The Worst Best Thanksgiving Ever

I like Thanksgiving. I love the idea of family togetherness, warm drinks by a fire, cuddles watching the parade, and waiting for family to arrive for a big meal. Slice of American life.

Except that's never been Thanksgiving for us. We have lots of family, many of which are close by. Thanksgiving for us is always about rushing from one family to the next, watching the clock, packing the car, saying goodbye, eating again. I usually get stressed and irritable, worried I've forgotten an integral dish or that we didn't have enough time here, or we'll be late there, or we need to make sure The Boy can nap in the car. For us, Thanksgiving has never been about time. It's never been about relaxing or savoring the moment. We love to see our family, but there's never enough time with any of them. There's a feeling that if we didn't do as much we could enjoy what we do a little more, but telling any of them no risks hurting their feelings, picking sides, or not getting to see them. It's always go-be really thankful-go-be really thankful-go-be thankful again-crash.

You know I have the flu. It's not awesome. The Husband and The Boy are likely carriers too. We didn't get to go to Thanksgiving. Any of them. We missed 4 family meals, 2 photography sessions, a shopping tradition with my mom, and a partridge in a pear tree. And I was bummed.

And it was wonderful.

Wha? Huh? Y'all, I've never been so thankful. I am mostly still quarantined in our bedroom. The Husband and The Boy were here, but I could not hang out with them. I heard their sweet voices. I mean, I really heard them in a way that you don't hear when you're with someone all the time, or rushing trying to do something else. I heard how tender they were to each other, and it made me love them so. I heard them playing and singing, and I longed to be with them. I promise you if we had been in the car, running from place to place all day I would not long to be with them.

When I was in bed, The Boy stood out in the hall and called to me. He asked "mama, you sick?" and made fake gagging sounds at the door, and I laughed. He spontaneously sprinkled me with "I wuv you, mom"s and "you okay?"s.  I called to The Husband and asked him to please put The Boy's turkey shirt on. "What's the point?" he asked. "It's Thanksgiving!" I said. So The Boy wore his turkey shirt. Around the house. With just his underwear.

We watched the parade. Me, from the bed, and them from the living room. I would call out "tell him it's the Native Americans! Like he learned about at school!" And The Husband would tell him. For a few minutes I snuck into the hall and watched from an acceptable distance, pointing out things, and The Boy danced. It was delightful. We did not rush. We did not fight. We just drank it in.

Last night I overheard this:
Boy: NOOOO!
Husband: Don't tell me no.
Boy: why?
Husband: because you're the child. (The Husband had been flying solo for awhile now)
Boy: I not a child...........I Bebe's wittle angel!

Is that not enough to melt you?

My mother-in-law was kind enough to bring over some dinner. I ate it in the bed with a side of delsym and disinfectant. It was delicious, but I'd be lying if I didn't feel a little self-pity. I knew everyone was at The Husband's grandmother's house eating and enjoying each other. I knew kids were running and babies were being passed around. In that moment I appreciated them SO much. Much more than I would have if I'd been there. I loved that big family (I bet there were 40 people there last night), and I was thankful for how many family Thanksgivings we have get to go to. I was thankful for my dad's bad jokes, and even for the two hour trip we take to see my mom's family. I was so appreciative because I knew this lonely meal in my room was atypical for us. I was thankful that we have this bustling, chaotic life, and a bustling, chaotic Thanksgiving to go along with it.

I thought of people who spend Thanksgiving alone every year, with no one to rush to. I thought of elderly people in nursing homes with no one to visit. I thought of families of incarcerated men and women who miss their parents, children in foster homes longing for families, people in hospitals and hospices, people who suffer because of poverty and hunger. And I'd been feeling bad because I was eating alone, this one day? Sick, this one day? Suddenly complaining about having too many people that love us, and too much food to eat and too many warm houses to eat in seemed a little....pathetic. Luxurious. Not thankful.

Y'all, the flu ain't so bad. In fact, it might have been just what I needed. It's what made this the worst best thanksgiving ever. Maybe our Thanksgiving is more like this than I knew.

Why Extroverts Hate The Flu

I guess everyone hates the flu, really. Except maybe people with Hypochondria or Munchausen By Proxy. For the rest of us it's a drag. And I've never been an introvert, but I would guess that it's harder for us extroverts. 

