1.  You're going to feel a little stick.

2.  Open your mouth, stick out your tongue and say, "Ahhh."

3.  May I listen to your heart and lungs?

5.  When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink.

7.  You may wake up with a little bit of a sore throat.  Possibly some nausea but I'll give you medicine before you wake up to help prevent that.  Really serious complications such as heart or lung problems or damage to your teeth caused by putting in the breathing tube are very, very unusual.  I expect you to do just fine.

6.  Nice deep breaths for me.

7.  You're going to be drifting off to sleep now.  And I am going to be right here with you until you're safely awake.  Sweet dreams.

8.  Time out!  This is....  She's having a ....  She has no known drug allergies and she's receiving....for her antibiotic.

9.  Let's have a fast turnover, girls!

10.  Hey, sweetie.  I'm on my way home.

Fair? Or Not?

Not long ago, I cared for a patient who was experiencing chest pain. The patient had already undergone a cardiac bypass surgery. He told me that he was currently using crack and methamphetamine.


Now, let me ask, whether he has no insurance, private insurance, Medicaid or Medicare, is this fair to the system? If he gets disability, is it fair to the system? If an insurer couldn’t deny him coverage, would that be fair to those who are paying into the system, but trying to stay healthy? Those who will probably contribute far more than they cost the insurance pool? (And who would certainly cost less than this ‘member of the pool.’)

Would you be willing to hand him your money to cover his expenses, knowing what he habitually does? I’m not talking about the money laundering scheme that taxation is. I’m talking about walking up to him, crack pipe in his hand, sitting in his living room with a beer and big screen television, and handing him $1000 to cover his medications for heart disease and hypertension? Would you feel good about it?

That’s what we’re all being asked to do, over and over again. Think about it!

For those who tell us that providing care to all is the ‘moral thing to do,’ tell me about the implicit morality of taking from the productivity of others without any consequence or gratitude among the recipients?

This is one of the many places where our current trend towards the tyranny of the masses falls flat.

Love My Station Wagon

A few years ago we bought our first fun car.  We threw utilitarianism, sensibility and restraint to the wind and bought a BMW 330xi.  Not only did we buy one, but we custom ordered it.  It had a rich dark brown leather interior and a fast silver exterior.  A combo that was not made in the factory so was made especially for us overseas.  And we loved it.

We went on dates in it, took weekend jaunts in it and took it for plenty of plain old joy rides. It had all-wheel drive so I could trust it to get me through any sort of weather in these Virginia mountains.  And for the first time, I could drive into the doctor's lot and not get heckled.  (A typical line from one of my colleagues: " Hey, when did they start letting the housekeepers park here?"  Nice.)

It really was the perfect car.  Until.  Until the day came that the children no longer spit up, threw food nor required carseats... so we  started letting them ride in it with us.  And it was so nice to jet around town in a small car as opposed to the Suburban.  The gas guzzling tank that, while essential for beach trips and other travel, is not ideal for around town.  Takes twice as long to do anything in the Suburban as it does in a car.  Parking is an art form, merging is difficult and vaulting into it takes well-honed skillz.

The problem began to arise about a year ago when the children's hineys grew and it came to be that the three of them no longer fit comfortably in the back seat of the BMW together.  So some questions arose.  Do we go back to the Suburban for all in-town family transportation?  Or do we look for a more appropriately sized car and *gasp* sell the BMW?

The idea was just too horrifying to consider until two events occurred on the very same day a few months ago.  One of our anesthesiologist friends asked Andrew if he'd ever consider buying his almost-new Volvo Cross Country, and one of my orthopaedic surgeon colleagues stopped me in the OR and said, "I know this is kinda random, but I've always coveted your car and if you ever want to sell it, I'll give you whatever you want for it."

