Why it’s a good thing to have a good husband on a press trip.

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That, my friends, is a clock.

At 4:45 AM, the alarm clock on my Blackberry started its steel pan trill. I’d forgotten to turn off the recurring alarm.

Francisco, sweet soul that he is, silently got out of bed, walked down the spiral staircase in the dark (because yes, we have a two level hotel room), turned off the phone, came back up the stairs and got back into bed. Without saying a word.

Having slept a total of 93 minutes in the past 48 hours, I appreciated both the fact that he got out of bed in the first place (I was rather inclined to continue letting it sound and trying to sleep through it) and, especially, that he didn’t say a peep about it.

Just as we were slipping back into a sleep deprived coma, the hotel alarm clock started cheeping. I hadn’t set it. Neither had he. Mariel woke up. Lovely. Not wanting to turn on the light–because I was hoping she’d go back to sleep, you see–I simply started fumbling with clock buttons in the dark. The sound ceased. Our breathing started to get that tenuated rhythm of the dream world, and then… it went off again.

Again, Francisco says nothing. He doesn’t even sigh the heavy sigh of the justifiably annoyed. He just lays there quietly as I yank the cord out of the wall and then get up to take a photo and write this while he feeds the now-very-awake baby.

**
Thanks, by the way, to the flexible and friendly folks at Diamond PR and Marriott Frenchman’s Reef for being amenable to the family coming along for the ride. Though we paid their way, it was super nice of them to accommodate our unusual request.

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