Meh-hee-co

Billy had a 6-week break from school and so if you follow me on Instagram, you’ve noticed we’ve been trying to YOLO. Is that how you use it in a sentence? It’s been the fastest six weeks of my life, but some of the most memorable. One of the major highlights was going to visit Mexico City. Billy served an LDS mission there from 2005-2007 and he hadn’t been back (save for the 6-hour layover we took advantage of a few years ago). We’ve wanted to get out there for some time now, but we were never able to make the dates work.

So, we finally did it! And everyone kept asking us, "What are you doing here?". As we were going through customs in Mexico City, I asked the lady, “Where should we go while we’re here?” Without skipping a beat, she replied, “Cancun”. So, Mexico City or D.F. as the locals call it, is not a very touristy destination. D.F. is cray cray. There are SO many people packed in there. 21.2 million over 573 square miles, to be precise. NYC has 8.49 million over 469 square miles to give you an idea.

Now, I’ve visited Cabo quite frequently and Puerto Vallarta once, and they were completely different than the big city. For one thing, everyone in Cabo and Puerto Vallarta speaks at least a little bit of English so they can interact with the American tourists that come through. In D.F., the only people we met who spoke English were the American missionaries. And two of Billy’s friends from the mission—one knew quite a bit of English from his job and the other, just a little bit. This trip made me realize that I’ve really only been to places where they speak English—and I thought I was pretty well traveled (adding more trips to the list now).

My jokes are not very funny when Billy has to repeat them in Spanish—I discovered that my comedic strategy is all about timing, and if the timing is off, I just sound mean. But I did get a sense of how a new missionary must feel when they haven’t gotten the language down yet and their companion just does all the talking—it sucked. At first, I tried using the Spanish that Dora and Taco Bell has taught me. But then that got really frustrating because they would respond to me in Spanish that Dora and Taco Bell have not taught me and so then I’d say “no habla” and they would be like, why did I just hear you saying “yo quiero tacos”, then? So, I stuck to smiling and nodding and trying to follow along in Billy’s conversation. I think I was actually pretty good at following along just by picking out words. Whenever someone said “loca” (crazy), I knew the conversation had shifted to me, so I smiled.

I also learned that speaking the same language isn’t everything. It definitely makes things a lot easier, but I felt so loved by the people that we visited. They all scolded us for not staying the week with them, and they all wanted to feed us at least 2 meals. Our quick 2-hour home visits always turned into the whole day, but that’s what made it so wonderful. I just love the Mexican people. They are so hard working and so generous and family-oriented. They wouldn’t let us pay for anything! It makes me want to punch Donald Trump in the face. I wish we had had more time to visit everyone Billy wanted to see, but in order to do that, we would have had to stay for at least a month.

We went to dinner with this one family that he had baptized and Billy ordered a gringa—look them up, they are divine. And they were out of gringas, so he got some tacos instead. They were delicious and we were feeling super full and satisfied. But no matter how full we were, for the next hour, the mother of this family was driving around, on the prowl for somewhere that serves gringas so Billy can get one. Even though he was bursting over his jeans from tacos and kept protesting, she wouldn’t listen. Just the nicest people you can imagine.

We were with another family who had a little 6-year old boy. It went against my very nature that I couldn’t interact with him. He had no idea what I was saying to him. Billy was busy talking to the father the whole time so I couldn’t really use my interpreter. But you want to know what I discovered? If love is the universal language for adults, the Avengers are the universal language for 6-year olds. Before long, he was the Hulk and I was Iron Man with a little bit of Thor thrown in. He killed me maybe 100 times and thought it was the most hilarious thing when I would start snoring after I died (I’m pretty funny). He kept tapping Billy on the shoulder and telling him that he needed to help me with my Spanish. Cue the heart melting.

Another thing that was VERY different about this trip is that I was completely relaxed. Whenever we travel, I’m usually the planner. I make itineraries and budgets and take on all the stress, and then once everything works out I can finally relax and enjoy the trip. And Billy will say, “See? I told you it would all work out.” Oh, how I love/hate my go-with-the-flow husband. But because of the language barrier, Billy was in charge of it all. I was the laid-back half of our relationship, and I think I’ll start playing that role more often now. Billy got to somewhat experience how stressed I can get.  By some miracle (aptly named tropical storm Bill), we barely snuck on to our flight from Houston to Mexico City--the flight was oversold by 7, and we were 5 and 6 on the standby list. Houston, we DON’T have a problem! (I hate that I just said that). We made it with only the clothes on our back and our bag was left in America. Hashtag shopping spree.

