Why my mom is the awesomest person I know

My mother works for the State Department, doing passport security and immigration type work. She was recently talking to some American business owners who were trying to get work visas for a bunch of Chinese workers they wanted to hire. They were complaining to her about the fact that sometimes there is a wait in the consular section at the American Embassy in China.

"We've heard some people have to wait up to two hours in the consular section. It's demeaning!"

She replied, "is it really any more demeaning than being told by your government how many children you can have, or what you can think, or where you can live, or what political party you can belong to? More demeaning than that?"

That's like one of those comebacks you think of an hour after the opportunity to say it has passed, and then you kick yourself for the rest of the day for not having thought of it sooner. Given the time, you can think of the best zinger in the world, but rare is the occasion when the inspiration and opportunity to deliver it coincide. My respect for her, which has always been considerable, is now in orbit.

Also, if the Chinese consider waiting for two hours to be an extraordinarily demeaning experience, then the DMV in China must be a magical, wonderful place.

Zeke's progress so far...

I *heart* Michael Chabon

I'm about three quarters of the way through The Yiddish Policemen's Union, and I'm absolutely loving it. Reading Michael Chabon's writing is the intellectual and literary equivalent of savoring the most delicious corned beef sandwich from the best Jewish deli in the world. I adored Kavalier and Clay, but I think I love this book even more. I don't want it to end. And I think I've got a bit of a crush on the author, though I'm sure if I were ever in his presence I'd feel too stupid to say anything, since he's so conspicuously brilliant.

Ripped

I learned how to swim when I was a year and a half old. People at our swim club in Venezuela used to freak out at the sight of a little two-year-old peanut leaping fearlessly off the diving board into the deep end of the pool, but my parents didn't worry about me because they knew I could handle myself in the water. I'm trained and certified as a lifeguard, including open water rescues. And until yesterday, I have never felt physically overpowered by any current or wave, whether in a lake or in the ocean.

Yesterday afternoon at around 5:30, Jason and I took the dog down to the beach for a walk. We do this at least 3 or 4 times a week. Sometimes we'll take our bathing suits and go for a swim, sometimes not. If one is in the water, the other stays with the dog because he tends to freak out if he can't get to us. He'll stand at the water's edge and bark nervously. It's kind of funny and kind of sweet.

I had done a hard workout just before we left, so I was hot and sweaty and wanted to go for a swim. The beach that we go to has a rocky shelf along the shore, so if you go out about 10 feet you'll be standing on flat rock, and then all of a sudden the ledge drops off and the water is 6 or 7 feet deep on a calm day. Yesterday the water was not calm. It wasn't crazy rough, but it was high tide and the waves were a decent size. We went to this spot where there's a break in the rocks about 20 feet wide, so you can swim without getting dealing with the rocks. But yesterday, the channel between the rock formations created a rip current that was very powerful. I waded out to the water until it was about chest high, and then all of a sudden a wave came and I was pulled back away from the beach. I tried to swim back to shore, but even swimming my hardest I was still moving backwards, and then being pulled sideways behind the rocks. At one point I tried to put my feet down to push off with my legs, but I was getting battered around so much that all I did was smash my ankle against the rocks. I gasped from the pain, and inhaled a huge mouthful of water.

I know enough about rip currents to know that you shouldn't fight them -- just let yourself be drifted down the beach until the current eases up and you can get out of the water. But I was scared of the rocks, particularly of smashing my pregnant belly and hurting the baby. and because of the water inhalation, I was coughing and having trouble breathing, plus I was tired from exercising. Jason, who was sitting on shore with the dog, could see that I was drifting out pretty far, and waved me in. I yelled that I couldn't get in, and he was up in a flash and ran into the water to get me. After a couple of minutes of struggling with the current, he finally reached me and grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the water.

When we were standing on the beach, panting and trying to catch our breath, we looked down at our legs, both of which were bloody with cuts. I had little blood spots on my ankle and the back of my foot, and Jason had hit his knee and shin pretty hard and had also cut up his toe. But we were safe and in one piece. I gave him a hug and told him he was my big strong hero, and he clung to me, still freaked out by the whole adventure. The poor dog was a mess as well -- when Jason ran into the water, Max tried to go in after him and was flattened by a big wave. The three of us decided we had had enough beach time and headed home for dinner.

New bling

I'm going through that stage of pregnancy that is causing me to become a bit, er... gassy. So Jason gave me a necklace he made out of a can of air freshener. What a considerate husband!

