Live from the Sick Bay

Rubbish tonsils. They've been causing David problems since before we were married, and on Wednesday, they were finally excised from his body. He's been a trooper during his recovery thus far, writing me oxycodone-induced poems and doing his best to stay put.

We crammed as much excitement into the weeks preceding the surgery as we could, including an impromptu jaunt to Annapolis. Oh, what's that? Did I remember to make David take a blurry camera picture while we were there? Why, yes I did.

"[I'm] getting better all the ti-i-iiime!"

I also got to explore Gettysburg with Kari, who is officially the world's greatest mother-in-law. I did not take any pictures. (I'm a work in progress.)

Anyway, tonsils. David is enjoying unfettered access to ice cream, and I am enjoying the fact that he will never have tonsillitis again. Good news all around.

Boston Photographed

I made a solemn vow to my dear mother-in-law that David and I would be better at taking pictures. Since we were never great in the first place, I figure any improvement at all fits the definition of "better."

We took some pictures in Boston. Not many, mind you, and none of the most important event: Christopher's wedding. Sorry, Christopher.

Only one of many ice cream stops.

David started a new tradition on our Florida trip, which he happily repeated in Boston. I believe the tradition will remain with us until high fructose corn syrup is no longer manufactured.

Happiest kid in all the land.

We both had food glee moments on the trip, actually. This was my face when we rounded the corner at the mall and saw what mine eyes had not beheld for many moons: Wagamama.

Taste the happy.

The trip wasn't all ice cream and noodle bars. We saw some stuff, too. 

Plymouth

And yes, that is a whale on David's t-shirt. A whale, otherwise known as one of the most terrifying creatures on the planet. I consider it a credit to my skills as a wife that David not only owns that shirt, but that I permit him to wear it in public even though it strikes crippling bolts of fear into my very soul. 

Moral of the story: I am awesome. Whales, however, are not awesome. Never forget.

'Tis September

August passed in a hazy blur. We frolicked on the beach in Delaware, played tag on the Lexington green, visited a variety of excellent Boston ice cream shops, landed on (or at least near) Plymouth Rock, witnessed the marriage of Christopher and Allie, watched as much of the Olympics as we possibly could, tearfully bid our summer visitors goodbye, and wrestled and swam with the Virginia crew.

September looks just a little bleak by comparison.

Still, September does have its advantages. Jacket and hoodie weather isn't far away, and Preston is blogging regularly. What's more, Flight of the Conchords is back to doing what they do best: changing the world, one tooth at a time.


Happy fall, reader.