R is for Rachel's Stuffed Shells

I've told this vacation-to-Texas story before, but the food memory didn't take center stage.

I was two months pregnant in September of 1999, not feeling queasy, with the flexibility of traveling whenever we wanted because we were homeschooling.  We chose September because it would be slightly (one degree?) cooler in Texas.  The vacation was supposed to be a leisurely 12 days in the van with three kids, roundtrip to visit my two sisters. Andrea lived near the border of Mexico, Rachel  five hours north.

We spent three days getting there and three days getting home, but while there, I remember snippets.

The first full day was great--I got to watch my kids ride Andrea's horse. 

The second day I started experiencing a miscarriage.  I knew the symptoms all too well; I'd lost a baby in my second trimester in 1996. It could take a while and I decided to go ahead and do some sight-seeing just over border with my family .Between the poverty, the begging native children, the heat, and the pending loss, I pretty much spent the day crying and letting Rachel know we would have a change a plans once we got to her city.

The third  morning  someone broke out the back passenger window of our vehicle, so we wasted half a day getting that fixed.  Our oldest son got stung by a fire ant while checking out the broken glass. 

The fourth day I was in the emergency room at a small hospital.  I honestly don't remember a single nurse or doctor. I just remember a painful labor of sorts and realizing the exact moment the baby passed, and my husband consoling me as best he could.  While we were at the hospital, Rachel's husband and Andrea took the kids tubing on the Guadalupe.   I spent the afternoon recovering on the sofa, holding Rachel's  four-month-old baby,  while she fixed dinner I still remember how satisfying the meal: stuffed shells.  Comforting, filling, delicious stuffed shells.   Great food also for the terribly sunburned kids after their tubing trip. 

On the way from Rachel's to our hotel, we witnessed a plague of grasshoppers. Apparently every seven years or so there's an outbreak along the Guadalupe River. They attacked the van, they covered the exterior walls of the bookstore, they crackled under our flip-flops as we entered Walmart, they buzzed in the air like electric clouds. I was going out of my mind with fear and disgust.

Not even our hotel room was bug-free: one grasshopper jumped out from under the pillow, and another on the bathroom counter made me scringe (scream and cringe at the same time). It took me till midnight to fall asleep, and when I awoke at four, I was having a private funeral in my mind and mourned the loss of my fifth child. 

But I was grateful that I hadn't been through this experience alone. My sisters had played key roles in my comfort and healing, not the least of which  was Rachel's fabulous cooking of stuffed shells.