Last weekend J and I went to the Berkshires all by ourselves.

All by ourselves, guys. J’s parents kindly agreed to take Nora for three nights so we could drive a couple hours to a bed and breakfast for a relaxing weekend away before the new baby shows up. I decided I wanted to go away on this blessed weekend before I got too much further into the third trimester…before I got really huge and basically gave up on everything besides being pregnant. March. That is what is happening in March.

This weekend was awesome in a way that I can’t quite put into words. It was one of those rare occasions where the vacation was truly relaxing in all aspects. Like, neither of us was worried about any work commitments, Nora was safe and sound with family and the place we stayed was exactly what we’d wanted, complete with a great big sitting room with a huge fireplace. We spent our hours exploring little towns and talking to fellow travelers and reading.

One of the days I took a nice, hot shower and when I got out I decided, “I am just going to sit here and dry off for a while.” And that’s exactly what I did. It was all about having plenty of time on this vacation - the kind of time you simply don’t take for yourself when you’re enveloped in home life - and right here and now I’d like to urge all parents to plan their very own weekend away. And do it every year. Really!

Anyway, the very best moment of this particular weekend occurred when I was slowly waking up from a nap in our room, and I received a text from J, who was in the main house reading by the fire, explaining that I should come on over because the innkeeper had just served mulled apple cider and cupcakes. I was pulling on my boots within two seconds.

Before you chide me for describing this as the best moment of the trip, please recall that I’m pregnant.

When you wake up from a great nap and then someone is serving you apple cider and cupcakes, well, THAT is a vacation.

It was a little sad coming home, although great to see Nora, of course. I was starting to think that I wasn’t going to have another truly great moment for a very long time. But then MSNBC announced this week that on Friday, Oprah is going to be a guest on “Morning Joe,” the morning news program we watch fairly religiously. I have to admit, I got pretty excited. It might not be vacation-worthy stuff, but that pairing on a weekday morning, along with a good cup of coffee? That’s gold, baby.

Our trip this summer shall forever be known as the Po-and trip, as Nora named our destination, despite the fact that we also spent a few days visiting Prague in the Czech Republic. It will also be known as The Trip Where I Saw People Drink More Vodka Than I Thought Humanly Possible.

Of course I don’t want to discount the castles and cathedrals and culture and everything else, but dudes, the vodka. Max and Kasia’s wedding was the primary reason for our trip and the first major event on our itinerary. Well, I mean, following the plane ride to Prague, which - with an almost two-year-old - is a major event.

Nora was good on the flight over. OH except for the fact that she didn’t sleep at ALL. What? What’s that? Your daughter didn’t sleep AT ALL on the overnight flight from New York to Prague? At all? Guys, not at all, and you’d better believe I was hating myself for not figuring out the whole Benadryl dosage thing a day before we left, instead of throwing my hands in the air and saying, “You know what? We don’t even need this. Nora’s a good sleeper.”

The fact that Nora was super pumped to be on the airplane was the first problem, combined with the fact that it wasn’t exactly an overnight flight in the truest sense. We left around 5 p.m. our time and arrived at around 7 a.m. their time, which is really 1 a.m. back home. So she didn’t get that she was essentially skipping an entire night of rest. Instead it was like she was staying up super late with all these fun people and noises and movies playing on all these screens. She wasn’t bad, per se, although she had a few moments. The real problem was that because it’s not a great idea to leave your toddler unattended when they’re awake on an airplane, J and I barely got any sleep either.

So when we got to the Budget rental car window at the Prague airport and Nora closed her eyes and passed out right there in her Go Go Baby carseat carrier, like, mere minutes after we’d de-boarded the plane, we were more, “You have got to be kidding me” than we were relieved. She proceeded to sleep for about the next six hours while J and I drove our Fiat Panda (!) the three or so hours from Prague to Jelenia Gora, a city located in southwest Poland where Kasia’s family lives.