Thank God for my mom keeping The Boy today. He's on steroids for wheezing, and he is hyped up like a spider monkey. She has the patience of Job. I went to the doctor, got the flu stick shoved up to my brain, got my meds, cancelled my clients, and came home and crashed. I have been coughing constantly, my throat is raw, I have congestion off the chain, and my muscles hurt. But it wasn't until the "flu" word came out that I really felt bad. Validation or power of suggestion?

Exaggeration. I don't actually look this good when I have the flu. 

Now I can't go to Thanksgiving tomorrow, and you'll remember from last year we cram a lot into our holidays.  Mostly I'm disappointed to miss sweet potato souffle. And peanut butter balls. And pie. Oh, and family. Of course.

Back to today. I came home and took a nap. Then I was awake. And alone. And it was nice to just lie there with no responsibility and no pressure. For about 5 minutes. Then I was bored. I caught up on The Daily Show. And then I called The Husband, who was kindly leaving work early. Hooray! I anxiously awaited for his arrival, knowing he could fix me some lunch and a drink and provide me some company. So sweet. He came home, came to the door to my room, and asked how I was feeling. I told him I was okay. Before I could even ask for lunch, he shut the door and yelled to me from the hall "you're quarantined!"

Oh, I forgot to tell you The Husband is a nut about germs. I wouldn't be surprised if he was out there in the hall with a can of Lysol in his hands. "Please!" I begged through the door "could you fix me a scrap to eat?"

He did, but held it at arm's distance and placed it at the foot of the bed. It was clear that I wasn't going to get any company. "Hang out with me?" I called to him. "I'm disinfecting" he said. He went to the store to get me some flu supplies and went to get The Boy. I don't know how single parents do it. 

He came back, and came to the door. "Hon", he said to me gently, "we're going to go stay at my mom's tonight....So you can get some rest." 

He brought The Boy to the door. 

"You sick mama?"

"Yes, buddy. Did you have a good day?"

"Yep. I have fun at Pammie's house."

He waved goodbye to me and was happy to go to his Bebe's to play with 'inja turtles. The Husband offered to fix me some dinner. They left. 

I was alone. With no prospect of seeing people for a while. I don't mind being alone, if I get to choose it and I get to choose when it ends. Plus, this was bor-ing. And I was restless. It's not that I'm afraid to be with my thoughts (although I do feel like I have a surplus sometimes), but I need people to recharge. I need to interact with others and say things out loud and hear people laugh. I need to connect. If I were an introvert, this alone time might be just what I needed to feel better, to recharge. I am no introvert. Do they really enjoy this? I needed to be preparing food for a ton of people this weekend. I needed to be chatting with my husband about if The Boy on steroids will sit still long enough to eat tomorrow. 

And now my family is gone, and no one can visit because I'm contagious. I'm in a weird flu purgatory of feeling bad and being contagious but being alert enough to be bored and want some interaction. 

So I watched some tv. I looked at pinterest all the way to the end. That's right, I finished every pin on pinterest. I checked out facebook. I made it to the bathroom and took a steam bath. I checked out the Momastery blog. I love Glennon's blog (I don't actually know her, I just feel like we're on a first name basis) and feel like it's really positive. Usually I wish I had more time to myself to just read blogs. Today all I had was time, and I wanted people. I texted my mom, who is an introvert. She was with my sister, an extrovert. 

My sister is an extrovert like me. We're also talkers. I'd dare say she even talks more than me. When we get together and get on a roll we feed off each other and CANNOT stop laughing. She gets me. 

She was referring to this. These are silly, but there are frustrating things about being an extrovert. Like when you're quarantined. Back to that. 

The minutes ticked by. Would I make it? I tossed and turned. I missed people. I missed my family. I could never make it in solitary confinement. I'd be more likely to start a therapeutic group in prison, where we all process our feelings. If I'm ever kidnapped, I'll probably confess anything I know just to get to have a conversation. I started thinking about my great grandmother Maggie who fell ill when my granddaddy was young and had to stay in a TB sanitarium for 3 months. Her family was only able to visit once a month. How did she do it? I'd go crazy. I tried to channel her strength. Maybe I was going crazy. It was already setting in. My brain was turning on itself. 

My family had been gone an hour.  It's going to be a long night. 

So, needing to reach out, I turned to you, my friends. To tell you how I need people. Thank you for being my people. May you have a happy Thanksgiving. Tomorrow I will reflect on just how thankful I am for the people in my life, for the connections and conversations that keep me going. 

