Georgia on My Mind

Last weekend we headed up to LaGrange, Ga to visit Lee’s grandmother and aunts and uncles and so that I could attend the bridal shower of my friend Ashley (hi Ashley!) in Atlanta on Saturday.

I told Lee last week that perhaps I could be medically diagnosed with travel induced anxiety. Does that ever happen to you? I seriously get panicky at the thought of packing up necessary items for four days of travel for four people with very different needs. This time I did manage to quell my hysteria long enough to get all the basics packed [never mind that MB ran out of clean clothes by Sunday– no one NO ONE could have predicted the number of messes that girl made]. But I forgot my camera. BUMMER.

I did get some pictures with my phone camera of Lee’s Uncle Jack and Aunt Monique’s farm house though. If I ever lose my mind, look for me here.

When we first saw this place a few years ago, I have to admit– their plans for it seemed outrageous. They said they had a lot of advice to tear the place down, but they were determined to renovate it. They kept insisting that next time we visit it would be “really done,” but I don’t see how it could get much more charming. Apparently they spend a lot of weekends here, so I’m seriously considering squatting during the week.

[Sorry, Lee– I know your eyes are closed. But how could I not publish MB’s first gator ride? You’ll forgive me, right?]

And one last picture– MB and Meme [Lee’s grandmother] in their matching Tretorns.  Just ignore my Havaianias in the middle.

And now we are still recovering. It might not take us as long to recover as it will take our lovely hosts, but hopefully by the time we visit again they’ll have caught up on some sleep and steeled themselves for the nonstop circus that is Mary Bullock.

It’s Ironing Day

Er…make that, ironing night. Which is way better, because I can have wine. I try not to drink wine in the morning when it’s avoidable.

 
Ironing and I have not previously had a pleasant relationship. In high school, my winning smile and generous mother took care of it for me. In college, I accidentally burned a hole in the rug in my dorm room ironing a pair of pants. Yes, I did. 
But the best story of Ironing and Me is the time when, on the night before my interview for my last teaching job, I burned a hole in my dress. Yes. I did that, too. Now, under normal circumstances, one would just consult the closet for another dress. However, I was still in grad school in Charlottesville and had flown down specifically for the interview, so my other options included my pajamas and my pajamas
Luckily, I was staying with Lee’s parents,  so at 10 o’clock that night, I knocked on his mom’s bedroom door crying and asked to borrow a cardigan. Oh, the shame. We’d been dating for maybe a year at that point, and I’d visited only once or twice before. It was awful, obviously. But the cardigan did miraculously cover the hole, and I did get the job, despite my best efforts otherwise. 
Anyway, after that I think I would have been well within my rights to never iron again. And trust me, I haven’t done much. My sweet mama even ironed Lee’s pants last time we were there. 
But I’m on a new life plan. One that includes, among other things, a weekly ironing day.  I think it will be good for me: making peace with ironing. If I can make peace with ironing, I can make peace with anything.
Right?