Except that I drove, not we, because when I was 16 the car available to me was my father’s Toyota Tercel and it was stick. And that’s just how I learned to drive, a skill that comes in exceptionally handy when you’re in Europe. And, I must admit, it’s pretty cool that I know how to do it and J doesn’t. He may be an incredible scientist, but guess who got to take the Panda through all those hills and curves? Sometimes coming dangerously close to scraping the paint off other cars, because who do these people think they are with these narrow gravel paths that they call roads? But whatever, I had a good time.

As tired as we were, and with the help of a roadside nap at a Czech mall, we made it over the border and to the palace where we’d be staying for the next two nights. That’s when the real fun started. After depositing our belongings in our lovely room with a view of the gardens below, we met up with old friends and new as the celebrations began. After an amazing dinner that night, the three of us slept a good 12 hours, regaining our strength and setting ourselves up for a decent way to cope with jetlag - from then on we simply went to bed late and got up late, not really caring if our days got started closer to lunchtime than breakfast.

On Max’s wedding day, we headed into town with my brother, who had arrived a few hours after us the night before, and explored Jelenia Gora’s streets and sites, and then ate Polish food for lunch. As I’d imagined, Nora was totally down with the local fare. As in, she may have eaten 500 pierogies.

Max and Kasia’s wedding was in a gorgeous church downtown. Nora was remarkably good if you don’t count her repeatedly pointing to the front of the church and saying, rather loudly, “See? See it?” to make sure we were all properly absorbing the depth and meaning of the moment. I was. Flying to Poland to see Max get married…I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

The reception that followed back at the palace was, as I hinted at in the beginning of this post, a very lively affair. Yeah, the vodka, which was placed on our tables as dinner ended, and we foreigners soon saw why as we were all asked to stand and join in a song and toast followed by a shot. The Polish people know how to have fun and although I’m harping on it, I don’t just mean the liquor. There was ceremony and joy and…togetherness at this party that I haven’t really seen anywhere else.

I hate to admit it but Nora and I were some of the first to head to bed that night, although I would like to make it clear that beforehand we both tore up the dance floor. Especially Nora. But at a certain point, roughly one in the morning, she simply couldn’t stay up any longer. This was made apparent by her rolling around on the floor in her little white dress, brown in several spots because of the chocolate ice cream she’d eaten from her plate and then some from all the plates of her table mates. So I happily relieved J of parental duties and headed up to catch up on sleep I still needed.

The wedding went on until 4 or 5 a.m. and, incredibly, the toasts and singing and vodka continued the next day at a pig roast with Kasia’s family. Nora made fast friends with various cousins and aunts and uncles. Dancing, exploring and playing with a puppy named Stevie. At one point Max asked if I minded driving him to a nearby gas station to pick up additional drinks, as supplies were dwindling. We went, just the two of us, and it was exactly like so many of the mundane adventures we’ve had over the years of our friendship. Except this one was in Poland.

Those two days kicked off our vacation, and what a way to begin. I won’t write paragraphs and paragraphs explaining every beautiful site and experience that took up the rest of our week in Krakow and Prague. But trust me - and please excuse the lack of imagination here - it was awesome.

When we got back we were, understandably, tired. It had been a bit of a whirlwind and we spent the next week getting back into the swing of things at home.

Even now, a few weeks out, I feel like I’m still trying to get into the swing of things. Maybe because there isn’t much of a swing to be had. I don’t really have any work thanks to trying times in the world of journalism, and every now and then I feel at a bit of a loss concerning what I should do with my time, although I’m hoping the fall will bring some answers.

Just this morning I was changing Nora’s diaper as J was getting ready for work and I called out, “Wow, Nora really peed a lot this morning.” What? Nora peed a lot? I sighed as I heard myself say it. What kind of person says things like that? A person with nothing going on. J didn’t respond and I felt a little dejected at the lack of interesting events in my life, beyond my daughter’s diaper.

But wait a second, I realized. We just got back from fucking Eastern Europe. We wandered the streets of Krakow! We danced all night at a Polish wedding!

