Not quite sure how Granuaile managed to sleep through the Wee Boatswain’s 5Am wakeup, the subsequent diapering, feeding, reswaddling, and shushing, but the poor girl was exhausted. Even WB went back to sleep and stayed there until 7:30. We were all pretty zonked.
The wedding was not until mid-afternoon, so we had much of the day to spend as we wished. Of course, with two kids, two meals, at least 3 showers, and getting into fancy duds, that wasn’t as much time as would be nice.
The WB is awake for an hour and then sleeps for an hour. He can be dragged around during the hour he sleeps if he’s already in transit, but woe to ye if you put him in his crib, let him fall asleep, then get him up and try to lug him somewhere. So G and I dressed during his “awake” hour, then we went to the hotel’s free breakfast while Cap’n Pea dressed and the WB slept. Just as we were finishing, the Cap’n appeared, handed me the boy, and sent me back to the room.
A bit about our room: we’re staying at the Comfort Suites in Bloomsburg. By now we’ve traveled enough with G to know that we want a suite if possible, otherwise the girl doesn’t sleep. This suite has two-ish rooms. When you enter, there’s a (strangely large) foyer, with the bathroom to the left. Next, there’s a small sitting area with a fold-out couch, a shelflike ledge behind it, and a coffee table. We’ve put the picnic supplies in the foyer and G’s suitcase and toy bag in the sitting area. Granuaile is going through an itty-bitty-toys-with-lots-of-pieces-parts phase, so they were spread all over our hotel room. Even though there’s a half-wall that somewhat serves to create a separation between the bedroom and the couch, her stuff has exploded and multiplied.
The bedroom itself is fairly normal. G has her own queen bed, mounded with pillows, her kitty (Gretzky) and satin blanket buried within. WB’s Pack ‘n Play is in the corner of the room, between where the closet juts out and the dresser holding the TV. (We weren’t planning to bring a PnP, but the grandparents sent it with us when they thought we were going to Chautauqua. Using a dark sheet and some wooden clothespins, we’ve rigged up a curtain that stretches from the top of the flat-screen TV, drapes over the PnP, and clips to the sides (to avoid accidental smothering). This way, the boy has some shielding from light, movement, and his sister.
WB goes down for another nap and G is feeling punchy. We prop the door open and she runs laps down the long corridor. How many stripes are on the carpet? Can you run to the elevator and back before it stops at our floor? No, please don’t open someone else’s door.
Joyfully, the Cap’n returns, he and G change into swimming gear, and when WB wakes, we get into swimming clothes too and join them at the pool. The pool is nice enough–all enclosed, no hot tub, slightly chilly. WB has never been swimming before, so I wear him in a mesh sling and bounce around a bit. G’s shrieks echo off the low ceiling and water, which scares the bejeebers out of him. (He startles and makes “jazz hands”, then cries. Repeat.)
I hand WB to the Cap’n and take G. We play shark. We jump off the side. I show off by going underwater–a skill she can’t even dream of. WB gets miserable, so we get out and towel off. G sits on a beach chair, gets a weird look on her face, and–inexplicably–pees on the floor.
Jumping into action, we simultaneously reprimand G (again and again), wonder aloud what in Sam Hill she was thinking, mop up the mess, and get dressed to return to our room. Swimming over.
As we’re getting dressed again, we hear a commotion in the hall. Apparently, the groom is staying right next door. The Cap’n, who hasn’t seen him since college, wonders if he should go out and say hi. I point out that the Cap’n is wearing only his underpants and holding a Q-Tip. Just like college, he says.
The Cap’n takes G on a walk around the hotel environs. We’re in the middle of a strip mall, so they come back with tales of black kittens (at PetsMart) and many clovers for me. We eat a picnic lunch in the room. We had planned to picnic for breakfasts and lunches, but due to our unexpected day in Cleveland and our free hotel breakfast, we haven’t touched our supplies. G spills her cup of cereal (I forgot to bring bowls) on the floor.
We have enforced rest time, during which I shower again. Then we dress for the wedding. G declares that I am the most beautiful mommy in the world, that my dress is the most beautiful dress she’s ever seen, that my shoes (plain brown sandals with a slight heel) are the most beautiful shoes ever. She, of course, looks deceptively angelic in a misty green pouf of a dress, her hair uncharacteristically snarl-free.