And, if none of this makes sense, please know I am heavily medicated. 

Cliff Notes of Parenting

You know we've only got the one kid, and we've only been parents for two years, but there are a few things we've really got figured out. We've sorted through advice from our parents and grandparents, and friends, and the Internet, and frankly I'm pretty proud of how we've filtered. Here are the things we know for sure, in six important areas for parents. 

1. If you let your child cry at night he will grow up thinking no one loves him, and he might become a crazed lunatic who kills people. So meet his needs at night, unless he needs a bottle, which will cause his teeth to rot out. And let him sleep with you. You don't want him to wake up all alone in the night thinking no one loves him. On the other hand, If you meet your child's every need, he will never learn independence and he will never stop sleeping with you. He'll come home from the prom and get into your bed and he will live in your basement when he's 42, spending his days chatting with his online girlfriend about Grand Theft Auto, a game in which he kills people. 

2. You must breastfeed exclusively. You must pump when you are away to stimulate production, but don't give the baby the pumped milk in a bottle, or your baby will develop nipple confusion and will refuse to nurse. Try a tiny syringe that holds one calorie at a time. Or maybe just use formula. If you give your child formula, you are poisoning his body. If you aren't able to breastfeed, people will stare at you when you purchase formula. They'll take pity on you and think you don't know any better. If you are able to breastfeed, people will stare at you when you nurse. You dirty hippie! Put those away, we don't want to see that in public. Does this look like a strip club? 

3. Don't let your child watch TV, because it rots her brain. She needs lots of stimulation, especially exposure to the outdoors. Unless the pollen count is too high. Around here, expect the pollen count to be around 18,000. She should not breathe outside if the pollen count is more than 7. She also shouldn't go out in the cold or the rain, or she'll get sick. If she must watch tv, it can only by PBS, and you should donate anytime there's a pledge-a-thon. She'll appreciate the $100 Elmo plush keychain for about a minute, and it'll help relieve your guilt that she's inside. In case of a pledge-a-thon, she's also allowed to watch indie films or documentaries about global warming. 

4. You should buy only organic whole foods for your children. You don't want them eating foods you can't pronounce, do you? If possible, these should also be locally grown from a farmer's market. You want your kids to have wholesome, home-cooked meals, not some pre-packaged, artificial, convenience food. Spend a few minutes in the kitchen forchrissake! Also, you should exclusively use coupons and have a well-organized and color coded coupon notebook that you take with you to the grocery store. By the way, there are no coupons for produce or whole foods. Don't spend a lot of time in the kitchen, because you need to spend time with your kids. It's okay to resort to nuggets and tots. They don't care what's for dinner, they just want to see you! 

5. You should be a stay-at-home parent. Obviously this will reduce nipple confusion, and give you time to create acceptable Pinterest snacks and sensory activities. Plus you don't want someone else raising your kids do you?? Just use more coupons and cut off cable (PBS) to reduce expenses and make ends meet. Also, you need to work so that you can afford organic whole foods, and to send your kids to the most exclusive Montessori schools, where others will help raise them. 

6. Let your child tell you when he or she is hungry. Kids need to learn to listen to their bodies and their natural cues. If they are hungry, allow them to fix themselves a snack to foster independence and confidence. Don't let your kids decide what they want to eat, they need to learn to eat what you've prepared for them. You're no short order cook!  If they are really hungry, they'll eat what you've prepared. If they refuse to eat, send them to bed without any dinner, even if they cry.  See rule #1.  If you let your child cry at night he will grow up thinking no one loves him, and he might become a crazed lunatic who kills people.....

No pressure!

I Quit

Y'all, I quit. I quit the race to see who will be the best parent.  My kid is not yet 2 and a half, so surely (SURELY) we've not passed the drop/add deadline. Please tell me where to fill out the proper forms. I will not be the most organized or the most patient or even the most likely to bring a snack on the day I actually signed up in black and white on the calendar to bring a snack. I will not make the cutest DIY pinterest birthday presents, or be the skinniest mom at the tennis court, or actually even go to the tennis court.

