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Language Log

Wednesday, Oct. 19, 2011 - 6:50 a.m.

I'm doing some top-secret recipe testing for a cookbook on a top-secret theme, by one of my favorite food bloggers (identity undisclosable, sorry). He sent me my first recipe, and I won't tell you anything about it except to say that it is a salad, and it involves red onions. I HATE raw red onions. But I swore to make the recipe as written, so now I'm doomed to make the salad and pick little red onion bits out of it. Ugh. Not a winner in the recipe lottery this time.

We have to go to NJ for a wedding this weekend. I bought a new dress and shoes-- I will look awesome, bandaged nose and all. I'm concerned about the fight, though. Specifically the flight home. And my 2 hour layover in Atlanta with Q, where I'll be toting loads of crap (how do you get around a giant airport with a huge carseat, 2 carry-ons, toddler?) and can't leave any of it unattended to run around with her.

There is talk of getting me a ride on one of the little airport buggies, but that doesn't solve the problem of toddler with wanderlust and me with too much crap to chase after her. And yes, I'm bringing as many toys as I can, but I imagine by then their charm will have worn off and all she'll want to do is throw herself in front of harried, childless air travelers in business suits who are late to their flights to Newark.

Anxiety. Also worried that she'll be terrified of EVERYTHING involved, and so I'll get to tote all that junk around while she's screaming and thrashing about. How do you install a carseat in a plane seat when the toddler is screaming and writhing on the floor? Ideas, anyone? I guess the flight attendants will help.

Are my expectations suitably low?

In other news, the goddamn cat stands outside of Q's room in the morning, before she has woken, and yowls. I do go try to kick her, but she's too fast. I hate my goddamn cats.

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