So, to make a long story short, we did a three way car swap.  Now, the cars in the doctor's parking lot haven't changed.  They just have different owners.  I do find myself looking longingly at my pretty car every now and then but I am happy to report that it's being well taken care of.  It's new owner has taken pity on me and doesn't often mention how much he likes it, how well it accelerates or how valets push each other around to see who gets to go park it.  

And we really are thrilled to have the Volvo.  It has been problem free.  (Aside from the fact the girls call it the Vulva...but we're working on that.)  It has two jump seats in the back so it accomodates seven comfortably.   We get ease of driving and high capacity.  Plus, we can easily separate the children when there is in-fighting and civil unrest. 

Additionally, it was a great financial deal so we ended up with a wad of cash in our pockets to boot.  And Andrew has promised me that as soon as the rooster and his hens fly the coop, we will once again own a fun car. 

Guess Who Can't Eat Corn

Poor Clara has had to suffer through her twin loosing six teeth before she lost her first one, a bottom incisor, a couple of weeks ago.  Along with losing a tooth comes the ensuing celebration, photo taking and Tooth Fairy visit.  The latter of which made waiting her turn almost exquisitely unbearable for the poor girl.  But at last, her baby teeth are finally coming out.

She lost number two, an upper incisor, this past Thursday.  It was hanging on by a thread at breakfast, but she waited until school started to nudge it out with her tongue.  If you loose a tooth at school, you get to go to the nurse's office and Clara loves to go to the nurse's office.  Girlfriend has gotten herself sent home perfectly healthy twice for faking symptoms in order to lie on the nurse's cot.  The nurse tucks her in a little too comfortably and talks to her a little too sweetly and Clara just eats it up.  Anyway, when you loose a tooth and go to the school nurse, she gives you a necklace to wear that has a plastic tooth on it.  The plastic tooth has a compartment in which to place your lost tooth.  The tooth then makes it home safely at the end of the day. 

That night Clara carefully placed her tooth under her pillow.  And then we all went to bed.  At 6 the next morning Andrew remembered that he forgot to take the tooth and replace it with some Tic Tacs and a dollar.  As he began to tell me this, Clara walked in our room with her tooth and a stricken look on her face.  Andrew, God love him, immediately said, "Oh no!  Goose must have slept in your room last night.  And everyone knows fairies are afraid of dogs.  Remember how Tinkerbell was afraid of Nana?  We'll be sure he's not in there tonight."  (I am seriously impressed with his on-the-spot BSing skillz.)

So, Saturday morning she woke up happy with her Tic Tacs and one dollar.  She and Alice shared the little orange candies and when they finished them, Alice said, "I love those things.  I wish we had more."  Never one to want to disappoint her sister, Clara reached into her mouth and pulled out the other upper incisor.  I kid you not.  It was one of the funniest things I've seen.  And the tooth fairy had learned her lesson and came that night without a hitch.

And Clara looks just precious.  I adore kidlets with lost teeth!   And I love to listen to them talk.  (Yeth Alith, I can thee you.)  She's about to loose the second lower incisor which will mean she'll have all four front teeth missing.  I told Andrew I hope her adult teeth take a good long time to grow back. 

And, of course, I am wearing out my camera on her!

   

A Perfect Saturday

Yesterday was just about as perfect a Saturday as they come. 

First of all, we slept in.  Sleeping in on the weekends is a privelege that has been a long time coming for Andrew and me.  Before children, we were the masters of lounging in bed in that glorious half awake, half asleep state until at least noon on Saturdays and Sundays.  Then the children were born.  In a cruel strike of fate, they all bucked genetics and wake up with the chickens.  Literally.  They are up and about long before the sun rises.  Weekdays, weekends, vacations, summers, midnight bedtimes.  Whatever.  They are very early risers and until now, we had to be up with them.  Ugh.  

