I am eating honey roasted macadamia nuts, steeping some passionfruit tea, and having my prenatal vitamins (tropical flavored); it's 6:50 a.m., unfamiliar birds are making raucous noises in the morning mist, and it looks like it's going to be a lovely day in Kihei, Maui.
I just sent Pete off with Matt, the groom, for their bachelor SCUBA, and I have the morning and afternoon to myself. Just me, the silver Chevy Cobalt, the southeast coast, and McFetus.
We arrived last night for a week of mostly wedding-related events, celebrating the union of Matt and Rebecca, and I am glad that the travel day is over. I am not much for planes and the general hassle of traveling, and my prenatal mood of the past few days has not been stellar; I was not the choicest companion, but Pete was very kind and patient with me.
Our flight was not until 11:30 a.m., which was good, especially because I had been going through a packing conundrum. I don't like traveling with a lot of stuff, but because I was Event Packing, I had to bring Outfits and Shoes, which take up a lot of room. Add to that casual and hiking as well as beach apparel, and you are spilling out of a single suitcase. By the time I went to bed, after randomly puking up shepherd's pie and decaff Earl Grey earlier in the evening, I had decided upon two small-ish suitcases and a carry-on.
I was not pleased.
In the morning, I was even less pleased. I was getting mad and resentful that because Pete always has to bring a guitar wherever he goes, I wind up carrying community property like our camera bag and the laptop, which cuts into the purely personal things I can bring like knitting and drawing stuff. But instead of addressing the problem like an adult who understands that her husband is a caring and rational individual who only wants the best for her, I got quiet and sulky.
Always helpful. I repacked into one suitcase, taking out some knitting and a few articles of clothing, switched from my shoulder bag to my bigger backpack and was ready to go when Pete returned from the bank. Of course, when he found out what was upsetting me, he wanted to fix it, but I did not want to repack yet again (I mean, if there was a rational solution, then I could not pout, and where was the fun in that?), so we finally settled that he would carry the big backpack and his guitar, and I would have his backpack and the camera bag.
Pete's buddy and music partner, Chris, had offered to take us to the airport and spare us the $30 cab fee, which was nice, so getting to the airport was no hassle at all, and check-in and security was all fine. We had been concerned that we might have to go and get our own baggage in Vegas and recheck it because we were flying a different airline to Maui, but they checked it straight through, which was one worry gone.
The next thing was food, which is always yummy and nutritious at the airport. In our gate area, the choices were Subway, McDonald's, and Caribou. Subway's breakfasts are grotesque and Caribou mainly offers muffins and pastries, so we opted for McDonald's.
Did you know that at the Minneapolis airport, they stop serving breakfast at 10:00? Who takes their lunch break at 10:00? It was 10:20, and we were stuck with quarter pounders. Oh well, it's something we almost never do, so I am not going to worry about it, but next time, we are either making sure we eat at home or we are leaving enough time to head over to the French Meadow on the F Concourse for real food.
The last time we flew over an ocean, we stopped in Newark. This time, the midpoint was Las Vegas. Given the two, I think I would choose Newark. I find Las Vegas to be the opposite of glamorous, and at least Newark is not trying to pull any wool over my eyes as to its nature. The airport in Vegas is not as I remember it from almost ten years ago, but that's another sickening thing about that city: its unsustainable impermanence. When we arrived, we did not know where we had to be to catch our connecting flight on a different airline, and there were no directional signs or open information desks available to direct us. We were in the D terminal, and the departure listings told us that ATA was not a choice due to its complete absence on the board, so we headed toward signs marked "A, B, and C Teminals." I guess we had the naive assumption that we would be able to check in at an ATA gate and not redo the whole shoes-off security thing. When we arrived from the tram at its amorphous destination, we had no idea what we were supposed to do. Pete flagged down a TSA employee, and she took the time to find out where we needed to be and then did her best to direct us.