I drink a lot of water throughout the day. Probably close to 70 oz. And then 40 oz of Diet Coke on top of that. So, we spent the majority of our time trying to find me a public restroom. I think we ended up spending 250 pesos (16 USD) on my bathroom endeavors. And that's only for going #1. Add up all the tortas, gringas, carnitas, liquados,tacos, mangoes (all of which has spicy ass salsa on it, even the mangoes) that we ate and you'll see what a problem bathrooms ended up being.

Oh, I almost forgot! I had my first panic attack on the Metro. So, that was fun. As Billy describes it, during rush hour, they pack so many people into the Metro that you can lift up your feet and you’ll still be held up. I didn’t even know I was claustrophobic until I was backed against a wall with no air flow and the whole population of Mexico City crammed into one car. In order to find oxygen, I had to lift my mouth up towards the ceiling. And then that stopped working for a while and my heart was pounding and I started bawling because I couldn’t breathe. And crying doesn’t exactly help with the not being able to breathe part.

Did I mention that the subway cars are separated by men and women so that the men don’t fondle the women? We weren’t aware of this fun little policy, and so we were in the all-men car. So, here are all these Mexicans just going home from work with this stupid, hysterical American girl. Somehow, without any air, I manage to gasp to Billy that I need to get off at the next stop. We get off and find the exit, but then the exit feeds right into this “mercado” or market. The market is essentially just a huge tent with all these little shops. Think Costco on a Saturday afternoon. Times 100. We spend the next 20 minutes trying to find the exit to the damn street. I swear, either every shop was selling shoes, or else we were going in circles. Probably a little bit of both. Oh, and I’m still crying at this point, because all I want is to have some fresh air (as fresh as Mexico City gets). We finally make our way out to the street and I almost collapse with relief. We try to get a taxi, but none of them will pick us up, and this is when I start envisioning being beheaded on CNN. I know that Mexicans don’t do that, but I wasn’t thinking rationally.

We finally walk down a few more blocks and a guardian angel named Jorge picked us up in a taxi. I was so relieved that I didn’t even mind the strange looks he shot me as I covered my ears, curled up in a ball, and started rocking back and forth. We looked up the area we were in once we got back to the hotel and discovered that we were in Merced—well known for its prostitution of young girls. Which explains the lecherous smiles and catcalls I kept receiving. Not that I’m that young, but…I round down. We told that story to this family the next day and they could not believe we stopped in Merced. We couldn’t have picked a worse spot. My bad!

We got to go to the pyramids at Teotihuacán. It was the one place I demanded we had to go. I was hooked on all the Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites books when I was a kid (so much so, that I decided on becoming an archaeologist. I guess there’s still time, right?). So, I dreamt of going to Teotihuacán ever since I read about Jim and Garth being chased around the Pyramids of the Sun and Moon.  And it was pretty breathtaking. Ancient civilizations are so fascinating to me, I just wish I was in the Matrix and could download all the information there is to know about them into my brain. Billy calls me Trinity, but only because he wishes he was Neo. I don’t think people realize what nerds we are. We also made sure to get a picture of Billy sacrificing me on the Pyramid of the Sun. It didn’t work though—probably cause I’m not a virgin.

We also got to visit the Mexico City temple, and were feeling pretty bummed out that Billy's recommend is expired. But luckily, it was closed for re-dedication anyway! So, we struck around the visitor's center for way too long so I could speak English to all the American missionaries. I just love English. And I learned that Mexicans call Joseph Smith, José Smith. Isn't that the greatest thing you've ever heard? I don't know why, but it killed me. I still can't stop thinking about it.

All in all, it was a successful trip, and I'm already trying to figure out when we can go back.

On top of the Torre Latino. It's a great view of the massive city, and gives you an idea of how bad the pollution is.

Visiting Franc and Ian (my Avenger's buddy). Franc is from Iztapalapa, one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the world. So, he is literally a bad ass.

Our romantic boat ride in Xochimilco on the Pamela. Mariachi band sold separately.

On the boat ride, they told us that these baby dolls come to life at night. Whatever you do, don't mess with Mexican witchcraft.

Not a selfie stick

Visiting Martha

Martha and her family

With the Iniestras in their beautiful home.

Billy has a way with pretty women.

Bellas Artes

The Mexico City LDS Temple

Doing his temple gang sign.

No selfie sticks at the Anthropology museum. Disneyland is soooo behind the times.

