I am leaving for Quaint Southern City in a few hours for a crash course in “How not to get sued,”How to keep your 503(c) status,” and a healthy dose of “How to keep your volunteers happy.” As usual, I am experiencing the full-on panic that happens when I am about to leave home. M is going to find little notes every place with critical information like “Don’t forget a water bottle with the kids’ lunches, there are GERMS on the water fountains!” and “Make sure everyone flosses!” This annoys him, understandably so, but it makes me feel better, so I do it anyway. He knew he was marrying a control freak even though he denies it with a passion. Any bride who stomps her feet in the hotel lobby and announces that the ceremony will begin “ON TIME, WITH OR WITHOUT YOU ALL” because the rest of the wedding party is not being prompt enough in their departure for the church, cannot be classified as anything BUT a control freak.
It is, of course, snowing here. And I, of course, will be flying in a putt-putt plane to Quaint Southern City. Because I needed something else to panic about. On the upside, I get a window AND and aisle seat. The only nice thing about flying in a small plane. I have loaded up my laptop with all the shows that have been languishing on my TIVO for weeks, as well as Julie & Julia. Although someone reminded me that I will have to sit with nothing in my lap for the majority of the flight. Don’t the Homeland Security folks know that sitting with nothing to do for that long will make all anxious fliers even more freaked out? I will be calm, I will be calm. It is times like this that I wish I were a glass half-full type. I bet they sit there for an hour twiddling their thumbs and thinking “How nice is this? Peace and quiet and time to be alone with my happy thoughts!”
Once I get to Quaint Southern City, I am sure it will all be fine. I get a hotel room all to myself and I have all intentions of ordering extra pillows and enjoying three nights of falling asleep secure in the knowledge that there will be no pitter-patter of little footsteps seventeen times a night with nightmares, headaches, stomachaches, or a desire for a heart-to-heart chat about the unfairness of life. And as M has much less tolerance for nocturnal activity than I do, I am somewhat hopeful that once I return I will find that the children will be re-trained to stay in their beds for at least a few nights before returning to their usual habits. I will comfort myself with that thought as I am trying not to panic about the fact that M is the world’s deepest sleeper, and a child could probably vomit all over him and he would just flick his hand and roll over.
I am now off to finish packing, and panic about what I forgot. Am I the only crazy traveler out there?
A Day in the Life 