 But the children get up themselves now.  They feed the animals and let Goose out.  Jack makes breakfast for everyone.  Cereal, microwave meals, whatever.  Then they watch TV until we get up.  It's really the only time they watch it all week as their schedules are so busy otherwise, so we don't really mind a once-a-week TV marathon.  And more often than not they are watching some History Channel or nature documentary.  Jack rules the remote (because in our family, only he and Andrew know how to work the damn thing) and the girls are easy-going enough to watch what he wants to watch.

So we slept in until 8 (don't laugh, that time is a great improvement, and we're proud of it) and it was wonderful.  Then Jack and Andrew went downtown to the friendly barber (who has Playboys for his clients to read...don't get me started) and got haircuts.  They came home just in time to see the lead runners in the first annual Blue Ridge Marathon pass by our house somewhere around the 19th mile.  Yep, Roanoke is hosting a marathon!  And it passes right by our house on Avenham.

We blasted music (Eye of the Tiger, the theme from Rocky, Rock Me Like a Hurricaine), held up hand-made signs, passed out icy orange slices and just generally yelled and cheered for all 324 runners that passed our house.  A bunch of friends and neighbors joined us, too.  It was a total blast and I can tell it's going to become a tradition for us.  It was so neat to realize the runners REALLY appreciated our support.  Not the first ten or so die-hards, who wouldn't even make eye contact with us.  But the rest of them laughed at our signs and thanked us over and over for coming out.  Some even stopped to chat for a pace or two.  The children loved it!  And so did the adults.

A bit about the marathon.  It's in it's first year and is considered one of the most challenging marathons in the country.  As a matter of fact, here is a runner's quote in this morning's paper:  "I've done two Ironmans and they weren't this hard.  I felt at mile 13 like I usually feel at mile 23."  The marathon begins at the Taubman Art Museum, proceeds through town, climbs up Mill Mountain and then up Roanoke Mountain (a total of a 3000 foot climb!), snakes back to and then through town and ends up at the Museum. 26.2 miles.  Another 450 folks ran the half marathon and a bunch of children ran a mile-long kid's race.  About a thousand runners total.  Apparently, the race is already getting rave reviews on marathon blogs and message boards.  So hopefully the race will continue to grow and grow and bring good things to our lovely town.

After the race, we were all hungry (watching all those runners, you see) and we didn't want to spend lots of money so we went to Sam's.  Samples galore.  Entrees, deserts, drinks and snacks.  And enough variety to please everyone.  We picked up a few things while we were there and then came home, jumped on the sectional and watched The Sandlot 2.  Great movie.  I've heard it from the front seat of the car several times but had not ever actually seen it and it was a hoot.

Next, our favorite sitter, Jen, arrived and took over evening bathing and dinner duties (I did say this was the perfect day, didn't I?) while Andrew and I locked ourselves in our room and took a luxuriously long, hot steam shower and got gussied up for an evening out.  We left without a fuss or a cry.  They all love Jen so it makes goodbyes really easy.

We went to Tim and Katie's house for dinner.  Ann and Hans joined us and we all had a ball.  Good wine, beer and some sort of sneaky martini that tasted like candy.  Salad, grilled miso salmon, red pepper risotto and asparagus.  Strawberry shortcake for desert.  The perfect ending to the perfect day.

:-)

And Then There Was Patient Number Three

My day was going really, really well today.  Nice OR staff, surgeon with whom I love to work, and super nice, appreciative, gracious patients.

And then I met my third one for the day.  26 year old male, 2 pack per day smoker, twelve-pack a day drinker.  Flipped over his redneck-mobile, I mean ATV, and hurt his finger.  And this next detail is the best of all.  He's gets a monthly disablity check and free health care through Medicaid.  For what?  Depression.  I like to think of myself as empathetic and all.  But there is something enherently VERY wrong with this picture.  We, the taxpayers, are paying for this guy to smoke, drink and play on his ATV all the damned day.  Because he is too sad to work.  And now we get to pay for his finger to be fixed, because while we were all working hard yesterday, he was at home flying around on his property drunk on his ATV.

