The dessert I made: drum roll & Who can lend me a crystal ball?

I'm sorry I never responded to all the recipe suggestions last week. Much appreciated. If you recall, the end of my week was a whirlwind. 

Book club went well, although most didn't care for the book, Early Morning Riser. The dessert I went with (drum roll . . . ) the chocolate cake and peanut butter frosting cake submitted by Gigi. It received great reviews - especially from my offspring. If there are no slices left when Mini flies home on Wednesday (insert image of me jumping around in joy), I might bake it again to celebrate her return. 

I toyed with the idea of buying a cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes, but I decided I had time to whip something up during naps, if it wasn't too involved. My dessert rotation needed a fresh entry. It didn't take long to bake and I frosted it on Thursday while my little guys ate lunch. A woman just did the ice cream sandwich thing at Feb's meetup, otherwise - I would've been all over that, Suz. 

The women agreed to arrive a bit early, knowing I had a crazy early start time on Friday. They left early and I was in bed by 10:30, determined to get a good night's sleep. My stupid pain in my side (usually managed by meds/rarely happens anymore) woke me up before 5:00 am. Grrr. 

When Curly and I got home Sunday
afternoon, (her team won 3 games,
lost the last one. Would've had to
stay longer if we won. Blessing in
 disguise? We usually
win, but one girl
 was at prom and we
 only have 6 girls
 - we pulled a few up from the U16.
 Also, our shots were off).
Curly laid on the
 deck to catch some
 rays. Her poor bandaged
feet. She bleeds
 thru her socks during
 tournaments all.the.time. 

SMC visit:  All went well. The coach REALLY wants her. I'm keeping my mouth shut, other than discussing pros and cons. Her decision. It's good to have interest, but the level of play is too reminiscent of high school ball for her taste. Even the coach admitted that he think she's a scholarship player (so not D3). Her AU coach reminded her, Playing at a higher level might mean not playing as much - or waiting a year or two to see the court. Things to consider.

We barely made it to Milwaukee in time for her 6:00 pm game. That adventure
deserves its own post. 

The b-ball elephant in the room:   Whether or not Reg's gonna play in college is breaking my heart. He doesn't want to play D3. He's definitely D2 caliber. 

His mindset:  He could've played D3 this year without a program's help, but he paid this program in order to attract higher level schools. Reg told the owner that on
Friday, and I'm proud of him for sharing that. The owner of said program has focused his recruiting efforts on one kid who could play D1 (but the D1 coaches who come to the open gyms leave after 15 min because the kid doesn't play defense). Makes sense from a marketing perspective, "I GOT JOHNNY A DIVISION 1 DEAL." But very few other kids have gotten looks. 

After being shit on by coaches and school personnel, Reg has stayed the course. His dad and I have been urging him to commit to a college without a b-ball deal. "Go to Creighton and be a manager. Enjoy college without the pressure of being on a team." He's supposed to select a school by May 1st.

Epiphany:  I woke up in my Milwaukee hotel room Saturday after sleeping for a ridiculous and glorious 9.5 hours:  NOPE. HE WANTS TO PLAY D2 OR LOWER LEVEL D1 AND HE'S DONE NOTHING BUT FIGHT AND PERSEVERE THROUGH SOME HARD SHIT, AND I'M GONNA SUPPORT THAT GOAL. 

So, that's where we're at. It's stressful. I think he'll put down a deposit at Creighton or wherever while trying to get a spot at a school that needs someone in his position. If something works out, we eat the $400 deposit. 

Crystal ball I can borrow?  If I knew where Curly was gonna end up - well, I'd urge him to go there (not SMC, all girls). Curly's a junior BTW. These two are close and are each other's best cheerleaders. Some school would be so lucky to have the pair of them. 

Reg's 30 for 30 needs an ending. He needs to finish this on his terms. 

REQUEST: favorite dessert recipe, book club is tomorrow night. HELP!