Life is all kinds of interesting. Thank you, Po-and. You were exactly what I needed.

I’ve been in almost non-stop Poland planning mode this past week, to the point where J had to state strongly, “Cara! Everything’s fine! We’ll get it all done!” this morning because I was asking repetitive questions regarding certain items on my to do list. That’s just how I am about travel. It makes me nervous, and it’s multiplied by 1,000 since having a child, because I have to pack for her, too.

Plus, there is the level of unfamiliarity involved with this particular trip to the Czech Republic and Poland. Here is one of the lines from the Google Maps directions I got for the drive from the Prague airport to our destination on Friday:

Continue onto Ji?æn?? spojka (signs for Teplice/Mlad?° Boleslav/Hradec Kr?°lov?©/Spo?ôilov)

Now, COME ON.

But in all seriousness, there is something about the thrown-together/unknown lands/chatty toddler/Polish wedding part of this trip that makes me all the more excited. It’s going to be really fun, and really, really funny.

Nora’s beyond ready and has been screaming about Poland for a couple days now, despite the fact that she doesn’t know what Poland is. When I told her we were going upstairs to change her diaper earlier this morning she said, “No! Poland! Airplane!” and I was like, you’ve got it, little one. One more day. And we are going to have the time of our lives.

I know I’ve been pretty quiet lately, and there are a few good reasons why. First of all, this is August. The lazy days of summer when nobody really works or does anything productive. Right? You guys out there with real jobs? You’re not actually working, right?

Secondly, we’ve had a lot going on lately, including a few weekends away here and there, and most notably, planning an upcoming trip to Poland for Max’s wedding. And we’re taking Nora. We tell everybody this. “And guess what? We’re taking Nora.” Then we wait and see how badly they want to tell us we’re crazy.

Of course, I don’t think we’re crazy, and in fact can’t wait for this little family adventure, which will also include a visit to Prague. I’m loving the idea of this trip because it’s probably not somewhere I’d have gone anytime soon if not for this wedding. Planning is more challenging than I’m used to. All the z’s and consonants in general in every hotel name and restaurant listing. Let’s face it, I’m probably never going to learn Polish.

But that’s the thing. I think getting out of your comfort zone is really important every now and then. Like taking a nine-hour flight with your toddler, who throws violent, violent tantrums when the oatmeal isn’t done as fast as she wants it. Guess what, Nora? No oatmeal on airplanes. But castles in Krakow and pierogies and making new friends in faraway places? Worth it.

Nora and I are headed to Pennsylvania for a quick trip to visit my grandmother, where we will catch up with family and participate in one of my all-time favorite activities: sitting around over coffee in the morning. For hours. This is what the women in my mother’s family do.

J hates this. We wake up, serve ourselves whatever kind of delicious breakfast pastry my grandmother bought that week and talk forever in our pajamas. Gossip. Life lessons. The good old times, whatever.

After experiencing this for the first time, J was like, “Are you kidding me?” He had, of course, awoken before everyone else, showered and assumed we were going to, well, do something. Maybe that’s the male mentality, I don’t know.

He’s staying here this weekend because he’s got a ton of work to do. So while I was packing this morning, I showed him the bathrobe I was putting in my duffel bag. “Do you know why I’m packing this?” I asked him. “It’s for sitting around in the morning and -”

Before I could get the words out of my mouth he was all but yelling, “OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO BE HERE BEING SO PRODUCTIVE DURING THAT TIME.”

A couple weeks ago I went to the University of Scranton to accept an award they were giving my father, a graduate of the school, to recognize his achievements in the field of community service.

I was - and am - really proud of him for getting the award, which he undoubtedly deserves. And I also felt that this awards ceremony - part of their alumni weekend - was a big deal at the university. Those are two of the reasons I went. But also, I knew it would be fun. Everyone, including my father and my contact at the school, was so appreciative that I’d even consider driving all the way there (it’s only three hours away), taking time out of my busy life to do this, and I was like, “Listen, you want me to attend some cocktail parties, talk to strangers and make a speech? All of my favorite things, while getting some alone time and not changing any diapers? Don’t thank me. I’m thanking you.”

