I keep trying to think of something nice to say about our trip to San Francisco this past weekend. It's proving difficult, to say the least.
Wait. I got it: Rob and I got to see our wonderful, beautiful friend get married. And we got to hear her say over and over again how glad she was that we were there. That was lovely. Especially since she's not the kind of person to say something when she doesn't really mean it.
Just about everything else about the trip, however, was a completely miserable experience.
It started out badly, when we had to wake Westley up so he'd be ready to go out the door at 5:30 AM. Westley managed to run away from us no fewer than six times before we'd even made it to security. I was not allowed to carry him; only Rob would do. Which left me and my unpredictable back responsible for the bags, everyone's boarding passes, and the huge-ass car seat (which doesn't seem so huge-ass when you don't have to schlep it through the airport).
There were a few moments of peace on the plane. Rob theorized that tiny robots and tiny animals would amuse our tiny dude. He was so, so right.
In the five years since I was last there, I'd forgotten that San Francisco is a terrible place to drive, and an even worse place to try to park. We arrived at the "no-rehearsal rehearsal dinner" late, with an exhausted toddler.
Exhaustion seemed to be the major theme of the trip, in fact. Between being woken up on Friday morning, flying for the first time, and all of the excitement and confusion of the airport, shuttle buses, a rental car, and a hotel room, Westley's nap schedule completely dissolved. No naps (plus the new location) meant almost no nighttime sleep. For any of us.
Fortunately, we were able to eat pretty well (something I always worry about when traveling), thanks to the kitchen in our room (a pleasant surprise) and our close proximity to both a Whole Foods and an all-vegan Asian restaurant.
Then there were all the little upsets and frustrations (made worse by lack of sleep, of course): realizing we hadn't brought enough changes of clothes to get us through the trip without doing laundry; realizing the clothes we had brought were completely wrong for the sunny, summery weather (Long sleeves and sweater dresses? So not the right thing); Rob discovering a large hole in his only pair of jeans; me discovering several small, but structurally significant holes in the dress I'd planned to wear to the wedding; getting all set to swim only to discover a Jacuzzi that was too hot and a pool that was way, way too cold; Westley discovering the existence of hard candy...
Westley's one nap that didn't happen completely by accident in the car was only somewhat successful. Once again, Rob and I had to wake him up to get him out the door on time. Although, this time, there were wedding clothes to deal with.
Naturally, Westley refused to wear them. And, because we were exhausted and not about to start a fight with him, we let this one go. So while the other young wedding guests wore tiny suits and fancy dresses, Westley wore his new (thrifted) Mickey Mouse T-shirt.
And once we got him to understand that we couldn't eat cake the second we arrived, Westley actually had fun.
Rob and I, on the other hand, merely survived. Despite the exhaustion, we were positively giddy when the shuttle driver who took us back to our car asked if we were glad to be back. Just the idea of being home, with our own bathroom and blankets and mattress, gave me a jolt of energy that temporarily masked my fatigue and propelled me through Sunday evening.
Then, when we finally got Westley to sleep, and climbed into our own warm, soft bed, I discovered that the kitty had peed on everything.
The comforter, blankets, and sheets were washing well into the night, while Rob and I spent our first night home shivering side-by-side, swearing that we'd never, ever do something like this ever again.