Ahh, the weekend of conference. So restful. Watching the Saturday sessions at home (love the Internets) whilst cleaning and childproofing and dealing with little J's ongoing sinus infection. Trying to put the baby down for a nap without missing too much conference. Missing over an hour anyway. Running out for baby decongestant and wire mesh boxes under which to hide electrical cords while the husband mows the lawn in between sessions. Deciding what to make for the potluck tomorrow based on the ingredients on hand: tuna, pasta, brownie mix, chopped vegetables, lots of pillsbury products, assorted staples and condiments. Putting the baby down early because he's miserable from the sinus infection. (Which we are now treating with antibiotics for the THIRD time. I am losing my faith in modern medicine, people!) Sending the husband off to the third session and falling into bed as soon as possible to rest up for the baby's oncoming rough night.
And then there's Sunday. Prepping food to take in the morning. Baking dessert and cornbread and some sort of pasta salad or veggie appetizer at home in the morning and chopping/assembling as much as possible for tuna casserole so as not to violate the "no cooking in the church kitchen" rule. Packing the pack-n-play in the vain hope that the baby will nap during the session and you won't miss much more. Rushing to assemble pre-made food during breaks in rocking and watching. Setting up for the potluck in between sessions. Stressing that there won't be enough food despite having brought three or four dishes because there will be all those people who will have brought nothing. Thanking your lucky stars for the reliable folks to will bring a lot, too. Cleaning up afterwards. Weighing the pros and cons of staying for the last session or going home, given the baby's sinus woes. Making it through the last session, home or abroad.
All in all, a very spiritual experience, no?
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