Cemetery Visit

I love cemeteries. It's strange since the very thought of my death, or the death of anyone close to me, or death in general, can send me spiraling into a panic attack. Strangely enough though, whenever I am in a cemetery I don't really think about death. I don't even think about Morrissey. I just enjoy the quiet.

When we were in Boston I had one day completely to myself when Ryan had a conference. First, I was planning to do a total day of pampering: get my hair cut, get my nails done; all the things I can't do with a toddler hanging from my wrist. Then my "tourist's guilt" got the better of me though, and I decided to hit the sites. I was going to go to museums, and maybe see the Freedom Trail for the thirtieth time in my life. Then I remembered something very important about myself: I don't like crowds, especially when I am alone in the middle of them. Unfortunately I didn't realize it until I was stuck in the middle of people dressed in colonial dress, and people in tourists wearing "Bah-stan" t-shirts, but I did realize it before I starting involuntarily yelping and swinging my arms. I got out my phone, and googled "hidden Boston." At the top of the list was my destination: Mt. Auburn Cemetery.

That girl? Over there? She was the only other person I saw there for three hours.



Tons of wildlife. I tried to get a good picture of these wild turkeys, but didn't want to get too close in case I became the "woman who went to a cemetery and then was ironically killed by turkeys."



A fresh one. I didn't step on it in case a zombie hand was waiting.

Hawk eating a squrriel. Once again, didn't get too close.

I figured the turkeys not killing me was favor enough for the day.

It looks even weirder in person.

Seriously, if you are ever in Boston, you need to check Mt. Auburn cemetary out. It's gorgeous, and it fulfills the requirement of seeing historic sites -- without having to deal with anyone wearing a tri-cornered hat. Oh, and it's free...

Remember, though, don't get too close to the turkeys.

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Missing my Beast

Ryan and I just got back from five days in Boston. We saw historic sites. We ate seafood. We went to the movies. We went to dinner after 6:30 and stayed out until after 11pm. We slept in. We wandered around Harvard Square and various old cemeteries. 


Mostly though? We missed Meg. 


That probably sounds silly to a lot of you. I know it did to me up until the point we boarded the plane on Tuesday. I thought it would be good to get away, to spend some time alone with my husband, and alone with myself; to remember what it is like to be an "adult" who doesn't think about if a menu has kid friendly foods, or where the nearest "potty" may be in case of emergency. 


I did all those things, of course. And it was really nice to sit outside at a bistro talking to Ryan and not worrying about chasing a toddler around the sidewalk. It was nice to hear there was a 30 minute wait for a table at brunch, and not decide to go somewhere else because a meltdown was imminent. For all those nice moments though, there were just so many more moments that Meg would have made better. 


Going to the aquarium? Yep. Spying wildlife in the cemeteries? Yep. Checking out the buskers near Harvard. Definitely. Eating anything? Totally. Taking the train? Meg loves trains so much that every ride would have been a treat. 


It was Thursday night when Ryan and I finally reached our breaking point. We had both had out moments, but kept telling each other that when we looked back on this trip we would remember just the time we got to spend together, not the time we didn't get to spend with Meg. Then we went to see the movie "Beasts of the Southern Wild." 


For those of you who haven't seen it yet, "Beasts" is a pretty heart wrenching movie anyway. It is even more heart wrenching though when you realize the little girl at the center of it, the one who keeps yelling for her "mama" looks very similar like the child you are missing 3-thousand miles away. Oh, and kind of acts like her too. 

Meg. 

Movie. 

By the end of the film Ryan and I were both sloppy, sobbing messes. The two small napkins we had gotten at the concession stand in case our popcorn was too greasy (as if that is really a thing), had now been shredded and melted with tears. The collar of his t-shirt looked like he had been in a rainstorm, and my bra was dripping like I was having a hot flash. 

If it hadn't been so much to change the tickets (yes, we checked), we would have gotten on a plane right then. 

Meg will be going on our next trip with us. And the one after that. Oh, and the one after that. Actually, she will be pretty much going on every trip we take from now until we can no longer force her to be seen with us. Yes, Ryan and I will likely miss out on some romantic moments. Yes, the trips will cost more and be driven by different agendas. It's a trade off though. Meg is three now. It seems like just yesterday she was a dream in my head. It will just be tomorrow that she is asking to be dropped off two blocks away from the mall and wanting to go "camping" instead of on a family trip. So, I am going to treasure every vacation I can. It will be worth passing up funky Chinese dumpling shops to find some place with cheese noodles. I will just keep a list of all the dumpling shops for trips Ryan and I take when we retire. Our "doughy goodness world tour" if you will. 

Oh, and the next time I see "Beasts" I am investing in Kleenex first. 

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