Fancy my surprise when Trevor mentions, well into our ride, that his parents were staying most of the day and we would have lunch, coffee, dinner and dessert, plus shopping, a potential wine tasting and general meandering.
Which is lovely, but was a day for which I was not prepared. I had, after all, seven inches of padding lining my crotch and derriere region, and my eyes were red and puffy from the random streaming they were doing while biking.
We did enjoy ourselves, bickering (yelling) on the way to Harbor Springs for all of Weque to witness, having a nice lunch at Mary Ellen's Place (read: agree to disagree), then forgetting all about the fight on the ride home, making plans for our future and pedaling ever-so-slowly to allow for Trevor's super heavy but very cool vintage Schwinn beach cruiser to keep up.
We consumed more food and drink, put the axe on the wine tasting (yet took our disheveled selves into a wine cellar to chat with the adorably French cellarmaster who wore an appropriate neck scarf), spied into homes that are for sale, and pounced on some friends who live downtown and were outside because we felt a little empty-handed, not having our children to entertain us for hours on end.
We came home and the kids had had a great day. Marta threw up a little and now I'm on Vomit Watch 5/09, way too terrified of baby throw-up yet somehow relieved that tonight might be the night she gets sick and gets it over with, since I've been sure the preschool germs would hit the girls' digestive track any day now. (If she does throw up in earnest, do I call the doctor in case it's Swine Flu? What is the protocol for throw-up three hours from the nearest case?)
We have a movie, a bottle of wine to finish and we're both exhausted from the biking, walking and plotting. Fresh air is good. Throw-up is not.
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