You're Invited! But your kids aren't.

It's been a few weeks, but with reason.  See, anxious, neurotic me decided to throw a surprise party for my husband's 40th birthday....you can imagine how well the planning went, the execution was a bit shaky but the end result was perfect.  I'd post a picture of his face when he walked into the back door to find most of his cousins, mom and sister in from Wisconsin, and a handful of friends waiting in the kitchen under a big ole batman birthday banner...

I actually cleaned my house very well prior to this, should've taken photographic evidence.

But I didn't get one of his face.  Somehow I made it through unscathed, no heart attack or stroke, though the few days prior to the party were the absolute worst.  Hiding cupcakes, decorations, finding popcorn in big enough bags (outdoor movie theatre party), people not RSVP'ing, keeping myself within a budget; it was quite a lot for this full-time-working-mom-also-dealing-with-three-kids-who-can't-keep-secrets to do.

This face can't keep secrets.

And then we had the issue of kids.  I already knew what was happening with mine; an 8pm start time meant mine would (should) be tucked away in bed sleeping peacefully and blissfully unaware of the shenanigans occurring just outside in the backyard.  The elder A might not sleep but I knew she'd be pleased as punch to have a camp out in the living room with her own stack of movies, candy and bags of popcorn.  All-in-all, I knew mine would be out of the way which to me was important.  With that in mind, I went ahead and designated this event as adults only.  (There was one exception which was my sister-in-law traveling from out of state who is still breastfeeding.  Her baby is small and not yet walking, aka- won't get trampled by adults boozing it up.)

I knew it would make waves.  I knew it would add to my stress.  I knew I'd lose friends for a while, until the time at which they decide they're over it.  But I also knew how uncomfortable I was with children of running around age but not yet of staying-put-when-told-to-stay-put age out and about when there was alcohol afoot.  (I'm not of the opinion that 'kids are kids and will be wild!', I'm of the 'kids will get out of hands in situations where it is not appropriate for them to do so and it is my job as a PARENT to correct that behavior so it doesn't ruin everyone else's fun' persuasion.)  Plus, cranky children up past their bedtime?  No bueno.  Were it a family birthday party, things may have been different.  This, however, was an adult's birthday party late at night.

Now, at first I felt my actions hypocritical.  On the few occasions we've been invited to weddings where children haven't been allowed and I've griped and scowled and pouted but eventually moved on (these weddings also had open bars, and had we the money and time off we probably would've made every attempt possible to find a sitter and attend).  However, they were weddings during the day with children in the wedding party.  A) How boring to be a young child admitted into a wedding where there'd be only one or two others to chase and play with.  B) I always viewed a wedding as a family affair.  Our children are part of the families we are joining together as well.

Naturally, my particular party didn't go off without any hitch in the child area.  The two babies made known their dissent with the idea of a bedtime, the two-year-old collected several balloons and refused to be brought upstairs without them, the eldest had to be reminded her party was inside.  And so on.  All-in-all, however, I felt it was the best decision we could've made.

This doesn't free me from the drama.

Since then I've read bits and pieces such as "your priorities change when you're a MOM" and "those things where you can't bring your children aren't fun anymore when you're a MOM".  I guess my brain didn't get the memo, because I had a blast (before the heartburn kicked in).  I'm more of the belief that if you enjoy an occasional adult night out with adult beverages and adult conversation, you'll be more likely to find a sitter (barring finances and sitter availability of course) and go out and have a good time.  And if you're not a big fan of such things, you'll be perfectly happy staying home with your children.  No use complaining about it or getting offended.

We chose not to bring A on our honeymoon...but we still love her as much as any other parents love their kids.

It's such a gray area.  BUT I would never say you're a bad parent for going out and having fun once in a while, which is the opinion that has been presented to me several times over the past few days.  That a mother who doesn't allow her children to party with her is a mother who doesn't enjoy the company of her children or doesn't love her family?  That a mother must renounce all adult fun in exchange for the love of her kids?  As if there weren't room for both?  I'm not saying we should go out every other night and get tanked; as parents of course a priority shift occurs.  But complete fun-celibacy?

What's your take on it?  Do you totally forgo any event where your kids aren't allowed?  Do you enjoy the once-in-a-great-while night of 18+ fun?  Have you thrown an event where you requested no children, and why/why not?  What are the exceptions to the rule?

