I’m blaming it on Downton Abbey. The weekend of the Season 3 premiere, Downton Abbey was all the buzz. My Facebook feed was filled with friends updating their status in anticipation. Friends mentioned it in person, too. “Do you watch Downton Abbey? Oh, you really should. You’d love it.” I had to admit that while I had yet to see an episode, I had heard good things. It was on my list.
Season 1 is available on Netflix Instant, and on more than one occasion I asked Tim if he wanted to start it.
“We can’t start another series,” he said flatly.
True, we had started The Wire, Breaking Bad and Mad Men and weren’t anywhere near making it all the way through their multitude of seasons.
“But this one is different,” I pleaded. “Only two seasons have passed. We can catch up and watch the new episodes.”
It wasn’t working. Then, Tim gave me permission to go ahead and start watching it without him. I was kind of bummed that it didn’t want to see it with me, but I was willing to forge out on my own. I figured I’d probably enjoy it more than him anyway – it was a soap opera period piece after all. But, unlike the spring, summer and fall months when Tim works on Saturdays and I have the house to myself (with Adelaide) for most of the day, he’s home all weekend in the winter. When was I supposed to watch it without him?
One Sunday in early January I sent Tim upstairs (he had work to do anyway), and I started Downton Abbey by myself, with a cup of coffee and my knitting. And yes, I was hooked. I spent the next couple of weekends watching an episode here and there, and now I have just one episode left in the first season.
So, after being out of town for two weeks for the holidays (read about our 16-hour drive from Philadelphia to Tallahassee with a 16-month-old and a dog here), I spent my weekend blogging time catching up on the first season of Downton Abbey, instead of updating the blog. Guilty as charged.
If I had been blogging, I might have written about how Adelaide loved the Christmas tree at her grandparents’ house. How she learned to say “Santa” and loved to point out all the animal ornaments on the tree.
I might have written about visiting with good friends, going to the playground to play with their kids, and then having Mommy and Daddy nights out to the movies (what a luxury!) and out to dinner with friends.
I might have written about going to see a light display with Adelaide in her PJs, or the Christmas Eve service, or my sister flying to Illinois on a red-eye from LA and arriving on Dec 22 only to drive to Florida with my parents on Christmas Eve. They arrived at my in-law’s house shortly before dinner on Christmas evening.
I might have written about opening presents Christmas morning and how Adelaide was still too young to really understand the concept and that it was okay to rip up the paper. How she got tired very quickly and we saved a few presents for her to open later in the week. I might have said that we opened presents from my parents at their hotel room the next day, and that Elmo likes to Rock ‘n’ Roll.
I might have written about touring the Goodwin Plantation with my parents (the site where Adelaide’s aunt and uncle were married when she was still in Mommy’s tummy). Or, about touring the Tallahassee Museum with the entire clan.
I might have written about how special it was to see both sides of our families for the holiday, including Adelaide’s 90-year-old great-grandmother and how hard it was to say goodbye knowing that it will be several months until we see them all again. I might have written a lot had I not been watching Downton Abbey.
Here are a bunch of photos from our Florida trip…