Relaxation, Hawaii style

Jason has become good friends with a guy that he works with, Francis. Francis is a born and bred Hawaiian, as is his wife, Kim. Francis's family has a house on Sunset Beach (up on the North Shore), and the house is literally on the beach. You walk out the back door and through a gap in the hedges and you are on the beach. Francis and his family invited us up there for a barbecue on Sunday night. We had Hawaiian barbecue, played with Francis's kids in the water, watched the sunset, and hung out on the beach in front of a huge bonfire. Not a bad way to spend a balmy summer evening.

Francis mans the grill

Sunset at Sunset Beach

I see dead people

I've read that pregnancy can bring on crazy dreams. I have pretty insane dreams anyway, but in the last week, I've dreamt three different times about childhood friends of mine who are dead. One died in a car accident and one in a plane crash. But in my dreams they're alive and just hanging around, doing whatever I happen to be doing in the dream (at a party, for example, or riding in the car). In the dreams, I'm aware of the fact that they are dead and aren't supposed to be there, but I don't say anything to them about it. And then I wake up very disturbed and sad. I keep waiting for a dream about Kristin, but it hasn't happened yet.

Virtual book club

I've added a new feature to the blog. On the right side of the page, there's a list of books I'm reading. I did this because I really miss my book club. Kathleen and Mindy and I started it about 6 years ago, and we would alternate fiction and nonfiction. We read some great stuff, met some great women, and had some great discussions. So if anyone wants to email or call to talk about books, or suggest a good read, please do.

Tables turned

Last weekend we went to a new baby product expo in Honolulu. At one of the booths there was a prosthetic pregnancy belly for men to try on so they could get a sense of what it was like to carry around a big belly. So here's Jason at 7 months, and me at 17 weeks, belly to belly:

Family tradition

We're at the point in my pregnancy where we're thinking about names. We've actually had first names for a boy or girl picked out for a long time, so there hasn't really been any debate about that. But we wanted a cool middle name, too. My dad is a great student of military history, and my brother Josh's middle name is Wingate, after Orde Wingate, a British major general who was instrumental in the creation of the State of Israel. So Jason and I were thinking about choosing a middle name for Zeke that reflected both Jason's Australian heritage and my Jewish ancestry. So I asked my dad. And it turns out, John Monash was a great Australian war hero during World War I, fought at Gallipoli and all that, was a tremendous civil engineer, and he was Jewish. There's even a univeristy named after him. So we can name our boy Ezekiel Monash. Fucking awesome.

It's all starting to feel more real, this whole baby thing. Next week I've got an appointment to tour a daycare/preschool center. I'm on waiting lists for others. I've already received samples of formula and baby gifts from friends. Holy crap, I'm going to be a mommy.

A new monkey in the family

Today my sister-in-law Lori is having another baby. Hazel, welcome to the world, sweetie. I can't wait to meet you!

Don't mess with Aussies

Australians, or at least, the ones I know (e.g., my husband and his family), are unbelievable practical jokers. Jason's dad had a neighbor who used to go boating from time to time, and he kept his boat at a marina but brought the boat's engine home to store in his garage or whatever for safekeeping. So one day when the guy was out on his boat, Jason's dad dug a big hole near the guy's back yard, along the path that he typically walked when bringing the boat motor home. He covered the hole with palm frods or other pieces of foliage, and then hid behind a fence and laughed his ass off when the guy fell into the hole while carrying his boat motor. Or there was the time Jason and his pals duct-taped a drunken friend to a flag pole naked in the middle of a public square. The poor bastard had to borrow a towel from the police to wrap around himself so he could take the train home. Or there was the time Jason rewired his boss's car so that every time the guy stepped on the brakes, the car horn sounded. Or the time his brother stole a garbage truck and drove it to his girlfriend's house to pick her up for a date. I could go on. But in any event, what many Australians would consider a "harmless prank," we would consider "vandalism" or "battery" or "larceny."

There's a guy at Jason's work that has started the cycle, apparently unaware of what he's gotten himself into. He put some goofy stickers on Jason's hardhat, so Jason taped some flowers to the guy's hardhat. Then he screwed Jason's tool belt to one of the equipment carts at work. So Jason waited until the guy had put his tools away for the day in some secured boxes that he keeps on the back of his truck, and screwed those shut. So the guy can't get them open because any tools he would use are locked inside. Last night Jason started talking about needing to get some shoe polish for the next round of tricks. I'm getting really nervous that we may have to put a defense lawyer on retainer.