Take The Boy out of the running too. He will not be the best behaved, or best dressed, or the most monogrammed, or the most likely to eat something other than chicken nuggets. There are times (dare I say it?) that he may not even be the cutest. Whew. It seems so freeing to say all of that. Like when you know you're losing a foot race in grade school, and you shout out "I wasn't racing!" and duck over to the monkey bars once you realize you're in over your head.  Except that no one is actually winning this race. We're all breaking our necks trying to win, and NO ONE EVER WINS. Worst. Race. Ever.

Every week I talk with parents about their kids. Almost every week I hear mamas telling me that they don't feel like they've got their shit together. I do not ask them "do you have your shit together?" No. We're just talking about their kids, and they volunteer to me that they do not feel like they're doing it right. I'm not talking about crack heads and prostitutes. I'm talking about regular moms like me and you, who are raising beautiful, healthy, smart, talented, awesome kids, and are holding themselves to some high, unattainable standard of momhood. Sometimes it's young people without kids who feel this way, often it's teens. What are we teaching them? Why don't they feel like they're good enough? 

I think we are doing this to ourselves and doing this to each other. So today I'd like to take a stand. I want to let you all know that I quit. I love you, but I can't compete with you. What I need you to know is that I don't always get it right, and it's okay with me if you don't always get it right either. I would love it if you told me that sometimes you get caught in this trap too, and I would love it if you quit with me. Maybe you will and maybe you won't. It's scary putting this out there, because if you don't know what I'm talking about maybe you're already winning. Maybe I'm the only one that wants to quit, and I'm a little afraid that you'll think that means that I'm not doing this right. Part of me wants you to think that I'm doing this right. A bigger part of me wants you to know something else. 

You may have already guessed this about me, but lest you ever get confused...... I do not, indeed, have my shit together. 

Y'all, I look ugly when I cry. And I sweat and I stink when I go to the gym. I have a hard time admitting when I'm wrong. And I lose it with my kid sometimes. And I don't tell my husband enough how much I appreciate him. And sometimes I hear the wrong thing, the impatient and irritated thing, coming out of my mouth and I cannot stop it. And sometimes I rush The Boy along, and do not stop to look at the 900th wonderful little ant he's found on the driveway. And sometimes I tell him I am too busy to cuddle when he looks up at me with those cute little blue eyes and says "cudda wif me, mama!". And sometimes I make him wear the shirt that I want him to wear because people will think it is cuter than the shirt that he wants to wear. And sometimes I grit my teeth and tell him to COME HERE RIGHT NOW. And I lose my keys. A lot. And I don't always cook healthy meals, and even the unhealthy ones aren't all that delicious, and The Husband says all my chicken recipes taste the same. And I'm cranky when I haven't had enough sleep. And my house is usually a mess. And my car is always a mess. And I hardly ever mention Jesus on my blog. I could go on. I'm not perfect, but I'm good enough, and I'm learning that that can be good enough.

That feels vulnerable to admit.  I'd like for you to think I've got it all together, but that wouldn't be the truth. And what is together anyway? And does anyone actually have it all together? And who wants to be friends with those snobs in the first place? I'd rather be friends with the people who don't have it all together and aren't afraid of it.

Unless you're not. 

I'd rather together mean the people who are in it with me. The idea of supporting each other even when especially when we don't have it all together. 

 It's my tendency to keep up, so I'll have to remind myself that it doesn't matter who wins a game I'm not in. There will be times I forget, and I'll feel like I have something to prove, because plenty of people will still be in the race. Wouldn't it be nice if we all quit? If we all said "Hey guys, I'm no better than you. My family is no better than yours. There are times I get it right, and times I get it wrong and I won't judge you if you get it wrong on the time I get it right, so let's get all that out of the way and just work on accepting the private us instead of trying to improve the public image of us." Wow. That would be amazing to hear. And if I'd like to hear it, maybe you'd like to hear it. As scary as it is, that's what I offer you today, my friend. Feel free to offer it to anyone around you. Anyone want to quit with me? Let's hold hands and do it together.

The Cult that is Chuck E. Cheese

Two weeks ago we survived what I'm sure will be the first of many Chuck E Cheese birthday parties. Whew. Y'all, that sh- is real. When we first got there, there weren't many people. It was calm. Except for the lights and games and sounds and dancing mice. The stuff that trances are made of.

The Boy explored all the games. He cuddled up with Barney. He drove a monster truck. We were fine to just let him sit on all the games, but then the birthday girl's parents GAVE HIM TOKENS.  Tokens that you put in the machines to make them go and beep and flash, and then our ruse was up. Chuck E. knows what's up. Step one of running a cult: offer cool things to lure them in.

