Well we're off.
Tomorrow we will hop on a plane and take the kids to play in the snow.
And when I say "hop on a plane", what I really mean is pack for hours, drag crying children out of bed early in the morning, schelp ourselves to the airport, disrobe the children and ourselves to go through security, eat a fattening meal and wrestle the babies for two hours to keep them quiet on the flight.
I pray one of them doesn't poop during the flight. Been there. Done that. Don't want to do it again.
My friend Wendy Whitacre is a photographer who just started a world tour. Yesterday, on her flight to Costa Rica, a woman gave birth. In the airplane. No kidding.
Now if I could just get something like that to happen, and divert the attention from my noisy kids, I'd be golden.
But you know, it's all good. I've
been beaten down learned enough to know that family vacations are important. Are they miserable? Yes. But important.
Au revoir my lovelies. I see you on the other side of hell.