I ran home a bunch of days while we were working our little civil servasses off. It is only a mile and a half, but there's about 150 feet of climbing involved. A couple of hills. Tiring.
I also managed to sneak a swim on a Saturday. I did 800 yards, all without stopping (the lifeguard was about to go on break, so I figured I had to wrap it up quickly).
Of course I now have a cold. Not loving it. Little germ-riddled monkeys gave it to me.
Well. Not exactly. More about that later.
We drove out to a place called The Applehouse, a restaurant in Linden, about 65 miles away. We met our friend Alice for lunch. The Applehouse was chosen because they make sparkling cider (and donuts, which is apparently a thing with cider mills) and have a BBQ smoker and what looked like a super tasty, super reasonable, menu. Alice wanted to get some locally-made sparkling cider for a cool "themed" Thanksgiving celebration her cousin is hosting. So we drove out there.
Lunch was every bit as delicious as I'd hoped. The donuts were very tasty as well. After, it being a beautiful day, we thought we might hit a park to let Soren run off some of his energy. Consulting the GPS, we saw a likely candidate and started off on the way.
This was the point at which things got silly with the GPS. There was a sign showing freeway access nearby, off to the left. The GPS said to go right. That still looked okay, because the frontage road and freeway ran parallel, and the GPS map showed an on-ramp off to the right. We followed the GPS, and drove past what might have been the on-ramp during the Eisenhower era.
So the route we took was... somewhat circuitous. We drove 10 miles to reach a park located less than 3 miles away. Through the little town of Front Royal. Eventually along a one-lane road sharing both traffic directions (via a timed traffic light). Into a strange residential area. Past some dilapidated, kudzu swallowed, old houses. In the middle of nowhere, with nothing at all to indicate the presence of a park, the GPS chimed in "arriving at Owl Park on the right." Yeah. No. No dice at all. Alice and Susan and I laughed about our quality scenic drive to the non-existent park, and decided to head out (us to our home, Alice to hers).
Again following the GPS (because why not, right? In for a penny...), we head back. This time we apparently took the short portion of the long circle and... ran into a park. About a mile away from the Applehouse. We pulled in and played with Soren for a while. A fine time was had by all. After all that trouble.
It was a fun day, nevertheless. Always nice to hang with Alice, and it was really lovely out in the VA countryside.
I'm sleepy this morning. Soren's little vaccine reaction made him a whimpery, squiggly lad who wouldn't fall asleep in his bed alone or with me in the spare bed. Finally brought him into our room and snuggles with his mother did the trick. Still, he was not well settled, which ate into my sleep.
Mom, Dad, you have my deepest apologies for the whole Night Terrors thing.
Lloyd: I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.Does "data" count?
A bit after 2 a.m., Soren came running into our room last night, hoping to climb into our bed and sleep between us (because he loves to do that, and does more nights than not). It seems (I say this because we really haven't done the forensics necessary to tell exactly what happened) that he tripped and fell and whacked the bejeezus out of his forehead on the bed frame. A loud "THUMP!" followed by crying and confusion.
Susan pulled him up onto the bed to try and calm him, but after a scant few moments noticed either that there was too much fluid for it to just be tears, or she felt the big gash on his head, and carried him to the kitchen to discover it. Cue application of cold pack, and direct pressure for the bleeding. Baby Motrin for swelling and pain. "Gee that's pretty deep, I think he might need stitches." "Let me see. Yep."
So Soren and I, he now with cleverly dressed wound and I with sandy-and still probably wild-eyes, drove down to the nearby Emergency Room for some stitches and accusing glares (respectively).
Just kidding, nobody thought I'd beaten him. Far as I could tell.
He was a pretty good trooper through it all, though he did not like being wrapped in a sheet and strapped to a child-sized spineboard for restraint. And nobody likes stitches. It took 5, I think, though I wasn't counting that so much as trying to comfort him and hold his gaze. We checked out, drove home, and were sitting in bed by 4. Weirdly, the parking space I vacated at 2:20 a.m. was taken when we got back.
So, how was your night?