As I’d expected, the whole thing was so much fun. J unfortunately couldn’t come with me, but from the minute I arrived at the beautiful campus I felt like I was surrounded by friends. Each award recipient was greeted by an undergraduate who helped get us from location to location and answered any questions we might have. My undergraduate, Ashley (hi Ashley!!), was incredibly cheerful, interesting and was doing amazing things with her education and life.

At one point Ashley asked me if I missed college, and I told her that I missed some things. For instance, I said, I miss my English and philosophy classes - all that talking in depth about the great works that you just don’t get in the real world. I told her that I could, I suppose, join a book club, but that nobody would want to join a book club that had the works of Kant on the roster. Because she’s awesome, Ashley told me that she’d join that book club.

But then I explained that, truthfully, I don’t miss college in the sense that it was the best time of my life. It wasn’t. It was a really, really great part in my life. I loved every second of my time at Boston University. The school was huge, which was exactly what I’d wanted. I made a small group of tight knit friends, friends I made amazing memories with, although some days I’d get lost in the crowds on my way to this class or that and barely see anyone I knew. I loved the occasional feeling of anonymity after going to such a small high school. I loved the city of Boston and all it had to offer, and I loved my classes and professors. Except not Irish history. That was a huge mistake.

However, I told her, my life has gotten so much better since then. So I don’t long for my college days. I like things the way they are now.

Anyway, I went on to have a wonderful night, meeting many accomplished people, including several members of class of 1960, who were there for alumni weekend, and who I was seated with for dinner in my father’s place. We talked feminism, religion and politics.

When the night was over, I went to my dorm room. That’s right, my dorm room.

The University of Scranton graciously offered me a dorm room, as I was staying the night and driving back in the morning. Others who’d traveled to be there were doing the same. Mine was a resident advisor’s room, with its own bathroom, but it was a dorm room, alright, complete with an extra long twin bed, desk and reading lamp. I’d been looking forward to the experience, but I must admit it was a little lonely once I’d settled in. Uncharacteristically quiet for a dorm since it was summer break, even as others trickled in to their own rooms throughout the night. I made my bed and switched on the lamp and read for a while before falling asleep at a very decent hour. I couldn’t help thinking about how it was such a difference experience than that of my actual dorm room years at BU. No late night pizza? No mini fridge full of illegally-attained beer? No music blaring? Nobody laughing or crying or or having a party?

When I awoke the next morning it was raining. I gathered all my things together, showered and made my way downstairs to the lobby. While I was waiting for the elevator, I noticed the communal kitchen, very similar to the one we had in my freshman dorm, except that this one was much newer and nicer looking.

In the lobby I very happily discovered carafes of coffee provided for the overnight visitors. I made myself a cup and lingered for a few minutes, watching the rain outside. I don’t know why, but I started thinking about that kitchen and all the funny things that probably happen in there. Dinners that get burnt and board games played. Maybe some studying, maybe some drinking. Probably some making out. I started thinking about my own dorm experience and how people used to put hats on the doors as a hook-up warning for their roommates. I thought about the time it snowed four feet unexpectedly in April and classes were canceled. We ate junk food and played outside. I thought about when my roommate made a “beer angel” in the hallway one night by lying on her back and moving her arms and legs through her spilled drink. I thought about how the boys used to wreak havoc and play pranks on their floor, often shirtless, and how it was kind of scary to go down there. About how all my friends were right there, and we left the door open all the time.

All of a sudden I missed college so much. So much, and I realized that I just needed the proper inspiration to arouse those emotions. So Ashley, I revise my answer. My life has gotten so much better since I was an English major at Boston University, but I do miss college, and I miss more than the classes and the academic discussions. I miss all the insanity and fearlessness. I miss the antics and the major life moments, and living so close to all my new friends.