I just commented on Ally's blog about how I wish I'd planned my week better and remembered to ask for dessert ideas here. I'm hosting book club Thursday evening. Then I thought, I can ask on a Wednesday and see if anything pops up as doable before I run to the grocery store. 

• Recipes need not be GF. 
• If you've read the book 'Early Morning Riser', and you seem to remember a food that was eaten or discussed, and you have a tie-in idea, all the better. 

Now I'm getting overly fussy. Don't mind me, but at the last book club the host prepared something with peaches, because the main character grew up on a peach farm. Clever, right? 

That particular host also has the most beautiful home and decorating and furniture, including white upholstered rocking chairs in the living room. They don't look like they're gonna rock, ah - but they do. Any guesses on what white chairs would look like in my house? 

Fingers crossed that no one will be expecting fancy-shmancy furniture here. Last time, I hadn't gotten around to grabbing kitchen chairs to drag into the family room for extra seating, and when I turned around two ladies had seated themselves at the

Exhibit A:  Note the Waterford wine glasses
 on the table, and there's an exersaucer
 at the one woman's elbow. 

wooden table and chairs for tots in my family room, which happens to double as my daycare babies' hangout. The ladies refused to budge, claiming to be perfectly comfortable. They are on the short side, but still - I was like, NO, LET ME GET YOU A REAL CHAIR. 

My house is fairly clean, because I just hosted Easter. But, I'm babysitting Wednesday and Thursday and I have to take my dad to his doc appointment Wednesday late afternoon, and Tuesday afternoon included a phone call with the attorney for over an hour and we only got part of the way through the paperwork. And I have to cut like 500 words from my chapter before Friday when I submit it to my writing group for our Monday meeting. 

I can't find time to edit my chapter, because:  

• book club on Thurs., so please be patient with my potentially slow response to comments and blogs. 
• Then, early Friday morning Curly and I drive to South Bend. She has an official basketball visit at Saint Mary's - my alma mater. So exciting. I don't think she wants to go to school there, but it does check a lot of her boxes (close to home, good academics, small school - but advantages of a big school). It'll be good experience. 
• Then we haul ass to Milwaukee, where she plays this weekend. 

 Anyway, time is not on my side. 

I'll probably prepare my go-to 7 layer taco dip, Irish soda bread (this feels very spring-ish), the caprice skewers someone suggested last time, and the choc chip cookies I baked on Saturday that I've got stored in the freezer. But every host offers a WOW factor dessert. Suggestions? 

Italy: getting there is half the fun, plus hilarity

When Coach and I got to O'Hare, I was wiped. I'd barely slept. When we got to our gate, I ate my GF pizza that I made before we left. Security had flagged my bag. "That's my pizza. I have celiac. Please don't touch my food." I considered this my last meal, like What if I can't find anything to eat, or more immediately - what if the airline forgot to pack the GF meal I'd requested?

Then I moved to a row of seats a few rows over (still at our gate), because people near us were loud and I wanted to snooze. I slept for about 30 minutes, sitting in a chair with my feet on my wheelie bag and scooched down enough that my head could rest on the back of the chair. I WOKE UP AND FELT AMAZING . . . until I saw Coach - sitting by our original spot, waving at me. 

The airline people had walked around and identified bags that they thought looked heavy. What? I'd bought carry-on wheelie bags. Operative words:  carry-on. She weighed our bags, and made us check them. I was slightly panicked/still groggy. Where were my meds? Did I need anything out of this bag that I assumed they were gonna drop in the ocean? 

Despite feeling a little unsettled, I slept SO MUCH on our flight. Coach was jealous. Maybe having crappy sleep is me cracking the code on how to beat jet lag. When we flew to Budapest to see Ed, the shooting pain down my leg was insane. I had none of that. Praise the Lord. 

Coach hunting for the right bus:  take 1.

We changed planes in Zurich. Guess who slept on that entire short flight? Yep - me! I felt almost refreshed when we got to Rome.