Co-parenting, kind of. (or, why Maine? and traveling days 2-7)

One thing is for certain.  Raising children ranks somewhere way high up on the list of hardest things you'll ever do.  Then you have raising children with another person; manuvering around questions of discipline, schools, how to dress them, what to name them, hairstyles (the faux hawk fight can get pretty nasty in my house).  And then there's those who face parenting their children with a third party.

Now, our situation is a strange one.  In a way, I feel it's the best it could possibly be, but I know it's one that isn't possible for all parents who have chosen to separate.  

Nine years ago I was 18 and making interesting judgement calls all over the place.  One of them, which certainly made life rough but I'd NEVER change, was getting pregnant with A.  I was a college student in a small northern Maine town, living on my own and more enjoying life than really learning anything.  There I met "B".  A year later we were pregnant.

I wasn't ready, neither was "B".  Something I never considered at that age was the impact of A on not only me, but the people associated with both me and B.  At such a young age I didn’t yet know how deep love can go and how it connects people, how love for a child can (in some instances) mend broken bonds, heal the nastiest wounds, brighten stormy skies that span for miles.  So when I was at the height of my own brand of “crazy”, I thought I’d never be forgiven.  I saw no reason to be pardoned for the wrongs I committed and I saw no way to ever fully right them. Most 18-year-olds are pretty egocentric...but after A was here I learned and I learned quickly.  

A was the bridge.  A was the olive branch.  Our common love for A brought us together year after year, and it was seeing that love for this same child that I think built a trust between us adults.  I proved myself a competent parent, that I would provide a functional and stable environment for A.  I found a man that treated her like a princess, that loved her as his own.

I’ve never lied to A.  She knows she has a different biological parent, she even knows who he is now.  She sees him every year we come out to visit just as she sees her grandma and her aunt, her papa and her cousins, great uncles, aunts and grandmother/grandfather.  I’ve grown attached to them, as attached as I am to family of my biological descent.  Her grandma loves N and W just as she loves A and her grandson inherited from her husband, (“D”) and B’s new baby girl P. (I'm getting ready to spell out full names because I'll soon be running out of alphabet, won't I?)

Most people wonder if it’s awkward for us.  For my current husband.  Wonder why we’d travel so far to see my ex and his family, even though his rights were signed over to my husband and we’ve no obligation.  At some point it transcends obligation, I feel.  It’s no longer about who is legally entitled to what, who paid what and deserves what.  It’s about enjoying each other’s company, wanting her great grandmother to see her and have time with her and A to have that experience too.  It’s because life is way too short to hold any sort of grudge, because I want them to know they’re loved by so many, that even if we’re far apart that love never dissipates and when we come back together it’s still there and strong as it ever was. 

Will I ever explain what happened to my kids?  Yes.  I will tell them every excruciating detail (well.  Mostly.  Age appropriate.) so that they understand that people mess up, people ruin things and people don’t always do what is right in this life.  But so they’ll also see that it isn’t the end of things, that something magnificent can come of the disasters we create, it won’t kill them.  So they can see that people are capable of amazing leaps of forgiveness.  To teach them that they can forgive and move past wrongs committed towards them and that life doesn’t have to be weighed down by all of the turmoil and pain of the past.  That your past does not have to dictate the rest of your life; that power is in their hands and theirs alone. 

How can I be sure I was completely forgiven?  I guess I can’t.  I guess I’ll never know 100% for sure.  All I can do is keep pushing forward and keep doing right by them, and by my daughter.

W and Auntie Kate.

What I am certain of is that I’ve moved past anger and sadness and resentment and into a calm zen sort of acceptance of what our family is.  I still call them my in-laws, as if nothing had ever changed, because my love and respect for them is still intact.  I still hang out with my sister-in-law and have probably more fun than I should have, because she reminds me I’m still young.  I still sit and talk over coffee with my first mother-in-law because we can relate on so many levels and I admire her strength and wisdom.  We do a big family gathering every year and I happily partake in the festivities and catch up because I do still share that link of love for the little girl we call A and she is woven just as much from them as she is from me and mine.  I feel that I get along quite well with B’s new wife and with him as well.  I respect her as a fellow mom and I'm confident she loves A just as much as he and I do.

That is why we came to Maine.  That is why we’ll always come to Maine.  Even if I get so sick and tired of the ocean that I stay inland.  Even if I cease to enjoy whoopie pies and my husband decides he actually hates Moxie.  Even if we have to drive because we have four more kids and can’t afford the airfare.  A’s roots lie in locations more than a thousand miles apart, and to cut her off from one would be a disservice to helping her reach her full potential.