Haven't you always wanted to see me in my museum garb?

Great proportion. I approve.

Billy is the biggest dork of a photographer there ever was. Always making me do crap like this.

The actual Mayan calendar.

X-Men.

Pyramid FAIL

The Pyramid of the Moon

The Pyramid of the Sun

The Moon again

Billy and Cesar on top of the Pyramid of the Sun

The gods rejected our sacrifice for some reason. No one thought we were funny.

We conquered those stairs. There was a 13-year old boy close to the top that wouldn't come away from the wall and he was screaming because he was too high up and didn't want to go by the ledge (which was 10 feet away). We couldn't stop laughing. We'll make great parents.

With Cesar, his parents, and little Naomi who is pretty much just Dora.

Cesar was dying from carrying Naomi all day, so Billy offered to carry her. This guy makes me swoon.

Arcos (that's arches in Spanish). You're welcome.

I felt like we were in Scotland. Can you believe this is in Mexico?

Naomi/Dora after we introduced her to Baby Bottle Pops. Did you know that Dora teaches children English in Mexico? Mind blown.

We spent Father's Day at the Iniestras. They introduced me to Chicharrón (pig skin) which is surprisingly delicious and salty.

Billy and Juan

The universal sign for "I'm gonna pee my pants/skirt"

I would always flush my toilet paper without thinking about it, and then remember that they want you to throw it away. Or just put it in a pile next to the toilet. So, you can blame Mexico's plumbing problems on people like me. Also, this is the nicest toilet I used all trip.

My Thoughts on Aging

I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately, and it always surprises me how much better I feel after writing. It’s exactly the reason I started this blog in the first place—to see my thoughts written out in a somewhat coherent way is cathartic for me. And yet, I forget how good it feels every time. My journal, (which is a little less sarcastic and has a whole lot more feelings), doesn’t require drafts or editing (except when I’m redacting my high school years for posterity’s sake), so it doesn’t have the same therapeutic effect. Believe me, if you think my blog is erratic and tangential, you should read my journal. It sounds like it’s written by 7 different people.

            So, it finally happened to me. Back in January, I turned 25. I’ve been in denial ever since. I had to rent a car the other day, and my hands started sweating when I realized I could put my own information in and not my 30-year-old sugar daddy’s info (Billy). And you know how when you subscribe to a website, they ask what age range you’re in? I’m not even in the first age category anymore. Rest in peace, 18-24.

I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal, but it has really thrown me into a panic.  I threw out all of my beauty products and stocked up on anything and everything with retinol in it. I’m pretty sure I have retinol in my deodorant. I’m also toying with the idea of getting preventative Botox. A few years ago, my sister-in-law was getting certified to give facial injections of the miracle drug and offered to practice on me for free as part of her training. I completely trusted her, but I declined because I didn’t feel like I was “that kind of girl”. At the time, it seemed hypocritical to get Botox since I’ve always identified as a tomboy and didn’t obsess about top of the line makeup or expensive clothes. I always try to look good, but Target suits me just fine. But on the day I turned 25, I woke up seriously regretting my anti-chemical/surgery stance. Give me all the Botox.

I know you’re probably supposed to worry about your health your whole life, but I missed that memo. Everyone warned me, “Tanning will make you look like Yzma from the Emperor’s New Groove” or “Diet Coke is how they administer chemotherapy orally”. I’ll blame it on my brain not being fully developed until 25 (the only positive of this ghastly age, although it’s not that positive because I can’t blame my ineptitude on my brain anymore), but when people would tell me these things, I would wave it off. That stuff happens to old people. I think I even used to say, “I’d rather look good while I’m young and have skin cancer when I’m older than be pale”. *Gritted-teeth emoji* That’s just the narcissistic version of YOLO, right? My parents really should have given me a good slap every now and then. But now that I’m 25, I’m scared as hell. I’m positive that I’ll pay for my recklessness and disregard for my health pretty soon, so I’m trying to reverse all the damage I’ve already done*. I’ve even started another stint of working out and eating clean. I’m hoping this time it will stick, because Billy and I both feel like we would be the first to go in a zombie apocalypse because of our sitting-at-a-desk-all-day muscles. Or lack thereof. 