Soul Food

It really shouldn't have been that complicated. There were a couple of teenage girls ahead of us -- typically giggly and silly, and, let's face it, we're in Hawaii, so odds are they weren't overwhelming intellectuals -- and they managed it with no trouble. But for some reason, with our myriad advanced degrees and years of living experience, three highly independent and intelligent women were having a bitch of a time getting a decent picture out of the photo booth. And by "decent", I mean one with our faces in range, rather than tops of heads cut off, everyone looking the wrong way, no one able to figure out how to get into position.

We were in the checkout line at the K Mart, buying snorkeling kits on our way back from getting massages at a swank spa, when we saw the photo booth. One of those old school ones that you see on Atlantic City boardwalks and in arcades. "Oooooh, fun! Let's get our pictures taken!" So we got our big pile of quarters and headed over to the booth.

We had enough change for two sets of pictures. On the first one, someone (and I won't name names **cough*Michele*cough**) got confused about which button to push and committed us to a single photo, rather than a series of 4 like we had planned. That picture actually wasn't half bad, miraculously enough.

Then the fun really started. The next time, we figured out how to do a series of four, but we were having a bitch of a time actually positioning ourselves for the photos. First we moved the camera too low, so that it focused on Michele's midsection. Kathleen didn't even make it into the booth in time for that one. Then Kathleen got in, but the shot only got the top half of her face, so it looked like she was peeking over a fence, a la "Kilroy was here." Part of the problem was that there is a screen in the booth that shows what the picture will look like, but the urge to look at the proposed result rather than the camera -- resulting in everyone looking down -- is difficult to resist. In any event, we finally got the camera positioned, but we were racing around the booth like a Chinese fire drill, laughing our asses off and creating quite a disturbance in the K Mart. Here's the end result:

We kept the prints in the car all weekend, and every time we looked at them, we couldn't stop giggling.

I think that laughter and familiar companionship was exactly what we all needed. Each of us was feeling stressed out by life in general, and Kathleen had the added pressure of worrying about her grandma, who was very ill in the hospital all weekend. But cooking dinner together, spending time at the beach, having coffee in the mornings, and being able to talk about everything and nothing fed all of our souls for a few days.
And as an added bonus, we all got in some serious beach time (and some serious sun -- Jason and I are both nursing sunburns) so that Kathleen and Michele could get some surfing in. Kathleen was out in the water with Jason for about an hour and a half, and she did great. The waves and wind weren't cooperating much -- too small and too much chop -- but she's a strong paddler and made terrific progress. Michele got up as well, though she was a pro at that point, having surfed 4 weeks earlier.


We're going to make up shirts for people that graduate from our surf school, so that anyone who comes to visit and gets a surf lesson gets a shirt. Design ideas are welcomed and encouraged.

Yaaaayyy!!!

The van is ready, and didn't even cost an arm and a leg to fix. (Never mind that we bought the damned thing a month ago and have driven it a total of two days). Jason started work this week and is doing really well already -- the foreman loves him because he's efficient and he knows his shit. I'm in my second trimester and no longer on quasi-bed-rest -- I started exercising again and feel a million times less sluggish and energetic already. And Kathleen and Michele are going to use frequent flyer miles and do an impromptu visit out here next weekend. I think we're going to do a day trip to the Big Island and see the volcano. Woohoo!


This is all such good news, because I've had a bit of a rough week. With Jason gone at the crack of dawn, I've been completely by myself all day for the first time since we got here. And with the van in the shop, he's been using my car, so not only have I been by myself, but I can't even take little breaks into civilization to run errands or anything. Yesterday I felt very lonely and isolated and spent much of the day either in tears or on the verge thereof. But I'm much better today, and so excited to have some members of my posse out to visit me. They are just the best and I love them like crazy.

San Diego

I just got back last night from spending 4 days in San Diego at a special education law conference. The conference was fine and somewhat informative, but mostly I went to hang out with Kathleen and see Charlie (my boss). I bunked up with Kathleen in her room and we attended lectures (and whispered to each other about what stupid advice the lecturers were giving), sat out by the pool, read books, went for walks, visited with clients, watched awesomely bad TV while eating yummy Thai takeout, and had a great time catching up. San Diego is pretty but it was chilly and breezy -- a high of only 70 during the day, which felt cold to my already thinned blood.