We struggled to find the bus that would drop us near our hotel. Once we figured that out, we lugged all of our stuff (our bags made it- Phew) to the bus and I asked if we could pay for tickets on the bus. The driver didn't even look up, but pointed. What exactly was he pointing at? I may never know. We trudged back to the train station and eventually found a newsstand that sold the tickets.

Regrets:  I have them. This process took forever and looking back, I wish we'd just waited at the train station for Mini. I was thinking she was arriving by train hours after us, and she WAS -but since we'd waited for our bags and lapped the train station multiple times, and practically had to hand over a kidney to get a bus ticket (that no one ever looked at), we'd killed a lot of time. 

Mini arrived at the train station, a mere 10 minutes from our hotel, shortly after we were checked into our room. I felt so dumb. She couldn't figure out the bus ticket buying thing either and my directions weren't helping. She was grumpy. 

No, I haven't watched
My Octopus
 Teacher, why do you ask?

But then she arrived and SHE WAS WITH US . . . and all felt right in the world. Oh my gosh. It was so great to hug her (she's not a big hugger, have we talked about the fact that she's so ticklish, I think it's almost a disability?). We went to dinner in a restaurant built in a cave, and she told a story that had us dying laughing. Plus, I ate octopus. 

While cutting into
her dinner, Mini's
 food spit at her and
she hadn't packed
 much for our
 Rome visit. Ugh.
 Guess who had
 baby wipes
 back in the room? 

*I vowed to not make a fuss if a place couldn't feed me, just eat what I thought might work, or decide to eat a bag of safe snacks back at the room. Octopus (I don't generally like seafood) was tasty. Despite my coma-like flight demeanor, I was tired and hungry and I think I would've eaten my own foot if necessary. 

Mini's story:  Not sure you'll get the gist without her facial expressions and antics. Use your imagination. Mini and a few friends did a wine tasting thing. The waitress gave them instructions that the girls found confusing. Her bestie from home, who was visiting, deferred to Mini to start. The waitress poured water in Mini's glass. She indicated a bowl (?) in the middle of the table and said Spit. (or something close/sounded like spit)

Mini shrugged, swished the water in her mouth, and then spit it into the bowl. The waitress grimaced, waved her hand, moved the bowl away from Mini's face, and said, "No, no!" 

I think she was supposed to swish the water in her glass and then pour the water in the bowl. I can't remember. I was cry laughing. 

*****

Know anyone who is ridiculously ticklish? Have you eaten octopus? Have you messed up at a wine tasting? Clearly you can dress us Shenanigans up, but you can't take us out (hello, sauce splatter, wine spitting). 

Italy: What I missed/What I noticed, & Mini's final art project

I'm pausing the daycare update to return to the Italy recap. I gather that you're all more interested in the Italy stories, plus the next daycare update is:  They love me, they really love me. It's sweet, but not pressing. 

Am I giving you whiplash with all of these topic changes? 

Italy:  

I missed:  

• Still water - Hold the bubbles, damn it. I don't like fizz in my water. To get still water at restaurants, we had to buy it. 
• free water - Slightly different than above. This is about a lack of water filling stations. I love a place to fill my water bottle. So many places in the States offer that (* you know who doesn't offer that? The Pacers athletic center where Curly played over the weekend outside of Indianapolis did NOT have water. They sold water bottles. How convenient.)
• free toilets - I think we, and by 'we' I mean me - the person who takes Miralax twice a day, only had to pay to use a bathroom a few times. So many places we went just didn't have public restrooms. Or if they did, beyond gross. 
• toilet seats - many restaurants/train stations offered a toilet bowl but no seat. Coach, alarmed, asked me at a restaurant after exiting the bathroom shared by both genders, Wait - what did you do there? Did you have to sit on that? (cringe face)
• running shoes - I sort of missed my running shoes, but I rotated between three pairs of shoes. My feet did fine. 