It turned out that we did have to go back out to main ticketing and then back through security. Looking back on it now, it was not so bad, but when I was in the middle of it, I was hating it. Airports make me nervous, and I can't relax or get excited about a vacation until all the details are worked out and we arrive at our final destination. Add to my normal weirdness the PMS-type hormones I have been experiencing lately, and you have one hot mess of a gal on your hands (sorry, Pete).
Have you ever flown ATA? It's like a Greyhound in the air. The state of the interior of the plane did not inspire confidence, but I do like that it's one-size-fits-all without the annoying first class cabin you have to walk through so you can be reminded that we do not live in a classless society and that some people are better than you. But the nice lady at the ticket counter had made sure we were seated next to each other, and I was by a window, which helps me quite a bit. We were also in the bulkhead row and by ourselves, so that made it even better.
For some reason, I was more nervous on the flight from Vegas than I was on the flight from Minneapolis. Probably because it was my second in one day. On the way to Vegas, I knitted and read, and I was just fine. On this flight, I could not knit, I could barely read, and all I seemed capable of was fidgeting, which is not an effective time-passer. Luckily, they showed "Ratatouille," and I had headphones, so I watched that and was able to sleep for awhile, which is very rare for me.
McFetus is starting to get in my way now, a nice little prelude for what is to come. It's easing me in. Sitting for nine hours was not its favorite thing, and I had trouble getting comfortable. Add to that the sciatica I have had for awhile in my left leg, and this probably accounts for my fidgeting.
When we arrived safely in Maui, I was quite relieved. Now, we just had to get our bags, the car, find the condo, and I was done for the day. I had envisioned a solitary evening and an early-to-bed. It was, after all, 11:30 p.m. our time, and I had been up since 5:00 a.m.
It was not to be.
Matt was there at the airport to meet us, bearing leis, which was so sweet, and he waited for our bags with us and then helped us carry crap around while we tried to figure out where to get our rental car. By the time we were on the shuttle, it was clear to me that we would not be spending the evening by ourselves. We agreed to meet Matt for dinner after we found the condo, which we did without trouble.
We took a drive south on South Kihei Road looking for somewhere to eat, and discovered that, just as my parents and the guidebook says, Kihei is basically a condo town with strip malls interspersed. We found a place called "Oceans," which was an open air sports bar, and got a table. As we were sitting down, the brother-in-law and father of the bride pulled up, entirely randomly, and my heart sank. It was not that they were bad people, they were just people, and I was tired and not feeling social. I had already been up for more hours and talked to more people than I had in four months in my sedentary and solitary pregnancy, and I was not being eased in to the social life.
Rebecca and Matt arrived soon after, and we had a group of six, five of whom had way more energy than I. Pete asked if I would be upset if he got a beer, and I said that he could, but that yeah, it was probably going to bother me. It's not that I really miss drinking all that much--pregnancy itself tends to put you off the things that are bad for you--but lately, I had been thinking that a nice, cold lager would be pleasant, and I was feeling a certain amount of resentment that because I am the holy vessel for Pete's Fetus, I have to sacrifice when it's his creature in there, too. There's nothing to be done about it, but being on vacation, in a tropical land, for a social event, is going to try my already thin-in-general patience and give me some good lessons in verbal control.
I know that Pete understands this and is trying to be sensitive, and while I need him to understand that this could be an issue, I also don't want to pee in his corn flakes. His buddy is getting married, after all, and we are in Maui.
And these are reasons why I must revel in today. Pete and Matt are off on their underwater adventure, and I am by myself for a few hours. I am going to finish my tea, get ready, and head out to the post office for post card stamps, the natural foods store for some supplies, maybe down to Big Beach to check it out, then back up to the Kihei Farmers' Market at 1:30, and up to Lahaina to meet the boys.
Oh, and in Lahaina, there's a...
Yeah. I will be stopping there first.
AND, I pooped twice today.
That's practically a miracle. Pregnancy does NOT make one regular, but that's another blog.