 

He saw the animatronic Chuck E. (Does anyone else wonder what the E stands for? Edward? Elijah?) and wanted to be in a show with him. He is SO my kid. Step two of having a cult: have a powerful and mysterious leader.

How cute is the birthday girl??

When he wanted to play basketball with The Husband, we just put him up on the game a la Tom Thumb.

Gradually more and more people started arriving. There were four (four!) birthday parties and a soccer team. This is how a grain of sand must feel in an hour glass. If the hour glass is loud and lights up and all the other sand grains are running. I do not think the fire marshall would approve of this.

One of the other birthday girls was named A'merri-ca. We all sang Happy Birthday at one time to all four of the birthday parties. It was crazy.

Employees came through, shouting to follow them for free tickets. We did. As though we even needed tickets to save up to cash in to get a Chuck E. Cheese keychain. I know this scam. But I drank the Kool Aid, and I was convinced that our cult leader Chuck E. was right in knowing we needed tickets. For free! Step three of having a cult: be authoritative. We blindly followed, and did a Chuck E. line dance with our fellow cult members that ended with Chuck E. throwing tickets at us, and us scrounging on the floor to get them. It was like the kid version of 10 minutes past last call at a degrading strip club. Step four of having a cult: degrade your members.

That's us in the back, line dancing with a mouse. 

And when the birthday girl was feeling a little shy (aka smart) they let The Boy have her turn in the ticket wind tunnel. He got approximately 2 tickets.

When A'merri-ca got in the wind tunnel, her mama was screaming "stuff 'em in your shirt!" She must've had some of that same Kool-Aid. Then another kid went, and her mom (or someone) got in the tunnel with her. That's at option?? You mean to tell me I locked my kid in a wind tunnel alone and I didn't have to? And I never even questioned it. I'm pretty sure step five of creating a cult is isolate children from their parents. OMG. And now we're in. 

Jimmy Kimmel Prank

Have you seen the Jimmy Kimmel prank where parents tell their kids they ate all their Halloween candy? We did that. Oh, come on. Don't act like you expect more from us. Jimmy Kimmel didn't include us in his compilation this year, but luckily The Boy is so young he won't remember this and we can prank him again next year! Here's his reaction this year. 

Shock.  Denial.  Bargaining.  Questioning. Demanding

Ladies and Gentlemen, the stages of candy grief. 

Halloween

We had several Halloween activities this week. The first was The Boy's Halloween carnival at his preschool. It was hilarious. There were games and prizes and costumes. Oh the costumes! Is there anything as cute as a tiny costume? On the way to the party he kept saying we were going to his birfday party.

Here's The Boy, a shark. Someone asked if it was a KKK costume. Costume fail. 

Here's the back for clarification. I've never seen a KKK suit with fins and a tail. Well, I've never seen a KKK suit. 

Here he is with his girlfriend Minnie Mouse. 

And here he is giving someone the stink eye. 

This is what happens when you tell a group of preschoolers at the cake walk to walk around in a circle when the music comes on.

I'm pretty sure they were thinking this was a crazy idea us adults came up with. 

My mom took him to the fall festival at her church. 

The Husband challenged him to go down the inflatable head first, and this happened. 

He should know by now not to challenge him to any daring feats, because he will do them. Don't worry, he's okay. And don't show my mother-in-law that one, she'll have a heart attack.

On Halloween night we went to his cousin, Darth Maul's, for trick or treating in their neighborhood.

  

The Boy decided at the last minute to nix the shark suit and go trick or treating in his skeleton pjs. Plus he had to add his superman cape and a spiderman mask of his cousin's that he found. The result was a little like a Mexican wrestler in the back of a pickup truck. 

Happy Halloween! 

Palm Springs

Two weeks ago I had to go to an annual conference for work in Palm Springs, California. I've been to this conference several times, and the content is always good, and it's usually in a cool place.  Since I was already there for work and already had a hotel room, The Husband came out for a few days. We left The Boy at home with grandparents. It was amazing.

Here are the highlights.

AirTram:
The Palm Springs Air Tram starts at 2,500 feet above sea level, and ten minutes later ends at 8,500 feet. You board a tram car and head straight up the side of a mountain, the whole while the floor rotating to give you a 360 degree view. There was snow at the top, and if the views weren't enough to make you dizzy, there is a full bar too.

