737 not down over ABQ

Well, Sunday was Mother’s Day and this year I really wanted to DIG DEEP and write a post about how much I mean to my family. Unfortunately, I was in Albuquerque on a really important vacation from my problems and I had such a fantastic time, I didn’t even get on the internet (oh, except to check my page views and post selfies to Instagram).

And now I have nothing for you except a big, ugly photo dump of a bunch of stuff you don’t even care about. OH AND GIFS.



So when we left Saturday there was some airplane fuckery that started with mechanical problems in Indy and ended with us watching forlornly from the terminal in Houston as our connecting flight pushed back from the gate without us.

Yeah, it was that close. Sixteen of us were trying to make that connection and they wouldn’t even wait five more minutes. Don’t worry, I drafted a boozy hatemail to Southwest Airlines last night. (But hey, at least I’m not complaining about turbulence or people on the plane who smelled like McDonald’s or people whose thoughtless mouth-breathing disturbed my delicate baby!)

Seven hours, two time zones, one blown-out diaper and an overpriced plastic cup of chardonnay later, we landed in ABQ and the baby was desperately begging for some of that blue meth we’ve heard so much about.

Do YOU have it?

Yo mom, this guy kind of looks like Skinny Pete.

The grandparents immediately got started ruining her by giving her fistfuls of cookies and gluten and whatever the hell else she wanted, and I immediately went out for a run.

LOL JK no. I poured myself a beer.

Isotopes Slammin’ Amber! It tastes like beer!

Yeah so, it wasn’t all that memorable but it was cold and thirst-quenching and it had some hints of light fruitiness. A nice patio beer after a long day of slogging through airports. I’ve also tried the Alien Imperial Stout and the IPA from these guys.

Sunday morning, the baby’s Mother’s Day gift to me was waking up at 4 a.m. so we could spend more time together.



When I headed out for a run around 7:00, it already felt like noon. I’ve blogged about running at my parents’ place before, but basically it’s all hills. I did about five miles, avoiding the very worst of them and managed to keep a 9-something pace.

Tuesday I ran six miles in about an hour with a total elevation gain of 696 feet. It was brutal, middle-of-the-day hot, and those hills. MY GOD THE HILLS.


I almost didn’t make it home. I did enjoy most of it though (the last two miles totally sucked my ass). And I re-hydrated with tortilla chips and tequila so I recovered extra quickly.


Self-medicating is underrated.

My husband and I managed to have one grown-up date night where we stayed out until nearly 10 p.m. I had my very first taste of absinthe and it was so good it made me want to give up beer forever and only drink absinthe. It was in a cocktail with prosecco and St. Germaine, and I know the REALLY REAL way to drink absinthe is to do the thing with the sugar cube and the whatever, but the cocktail paired better with enchiladas. Anyway, I didn’t take a picture because there were too many people around and I didn’t want to look like an asshole, but SERIOUSLY U GUYZ OMG ABSINTHE.


Fuck yeah.

So we partied a teeny bit. But mainly, because TEH PERCIOUS BABEH never let us sleep  in later than 5 a.m., we took it easy. The baby alarm clock is tremendous motivation to go to bed at 9 p.m., even on vacation.


The sunglasses are because his eyeballs are bleeding from waking up so early.

And just to state the obvious, my parents love Kenzie. Like, they are lunatics for her. Maybe more than I am, if that’s possible. I wish we could visit them more often because I love THEM and I love New Mexico, but that flight was a nightmare. Anyone who is considering traveling with a child: do it when they’re really, really young and then STOP. And don’t fly again until they’re 3 or 4 years old. Or 14. Maybe longer. That’s my expert advice as someone who has flown three whole times with a child.


18 thoughts on “737 not down over ABQ

  1. you mean if you give a baby meth won’t it STFU and let you get drunk in piece? or will it end up going all trainspotting on you?

    (note: i do not advocate giving babies meth if its not nutritious and shit. like kale! At least your baby. she’s bit my finger and all so we’re homies.)

  2. Lurve me some absinthe. When it was banned for awhile, New Orleans turned to Herbsaint (similar, no wormwood) because absinthe is required to make a Sazerac. A cool Herbsaint frappe is the best drink on a summer night! (Or afternoon, or morning, whatever. It’s New Orleans.)

  3. The way my parents fawn over my niece … gah, it’s so disgusting. I kid I kid, my niece is awesome (read: NOT FUSSY) and she’s also their only grandchild, and hell, I fawn all over her too. HOWEVER, the niece has replaced ME as the baby in the family, so sometimes, I’m like, come at me, bro, you think you can replace me??!?!?! But not really. OK, in my head. Anyway.

  4. The last time we were on a long flight, the older one had a screaming fit bc we had to put her Dora doll through the scanner, and the little one entertained herself by pulling my hair at random intervals. Absinthe would have made everything better. Also, the baby is very cute – guess the cookie/gluten/organic meth diet is working for her!

  5. My mom was visiting us yesterday. Every move, noise, or face my two made was the greatest thing she’d ever seen. I thought she was going to start crying out of pure joy at some moments.

    Gah seriously what is with babies that wake up before 5am!?! This madness has to stop. Here’s a fun one…one baby slept like 13 hours both nights this weekend. The other is all “i’m not sleeping past 5:30 EVER”

    (I love the dancing Gale!)

  6. I am so glad someone else thinks of their baby in “Breaking Bad” terms. And that Miss K recognizes Skinny Petes wherever she goes.

    I am of the same opinion about baby flying as you. Last week we came back to the States, on a 6 a.m – 1 p.m. flight, for which I had to rouse Her Royal Babyness at 3 a.m. Every time someone said to me “Oh, she’ll sleep all the way there” I wanted to gouge their eyes out, because I knew they were wrong–she slept for TEN MINUTES three times during the whole flight. She was all smiles, no crying and no tantrumming, but NO SLEEPING. And there I was winning Worst Mother of the Year award nodding off over her in a Dramamine-induced semi-coma while she attempted to eat crayons, decorate my hair with Cheerios, and steal money out of my purse.

  7. Pingback: What’s up, bitches? | Cheaper Than Therapy

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