I'm beginning to think that Washington state is my second home. ExceptI don't own a home there. Well, I own two there, but not one I can go to and sack out at. That is reserved for my dear mother, who has to deal with seven two legged creatures (and sometimes a couple of four legged ones- don't worry, mom, I'm patting down the kids again to make sure we don't have any rat stow-aways).
This time, however, we are going to take a plane. How spoiled are my jet setting kids? The 9 year old waxed poetic, got that glassy look in his eyes as he stared into fantasy world and asked "I wonder what movies will be on the plane?" To which I shook him awake and explained, "We're flying Southworst, baby, not Singapore Airlines.You will be lucky to have a bag of peanuts and a slurp of coke for dinner. Pack your PSP."
So, everyone seems to think flying is the way to go. I'd much rather just drive, I swear it's actually less shlepping and corraling in the long run. I STILL have to pack a couple suitcases, a diaper box full of old baby clothes for the SIL (Yes, I'm a stylish traveller that way.), the port-a-crib, a booster seat, a car seat, a stroller (only the one child version, I'm afraid. I'll regret that later, oh, about 8:55 tonight), my computer bag, a purse, the B's backpack, some sort of sack for Fifi, all those damn bottles, a few binkies (Lord help me to find them just one more day! Then I promise, PROMISE, to be aware and take note of where I put them from now on), some toys no child will care about, some snacks I won't be able to find until we land, an extra pair of clothes for the B in case she has an accident. An extra pair of clothes for Fifi in case she has an accident. An extra pair of clothes for me in case any one of the above mentioned children has an accident ON ME. (exhibit A: Christmas Eve night at the In-laws and the case of the projectile vomiting on the new shiny Karen Kane sweater. So sad.) Oh, and my husband, who promises, PROMISES to be home on time so I don't have a damn anurism freaking out because we get to the airport late. We are well past the swing into the airport 15 minutes before the plane departs and flash them your Costco card for identification to board. We need an ARMY just to get us from the car to the shuttle bus. I may be able to swing a little me time in there as I manipulate said husband into dropping me off at the departure area with the mound of belongings while he parks the car and lets the kids have the educational opportunity of riding that cool shuttle bus. A girl can dream.
Right now I'm wasting time blogging when I need to do one more dryer full of clothes, take a shower, feed 5 kids, get 3 of them to school, take 500 dress shirts to the dry cleaner (I think there is a 'you have to wears shoes and a shirt' dress policy at hubby's job and he's very near to breaking that rule), run off a million copies of a mortgage application (yes, let' s just buy a house right now BECAUSE WE HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO.), take the dogs to the 'Four Paws Inn',.. oh wait. That's right, I don't have the shot records for the foster beast. Which I didn't realize until about 8pm last night. I don't want this trip to go smoothly, oh no, what ever would I blog about?? So, I've left a frantic message with the Rescue and am hoping to sweet talk my dog into the boarding facilities so I don't have to sneak her into the backyard of my friend's who have 2 dogs and hope they don't notice they have a spare german shepherd for the weekend.
All for my brother's wedding. I tell ya.
Well, better grind some more coffee down so I can make it to the departure gate. God speed to me!