Smooth execution, Troy.  Now try walking though the living room at night, in the dark, and get back to me.

I went to a little conference this weekend. I like to learn things, it’s true, but mostly I like sleeping in a King sized bed all by myself and drinking beer after beer after beer (plus 9? 11? I lost count) in the company of the smartest mofos in the game (you know who you are).

I’ve never been to Nashville before, but it reminds me a lot of Oklahoma except everything is like way more expensive. And it was worth every fucking penny.

Top Five Things I Learned In Nashville

5. I have really good hair in Tennessee, like it was effortless. It is probably because there is actual moisture in the air as opposed to the dry, vapid, dread lock inducing state I currently live in.

4. I only took a carry on and was so damn proud of myself for being such a light packer.  Upon arrival to the great state of Tennessee, I realized I forgot my damn hairbrush and toothbrush. Light packing fail.

3. While in Nashville I took no one’s blood sugar (I would have if someone would have asked) and I missed it. This is really fucking weird to me.

2. After 13 smoked porters and sitting on the stairs at 1:30 in the morning, the conversation somehow turned to gravy recipes and when I stated that I make my gravy with cornstarch just the way god and my asian MIL intended, my favorite asian friend and I totally fist bumped and I was so overcome with asian validation (it’s what motivates me through life) that I spilled my beer. Twice.

1. I soaked up as much (editor’s note: information not beer) as I could, man.  The sessions were on point, photography, writing, I’m so stoked I was able to make it.  I needed this break.  A great big shout out to Jeff’s wallet (my official sponsor for Blissdom).

Thanks for having me, Nashville.  We must do this again sometime (next year).

Another editor’s note: You should really go read Christine’s Blissdom Recap. Not only is she a total blogging badass with a book coming out, but she has a photo of my hair.

Zoe took this with my phone in a moving car going 55 mph. I think it’s safe to say she’s ready for her own blog. Or at least take this one over.

Give or take a few wayward syringes. And by wayward, I mean the 4729 that are misplaced in my car, purse, Zoe’s backpack, under my sofa. Some days it’s like Trainspotting up in this b.

We had Zoe’s one year diabetes check up on Tuesday. We go in to the center every three months for routine bullshit, but this appointment was for routine bullshit plus the big guns: Pump Discussion.

You see, our specialist, who FYI just got back from Spain where he was presenting important information with the rest of the specialist team regarding the closed loop system AKA the artificial pancreas, likes to wait until 12 months have gone by before presenting the insulin pump as an option. This works for me because I needed 12 months to grasp what the freak we were doing regarding direbetes.

Please note, I’m the one that needed 12 months, this does not apply to Zoe.  Zoe looks forward to her appointments because she 1. Gets to leave school early and 2. Gets to wear sparkly stuff.  She always dresses fancy to go to the center because she says “I’m fabulous, just not my pancreas”.

I don’t think all the exclamations and cartoon characters in the world could make needle jabs pleasant. Maybe I’m wrong.

These are all over the building, I’m pretty sure we need one as well, like in the kitchen, bedrooms, bathroom, and my car.

We met with her doc and Zoe decided-FOR NOW-she does not want to pump. I think, as her working pancreas, I would definitely prefer it, but I’m not rushing her into anything. If she wants to do injections, so be it. It’s her call.

We left the appointment feeling good, her A1C (special diabetes math that I only pretend to understand) was a 7.9, pretty close to what it was three months ago.  We’ll take it.

On the way home, I let the kids pick where they wanted to eat. I call this photo Barfnoculars: Setting my sites on YOU.

Troy ate all of his spechul lunch, went into the play area and took one turn on the slide, ran out clutching his throat, and when I picked him up, he projectile vomited in my EAR, down my back, on my ponytail, all over half the dining room, and in my favorite leather knee boots.

TWICE.

To say it was all over the place is an understatement. With Zoe’s help, I stripped him down and wrapped him up in Zoe’s coat. A very nice employee cleaned up the mess (I offered repeatedly because OMFG) and they even offered to replace his meal. I took a pass on that one.

I much expect anything from my children, I mean ANYTHING, but this one threw me, man.  I drove home with vomit in my hair while Troy was passed out in the backseat, naked in Zoe’s coat.  It’s just like college, except not as fun.

Good news, it wasn’t the stomach flu or it was and was just the kind that makes you barf twice in a restaurant all over your mother, and he was fine after watching two movies in my bed.

And that was Tuesday. Motherhood: There’s a whole lot of barf. And fabulousness.