I’m in the worst shape that I’ve ever been in. I tried to hike a mountain with a bunch of the wives down here. I think it’s a 4-mile round trip hike (that’s probably being generous) and I gave up. There were 3 girls with 6-month olds strapped to their chests that did the whole thing. Mind you, the hike was pretty steep, I hadn’t worked out for 2 months for medical reasons and we were going at a very fast pace--I’m more of a hike 2 minutes, rest for 10 kind of girl. But I can’t get over the fact that I actually quit. I’m 25 years old and if I had to run up that mountain to avoid a tsunami, I would die. My ancestors and Charles Darwin would be ashamed. (Just so you don't think I've entirely let myself go, mangoes are back in season and it's all I eat now. My colon is very happy!)

Going to town on a mango. This is why no one ever wanted a second date with me.

I guarantee you I will not live until I’m 100, so I’m more than ¼ of the way through my life. Which is beyond scary. When I got married at 3 weeks shy of 21(yes, that means 20), I figured I might as well start popping out children before I turn 26. Why 26, you ask? It is the magical age that Obama designated when I get booted off my parents’ health insurance. The goal was to have at least 2 kiddos by now so I could get my parents’ money’s worth of prenatal and maternity care. However, my fallopian tubes have quite the sense of humor.  Since I’ll definitely be 26 and childless, I’m back to being a student again while fighting off wrinkles, sun damage, and obesity. Did I mention I live on a Caribbean island where the sun is always shining, and it’s too hot to run outside? Every outside yoga class is Bikram whether you want it to be or not. Even swimming laps in the ocean (water temperature is an average of 80.6º F) could give you heatstroke. So, these self-improvement plans might also be on hold until we’re back in the states. But I always feel better knowing that Billy is turning 30 next year. Because if I think 25 is bad, I know 30 is going to be miserable. I feel so lucky to have Billy and his receding hairline to put things into perspective.

*I wrote this post yesterday, and then today, I played beach volleyball and went swimming. And got super burnt in the process (pictured below). So, probably don't ever listen to anything I ever say. I'm not to be trusted. BUT NOTICE THE FOREHEAD WRINKLES!!!!

            

Call Me Master Tori, Please

Grenada in the winter months is a dream. I didn’t think it could get any more perfect here, and then I stepped off the plane and felt a heavenly breeze.  The temperature is the same as it was in August, but the difference is the humidity I think. And there are some lovely winds coming from somewhere—probably Antarctica. But this weather is really crappy timing, because I don’t have much free time to enjoy it this term. Why is that, you ask? Well, it’s because I am 4 weeks deep into my Master’s in Accounting program through Texas A&M. Aggghhhh! I’m gonna be a Master! Whatever that means.

Judging from all the confused laughs I generate when I make this announcement, I better clarify for everyone what the deal is. And it’s probably just as funny as you originally thought. I have ZERO background in accounting, but I have always loved the order that comes through math and especially problem-solving. I’ll admit it—I’m obsessed with worksheets. Plus, my four years at Vivint sparked my obsession with the business world.

I considered going into accounting during my undergrad but, a parent of mine, who will not be named, told me I had too much personality to be an accountant (I can say that now that I’m going to be one, right?) and so I pursued psychology. Which, I really, really loved, but now my career options are really, really pitiful. The plan is to become a CPA. I like the flexibility of the career—I could have my own clients and work from home, or if I start getting stir-crazy, I could go work for Vivint. Or another business I guess, but I’m Vivint for life, baby.

And not only that, I just hate that I have no knowledge on the subject at all. Once we start making money in ten years or so, it’ll be so useful to know what to do with our money. And if nothing else, it will save us $250 a year from hiring an accountant to do our taxes. That’ll really add up, guys. It may cover my tuition by the time I’m 87.

The whole idea came about as I was sitting on the beach one day, drinking my Miami Vice thinking about Leonardo DiCaprio, of course, which led me to The Wolf of Wall Street. And then I said to myself, “I don’t think we are in enough debt, what could I possibly do to drive us farther into the hole?” And alas, a dream was born. They should make a Disney Channel movie about me.

I only doubt myself every hour or so. The material is pretty effing hard for someone who knows literally nothing about the industry. Almost as hard as trying to go to the bathroom in a one-piece bathing suit. And it’s completely online which is the worst. But, I have nothing but time, so it gives me the option to go over the chapters two or three or ten times.

Being back in school has really helped put me in Billy’s shoes too. Last week, I was having a really hard time and feeling overwhelmed and I worked my butt off so I could have a pool day. I was crying to Billy that all I wanted was to lay at the pool and get fat. Life goals, ya know? As he was holding me, comforting me, I could have smacked myself. Because Billy feels all that same stress times 1,000, but he doesn’t get days off. He just goes to bed and starts all over again. What a freaking brat I’m being! So hopefully, by going through this with him, I’m getting a better grasp on what he’s going through and I’ll be more understandable on the hardest days where I’m missing him. Fingers crossed.