I noticed:  

• Just right - the restaurants serve appropriate portion sizes. It didn't seem like Italians struggle with weight issues, but I don't have any data to back this up. How do Italians maintain their girlish figures when there is gelato every three steps? -  ah - But, the gelato servings are itty bitty. We took the kids to Dairy Queen Sunday night, and I couldn't wrap my brain around their version of  SMALL. I digress . . . We never had a take home container. That being said, Coach sometimes got hungry AFTER we'd eaten. I was like:  You should've eaten more bread (she says with a hint of jealousy, since very few places offered GF bread). 

  

  This is the terminal when we were about
   to fly home. There are two TWO! smoking
   'cabins' - one on each end of this photo. 

• eating late - many of the restaurants don't even open until 6:30 or 7, or later. * I have a story about waiting in line to get a seat at a popular place, remind me. 
• business hours - see above:  so many places close up shop late afternoon until the evening. To nap, or relax? My kind of lifestyle. 
• so many smokers - Have they not heard of the health concerns? Do we need to have a public service announcement drafted in Italian? 
  

• 

  This is one of the smoking cabins.

  lunchmeat at breakfast - The hotels offered lunchmeat and cheese at breakfast, similar to a lunch spread. I packed sandwich baggies, as one does I do. Saving food from buffets helps the bottom line. I don't think we ever bought lunch. At noon, we'd sit on a park bench, and feast on lunchmeat and cheese, and protein bars from home. The meat stayed cool in my purse next to my cold water bottle. Granted it wasn't 80 degrees out. 
• tourist shops - inventory limited to sweatshirts. This is a very specific ME problem, but it's funny . . . 

Sweatpants search:  Mini texted Coach and I when we went to get something to eat while she was puking her guts out. Believe you me, I really didn't want to eat. Mini had held my phone to look at directions. We'd been together THE.WHOLE.TIME. I was convinced I'd be the next puker. Her text was a request for new sweatpants. Use your imagination. We stopped at all the tourist booths along the street on our way back to the hotel. Only sweatshirts and t-shirts. I gave her my pj bottoms, and I went without for the rest of the trip. 

How cool is this?

Coach and Lad decades
ago. I love this photo.

Final project:  While we were there, Mini needed to choose something to sketch and something to paint for her final project. She asked me for zoomed in photos, not a big group. We sat at a cafe and I sifted through my google photos. She chose a photo of Lad sitting on Coach's shoulders at Milwaukee Irish Fest, circa 2002-ish. 

Jumping the gun: the daycare finish line

I commented on Lisa's post over the weekend and my comment morphed into a mini-post, which prompted me to think:   maybe I need to share this on my blog. Maybe I'll feel better if I sort things out through writing it in blog form. So, I interrupt the potentially funny Italy stories (I have a few) to share my daycare dilemma.

1st and foremost:  everything is fine . . . I never dreamt when I started babysitting for one family that I'd end up making a decent income with a daycare. This year I babysat for NO SIBLINGS. I give a significant sibling discount, and it wasn't all bad to not take a pay cut for watching a small crowd. 

October '24.

I don't anticipate next year being so lucrative (there will be siblings), and that's OK. I'm framing '25-'26 as a building year. A while back, I thought it would be amazing if I could make it to TEN YEARS. Well, here we are -my 10th year is winding down. I'm not planning to retire yet. 

1.  I can physically do the work (um, the 25 lb 9 mo. old Shrieker has caused my back to complain) and

2.  I have the time. I've thought about quitting in order to maybe care for my mom if that need arises, but for now I'm sticking with it. 

Why not retire? . . . . Aside from earning $ for college tuition, I'm crazy about a few of my new families. I hope to babysit for them until their kids are all school age. Then maybe I'll be ready to stop changing flipping diapers. 

Here's how it's shaking out:  I intentionally waited until after Italy to ask my people what their plan was for next year, so I didn't stress about it. 