And, although one night was certainly enough for a while, I even miss the dorm rooms. Doors open. Music loud.

That’s right, part two. All these weeks later.

After we went to the beach, Nora and I drove to Chapel Hill where we spent a week. J had to fly back up to New Haven to work, but he came back and joined us that next weekend for a friend’s wedding. I’d been sort of dreading this Chapel Hill trip. I know that sounds crazy, but let me explain. I loved living there for all those years that we did. We had great friends there, and great weather, and really great carport parties. And, you know, we left because J got a post doc at Yale, not because we were sick and tired of living the easy life down south. I cried like crazy while driving down 15-501 after we’d packed up the moving van and headed out. An especially emotional time as it directly followed the Cardboard Incident of 2007.

So why was I dreading this extra week of vacation, when I would see a bunch of old friends and rejoice in visiting my old stomping grounds? Precisely because we loved it there so much. I was honestly worried that going back would set off an intense nostalgia binge and I’d return from the trip horribly depressed about the fact that we don’t live in North Carolina anymore. I was so afraid of this feeling that I was actually nervous about going to Chapel Hill.

Well, as you might guess, once I got to town and settled in with our wonderful friends Mike and Jess, who’d so kindly offered to host us for the week, all my concerns melted into thin air. I loved being back and I loved taking Nora to my favorite spots, and introducing her to all the people I used to know. She met people I used to work with. We had drinks with people I used to drink with and, amazingly, having a toddler along seemed totally natural. Every day was sunny. Nora met my friend Karla and her triplets. We were having the best time. GOD CHAPEL HILL IS AWESOME, I thought. And we are totally moving back. WE ARE MOVING BACK!

So I started telling everybody about how we were moving back although that statement had no basis in reality. Whatever, ha ha, it’s happening, I thought. It’s not like I was going insane or anything, I just loved being back in Chapel Hill, which strangely felt like more like home than New Haven. And I sincerely thought about how great it would be to live there again, with our friends and the quality grocery stores, forever and ever.

Believe me, after such a good time, I steeled myself against the return to Connecticut, fearing an even worse reentry period than I’d predicted. From sun-drenched fields and friendly banter with strangers to the land of 9 trillion Dunkin’ Donuts and neverending winter? Come on! That’s terrible!

We drove home, stopping quickly overnight in D.C. to split up the trip. When we got back I began unpacking and getting things in order after what seemed like months - not a couple weeks - away. I kind of enjoyed re-settling into our little house and talking about warmer weather plans, like starting our garden. But I figured once I got over the excitement of being back home and not living out of a suitcase, the sad times would set in. I’d cry just like I did on 15-501.

It never happened.

I loved being home again - home - and spending time with family and friends and going on playdates. I loved driving over the Q bridge in my less-than-awesome Hyundai Elantra. Going to breakfast at the diner. Starting the tomato plants. Walking along the water. Cleaning off the patio. Participating in my Mommy Bootcamps. Planting grass. Going to the Starbucks with the really nice baristas. Chatting with my neighbors. Returning to our Italian class. I swear to you, going back to Chapel Hill made me feel more at home in Connecticut than I have since we moved here. I don’t know why and I don’t really care.

The feeling is so good. Maybe we will move back to Chapel Hill one day, but I now realize that my life’s happiness doesn’t depend on where we end up. The point is that I didn’t need to worry, I was much more settled than I thought I was here in the very happening city of New Haven. And furthermore, Dunkin’ Donuts? I love that place.

I never really eat Pop-Tarts so the fact that we had basically the biggest box of Pop-Tarts I’d ever seen at this beach house in Emerald Isle wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing about our vacation, not at first. We got excited, first and foremost, about the house itself, where a whole bunch of J’s family - parents and aunts and uncles and cousins and one Grandma Peggie - had gathered for a week of vacation. Despite living in North Carolina all those years I’d never been to Emerald Isle and when we got there I just couldn’t believe the huge, deserted beach and the dolphins swimming just out beyond the breakers. And then there was the HOT TUB. So, naturally, within about half an hour of arriving, we’d made cocktails and were settled in or around the hot tub telling stories and laughing and talking about just how incredible this vacation was gonna be.

