I had honestly planned to continue posting throughout the remainder of the trip, but found myself quickly losing any kind of inspiration. There was plenty going on and plenty worth mentioning, but each time I sat down to write I found myself incessantly leaning on the backspace key. Being back in the land of mc-mansions and shiny gargantuan SUVs and endless sprawl and oppressive heat seemed to suck me into some sort of mediocraty vortex, wherein I couldn’t express a coherent thought that didn’t include the word ‘duhhhh.’ It has taken me this long to even want to turn the computer on, let alone be inspired enough to put word to page.

So here we are, back in the land of moderate temperatures and consumptive isolation. Ahhhh. Can you hear it; the sounds of hippies begging on the plaza and the smells of methamphetamine cooking on our neighbor’s stoves? Home sweet home.

In reflecting back on our week abroad, I feel it is high time to give a huge shout out to the shortest member of the family (no, not me) and let it be known that I can actually recognize how truly amazing our daugher can be. Although it wasn’t our intention, we – over the course of 10 days- committed parenting atrocities on such a deep level that, had we not on the lam, moving locations approximately every 48 hours, the authorities would have surely tossed our sorry-asses into the bad-parent wing of the local pokey.

It started with our insistence that while en-route, stopping the car at anything less than a 4-hour stretch was just plain unnecessary. It was only after, oh, say, about the FIFTH outfit change that we realized the precise limit of a disposable diaper. If anyone has seen how much those suckers hold you will understand the extent of our dense skulls. It was shocking that she only ended up with one diaper rash — and that was after we left a poopy swim diaper on her for the better part of a day. I think that time, I may have actually heard the sirens off in the distance as they sped toward our location.

Next up was our insistence at resetting her circadian rhythms. Her daytime nap commenced anytime within a 7 1/2 hour range — 10:30 am, 5:30pm, whatever works. As for bedtime, we were sure to do everything in our power to insure puffy, dark circles under her eyes each morning. Hey, don’t judge, we were conscientious enough to have a strong cup of jo waiting for her each morning. She is a Walston, after all. A day without coffee is a day not worth living….unless you are Scott.

The rest of our parental digressions were scattered throughout the week like fun little prizes: Loading her into a 250 degree car and allowing her to burn herself on the scortching car-seat, mistakenly placing her pack-n-play too close to the bed so she was able to climb out and fashion a life-sized model of Mt. Everest out of a package of wet wipes, oh and my favorite — when, somewhere along the line she managed to get a splinter in the heel of her foot THAT WE STILL HAVE NOT REMOVED! She won’t let me near her feet with nail clippers, let alone a big needle and pair of tweezers. I can only guess that my next post will be titled “Staph: It’s fun for the whole family.”

Stella bounced back from every adverse situation we threw at her. She slept well…when we let her; she was amazingly accommodating…no matter how ridiculously inconsistent our schedule was, and she, through it all, managed to actually keep learning. No longer do we have the Stella of one word commands and unintelligible babble. We now have a little person who can string words together telling you exactly what she wants and rattle off the names of all of her extended family:

• “Damma” (Grandma)
• “Dampa” (Grandpa)
• “Dot” (Uncle Scott)
• “Pad” (Uncle Thad)
• “Ant Peene” (Aunt Celene)
• “Yiddy” (Lily)

And she even knows her own name….”Teppa”.

Lest you think I am kidding about all of this, you should probably click here.