Oh, but I will never hate whoopie pies.  Ever.

And neither will N.  Ever.

The Neurotic Mother's Guide to Flying

Before this whole vacation experience, I remember mentioning something about searching for a blog to prepare me.  Something to calm my nerves, something to make it all ok before embarking upon this terrifying amazing trip with my daughters.  I found nothing.  So, having gone through it, having survived and arrived home in one piece, if not with a few more gray hairs atop my head, I decided I would write that post.  Here it is, let’s start with the good stuff:

What I did RIGHT:

Get there early.  Yeah, everyone says it.  Whatever, you roll your eyes, scoff, reason that of course an hour will do just fine.  Not with babies.  Definitely not with three of them.  Keeping to a schedule, and an early schedule at that, was the BEST thing I could’ve done.  When things went wrong, as they sometimes do for us, I wasn’t frazzled and a mess about not having time to deal with the crises.  I was able to chuckle it off, right the wrong, and all was well with the world sooner rather than later.

Don’t sit in the back of the plane if you’re scared of flying.  Seriously.  Don’t.  Flippin’.  Do it.  I was one bump, dip and rattle away from needing a change of pants myself.

Allow yourself a drink if it’s going to calm your nerves.  I won’t judge you.  Neither should your husband.  One isn’t going to impair you beyond caring for your kids, and if it helps to relax you for the journey of a thousand miles or more (or less) than do it.  I needed that one beverage so that I didn’t claw my way up the walls of the plane like a damn cat spooked by a backfiring car, when the turbulence shook us from one side of the sky to the other.

Sit the needier child with the more patient parent.  Oh, come on.  You know it’s true.  Maybe it even flip-flops depending on the day or the situation.  Whoever is less of a panicky mess on airplanes and less terrified of those “friendly” skies should be the one sitting next to the fussy baby, since they’ll have less to juggle without all those neurons firing in the fear centers.  Or maybe you say, “we’re both pleased as punch to sit by aaaallll our kids.”  Well.  I’m not too proud to admit, I couldn’t sit by N.  The husband handled her with ease and finesse I was simply not capable of.

Don’t overwhelm yourself with carry-on luggage.  If you have to take a car seat, this goes doubly for you.  I allowed each girl a backpack with only necessities, and a snack, and a bottle of water (purchased after security, of course.)  Half the stuff in my carry on wasn’t even touched.  What about an emergency? you may ask.  The only real emergency we hit was poo lake on the runway when our diaper bag was stowed up high and we weren’t allowed to unbuckle.  In that particular instance we were met with an overwhelming amount of help from fellow passengers and the amazing flight attendants staffed by Southwest airlines.  Seriously.  Amazing.  For the most part people understand the trial that is traveling with children and will come to your aide when you least expect it.  My faith in humanity always gets recharged in these kinds of situations.  But I digress.  A change of clothes for each baby.  Entertainment to last you until you get there, but really what’s more engaging and interesting than chatting about all the kinds of fun you’re about to have or what their FAVORITE bits of the trip were?  Not to mention making friends with your neighbors!  After all, on Southwest you get to choose who they are.

Hype up your babies.  For days and days in advance.  Point out every airplane you see passing by.  Put on your happy face and plaster it in place until safe in the car on the way home/to your destination. 

Have sinus issues?  Don’t chance it.  Afrin nasal spray extra strength decongestant.  2-4 sprays each nostril.  I’ve had several flights where I felt like my sinuses were going to explode out of my face, crippling pain that had me bent in half.  This time around went perfectly fine, which I attribute to the decongesting beforehand.

Use the bathrooms just before boarding.  Everyone.  Diapered and toileted alike.  Because of course, if we went even a minute too early the seven year old was begging on the plane to go to the bathroom and you must realize how much of a pain in the butt that was.  Use the bathroom.  Use it again.  And once more just in case.  (And DON’T mistake the hall out of the gate area and past security for the hall containing bathrooms.)

Streamline in security.  If you know which baby is the most difficult demanding needy in need of attention and constant vigilance, pair that baby with one person and you take the others (unless you have five kids under five.  In such a case, God be with you and I admire your courage.  Like, really, I am in awe.)  We paired N with one parent and the other took A and W since A is very self-sufficient and W is a sweet little ball of happy who charmed the pants off everyone around her.  This was a beautifully executed plan that I am immensely proud of. 

Find the grandparents.  Really, this works.  You can usually tell who they are.  They'll be the ones eyeing your babies with that look in their eyes, smiling and cooing at the baby, gasping with surprise at the impromptu games of peek-a-boo your two year old decides to initiate.