Any-hooooo....  I decided to swallow my bitter pill of reimbursement for the case (that will barely cover the overhead back at the office for the hour it takes to actually do it) and go meet the patient.  I knew that, as is usually the case, I would get to know the guy as a person, and would find something to like about him.  This rarely fails.

As I approached his stretcher in the holding area, I could tell he was a character.  He was covered in piercings and tattoos.  And he had facial tattoos, which I rarely see.  Skulls, naked women, swastikas and, get this, a vulva.  On his neck.  (It took several of us a while to figure that one out, but, yeah...that's what it was.)  He looked WAY older than his stated age and glared at me as soon as I approached.

I intoduced myself, he looked me over, and then commenced watching "The Price Is Right."  Never looked at me again.  He answered my questions with grunts and huffs making it nearly impossible to get much more of a history from him.  But what more did I need to know?  He was a heavy smoker and drinker but had enough cardiac fitness to ride his ATV like a bat out of hell.

So we went back to the room where he continued to display his unfriendly, and at times hostile, manners.  And I put him to sleep.  The nurse then placed his operative arm on the surgical table and this is what we were greeted with:

(Towel used to cover identifying forearm tattoo.)

Just as charming anesthetized...

The Out-of-OR Bitch

OK.  So I'm not too picky about what I do at work every day.  One of my partners does the case-assigning the day before and then posts the assignments on our website.  I check the website each night so I know what time to be at the hospital the next day and to get a general feeling as to what my day's going to be like.  And I pretty much am happy to do anything.  A  generalist, if you will.  No particularly strong opinions about what I do.  Well, I guess I do have one or two.  But the sentiments that I have for a couple of outlandish surgeons are shared by everyone in my group, so we divvy these assignment equally.  Thereby spreading the misery. 

Now, many of my partners pay quite a bit more attention to their daily assignment and, I swear, some of them have the assigning doc on speed dial.  They have particular surgeons that they do and don't like to work with and particular case types that they do and do not like to anesthetize.  They completely micro-manage the scheduling doc's job.  And while that may be bothersome to that doc, again, it doesn't bother me because I can pretty much do anything and have a fun day. 

So when the scheduling doc paged me two days ago to inform me of my assignment for yesterday, I was a bit anxious.  Why not just put it on the website?

The conversation:

John:  Hey.  Wanna know what you're doing tomorrow?

Me:  Dammit.  What is it?  Because if you're having to call me about it, it can't be good.

John:  Ummm.  That's perceptive...and correct.

Me:  Give it to me.

John:  You're the Out-of-OR Bitch.

silence

Me:  What?

John:  Yeah.

Me:  What, in God's name, is that?

John:  Well, the hospital administration is getting frustrated that out-of OR cases aren't getting done in a timely fashion. [my insert: Out-of-OR cases are cases such an TEEs, cardioversions and vertebroplasties that aren't done in the actual OR suite, but are performed in a wide variety of locations throughout the hospital.  We anesthesiologists DESPISE these cases, for a variety of reasons.  But mainly because we are asked to anesthetize in locations that are unfamiliar to us and provide us less than optimal technical support and assistance.  They are normally assigned piecemeal to docs who finish their regular days early.  This is why you often see anesthesiologists slinking out of hospitals in the early afternoons.  We want no one to know when we leave so that we can make a clean break without having to do an Out-of-OR case.]  So we are going to assign one anesthesiologist each day to do all of those cases.  So they'll get done.  And tomorrow we start.  With you.  So you are the Out-of-OR Bitch guinea pig.

So that was my assignment yesterday.  And my day was absolutely straight out of Dante's ninth level of hell.  I had to drag my anesthesia cart all over the damned hospital.  I had to deal with nurses and techs who have no idea how to help me.  I was treated more like a technician than a physician.  I was called "anesthesia" more than Dr. Sherman.  And so much time was wasted I was ready to shoot myself. 