The only downer to the trip was that I had a horrible time sleeping. The beds in the hotel were too soft and too warm, plus every night trains ran through downtown at 3 in the morning and woke me up. So now I'm home and I'm completely exhausted, plus feeling a bit lonely being away from the mainland.

The saga of the van, entering Week 3...

The idea of the used-car salesman as a slick scumbag lower than just about every other life form is not a new one, but up until now, I hadn't really had any experience with it. I've bought all of my cars used, but I got them from CarMax, where the price is fixed and the cars have all gone through a mandatory inspection/service system, plus you can get a warranty. So there's no haggling over the price, and there's a certain assurance that the car will be in proper working order. The sales all went like this: I looked for a car I wanted, found one online, called CarMax to let them know I was coming in to see it, checked out the car and took it for a test-drive, and bought it. Easy as pie.
Then Jason and I went and bought a crappy van from a used commercial van and truck dealer here. We knew we were getting a beater, but were willing to put some money into the thing to get it in good shape, because it was so inexpensive to begin with. I also got the dealer to throw in a free tune-up. This was on a Saturday. The salesguy (named Les -- his license plate says "GO LES" -- oy) assured us that it would be done in a couple of days, by Wednesday at the latest.
Well, he was wrong. After two weeks of "oh your van will be ready on Thursday nope whoops it'll be ready on Monday no sorry it'll be ready on Wednesday blah blah bloo blee" I called them and said, basically, "what the fuck?" The guy assured me he was doing his best, lied to me that he had offered Jason a loaner (he absolutely didn't), and told me that they were busy. I said, "That doesn't really help me. You've had the car for two weeks. It's a tune-up, not major repairs. I don't understand how a tune-up takes so long. You change the oil and the filter, check the spark plugs, check the belts and hoses, cap the fluids, and you're done." He said, in a tone like I was a complete moron, "fine, if that's the way you feel, it'll be ready this afternoon." "Fine." "Fine." Asshole.
So we went and picked up the van. It ran rough, and ate way too much gas, but we knew this and were prepared to spend some money getting it fixed up. Jason was happy -- he could toss his surfboard in the back, take the dog to the beach without worrying about getting sand all over my car's leather upholstery, drag his tools around.
Then the next day, Les called. "You need to bring the van back."
"Why?"
"Because we forgot to do the safety inspection and update the state safety sticker."
"*sigh* Ok, we'll bring it this afternoon."
So we took the van in, and Les and the mechanic drove it down the road to the shop. We were assured that it's a simple process that will take no more than 15 minutes.
Forty-five minutes later, Les and Brian, the lot manager, came back without the van.
"We have a problem."
"What?"
"We can't get the van started."
"Why not?"
"We think there's a problem with the alarm system, and that we tripped it and now the engine is shut down and we can't get it going. We're going to jump the battery."
I've listened to enough Car Talk to know that this sounded like a stupid plan.
"Why? You just said that you think it's an alarm problem, not a battery problem. Why don't you just deactivate the alarm?"
"Oh, that's very difficult and complicated."
"We didn't have any problems with the alarm. We turned it on, we turned it off, the van ran fine. So what are we supposed to do?"
"We're trying to get it started now."
"OK. That's strange. It was running fine when we brought it here."
That started a prolonged argument that ended up with Jason and me in Brian's office, Jason sitting quietly looking peeved, and me and Brian arguing. Brian's point seemed to be that we had bought a cheap van as-is, and it wasn't his problem. According to him, he just happened to be the unlucky one who had possession of the van when it stopped working. I pointed out that when I bought the van, it was running, when I took it home, it was running, when I brought it back, it was running, when he took it down to the mechanic, it was running, and only after the mechanic did something to it did it stop running. He reiterated again that it was a cheap van. I told him to stop lecturing me about buying a cheap van, and that "as-is" meant that I assumed the risk of the condition of the van as of the time I bought it, not that he got to fuck it up more after I bought it and then dump the problem in my lap.
The argument was going nowhere, so I said so and said that I wanted to see the van and what the mechanics were doing to it. Turns out, it was the alarm, which the mechanic suddenly remembered how to deactivate (it wasn't so complicated after all). But in the meantime, they had flooded the engine trying to start it and sprayed some kind of high-octane shit all over the engine and the fuel injectors. We waited for the engine to de-flood, finally started it, and began the trip home. About 10 miles into the 17 mile trip, the engine started to lose power and acceleration. First Jason couldn't get it over 60, then 55, then 50, until by the time we were a mile or so from the house, we couldn't get it about 15 mph and we were waving people to pass us. But we managed to get home, found a mechanic not too far away, and arranged to take it in the next morning.
The next morning, we couldn't get it started at all. So we got a tow-truck to take it to the service place. That was on Saturday (April 15). The service place worked on it for 5 days, managed to get it started and fixed the alarm system, but the car still won't run -- as soon as you put it in drive, it stalls out. They can't figure out what's wrong. So now we have to pay to have it towed to the Ford dealer so that maybe they can figure out what's wrong. And in particular, whether what the dealer did caused the van to go from a rough-running -- but nonetheless running -- vehicle into a completely broken down piece of shit. I have confidence that the answer is yes, and when I have enough evidence to satisfy the relatively low "more likely than not" civil court standard, I'm going to take Brian to small-claims court and hand him his ass on a platter.

