For the second day in a row today I took a nap that spanned an entire REM cycle.  Needless to say, I’m not exactly roughing it out here.

I mean, I’m tired, sure, but that’s because of all the self-torture.  Having learned that The Trails were a tough bit of cycling to chew on that early in the morning, I let Crystal take me on a road ride this morning.  When she mentioned that the out-and-back path that she does in the mornings was 18 miles long, I didn’t tell her that 18 miles was about 8 miles farther than I rode, even when I was doing a “long ride.”  I just grinned and told myself to bear it.  I felt pretty dang accomplished this morning when we arrived home from the ride.  I survived and I didn’t even slow them down.  We averaged about 14.6* miles/hour (*only 20 miles an hour of the Tour de France’s Peloton speed!  We were practically flying!) and my max speed was 34 miles an hour! I was breaking the speed limit on two wheeeeels! 

Last night Amy and I crashed into our bed at about 10:3o and then proceeded to chat like 7th graders for the next hour.  During that hour we realized that there was no light on in the living room, and we needed to fix that situation in case any little ones needed to make their way across the house to find Amy in the middle of the night.  “We” in that situation means “Sarah” because Amy is 6 months pregnant and that is exactly the kind of task I am here to complete.  The turning-on-nightlights-after-we’re-already-in-bed kinds of tasks.  (I’m also really stellar at finding DVDs in the center console.  I am a priceless addition to this travelling circus.)  On the way to turn on the lamp on the piano I kicked my suitcase, bumbled into my camera bag, then over corrected into the bench at the end of the bed.  It was really dark.  I got from there to the living room okay, but then, whilst trying to avoid the large mahogany table leafs hanging out behind the couch (in the make-shift hallway to the baby-grand), I practically punted the two bowling balls that were beside the piano in (what I now know to be) the Goodwill pile.  It felt like I was in a Three Stooges routine by the time I finally got all the way to the lamp.  I made an audible “oof” sound as I crammed my left foot, then the right, into their respective bowling balls.  Amy called out in a whisper from the bedroom, “What was that?!”  I said, “A bowling ball.  Cause I TOTALLY keep my bowling balls in the living room by the piano.”  My witty bowling ball commentary was all she needed to be sent into an endless and delirium-driven giggle fit.  As I crawled back into our bed she, still laughing, re-lived every single collision I’d made, noting how each impact made the following impact that much more hilarious.  I couldn’t even be mad that I’d just crashed into 2 bowling balls 3 pieces of furniture and every personal belonging I have with me on the trip.  Seeing her silhouette, hand cupped over the mouth, trying not to laugh so loud that we woke anyone up, was easily worth the bruised pinky toes.