I have to admit...I was a little nervous flying by myself with Savannah. The last time we flew, she was 11 months old. She did beautifully on the way out, and everybody around looked at us, gushing their admiration, and said what a perfect baby she was. Which caused my head to pridefully inflate - just a tad.
And we all know that when our head inflates, even just a little, it must be brought rather painfully back down to size. And boy, was she happy to oblige; she decided that on the way back she would show me a thing or two. She was fine on the flight from Indy to Minneapolis, but as we started our descent, she started with the most ear-shattering wail that I have ever heard. It didn't even sound like her, high-pitched and completely hysterical. She was inconsolable, and I was beside myself. You know that feeling, when your heart pounds harder and you start to produce copious amounts of sweat; I rocked and sang and bounced and shushed her, all in vain.
It lasted at least 15 minutes, although it seemed at least three times that long, when I had a sudden epiphany....hey! I can try to nurse her! I know, common sense, right? But I was never one that had gotten the whole nursing in public thing down very good, and so it just didn't occur to me. But that did the trick...she was asleep in about 4.5 seconds.
So, with this in my memory, I wasn't sure how it would go this time around, even though she is 2 years older now. I was so relieved, she did beautifully. And at the first sign of discontent, I plugged a lollipop in her mouth, which worked it's sugary magic and kept her quiet for a good hour.
Notice Pooh Bear? He had a seat all to himself, and he is safely buckled in. She's a good mama.
We had an amazing time. My parents have a huge garden and raspberry bushes that have gone crazy, and so we spent a lot of time picking berries.
I'm pretty sure there's nothing sweeter than this; a little girl, headed up the hill, swinging her berry bucket by her side.
She was an eager little beaver and started pulling off everything she saw, unripe berries and all. Until Grandpa told her, "Just the red ones, k?" And so for the next half-hour, she asked about 428 times, "Is THIS a red one, Kamp-pa?" I'm sure that didn't get old at all.
And then we made them into this. Oh, my. The picture doesn't even begin to do the yumminess justice.
Nothing like picking up an apple right off the ground and chomping into it.
Savannah loves her aunt and uncles, but since we all conveniently have names that start with J, it can be a little confusing. Jamie, Jeremy, Jon, Joe. Jamie became "Uncle Jamie" more than once.
We love Uncle Joe...
Oh, and we made some purely sinful homemade Dark Chocolate Ice Cream. It was so decadent that we had to run out and buy a quart of vanilla ice cream to tone it down a little. Delish. As you can see, it was one of the highlights for Savannah. And judging from the way it disappeared, it was obviously a highlight for the rest of us, too.
We did make it back to my hometown in Illinois for a few hours on Sunday. The house where we grew up was still there, still cute...but not home anymore. They had cut down the evergreen tree in the backyard that I had loved, and when I saw it I got all choked up. And then felt sufficiently silly because of it.
The humidity was miserable part of the time, and my hair pretty much did whatever it wanted to. But the grass and trees and greenness and sunsets made up for it...oh, and of course the fact that my entire family was together for a few days.