Do you want the same number of days? Different? Are you still planning to bring your little poop-heads to my house? (hee hee)

This year, I had 2 returning families, and 6 new families. That is a TON of new people. I'm exhausted thinking back on August when I welcomed/oriented 4 new families and then 2 more babies, one at Thanksgiving (the Shrieker) and one after Christmas (a pure delight). Phew.

Those leaving:  

Peter:  "Kate" teaches at our high school. Her son Peter was 2 in March, and started here at 5 mos. I find Kate to be wound tight and I sometimes feel like there's no pleasing her. She makes more requests than the other parents, like waking her son up from his nap to give him a snack before she arrives so she can avoid his grumpiness. I think the extra 20 minutes of sleep would do him good. The other guys wake up on their own or I wake them up when their parents arrive. Why not offer him a snack in her car?  (this isn't really a huge deal).

In February Kate texted me one evening, "Is Peter's bib at your house?" Now, c'mon. My evenings are busy. If his bib isn't in his bag, then safe bet I left it on his high chair here. We need to text about this, or can we just say OH THERE IT IS in the morning? There were a few other instances that rank higher than this nit picky stuff, but those require a separate post. 

Kate told me Thursday that he's not coming back. I had several dreams while in Italy that I had lost Peter, or that I let him sleep too long, etc. I told Coach, maybe Kate is stressing me out more than I realize. 

Peter is adorbs and we're crazy about him. I'll miss having him. I never felt a connection with his mom, which is fine. I don't have to connect with someone to care for their kid, but I felt like this contributed to the feeling that she was never satisfied. She's sort of all business. Hey, some folks are like that. 

Next year she's teaching part time, which I think is for the best. I think some of her issues are a reflection on her desire to stay home with her kid vs the care I'm offering. 

She says her folks are helping with his care next year, but they can't do Fridays. So maybe that means she's taking him somewhere new since I don't do Fridays? It is HARD not to take this personally, but at the end of the day when he was in my care -  he was truly loved and very happy. (he dies laughing at my lunchtime dance routines and my silly faces and my clowning. I suspect his mom doesn't have a silly side -and I'm not saying that's wrong, but he enjoyed the heck out of me). That said, it's like a kick to the gut. The 'I'm working part time' thing softens it. I need to remind myself that I really think this is more about her than it was me. She might have other stresses in her life that are in play. 

The Shriek Guy:  Shriek's mom, Maddie, "found someone closer to home" to watch him next year. 100% she's leaving because she's tired of me requesting that they determine what's wrong with their baby. He's over 9  mos now and he screams like he's in serious pain. I think I've pinpointed it to when he's about to poop. Once he's pooped, he's totally fine. Um, he poops multiple times a day. This isn't my first rodeo and I was unsure if I was gonna invite them back, because she just keeps saying that they don't see it at home. In other words they're not addressing it/she thinks I'm not taking good care of him, and that's why he's screaming? 

He's not screaming because he's not happy at my house, and I'm not making it up. Reg is home often on a Monday morning and he's like MOM, WHAT IS THE DEAL? The other kids in my care struggle to function when the screaming is happening. It's THAT unsettling. I can walk with him, cuddle him, feed him, distract him, sing to him. Nothing helps. Praise the Lord he's only here Mon/Tues. 50 kids could show up here on Wednesday and it would feel like a cake walk. I'm considering telling her not to bother bringing him back these last few weeks of school. Just don't know if it's worth it for me to deal with his issues. But Tuesday rolls around and EVERY week, I think - maybe next week he'll be better. 

Mini texted from Italy:  Can't wait for the next caregiver to tell them there's something wrong with their troll baby. (It isn't his fault, but dang - it is exhausting, and Mini's text made me laugh). 

BIG KIDS:  Two 3 year olds are leaving to go to full time preschool in the fall. They're easy and they're like a little old married couple. I'll miss them, but I saw this coming. Allie said to Carter in the backseat of the van the other day when we were on our way to the library:  We should talk about something. What do you want to talk about? ~ so cute. 

