11/13/2012

Weekend Getaway. With Ryan Seacrest.

As soon as Lucas was finished playing his festival on Saturday, Chris and I loaded up the minivan and drove far, far away...  (I don't have a name for the van yet, by the way...  I'm thinking maybe, The Mom-Bomb?  Van-tastic?  It's a work in progress.)  Chris's mom and dad came up to stay with the boys while we were gone.  They had four children themselves, so they're not too terrified of our brood.  But I do think those 36 hours were loud...  And they are a little older, and much nicer than they were back then...  Like Bill Cosby says, they're old people trying to get into Heaven.  So...  I think there was a little bit of chaos while we were gone.  But Nonna and Poppa handled it with great grace.  Everyone survived the 36 hours.

While our children were being tended to by grandparents and a couple of poodles, Chris and I headed to Dallas.  Chris has been working like a dog at work.  I've been working like a dog at home.  (Consequently, the dog doesn't work at all.  He just sleeps on our bed and eats food Harry feeds him from his high chair with his chubby little fingers.  Free loader.)  

We just wanted to get away for a night, stay at a nice hotel, go shopping and eat good food.  That's all.  Chris was in meetings all last week, so we didn't really have much time to discuss plans.  He texted me, "Book us a room anywhere you want to stay.  Really.  Anywhere.  I don't care how much it costs."  Ummm....  Okay.  So I did.  I managed to find the only 5 star rated hotel in the great state of Texas and book us the "Get Away" Package.  It was...  quite a splurge.  But, let me tell you...  I am not sorry.  Not one bit.
We scrambled out of the van, disheveled and a little frantic, not used to the polite efficiency of valet parking, then walked into the beautiful lobby and checked in.  "Come on, let's go stand next to the fire".  said Chris.  But I couldn't.  I was standing in the middle of the lobby.  Very pregnant.  Hair frizzy and unkempt from the five hour drive.  My head cocked to one side, and a very confused look on my face.  And clutching my knitting bag close...  It was the only thing I thought about grabbing as we scrambled out of the van.
I was very confused.  Because this guy was in the lobby.  And I knew I knew him from somewhere...
Disheveled.  Confused.  Frizzy haired.  Knitting bag.  And just standing there staring at Ryan Seacrest.

I.  am.  so.  cool.

"Is that Ryan Seacrest?"  I whispered to Chris, when he finally managed to drag me over to the fireplace.  I wasn't starstruck, just really confused.  If it would have been someone like, Sting, or Paul Simon, or Aretha Franklin, or Steven Spielberg, or anyone from the cast of Downton Abbey...  Then I would have been starstruck and made a right fool of myself.  But, thankfully it was just Ryan.  (No disrespect Ryan, dear.  I know you work hard, and you're probably a real stand up guy.  But Honey.  You're no Sting.)  So instead of humiliating myself, I just stood in the middle of the hotel lobby, staring at him.  Mouth agape and clutching my knitting bag.  whew.  Lucky for me it wasn't Sting, or that might have been embarrassing.  And by the way, he's taller in person than he looks on TV.  Just a bit of trivia.

So for the rest of the weekend, anytime Chris mentioned the name Ryan Seacrest, I would make this face.
And maybe almost pee.  Maybe.

Great time.  Lovely hotel...


And two amazing meals...  The kind of meal that is somewhat of an emotional roller coaster...  While you're eating it, disbelief.  Joy.  Bliss.  When it's over, weighty sadness.  Because it's over.  And you will never get to eat that exact meal again...
Which is where these unbelievable macaroons come in handy...
Whoops.  Someone said, Ryan Seacrest again.

Great weekend.  Thanks, Nonna and Poppa.  Thanks, five star hotel.  Thanks, Chris.  Thanks, Ryan.

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