Iowa

3 Dec

Our little family did something completely out of character this weekend called leaving the house.  We took a road trip to the great state of Iowa, where we saw beautiful scenery such as this:

 

This is where the corn goes.

This is where the corn goes.

 

Our trip did have a purpose, other than corn-gazing.  We were there to attend the 21st birthday party of my dear sister-in-law.  Sadly, our little ones did not fare well at the party.  Hazel thought it was about as fun as getting a round of shots, and screamed accordingly.  Bea was a having a slightly better time, but wondered why Mommy kept covering her ears every time the young man across the table opened his mouth, which was often. What do you get when you mix copious amounts of alcohol with a fraternity boy? I’ll give you a hint: A man with no verbal filter WHO CAN’T PRONOUNCE CHICKEN PARMESAN.  I really wanted to discuss with this young man that it’s never too late to get hooked on phonics.  Sadly, we had to exit before the subject could be broached.

We ended up back at the hotel, eating pizza and watching movies by 7:30pm. This seems to be our modus operandi every time we leave town. The most distressing thing of all was that we made our hasty exit before the cake was cut, a tragedy for my taste buds, a triumph for my blood sugar.

Despite these hiccups, the trip was still a success.  We saw how exciting a hotel room is through the eyes of a two-year-old.

A phone!  With a cord! In the room!

A phone! With a cord! In the room!

 

We discovered that in Iowa City the trees wear sweaters.

 

That's one naughty tree.

 

Perhaps best of all, my husband had a brush with *true* greatness when he went to buy a muffin at a local coffee shop.  There, he saw this crew of transcendental gurus getting their morning frappuccino on.

 

Contemplation.

Contemplation.

 

They made us a little homesick for the Bay Area.

 

And now, I’ll leave you to contemplate their contemplation.  Until next time, Iowa.

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