This is what I accomplished:  1 dental procedure on a completely out-of-control autistic adult (requiring my favorite [NOT !!] induction technique:  the ketamine dart), 1 vertebroplasty, 1 liver biopsy, 3 TEEs, and 1 cardioversion.  And it took me 10 hours to do it all. And it could have, and should

have, been done in 7 hours.  Max.

I had to deal with a radiologist who decided to eat his lunch after the patient was asleep.  I had to contend with an hour turnover between 2 TEEs because the cardiac cath nurse was "charting."  I was asked to do a TEE in a patient's room on the floor because he was too sick to leave his room.  The process of getting suction, a monitor and oxygen set up took nearly and hour and involved multiple eye rolls from the patient's nurse.  Directed at ME!  For wanting her to round up safety equipment for HER patient!

At one point I did have to laugh though.  I arrived in the Interventional Radiology suite to anesthetize a liver biopsy.  The radiology tech looked at me proudly when I entered the room and said, "I put all of her monitors on for you, Dr. Sherman."  My day suddenly got brighter.  She did me a favor AND called me Dr. Sherman!  Then I looked down and this is what I saw:

Needless to say, I had to remove the white lead from the surgical dressing and place it on her shoulder.  But, hey, I did appreciate the effort.

So, that was my day yesterday.  I almost had to violate my "no drinking during the week" rule. ( Makes me too sleepy at night to figure out Jack's homework.  Fourth grade is really tough.)  But I didn't.  Mark gave me a ride home and amused me with tales of his recent match.com date so that substituted for the fifth that I really wanted.

And I now have to say, regarding my work assignments, I have no particularly strong opinions about what I do.  Except I REALLY don't like being the Out-of-OR Bitch.

A Quick Sign-In from Paradise

Greetings from Topsail Island, NC.

I told Andrew before we left for this week-long break five days ago, that I can't ever remember needing a vacation more than I needed this one.  Dealing with the stresses involving the mortality of a parent have taxed me mentally more than any life stress that I have ever encountered.  Med school, boards, a twin pregnancy while working 80-plus hours....  I never remember feeling so much internal tension.

On the drive down, I wondered how I would ever start to relax.  I wondered if I would be able to allow myself to think about nice things.  My children, my husband, the tides, the feel of the salty breeze.  Or if I would continue to obsess about things that I cannot change, bad things that are hurting some of the people I love the most in such cruel ways.

Now, five days into it, I am so happy to be able to say that I am relaxed and at peace.  The stressors are still there but I have started to look at them in a different way.  My perspective on all of this mess shifted a couple of evenings ago when I was sitting on the beach looking out over the horizon.  My world began to feel small and I was reminded that I am powerless.  Not in a bad or helpless way.  But just that the forces of nature are so much bigger, and that perhaps I need to stop trying to influence and control things that I ultimately cannot.

So there I sat, with my new perspective, and I decided to start to have fun.  I started to smile at my children without trying.  The air began smelling more alive and the colors around me suddenly seemed more brilliant.

And the rest is history. 

I'll describe the details of my week thus far in numbers:

0 meals prepared by me (we decided to eat out for all of our dinners...no mess, no cooking)
1 nap taken
1 550 piece puzzle completed
1 long kayak trip
1 battleship visited (Battleship North Carolina in Wilmington)
1 book read, The Year of Wonders, about the Plague in 17th century England
2 bottles of a buttery chardonnay consumed
2 ice creams eaten while walking on the Jolly Roger Pier
3 several mile walks on the beach
4 movies in bed (Julie and Julia, Adventureland, School Ties,  Better Off Dead)
5 outside showers taken
5 nights of at least 8 hours of sleep each night
5 nights of at least 10 hours spent in bed (oh, the joys of children who can amuse themselves in the a.m.)
5 nights of reading to my girls in bed
6 ...ahem...adult adventures

And two more days to go.  I am so thankful for this place.


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