Coming up:  I'm gonna share the folks who are staying and more about the amazing new families who I can't quit on. 

(this got long and I've been in Indianapolis all weekend watching Curly's team win all 5 of their AAU games and my brain is too tired to edit it down anymore. It was 3 games, but teams that win keep playing, yikes - that was not on my radar and we got home at 7 pm Sunday).

**********

Am I alone, or are there work related things or other times that you wish you didn't take things personally, but yet . . . it just happens?

Bring on the Damn Pillow Sandwich

Coach and I zoomed with our amazing adoption/family therapist, Katlyn, on Sunday. 

The takeaway:  Katlyn was all about priorities. We sat each girl down Sunday before dinner and talked:  PRIOTIRY NUMBER 1 IS GETTING ADOPTED. We're all working on this and breaking trust by lying and sneaking interferes with that goal. We also discussed communication.  

Rae (who apologized after school Wednesday mere minutes before we left for the airport) rattled off her priorities, impressing us with her thought and consideration. 

She wept (and so did I) when I told her:  God brought them here to us, and we're working hard to connect, and it's not easy to be 14 and need to do THIS kind of work (I remember being 14 and it's hard enough without growing into/attaching to a whole new family), and it's not her fault - but here we all are. She's trying (she's come SO far - like lightyears), and that this was a setback and we're gonna stay the course, etc. We told her communication is key, and crushes are normal but 'Over the top' distracts from the priorities. 

Kay, who never apologized (mentioned when we sat down, I was gonna apologize. Sorry and that wasn't a legit apology, it was a weak ass shrug. She's def sorry she got caught vs sorry she did wrong), got a similar talk. We reiterated sneaking hurts our ability to trust, and we need trust to connect, and being sneaky/breaking rules doesn't help priority #1. And it's hard to have someone be part of our family when we aren't connected. 

We asked her what's the behavior that drives us bonkers:  'sneaking' (she's REALLY sneaky and she's been here for almost 2 years and it's exhausting) and has she told us before that she's done with that? 'Yep.' 

And yet? 

Then we asked her if she had anything to say:  Maybe you don't believe me, but 'the boy' and I aren't even friends anymore.  

Not surprising, she missed the point of the exercise. *sigh* I'm scheduling trust building visits with Katlyn, Kay and I (and sometimes Coach) once a week moving forward. 

Coach and I enjoyed
the art museum in
Florence, but when your
 husband notes that
this painting resembles
Glenn Close, it's time to admit
 we aren't exactly
polished people.

Silly me:  The first time I called Katlyn while searching for an adoption therapist who took our insurance, had openings, etc. (Lordy the number of calls I made), I asked her if we could skip the pillow sandwich type exercises . . . making a sandwich out of people by layering people with really large pillows. It's goofy as shit and I hoped to avoid it. Remember how we tried to adopt two boys back in 2021? Well, that didn't work out and let me tell you, Pillow Sandwiches were on the menu ALL.THE.TIME. 

Katlyn:  Sure. We can skip pillow sandwiches. 

When Katlyn and I chatted a few weeks ago about building trust, we giggled since I'm sort of begging for the damn pillow sandwich nonsense now. 

Last night:  A division 3 coach, who wants Reg, called him. As soon as he hung up, a division 3 coach (from my alma mater!) called Curly.  Coach and I planned to sit in on the 8 pm scheduled call. 

description of the painting in
 case you ARE polished.

I'd been reserving one way flights with mileage. Maybe we drive to SC for Easter and fly home? Long story. I was reserving seats, but it denied us
emergency exit row. The coach called  at 7:50 pm. When I returned to my laptop, I had to redo the  reservation for 6 of us AND, the seats jumped from 11K to 12.5K . . . in 50 minutes. We might not even go, but I'm fired up. 