And guys, that is exactly how it went, from day one until the very last and nearly tearful day of our trip a week later. This looming, purple beach house was perfect for a group of our size and we spent the week eating big, family dinners, looking for shells, burying Nora’s feet in the sand, talking about Lauren Conrad’s literary talents, conducting a few handstand contests, not watching the news, reading novels voraciously by the pool, drinking coffee and eating pancakes and engaging in one vodka-fused dance off that featured plenty of Jay-Z but also Phoenix and that song “Possum Kingdom” by the Toadies.

For J and I, this vacation was particularly relaxing because, as you parents know, a “vacation” - once you have kids - is different, waaaaaayyyy different, than a vacation before you have kids. At least, if said kids are in attendance. Because when you have to take care of your children, that sort of puts a damper on the whole relaxing thing. Believe me, a vacation is a vacation, I’m not complaining, but it’s undoubtedly different with a child.

On this beach trip, however, we had like five trillion (estimate) live-in babysitters in the form of J’s family. And they were incredible! Every time I turned around they were making Nora breakfast or reading her a book or putting her hair in pigtails. At one point I was sitting down on the deck and when I asked J’s Aunt Andrea (who’d come down to bring us some snacks, I know, that’s the best, right?) how Nora was doing upstairs with everyone, she replied that today, “I wasn’t a parent,” and that I should just let them take care of her. That, my friends, that’s V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N. And I’m incredibly grateful to all of them for giving us that.

So there was the beach and there was the sand and there were the dolphins. But the house also had this huge DVD collection and each bedroom featured a television and DVD player. So J and I picked out a couple of movies and most of our nights there, after Nora went to bed, we’d raid the upstairs pantries - packed with snack food - and we’d put in a movie and sit in the bed eating Pop-Tarts or maybe Handi-Snacks. Slightly suntanned, under the cool sheets after a long day of beach fun.

I don’t know if it’s because it was a fairly significant departure from my normal diet or what, but Jesus, I miss those nights with the Pop-Tarts. I think about all the good times we had, of course. It was the kind of trip you never forget. But there was something so inherently vacation-y about that peaceful, end-of-the-day exercise in relaxation, and as mundane as our semi-early nights were, they will forever be enshrined in the beach trip hall of fame.

I was talking to my sister in law, Megan, yesterday about our trip. She ate the Pop-Tarts on vacation, too. She said her mom had bought some recently and she didn’t even want them.

It’s just not the same now that we’re home, she told me. I know, I replied, I know exactly what you mean.

Or, should perhaps more aptly be titled “Post Written While Looking Out at the Ocean and Thinking Very Seriously About Turning the Computer Off.”

Anyway, we’re on vacation, so my blogging frequency will be less-than-ideal for the immediate future. However, I will be tweeting about my vacation, if you happen to want to read annoying comments about how much fun I’m having at the beach. Tweets like “I’m looking for seashells,” or “I’m sitting by the pool,” or “I’m still sitting by the pool but now with a margarita,” or “Practicing underwater headstands.”

Which, by the way, is pretty much what happened today.

This vacation has been amazingly relaxing because it feels truly earned as I had a ton of work in the past couple weeks. But I’ll certainly be excited to start writing more again once the vacation is over. The vacation being over, though, is a thought that sort of makes me want to cry, so enough for now.

For the first time in months I have a lot of work to do - can you even believe it? - and I haven’t had time to finish the post concerning All The Puking, a sin, really, because it’s a good story.

So I thought that I’d post this picture before you guys started to think I’d abandoned this blog, taken in the rain forest area at the Baltimore Aquarium over Christmas break. It’s my dad’s favorite part of the aquarium, he told me, and when I asked him why that was, he said, “Because it’s so peaceful and so exotic and so real.” Um, ok. Cute pic, though.