No matter when you get to board, be present at the gate perhaps a bit before you need to be.  Position yourself in such a way that when it’s your turn, all you need to do is lift a bag or a baby from the ground and walk straight ahead.  We could’ve sat by the windows and waited until our time, but I found it so much easier and mind-settling to be ready and waiting, that way no one was waiting on US.  Then, also, the kids were prepared for what was about to happen and we didn’t have to jar them from one place into the possibly stressful process of boarding the plane.

Lining up and staying awesome.

Late flights are awesome.  The kids are tired by the end of traveling, and who wants to deal with cranky travel-tuckered-out children for an entire day after landing?  Best to land and go straight to bed, even if you’re so excited to be wherever you are that sleep isn’t easy.

And through the night she sleeps.

What we would CHANGE:

Ok, it’s cheating but…do this.  IF you’re flying southwest, purchase early bird boarding for you and/or dad.  You don’t need to for the kids because they board with you no matter what.  So even if, say, they’re in the C group, you’ll be in A and they’ll be right along with you.  Yes, cheating the system.  Yes, would’ve made life easier on two of the flights we took.  Yes, when life is easier for your kids it’ll be easier for every other passenger on that plane and they’ll be grateful in the end.

Don’t stress about where you sit.  If you get a window, baby is entertained and pleased as punch to be able to view the adventure in the sky.  If you get an aisle, easier to get out and make trips up and down the aisle or to the potty as needed.  There’s always a bright side.  Make the best of whatever hand you’re dealt.

Check your boarding passes and then check them again.  We got a nasty surprise at security when, shock and awe! Our children didn’t have any boarding passes, only mom and dad.  Ok, Portland, you can keep the kids, but only if you fly me to Hawaii.

Accept help.  I was too proud a few times, but somedays I need to remember the cape can be taken off and I don’t always have to be strong.

Especially when alone, as was the case during THIS trip.

Check out connection times.  We panicked a few times over whether or not we’d make it to our second flight, but in the end all was well.  I would’ve spent less time worrying and more time preparing had I done all the calculations beforehand.

Dress comfortably.  I wore a pair of pants I had just washed and were admittedly not my favorite.  I was hiking them up constantly and trying to carry a diaper bag and my carry on at the same time.  Horrible combination.  Sorry Baltimore, I know plumber’s crack is never cute.

Yeah, I LOOK happy enough...

Consider buying a cheap disposable camera for the kids old enough to appreciate them.  I wish I had done this for A.  It would’ve kept her occupied and I could’ve seen the trip through her eyes at the end of it all.  Didn’t think of it until we were literally landing at our final destination.

Oh, and don’t think about the movie Final Destination.  Just, don’t.

Make friends.  Really.  Even if you’re shy.  Talk to other passengers while waiting, let your babies “bother” people, usually those people are happy to get to know a new little person.  If they aren’t the type to enjoy kids, which happens and is perfectly acceptable, gently direct your kids away and no harm done.  Those people will probably never see you again.  And on that note, don’t worry too much about appearing to be the crazy neurotic mom (cough, me) in front of an airport full of strangers who don’t even know your name.  Get through it the best you can.  The chaos will right itself, one way or another.

And finally, don’t concern yourself with anything I just said to the point that you stress.  Yes, these are strategies and tools to help you, but this is not a game of monopoly, it’s life (Ha…haaa…).  Enjoy it.  It’s time away from work, home, the daily rigor of whatever your typical day is.  It’s new and exciting, it’s something your babies may have never done before or maybe they’re seasoned fliers and you can trust them to get through it with grace.  Not us, but the journey was all part of the fun.  I got to know my children a little better, and they got to see me grab daddy’s hand when I let my defenses down and I got scared in front of them, which I try not to do.  

And when things get bad, if they do, just remember.  I survived the poo, tripping a blind man (yeah, that really happened), A saying the B word in the airport (rhymes with mom) and kickstarting a parenting debate at baggage claim (completely inadvertently.)

Quick, someone pinch me.

(After we're home Saturday, it'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming.  For now, humor me while I whine about never wanting to return to reality.)

Typically at this portion of a vacation I'm burnt out, ready to be done, home, in my own bed, my own air, using my own bathroom and towels, watching my tv from my couch where I'm typing on my laptop.  You get the idea.

She was made for the beach.