 

One night we were eating dinner outside at a Mexican restaurant (Aqua Rio), views of mountains and palm trees in the distance. Gay couple after gay couple passed by on the street. When we left I stopped a couple and asked them what in the world we were missing. Where was everyone going? "Oh, Wang's!" they told me, "It's the place to be." Naturally, I assumed it was a gay bar. Turns out it was the best Chinese restaurant in the valley. We went to Wang's In The Desert the next night and it lived up to all the hype. It was de-lish.

A rare photo appearance by The Husband

We had Sunday brunch at Las Casuelas Nuevas. Champagne. Mexican food buffet. Patio. Mariachi band. Waffles shaped like boats to hold all your toppings. My mind exploded from the amount of awesome.

New friends I met at the waffle station. "Honey, what's the name of those crunchy things we get at Costco?" "Churros." "Oh yeah, they have those here."

                              

Thursday night we went to VilliageFest, a weekly festival with a half mile of vendors and hipster musicians with ironically cool socks. It was like here's some beautiful mountains, and some palm trees, and want to buy some artesianal lotions or some California dates? Side note: dates are not actually delicious.

I thought it was going to be a total tourist trap, but there was a lot of really cool stuff and a lot people watching. We were waiting on a table at the trendy Lulu when I heard a familiar tune coming from the street. "Annie!" I said to the Husband, in explanation as I was drawn out of the restaurant to catch a local children's production of Annie on the street. The Husband, who has known me for 20 years, was unfazed by my Pavlovian response to hearing kids whose parents paid for them to learn how to act like orphans.  He's a keeper.

This lady was making lanterns out of tin cans and a torch.

We rented a douchey car and drove all over the desert.  We drove to the neighboring town of Joshua Tree and checked it out. We tried to go to the Joshua Tree National Park but you know the government was shut down and all the trails and trees were unemployed and we couldn't get in.

That's a genuine Joshua tree in Joshua Tree, California.

We drove more than an hour way out into the desert to visit the Integratron, a dome that was built on a geomagnetic vortex in the Mojave Desert for the purpose of time travel and communication with extraterrestrials. Duh. Unfortunately the Integratron will not even let you in the gate without an appointment. Not so much as a gift shop! On the plus side, we did see a pony-tailed Native American sitting outside his trailer in a lawn chair and a tuxedo t-shirt, so it was worth the drive.

Shameless desert selfie

Integratron

We called home a few times to check on The Boy. Every time he was too busy to talk, and we were cramping his style on his grandparent binge. They sent us pictures of him swimming, posing with characters at the store, eating junk, riding statues, playing with new toys, and wearing a new spider hat:

Best weekend of his life. Back to us. There are tons of windmills in Southern California. I was fascinated and took about 400 pictures of them. I deleted about 390. They are HUGE. I had no idea, and you really don't realize until you're right up on them how massive they are.  When you're driving along, it's just desert, desert, mountain, desert, WINDMILL, desert.

We window shopped at El Paseo, the Rodeo Drive of Palm Springs. We went to all the upscale stores and acted like we weren't afraid to touch things. 

Then we went to the outlets, where things were still expensive. 

Hey, I found a Prada dress! Oops it's still $570.

Our hotel was on a golf course in the middle of the desert. (Sand trap, anyone?) 

We are not golfers but it was beautiful. 

 On my first flight home I sat beside an aging (aren't we all?) posh Palm Springs Macy's personal shopper who was flying to Chicago for a Macy's personal shopper convention. We talked Candy Crush strategies. The worst part of the entire trip was the shuttle from the airport. I sat beside a European couple who spoke in thick Slovic accents. Of course that in itself wasn't bad, but five minutes into the shuttle hour long ride, they each covered their faces with their jackets. Only the man's eyes were revealed. I snuck my phone out to take a picture. What was this guy doing?? I positioned the phone to take a selfie.....

He then covered his entire head in his jacket, his wife covered her head, and then covered her eyes with her hands. Immediately after I took the picture the man unwrapped himself and said to me "I'm not a terrorist. I'm just dressed like one. I'm recovering from a cold." and promptly wrapped back up. BUSTED. I was mortified. I kept my phone out and acted like I was busy on it, but he knew. Oh, he knew. 

Fancy Palm Springs vacation and I started thinking I was the paparazzi.