Yesterday, the kids and I flew to Georgia to visit family.
Do not be fooled by that little boy's smile. Only moments earlier, during takeoff, the child was quaking with fear, begging me to tell the plane to land. It's not that he didn't understand what was going on. He actually understood it too well and refused to look out the window. Minutes later, though, he was yelling with joy, "I'm flying, Mommy! Don't tell me to shush! I'm flying!". The poor guys in front of us all ordered cocktails.
Winslow ate her weight in fruit snacks, but was otherwise well-behaved.
And Katie was a total angel. I'm sure the guy sitting next to her didn't love having a 5 year old row-mate, but I'm not sure you could ask for better--she's tiny, made no noise, and didn't try to sleep on him. Plus, she had even had a bath the night before! I've had plenty of adults slobber on me and rub their never-been-bathed stench on me. I've wondered if I have a tattoo on my forehead that's visible only to the worst offenders: Please sit next to me. I love stinky pits and death breath!
The kids are with Ryan's parents right now, so I'm taking the day off at my dad's house, catching up on years of cable television. Sadly, there's a Property Virgins marathon on HGTV, and I've already seen the majority of the episodes, despite the fact I haven't had cable in over two years. Why is it always like that? Only thing worse I can think of would be a House Hunters marathon. Where's Sarah Richardson??? At least the house is stocked with ice cream sandwiches and hard cider.
Anyway, Happy Fourth of July, people of America. Take full advantage of your God given right to cheap beer, grilled meat, and illegal fireworks.