Somehow, every day that passes here on the East coast leaves me wanting to stay even more than I ever have before.  I feel like the toddler who refuses to go to bed, digging her heels into the carpet screaming "No!"  But, of course...I'm not screaming...of course not...I'm a well put-together-mature-reasonable adult.  Of course.

As was she.  Beach babies, all of them.

Even my kids are still having fun.  Granted, our hosts are probably just about done with them.

Something about this place.  It brought me here from 1,600 miles away ten years ago and it still pulls on my spirit.  That pesky money stuff is the only thing stopping me from accidentally missing my flight on Friday.  What I need is an endless supply of funds as well as time, and people to spend that time with us.

But no matter what we may need endless funds to keep THIS princess fancy.

Even with our family dynamics here in Maine, interesting and unique albeit not the easiest, we're happy here.  More on that another day.

I need to keep reminding myself that this is a vacation.  A time where there are others involved with the caring of my children, making life a little easier for me.  The husband is off work as well and the novelty is heavy.  If we lived here, I wouldn't be home every day, nor would someone be home right beside us ready to shoulder the burden responsibility of three young children.  And soon enough, this would become home just as our moderately sized minnesota town has, and we'd start yearning for another change of scenery a few times a year.

But still.  I could get used to THIS...

How bad can it be? (Or, Traveling: Day One)

When I set off on this adventure, I braced myself for the most awful, stressful, anxiety-ridden journey possible, and you know what?  I'm glad I did.  Sure, it might've been a rough few weeks leading up to the trip, adrenaline-fueled crazy prepping that kept me up a few nights (days, my nights, not yours).  But in the end I was packed and mentally ready for what was to come.  What had to come.  What of course was going to happen.

There's only one thing I forgot.  Pants.

Let's start at the beginning.

We leave Minnesota on time, because I knew to pack the car the night before and set out clothes and basically have everything ready to go so there were no questions and no gray areas when the time to leave came.  We leave Wisconsin on time the next day, because I knew days before when to leave Wisconsin (how to leave changed a bit but I'm nothing if not flexible.  I have three children.  This is a skill I've taken years to hone).

Gramma time is precious time.

We get to the airport EARLY!  Joy!

Enter: First mishap.  Luckily this one was minor and actually somewhat funny.  See, while the husband and eldest child were rounding up some lunch, the younger two and I decided to sit at our gate.  Half an hour later...

Oh yeah, that's my N, happy and peaceful.  All three of us sitting at the wrong gate while our lunch got cold.

Like I said.  Minor.

Then came boarding.  Southwest, pick your own seat.  A smidge of background info: we checked in literally two minutes after the 24-hour-prior-to-take-off-limit and were at the end of the "A" group.  I have small children, all I wanted was a window seat for at least one of them.  Back to the lineup.  We're in our group, waiting patiently.  Board the plane and we're lucky enough that the plane is kind of empty.  I'm cuddling my lap baby while the eldest is spouting endless soliloquies about flying and the beautiful skies, when all of a sudden my leg feels awfully warm.......

Ah yes.  Of course.  Those few farts weren't innocent.  Rather they were a war cry, the drumbeats signaling the impending outpouring of poo we were about to experience.  Aaaaand there it is.  All.  Over.  Me.

Yep.  Stripped her down and photographed the occasion.

I'm staring at my lap and the poo-covered bottom half of my baby, rather smug that I remembered to bring her an extra outfit.  The poor guy across the aisle is staring, holding out a plastic Target bag wordlessly.  The flight attendant hands me two napkins and one moistened napkin.  I'm not allowed to stand up because we're taxiing and about to take off.  In my horror, I'm not paying attention to the top half of said baby, and her little hands are traveling...right...over...to the cup of water the eldest also is ignoring in favor of the poo lake settling into my jeans.

Ah yes.  Of course.  She tips it, and now the eldest is soaked and her coloring book and activity pack are too soggy for coloring.  Right about now I'm also realizing those blogs that suggested bringing a change of pants for mom and dad were onto something.  I'm also faintly aware of the fact that I'm not freaking out nearly as much as I thought I would be in this kind of situation.  Lucky for me, those weeks of planning and over-fretting and experiencing the stress and anxiety prior to delving into the traveling-with-babies excitement probably saved me from exploding into either frustrated tears or panicky whining to the husband to rescue me.  I still had a smile on my face.

So did the flight attendant when she brought me a coffee and a little bottle of baileys, free of charge.

By the end of the flight we were clean (mostly) and happy; the two-year-old slept the entire flight, the 7-year-old drew pictures of what she saw out her awesome window, the baby danced in my lap and cooed at everyone around her.