Please pray for my dad. He's having a blood transfusion today. It should be fine, but one never knows. Something about his new cancer meds, his count, and he's so winded. I drove him to the appt and Ann met us there from her work. She's a nurse so I let her absorb the medical info. There was a lot of talk about blood though, and I didn't pass out. 

*****

So much more to share, but that's all for now. Have you been part of a pillow sandwich? Were you a willing participant? 

I'm back, Prego!

Florence sunset

Coach and I landed at O'Hare Friday afternoon and it's been nonstop.

Curly's travel basketball season kicked off. I knew this was on the schedule, but knowing it and wrapping my brain around it - two different things.  Her first game was Friday night at 9:10 pm, 30 minutes away. Coach stayed home, and I went even though aside from three naps under an hour each (2 on the plane and 1 before we drove to respite folks' home to pick up the girls), I'd essentially been awake since 11 pm the night before. 

She plays near Indianapolis next weekend and my brain had not processed that far out, but it's fine. I love basketball, right?  

* I don't love refs who stop calling fouls in order to rush a game along. Sat. night's 9 pm game didn't start till 10 and ended at 11 pm. I felt like I was being pranked, because C'MON, JET LAGGED OVER HERE. Someone (OK, me) had to stand up in the bleachers and remind them to use their whistles after Curly and another teammate were flipped onto their backs/flattened while involved in a jump ball with the SAME player in two practically back to back plays. Zero whistles. Nada. Call the damn foul, so no one gets hurt. Grrr. 

What I also don't love (this post is taking a whole different direction than what I planned, but rolling with it) is shopping for b-ball shoes for girls. If I was smart, I'd open a sport store that sells sport shoes for female athletes EXCLUSIVELY.

View of Florence from the bell tower
 of the Duomo. The stairs photo is my
view following Coach
up some 540-ish stairs. 

This message was brought to you by a failed basketball shoe excursion Sunday evening to Dick's Sporting Good, when I really just wanted to crawl into my bed (or write this post earlier so I could crawl into bed early-ish). 

When I wasn't watching a game and shopping for bball shoes:  I had the girls empty their drawers/closet and flipped their winter/summer clothes and collected SO much to donate. This is my least fav job and WHY did I decide to tackle it this weekend? I'm a little cray-cray. Then I did laundry, visited my parents, went to confession, attended mass early on Saturday before Curly's 6:30 pm game, worked out Sat, ran on Sunday, finished my chapter for my writers group (which meant going to bed at 1 am after Curly's late Sat game - in part because I was full of adrenaline as we lost in OT), bought groceries near the venue after Curly's Sunday morning game while she hung out at Culver's with her travel bestie who lives in the city. And finally and most importantly, Coach and I zoomed with our lovely adoption therapist, Katlyn, Sunday afternoon. A very helpful session . . . (I drafted the cliff notes, but have copied them into my next post - My version of cliff notes is not brief). 

The trip:  OH, YEAH. ITALY . . . we had a great trip. Lots and lots of stories. I thought I'd get to the Prego story referenced in the title. Maybe next time. We so enjoyed our time with Mini. We saw a ton (maybe a record number of Basilicas?, but when in Rome . . . see what I did there?) The worst part? 

Studio where Mini paint
and draws. So cool.

Mini got the Norovirus Sunday night, and was so, so, so sick. Tank caught the Norovirus when he was in Cancun for spring break (can't remember if I shared that ordeal), so I packed Liquid IV and that was helpful. We were relieved that it didn't hit when we were on a 2 hour train ride or touring Pompeii, hours away from our hotel, etc. Silver lining. Also, grateful I didn't catch it (Coach had it several weeks ago). 

*****

I never responded to comments before I left, life really did derail a bit with the girls' nonsense - but I did buy Bomba socks. They served me well. I took my Advair religiously while traveling (but skipped it too many times since we got back and feel a little cruddy, but maybe sleep will help). Looking forward to seeing what everyone's been up to. Have you gotten horribly ill while traveling?