By the time you read this I'll be at the airport nursing my first vodka tonic.
I've done everything I can think of to do, even getting my toes painted. (I cleaned the bathrooms first, Liz.) (AND I changed the sheets.) I'm tired and sweaty and almost, dare I say it?,. EXCITED about my little plane ride tomorrow. It's so much more fun to experience things with Jack (and it will be with Molly too, once she reaches the age where she doesn't try to experience everything by putting it in her mouth) and I seriously can't wait to see him toting around his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack. I may die of cuteness.
Or, alternately, I will be nursing my fifth vodka tonic while my sleep-deprived monster child slowly destroys our collective wills to live. Guess we'll find out!
Anyway, I shall be making good use of Phillip's laptop and Phillip's iPhone and other Phillip-related gadgets (although he FORGOT to "borrow" the thingy that makes the internet work wherever you happen to be, HARRUMPH) if only so my mother will have pictures to look at while she mopes around waiting for her fan club to return. I know YOU don't care, but I am excited to Blog! The! Trip!
(Although I've been wondering WHY I am excited to update Twitter every ten minutes with news of our trip: "Going to a Chinese buffet!" "Going to another Chinese buffet!" "I slept through the Blue Man Group!" "Nickel slots at the airport!" because, really, NO ONE CARES. I know this, and yet I am still! so! excited!)
I shall go ponder that while eating my new favorite food in the universe, Greek yogurt with Splenda, and watching TV while Phillip wipes down the kitchen. I'll leave you with pictures my mom sent me today, from when the kids were MedEvac'd to her house last week to escape the 100+ temps. (Hence the plastered-down-by-sweat hairdo and soaked clothes.)
I just LOOK like I'm trying to pull myself up. Do not be deceived. You will still be carrying me around princess-style until I'm seventeen.
I will tip this bucket over my head over and over and over, but I will shriek with pain the moment you try to dip me in the hotel pool. Just go ahead and TRY.
Say a few prayers for my tin can, okay Internet? And I can't wait to post about how Jackson is fretting about all the little papers on the sidewalk and "Uh oh! Dropped it!" and "Pick up! Pick up!" and "WAAAAH! I want to pick up!". YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.