Yesterday we arrived back from our trip to California, from the balmy cool Sonoma sun and our time with Rob's parents. We had a good visit with them; we saw a fish hatchery and worshipped at their tiny Episcopal church and climbed at a playground and generally enjoyed their corner of northern California. Our children are still small enough that they rose to greet the day at 5:30am the whole trip and conked out very early in the evening; the 2-hour time difference is better than the 3 hours we dealt with when we lived in Connecticut, but is still exacerbated by the night-owl habits of Rob's parents. Is this what happens when you become a retired empty-nester? Your dinnertime drifts later and later into the evening?
Our trip was slightly marred by sickness, because OF COURSE WE WERE SICK. IT'S WHAT WE DO. Rob had some kind of miserable cold, and I had food poisoning or stomach virus or something. Grace barfed on the plane back home yesterday but I think that had less to do with illness than just bouncing around and a giant butterfly-shaped cookie. (Still, vomit on a plane-- not fun.) And of course all our petty illnesses are put into perspective by Rob's dad dealing with cancer. He's doing well these days as he gets ready for his big surgery later in the month, and it was a pleasure to get to see him, eat his homemade bratwurst, and spend a few days in their company.