Christmas Is Better With Littles

It’s Finals week and somehow I still managed to get sick even though I’m not in school anymore. Nyquil and Dayquil are my best friends at the moment. Whoever invented them was divinely inspired by God.

My life has been so booooring lately. I’m basically a widow thanks to finals, and I’m constantly cold. When I get home from work, I always know I’ve got a hot date with my fireplace, PJ’s, and Kindle. Once Billy finishes his finals, I’m not even sure what we will do with all that free time. I might have to concoct a “Get to Know You” quiz to make sure we are still compatible since we have been practically strangers this whole semester: Does Tori like olives? No. Does Tori ever consider Panda Express as an option for dinner? No. Ya know, important info like that.

I had a blast in Virginia visiting my sisters and their darling children, and so now everything after that trip seems rather anticlimactic. So I'll just tell you about my trip.

My dad’s former law clerk now works in the White House and he kindly invited us to lunch in the White House Mess while I was out there. Apparently only senior level White House staff (and their lowly guests) are allowed to eat there. It was pretty swanky. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my bright colors and all my jewelry. It’s the only time in my life when I felt that I should have gone with a black or gray pantsuit. Normally, we would have been able to duck our heads into the Oval Office, but the president was in there so that was apparently a big no-no. I don’t see what the big deal was—I mean I’m sure Barack would have loved to see me. After all, I did campaign for him *his FIRST term.

Bathroom in the White House

But bumping elbows with DC big shots was definitely not as enjoyable as hanging out with my nieces and nephews. It sure does suck living so far away from them. I got to be there for Hadley’s first time in the snow and Emery’s 2^nd birthday party and it was so much fun. But it made me so sad for all the things I’m missing out on. I worry that they don’t even know me— especially after Caroline told me, “When we peeked at our Christmas presents, I thought you got Mary Grace a gun”. However, my sisters do an excellent job at brainwashing them with my name and pictures of me. Hadley knows me as Tor-tor, and it’s the best. It makes me sad that they probably won’t know their Strong cousins very well. Thank goodness for Facebook, Instagram, and Facetime. And buddy passes, of course.

Here are some of my favorite things and conversations that happened on the trip:

Me: Mary Grace, you are going to be such a good mom someday!

MG: No, I don’t want to be a mom.

Me: Why not?

MG: Well, my mom—I mean Megan—told me that sometimes they have to cut open your stomach to get the baby out and then put the skin back on.

Me: Yeah, but they put you to sleep, so it’s not that scary.

Chelsea: Um, they actually don’t put you to sleep for that.

So, now I’m terrified of having a C-section.

Watching Sesame Street with Hadley as she plays with her belly button—her version of thumb-sucking. Her cuteness kills me.

After exploring my parent’s new house with the kiddos, I was jokingly telling Megan that the house was most likely haunted. Sawyer chimed in “Is it because of the boy who died upstairs?” I’m tellin’ ya—kids always know first.

Emery calls my Dad, Bubba. It’s probably my favorite nickname ever, especially since he persistently asks me to call him “The Honorable”.  And she dances to Elmo by making herself sick with dizziness and it’s fabulous.

Henry started yelling in the car, “Dikky dat! Dikky dat! Dikky dat!” [Translation: look at that] over and over and over again. Apparently the Virginia countryside is never hard-up for objects to look at.

Mary Grace was yelling things at me through the megaphone that I bought her (definitely not a gun). Out of nowhere, she said “You have great eyebrows!” Let me just tell you—there is no nicer compliment you can give someone who is growing her eyebrows out. 

I got to visit with my grandfather for a long time before racing off to beat rush hour. I just love that guy. 

Trying to distract the older kids while they were watching Teen Beach Movie only to be met with this reaction:

Seeing my sisters and having late night chats about who-knows-what was definitely a highlight. They are such wonderful women and I am in awe of what great mothers and wives they are. 

And I especially loved coming home to Billy. Even though I had to help him on his final presentation on OCD. Bleh. I'll try not to be offended that he needed my help because I most likely have OCD. Or what I like to call TBG.

I hope everyone has a fabulous Christmas! Here are some more pictures of my cute nieces and nephews:

Emery pretending to be a "Woo Woo" [dog]

Hadley ready to go out in the snow

Flying Sucks

I hate getting to airports early (I type as I am waiting for my delayed flight). I would way rather be in a rush to get to my gate than get there an hour early and have to sit and wait—as I am now doing. Airports just suck the life out of you the longer you’re there. And then everyone gets in a line to get on the plane first so that they can just sit and wait some more. It’s like herding cattle. I like to play it cool and wait until the last minute to board so I don’t have to be all up in everyone’s space. Plus I always know which seat is mine—the empty one. And usually right next to a big, red-faced bearded man. How are you sweating, dude? It’s 5 degrees outside.

I have never been on a delayed flight. Ever. And I fly quite a bit. I got to the airport early because I thought there might be accidents with the recent snow and all the Californians and I had to check a bag which I never usually do. (See above comment about hating getting to airports early).  Needless to say, I got through security in no time, and was an hour early to my flight. And now my flight is delayed. Blehhhh.

Getting to my gate was the easiest process I had ever experienced at an airport. I didn’t have to take off my shoes, my big fur coat, my hat, or my watch. I didn’t even have to walk through the machine that snaps pictures of your naked body and probably posts them all over the internet. Plus, I got to leave my laptop in my backpack. What a pleasant experience! I am the pessimist that has been saying to anyone who will listen that we won’t even be allowed to bring on carry-ons in a few years. So, I am shocked and delighted that they are making it easier to travel, rather than adding more stress to one of my biggest fears—flying. I also can’t wait to read my Kindle the WHOLE flight and not be chastised by those damn flight attendants. I hate them.

Aaaand, as I’m typing this, they just announced that something electrical burned out on the plane, so they had to replace it. And then they immediately reassured us that Delta is a very safe airline. Whenever someone assures me that something is safe, I automatically assume it is NOT safe. Why else would they need to clarify? If they didn’t say anything, I would of course assume it was safe or else everyone wouldn’t be doing it. But once they feel the need to convince me, that sends my anxiety through the roof. Which is probably the reason why I hate salesmen. I don’t like trying to be convinced of anything. So, if my plane crashes, at least you will all know that I was right not to be so easily persuaded! I texted my pilot brother-in-law to ask him what the chances are of my plane going down—he responded with a 99%. Why does his sarcasm reassure me more than the “Delta is a safe airline” statement? Apparently, I have trust issues.

So, as I’m contemplating my imminent death, I realize that I don’t have a will written out. So, here is my last will and final testament (is that how you say it?). Billy gets all my stuff. He can have my job too, if that’s okay with Vivint. If it’s not okay, just give him my salary. And just transfer my Bachelor’s degree into his name so he won’t have to go to school his last semester.

And the suitcase that was on the crashed plane should be shipped to Virginia to my nieces and nephews out there. I don’t want my death to ruin everyone’s Christmas, so at least you will still get your presents even though I didn't make it there. Chelsea, Megan, and Erin, you can have all the clothes in my suitcase. Oh, and Mac, Jet, Asher, and Marlee –your Christmas presents are in my closet. Billy, your presents are at my parent’s house. One in the kitchen cupboard (sneaky) and one coming in the mail. Also, I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered at the Outer Banks. Merry Christmas!

PS: They just said that the mechanics are optimistic. What does that even mean?

PSS: We are switching airplanes. Woo hoo! I just might live.

Here are some of the Strong family pictures to remember me by. Thanks Caitlin Nicole Photography!