I have no pictures, which is sad, because we have done quite a bit.
John and I interviewed in Muncie, Indiana, on Tuesday. They have a fantastic program: c-sections, scopes, good peds, and--best for me--home call. Home call! Some of the wives said that their husbands usually get to come home and kiss the kids goodnight at least before they have to go back into the hospital for the rest of the night. That's a bonus. So, despite my aversion (completely irrational) to the idea of living in Muncie, Indiana, that may be the best place for us. (Disclaimer: I am perfectly delighted to agree with whatever program is telling me they are the best. I am swayed by every friendly face I meet. There are pluses and minuses to this quality in myself. Positive: I will probably be happy no matter where we end up. Negative: I am no help to John in making this decision, and I (again, completely irrationally) feel like I will be hurting the feelings of whichever program we do not choose.)
Thanksgiving yesterday was delightful. Our wonderful friends here in Indy, Sara and Joe, have hosted us since Monday, taking care of our kids while we did interview stuff, and Sara and I did most of the Thanksgiving feast preparations on Wednesday. We had only the stuffing, mashed potatoes, and brown sugar carrots (thank you, Leisy) to do yesterday. However, one hour before the rest of Sara's guests were to arrive (bringing the turkey and gravy, thank heavens), Libby Soelberg slid down the blow-up mattress into a windowsill and split her lip badly. Sara, Joe, and John (because he just couldn't resist) took Lib to the emergency room, and I was left with the other three children and the rest of the dinner to make. No problem. Then I plugged the disposal. I've taken mine apart before to unplug it, but it's much different when it's someone else's and you have a dinner for 13 cooking. I called my dad frantically, and he talked me through the checking of the p-trap. That drained, so I put it back together and checked it again. Still plugged. I took the p-trap apart, plus the t-bar (to keep with the alphabet theme, I don't really have an idea what that horizontal bar that joins the disposal to the p-trap is called), and again it drained. At this point, the problem should have been obvious (the clog was IN the t-bar), but I had potatoes boiling, carrots simmering, and onions and celery sauteeing, plus Jenna (Sara's two-year old) was crying to be let out of her crib because she needed to go potty, but she wouldn't let me get her ("NO!" she would yell, "I'll wait for Mommy."), so I stupidly put the whole thing back together again and tested before I figured it out. (That was a long sentence.) The third time was definitely the charm, and luckily Sara, Joe, John, and a four-stitched Libby returned minutes before the other guests arrived. Whew!
Lesson learned: Don't ever send any potato peels down the disposal (even if you do one potato's worth at a time) on Thanksgiving Day. Turn the dang peels into turkey-shaped centerpieces if you have to, but don't put them in the sink. You will regret it.