What more could go wrong?  The worst has happened...right?

We land in Baltimore.  We eat some more fast food.  We laugh, we talk, we coordinate bathroom breaks, we throw in a few extra just in case, we check out the shops for some pants (which I pass up.  Pirate pajama bottoms just don't scream class.....though neither do poopy jeans I suppose.)

Then, we have a seat by the gate.  What's that?  A two-hour delay?  Oh fantastic.  I have three babies who are exhausted from traveling, and now the plane won't be coming into Baltimore until the time we should be LANDING in Maine.  I busted out the heavy artillery.

And a bit extra.

But you can only expect so much out of tired children, and we had maxed them out.  Luckily, the plane touched down right around the time their tired silly chasing games began.  Boarding time.  Unluckily for us, we were now in the B group.  And, luckily, we were a "family with small children" so could board right after all the A group finished.  This was a packed flight; prized window seats were going to need to be fought for.  It was right about now I noticed a large family with very large children inching towards the gate.  They approach the Southwest Employee with their large family with large children and ask about family boarding.  They were told to wait, just like all the other families with small children.  I don't know about you...but to me, it's easier and much more enjoyable to travel with kids old enough to poop in a toilet and wipe their own butts afterwards.  I did not just go through 12 hours of traveling, plus five hours the day before, to be pushed behind a family who had children capable of higher thinking and reasoning (and to those saying I have no idea if the kids were sound of mind, or whatever, no.  Just, no.)  So, I did what any other passive aggressive mom who is being threatened with someone who wants to cut in front of her and her family of baby bears.  I jumped up to the counter after the very last "A" ticketed passenger and returned the other family's glare with a glance back to my VERY small children for emphasis.

We got window seats.

Hello from Maine!

Off to Neverland

But before I go, a picture of the weekend's project:

I'd say only a 75% success, but the next (which I've BIG plans for) should come out a bit better now that I've got some practice under my belt.  What matters is that little W loves it.  Case in point:

This was fifteen minutes after wrapping her up.  Joy!  And trust when I say I can't wait to tote her around the Chicago airport in this cozy thing.

Now that we're officially off on our adventuresome travels, my pops is housesitting, second car is in the shop being tended to in our absence, itineraries are written and ready, suitcases are put together in an orderly fashion, I almost feel like a grown-up.  Almost.  I mean, making my first stop a liquor store probably speaks volumes about my maturity but hey.  As long as I've no where to be and plenty of responsible adults around the babies?  Momma's turn to unwind.

But on the topic of traveling and packing... tell me, readers, how much is necessary for a trip of 10 days?  I feel that seven outfits for the children with a spare "cold weather" set wasn't pushing obscenely over-doing it.  Only four pairs of jeans and five shirts for me is straight slumming it, I'm thinking.  Then you've got my husband. 

"You think three pairs of everything would do it?"

Is it a gender discrepancy?  Or what?

And since this is looking to be a short post, I'll leave you with my favorite moment of the entire week.  Maybe the entire month...ok July just started, so we'll say of the entire summer thus far:

Driving to pick up my prescription, husband behind the wheel, we're running late.  Trains coming and those things are ENDLESS.  So I say, hey, go left!  Train is going the opposite direction so we'll be clever and get past it quicker this way.  However, I forget that the end of my block is where traffic backs up if there's a train because the left turn is damn near impossible to make.  Five cars back is us, waiting, waiting, waiting...  At last, an opening!  We turn right and plan to circle around.  Yes, my plan of turn left in the first place was stupid since we're going the direction we should've gone to begin with.  Whatever.  At last we're out of the neighborhood and driving to the pharmacy, which is a good twenty minutes out.  It closes at 5.  The time is now 4:45. Sweet husband drives like a bat out of hell, causing N to yell out "WHOA!" me to slam my imaginary break and grasp the handle above the door, and W to screech with glee.  Five minutes out, what comes on the radio?  Eye of the Tiger, of course.  What else?  Husband's face reddens with the stress, the pressure, I'm pretending we're in a bad-ass action movie and do a little slow motion cheering and hollering montage.  He says he can't handle the testosterone.  That surely if we did the deed to this song we'd end up with a boy!

Made it to the pharmacy by 4:59......to find out they close at 7:00.

Ok, now that this disjointed and random post is coming to a close... Flight leaves tomorrow.  Here's to a spaz-free flight (and hopefully the kids behave too...)