Hola Amigos

Back from Mexico. Still walking sideways from the drugs I need to get on a plane. The wine isn't helping.

Or is it?

Had a great time. More to come.

Funny-weird stuff happened.

Good times.

Urs.

So I was just cruisin' around and realized that I need to get to Vegas.

I haven't been since September.

I'm in withdrawal. Serious withdrawal.

Yes, we're hitting the Mayan in two weeks. Yes, we'll be doing absolutley nothing but laying on the beach, drinking and eating (and maybe, just maybe, making babies) (and yes, I mean bab-ies. We're going for twins) (and I still don't know why everyone thinks we're nuts for wanting twins. Just because I'll be 38 by the time I give birth - if we get pregnant right away - if not, I'll be older.... Just because I'm high-risk already (who decides the "high-risk" factor anyways? They should be fired for putting so much FEAR in people. Gheesh. Just because it's like a 3-ring circus when you're trying to go anywhere with twins.... doesn't mean we're nuts for wanting them. It just means we're over-achievers.)

(Or nuts.)

Yes, we'll come home relaxed and ready to tackle the world. Yes, we'll come home speaking Spanish again (except in January we were speaking a mix of Spanish and French when we got back from the Dominican).

But we'll be tanned and relaxed!

But Vegas. Oh, my favourite city in the world. Oh, how I miss you.

Perhaps in May. Unless I'm pregnant. The only place left on God's Green Earth where you can smoke and drink in public. And there's a two-drink-minimum for a mammogram.

Oh how I love that town.

Urs.

You know one of my favourite things in the world?

Coming home after running errands and pouring a drink and relaxing on the deck for a few minutes.

I love that time. That few moments of quiet. Just looking over my back yard. Watching the neighbours come and go. Listening to the woodpeckers on the telephone pole.

And then leisurly walking into the house and putting away the groceries, or starting dinner preparations, or putting on the stereo and reading the paper.

I love that time of day.

A few years ago, when Stacy and I were roomates, we used to dash out the door mid-morning on a Saturday. Hit the grocery store. Hit the vegetable stand down the street. Hit the liquor store. And then pop into a pub for lunch.

We'd get back to the house, put everything away, and then pour a drink and sit on our back deck and decompress. Not that the errands were exhausting, it was just our routine. And it was a nice one. We'd have time to catch each other up on our week. We'd chat about the men, or lack thereof, in our lives. She'd talk to me about switching careers (although she never did, not yet anyway). I'd talk to her about my latest business idea. It was a great time together, and I still cherish those memories.

Fast forward a couple of years, she's married with a new baby. I'm married without. So far. (I think I'm ready to be pregnant again. I think.) So when I get home after errands, I pour myself a drink, grab the phone, sit on the deck, and give her a buzz. Sometimes we chat for 30 seconds, sometimes for 10 minutes, sometimes longer. Or sometimes not at all.

I still like that time for myself. Even though I have alot of time to myself these days, that's a magical time. It's like dusk. A magical time.

And then I'm usually brought back to reality by The Husband poking his head out the window to ask when I'm doing a white wash because he's almost out of underwear.

But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Urs.