Jason gets a job

He aced his test on Monday, and today he's got a new gig.  He's out at the company right now filling out paperwork and taking care of administrative bidness.  Nice! 

Lovely day

It's only 11:40 in the morning, and already the day has been a cracker (to use one of Jason's favorite bits of Aussie slang). To begin with, we're still basking in the glow of our first date with Janet and Sean, the couple we met at the seder a couple of weeks ago. We met them in town last night for a really yummy Thai dinner, and just had a fabulous time hanging out with them. They are so funny and cool and easy going, and the four of us had a great time. Jason and I were so funny before hand - it really was like having a first date with a new prospect. We were all nervous about what to wear and whether they would like us. Even when we first met, we weren't sure if we should wait a few days to call -- a la Jon Favreau's character in Swingers -- or risk looking like desperate losers. But all went well, and we're very excited to have some actual friends here in Hawaii.


Today was also the day I went in for genetic screening, including the mack daddy 3D ultrasound. I'm in my 13th week, and the baby is about 2 1/2 inches long -- exactly the right size. The heartbeat is perfect, everything looks good, and the little monkey was hopping around like a jumping bean. The doctor was trying get some very specific shots at specific angles to take some measurements, and the kid wouldn't sit still. It was very funny and cute and exciting.


Also, Jason took his journeyman's exam to get into the Hawaii electrician's union today, and he totally killed it. The union guys were so impressed with him that the president of the union called him into his office to talk to him. It looks like he'll be starting work really soon, possibly this week, and should be paid at a pretty high rate on the scale because of his skill level. I'm so proud of him.


In other news, we had an absolutely outstanding visit with David and Michele -- saw lots of beautiful beaches, went on a helicopter ride around the North Shore and Windward side, relaxed, worked on our tans. It was so nice to hang out with good friends, and taking them around gave me a newfound appreciation of what a beautiful place I live in. Also, our stuff came, so we're in the process of putting the house together, hanging pictures, arranging rugs and furniture. We went to Macy's and used some of our wedding gift certificates to stock the kitchen and get nice new sheets. Jason bought a crappy old van for $1000, and it's in the shop getting fixed up, so now he's got a vehicle to cart his tools and surfboard around in. Everything is coming together nicely.
Waimanolo Beach on the Windward side:



Our helicopter and pilot:

Aerial shot of the North Shore. The waves were firing -- 10 to 18 feet:

A tiny little secluded cove on the North Shore -- we were the only ones there:

Shalom and Aloha

Last night we went to the community Passover seder hosted by Temple Emanuel, the local Honolulu synagogue. It was incredibly fun and I'm so glad we went. It started out sort of questionably -- as the rabbi was introducing himself and getting the evening started, the door at the back of the room burst open and a bunch of people yelling and carrying signs marched in. "Holy crap, anti-Israel protesters!" was the first thing I thought, but then I realized it was a planned "comedy" bit. The signs said things like, "Down with Pharaoh" "Freedom Now!" and "Egyptians use non-union labor," and then the protesters had this conversation with the rabbi in which he explained that the Jews had been freed from the Egyptians by God and that's what we were all here celebrating. I guess it was kind of funny, but I was dubious. Then we all had to stand up and hold hands with everyone at our table sing a song to the tune of "We Shall Overcome," except that this version was entitled "We Shall Overeat."* Jesus Christ. And, oy. My heart kind of sank, because I don't like my Judaism flavored with hippie-dippy, joke-y type bullshit. I like my Jewish rituals to be a little more formal and reverent.