It's also nice because we go to school together in the morning and we have much more to say to each other than:

Me: How was your day?
Billy: Good.
Me: What'd you do?
Billy: Studied
Me: Cool!

I tell him what I'm learning and what I like and dislike about it, and it's somehow easier for me to listen to him talking about the crazy scientist stuff he's learning. 

I’ve actually had this post drafted for a few weeks now, and I keep chickening out about posting it. I’m totally fine talking about farts, sex, bodily fluids, how many days I’ve gone without pooping (2), etc. But ask me about my life goals and I turn bright red and clam up. That feels way more personal to me for some reason. Billy told me about this TED talk that he listened to once. I never listened to it myself, so this is passed down the “he told me that she said” telephone line. Billy’s synopsis is that when we tell people our plans or our goals, a small part of us feels proud and feels as if we have already accomplished the task and we don’t feel as motivated to actually complete the goal. So, I’ve been waiting until I had a month of classes under my belt and that I was actually learning and passing before I told a lot of people. If you see me in 2.5 years and I’m not a CPA—blame it on this blog post. And then my Disney Channel movie can be called The Girl Who Was Almost a CPA. Riveting.

Here is a photoshoot of me trying to study.
***Disclaimer: I do not wear glasses. I wear them to make me feel smart while studying***

My grainy iPhone view from my study spot on campus.

How to Gain 15 Pounds in 48 Days

I feel like I should apologize for my brief blogging sabbatical, but since I’m the only person who probably noticed, I’m not going to apologize. Instead, I’ll bore you with the minute-by-minute details of the last 2 months.

Billy and I just enjoyed a month-long break for Christmas. Well, mine was more like 2 months. And I don’t know if you can call any vacation time I take a “break”, because I don’t really do anything to take a break from. A break from hang-drying my laundry, I suppose? Anyway, it was fabulous for so many reasons, which I will proceed to list here.

1.     For obvious reasons, we finally were able to hang out...with each other! As I’ve said before, this was the only time in our lives where neither of us had to work or study. We’ve taken plenty of vacations (as our friends like to make us feel guilty about) but always in the back of our mind is the impending doom of getting back to work or cramming for the next test.  Since Billy was in-between terms, he really had nothing to study. Although, I still caught him looking at various anatomy charts—is that normal?

2.     I was able to spend 2 weeks in Virginia, sans Billy, and then meet Billy for our month in Utah. This translates to—AMERICA! The land of the free and Target. The home of the brave and the Quesarito (I know Mexicans didn’t come up with that, Taco Bell, but whoever did, I thank you from the bottom of my heart).

3.     Nieces and nephews. If you follow me on Instagram, then you already know that I have the coolest nieces and nephews alive. While FaceTiming Billy one night, he asked me who was my favorite niece or nephew on my side. Yes, we pick favorites; don’t act like you don’t do it too. I tend to prefer the ages of 2-4, when they can talk and have their own little personalities. I don’t really know what to do with newborns, I usually get in trouble for poking them to try and wake them up so they’ll play with me. And then when they hit 5, I feel like they get smarter than me and my ego can’t take that kind of embarrassment.  But when Billy asked me that question, I really couldn’t tell him. They’ve all become their own little people who are all so important to me. I think through all of them and I just smile: Sawyer (9) will just tell you like it is—like how when I gave him his Christmas present (a Rastafarian hat, complete with braids), he said “Are you just kidding?” Auntie fail right there; Caroline (9) can’t turn her brain off and it’s so fun to talk to her and see her insights into the meaning of life. That girl has got some depth; Mary Grace (6) has the biggest heart and is so empathic, it makes me want to be a kinder person. And just give her a big hug every time I see her; Emery (3) is a wild child with more spunk and passion than most 19-year olds have. She’ll either be the future president or the next cast-member on Jackass; Henry (2) has SO much energy and it’s my favorite thing in the world to make him laugh; Hadley (2) is such a curious little girl and loves to tell me what to do and dance to Taylor Swift with me (she's made it clear, I'm not allowed to sing); Sadie (1) is a pterodactyl baby, who is an expert growler and smiles ALL DAY LONG. And those dimples...I die. My sisters have raised these cute little kids who are their own people and it’s just so much fun for me to get to know them. I’m so lucky I get to be their Aunt Tor Tor.

