Say it again.

Say it again.

I laughed as my best friend repeated the word.

She has a certain way with word.

It was so good to hear and so good to reconnect and to make jokes and know what she was referring to.

Not many folks know me so well or for so long.

It is a blessing to have her.


Her boys.

Oh such boys.

And I miss my boys, who I cannot wait to see next Monday and be reunited with and hear their voices and get back into the thick of being a nanny.

Which also means getting back into the thick of preparing for Burning Man.


My boss sent me a text asking me what I would like my job title to be, she threw out a few suggestions as well as asking if I was still going to be MFP.

Mary Fucking Poppins.


That’s the name.

And my job title?

“Not your Nanny.”

I have been asked a few times to nanny others, not just other children either, but that’s another blog entirely.

I sent off a quick e-mail to my boss with a photograph and I will have a laminate for the event, as well as a leash (radio, which is why I need a playa name to be on communications with my family) at the event.

The Burning Man preparations will begin in earnest once I return.

But until then.

Back to the boys.

The tow headed trio of brothers that I got to sniff and kiss and hug and squeeze and tickle and hold and share stories with and oh.

Did my heart so good.

And the eldest now has me on his Instagram and yeah.

The love palpable.

I am not Auntie Bubba to them, that is my family moniker, I am Auntie Bubba for my nieces (“Auntie Bubba, what is your real name?” My eldest niece asked me when she was twelve.  “You know my name,” I said and smiled, pushing the bangs off her face and away from her rich hazel eyes.  “Carmen,” she said, with just that little uptick at the end that was more question than statement of fact. “But can I still call you Auntie Bubba?” Always my love, always.), rather I am Auntie Carmen.

Which is really quite wonderful and made me just swell with a sort of familial pride that I know is not exactly blood related, but some friends, well, they are more family than family and my friend has seen me through a lot.

To be considered an auntie for her brood is an honor indeed.

I just wish I was more capable in my body to run around with them and play and hold them and tumble about.

There will be more walking boot in my future than walking, while I am about the boys though, I realized quite quickly that I would be protected better if I continue to wear it.

Though I would love for that part of my story to be done, that walking boot is going to get a burial at sea if I have my way, I will be keeping it about for the duration of my visit.

And boy howdy am I grateful that I took everyone’s advice about the wheelchair.

First, SFO was packed this morning, long lines, folks leaving from Pride weekend, just a lot of folk up and about and checking in.

I went to the agent and I saw an elderly couple getting ushered inside via wheelchair and for a moment felt like a complete fraud, then the ticketing agent saw my foot, and radio, “bring another wheelchair out to the gate.”

“Have you checked in?” He asked.

I handed over my identification and he printed off my boarding pass, “go sit inside and they will come and get you and bring you right to the gate.”

That was exactly what happened.

By passed the line.

Sailed right on through, got my stuff through the x-ray machines, but I had to get a personal pat down from the security team, a woman, who was quick and thorough, plus having my palms swiped for chemicals and they swabbed the walking boot too.

After that, straight to the gate and right to the front of the line and the first person on the plane after the flight team boarded.


I did not up grade to a different seat, the flight was booked, but I was able to rearrange myself and use the bathroom facilities before the rest of the plane boarded.

I was deep into my book before I even realized that the plane was boarded and heading out to the runway.

A quick flight.

A few videos.

A few chapters in my book.

A nap.

Then landing.

And upon exiting the plane, again, no need to ask, there was a member from the airplane company standing by with another wheelchair.

He waved me over and I got settled in.

I told him that they had decided to check my bag and I needed to go to baggage claim and right then and there you might as well have crowned me with my own princess tiara, I got to ride in the cart to the baggage pick up.

It was awesome.

I would have been way overwhelmed on my own.

The distance would have been really challenging and it took about five minutes in the cart to get there.

Walking it would have been twenty, even with the little conveyor belts scattered throughout the terminal.

I was able to get my bag, and sit for a little bit with a coffee and read another chapter in my book, then my friend got me and we just drove around Minneapolis, went through Uptown, Tangle Town, Hennepin, Grand Ave, and the nearby environs, drove around Harriet Lake, and even went to Minnehaha Falls.

Lunch at Sea Salt and dinner and coffee at Wise Acre.

Plus the best company on earth and then the return to Hudson, crossing the Mississippi and the St. Croix rivers to Wisconsin.

A tumble on the kitchen floor, lap full of boys eager to tell me about the homemade welcome cake they had made in the afternoon, hugs from the papa, after I disentangled from the three boys and then more hugs, tea with the boys, and they had cake, then story time on the couch.

My heart feels full and fat and heavy with love.

And it’s just day one here in Hudson.

I still get to have another four days.


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