But then everything settled down and we got down to the business of the seder, which ended up being lovely. We were seated at a table of other young couples who were all very nice and interesting, and I think I made a friend -- a woman whose husband is in the military (he's really cool, too), and she works from home as a management consultant. We exchanged numbers and are working on a plan to get together soon. The service was very multicultural and warm -- the Four Questions were read in a number of different languages (French, German, Dutch, Spanish, Yiddish, etc) to symbolize the fact that the Passover seder is observed by people all over the world. Each table had a special question about Passover that they were supposed to come up with an answer to, and then at some point in the service the rabbi would ask them the question and talk about the answer. There was lots of discussion and in*terpretation about the various points in the service. And the congregation was all shapes and colors -- Asian, Polynesian, caucasian, people that lived in Hawaii, people that were visiting from out of town. Everybody was incredibly welcoming and friendly, and in addition to having a good time, I really felt the spirit of the holiday. Happy Passover, everyone. May we have a year in which we work towards peace and freedom for all.


*Here's one of the five verses we had to sing:

We shall overeat
We shall overeat
We shall overeat this day
Oh, this is our wish
Please pass the gefilte fish
For we shall overeat this day

David and Michele: 5 Gulfstream Vs

This is another tribute to the awesomeness of my friends. This one honors David and Michele, using a rating system of Gulfstream V luxury aircrafts, as a nod to Dave & Michele's tendency to undertake lengthy and expensive travel to come to my side.

First, a little background. Michele was a sorority sister of mine at the University of Virginia. At UVa, we were friends and I thought she was smart and cool, but I can't say that I knew her as well or hung out with her as much as some of my other friends from college (probably because she was a year ahead of me in school). After graduation, I didn't see her for 10 years. Then one night in 1999 (I think, may have been early 2000), I was hanging out with a friend of mine in a pub in Atlanta, and this woman who looked familiar walked up to me and said, "Did you go to UVa?"

Me: Yes.
Her: Were you a Zeta?
Me (becoming more intrigued): Yeeess..
Her: You're Wendy!
Me: Yes!
Her: I'm Michele!
Me: Holy shit!

And we reconnected and became close friends again. I introduced her to a bunch of my buddies and she introduced me to a bunch of her buddies (most notably, Carrie, who came with me on the surfing trip to Costa Rica when I met Jason). She became part of the core "girls' night" crew, and she's been an integral part of my life ever since. She married David in 2003, and he's a total mensch -- smart, funny, interesting, and an all-around swell guy.
In the past few years, David and Michele have played an integral role in the major events in my life, and I feel compelled to chronicle their outstanding deeds:

• When my dog, Floyd, died in 2003, Michele hosted an Irish wake in Floyd's behalf, in which we toasted to Floyd's memory and told funny stories about him. Michele set up a picture of Floyd on the counter with a little shot glass of whiskey set in front of it, so he could have some libations to take him up to heaven. (5 G-Vs)
• When Jason and I got married in Australia in 2005, David and Michele flew over even though they could only stay for a week (which is murderous turn-around time for such a long trip and huge time difference), and even though Michele was 5 1/2 months pregnant with her second child. Michele's rationalization was, "hey, you have to have a posse for your wedding." Other than my parents, only 3 people came over from the States -- Dave and Michele, and my friend Malinda. Michele calmed me down when I was freaking out on my wedding day, did my hair, and generally kept me sane. She and David were also huppah-holders. (5 G-Vs)
• At our second wedding in Atlanta in 2006, Michele was one of my bridesmaids and she and David helped us set up for the rehearsal dinner the night before. I was, of course, freaking out that day, and Michele kept me sane. (5 G-Vs)
• At our New Years' Eve party this year, Michele showed up straight from the hospital after working insane hours delivering babies. She hit the moon bounce in her scrubs. (5 G-Vs)
• On the Sunday we were leaving Atlanta to start our cross-country trip, Michele opened her office to give me an ultrasound and thereby helped reassure me that my pregnancy was progressing well.
• This weekend, Michele and David are, once again, making a long trip for a short amount of time to come and visit us. They will be our first visitors since moving to Hawaii, and will ease some of the lonesomeness I feel at being so far from my friends and family. (5 G-Vs)

So, there it is. Once again, I am overwhelmed by the lengths to which my friends will go to see me, help me, and generally make my life complete. Dave and Michele, I love you and can't wait to see you on Friday. We'll have leis and cocktails ready for you when you get off the plane.