4.     I was able to go see my 89-year old grandmother on my first visit to Virginia, and then she passed away a few weeks later and I was able to come to her memorial service. It was very sad, and especially hard to see my dad upset. But I’m so happy that she is reunited with my Granddad and I was able to see her one last time. Such a little miracle for me. And the silver lining to funerals is that it’s a time when family all gets together.

5.     I got really homesick for Grenada. 90% of my homesickness came from the fact that I couldn’t ever get warm. Virginia and Utah feel like home, of course, because our family is there. But then, said family goes to work and you don’t have anything to do, and you feel a little worthless and wonder why everyone can’t play with you all day, so you eat your feelings, which makes you feel better, because AMERICA, so you keep eating. We gradually got fatter and mort pasty white every day we stayed there. So, I was also pretty eager to get home and stop eating! It was very apparent to us that we were just visiting as we saw everyone else’s lives going on without us. Grenada is our home now, and that was an important realization to make. I don’t think I would have discovered that unless we left for Christmas break because I’m the type of person that needs something shoved in my face before I make connections.

6.     Speaking of having stuff shoved in my face, (that’s what she said)—over Christmas we were so spoiled and got so much STUFF. And now that we are back, I realize how much I don’t need ANY of it. I’m quite annoyed at myself. Yet again, I brought way too many clothes back. But I only got 2 new swimsuits, which is progress for me. Down here, I’m known as the girl who has 30 swimsuits. And that’s only if I’m matching them—I rarely have the same color top and bottom on. I figure, some girls have a shoe problem, my problem is swimsuits. Doesn’t matter if it’s Mossimo or Michael Kors. (Okay, I only have one Michael Kors and the rest are Mossimo.  I’ll stop acting like I’m rich or something).

Now that we are home, my favorite purchases by far are our HydroFlask insulated water bottles. You guys, I don’t even understand how they work, but they are MIRACULOUS! Billy and I keep testing them to make sure the water hasn’t gotten warm yet and they are always ice cold. We went to the beach the other day and had left the bottle out in the sun. I couldn’t even pick it up, because the outside was so boiling hot. Billy braved the first drink, and the water was still as cold as if he had pulled it out of the fridge! Technology, man.

7.     It took me almost a week, but I finally got adjusted to driving on the right hand side of the road. And now that I’m back in Grenada, I’m all messed up again. They really should not be letting me drive in either country.

8. We were able to go skiing (remind me never to go to Snowbird again--way too steep for these weakling legs); swim at the Homestead Crater; go ice skating after we realized the Midway Ice Castles weren't open till January--my bad, guys!; stay a night at the Little America; do a live session at the SLC temple (first for Billy); see the temple lights with almost the whole family; go down to St. George were it was a balmy 42 degrees (Billy still went golfing, but I need at least 70 degree weather to golf); watch a lot of movies; see the aerials at Deer Valley; go to Cafe Rio 5 times; and play a whole lot of 8 Ball Pool on our phones.

Can I get something off my chest now? It’s really been bothering me. What is the deal with the fountain drinks that all come out of one nozzle? It makes my drinks disgusting! They are taking over America and no one seems to be upset about it! You guys don’t understand how hard it is to go without fountain drinks and then come to the first gas station I see once I’m in America, and then my Diet Coke is poopy. I may have gotten low-maintenance about a lot of things in Grenada, but when I step off that plane and go through customs, I expect to have a perfectly concocted Diet Coke. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask, America.  

Overall, it was a successful break, and we are both 15 pounds heavier and settling in to second term quite nicely.

Do you KFC? Billy sure does.

Being apart blows, but it makes for some good Ambien photos! 

Emery and Hadley. They both kept saying "It's showtime!" 

Hadley girl after hiding from me behind the cushions. Not to be mean, but she doesn't pick the best hiding spots.

"Tor tor, you're my best friend." 

With my beautiful Gee-gee.

The Griffith and Morris Family

Not in the mood for selfies, I guess.

Billy went to the beach with some friends and got to hold a sea turtle. I cried real tears when he told me that night. I love turtles.

Celebrating my birthday with my Grandy. Hopefully our children get his tall genes.

Spent 24/7 with this gal and it still wasn't long enough.

Sweet little Marlee girl. 

Just your typical morning with Asher.

AMERICA. 

Motley crew. 

Jet loved ice-skating. I would too if a cute girl would carry me the whole time.

Blades of Glory

See that form? 

Snow!

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.