I need more hours in a day right now. We leave tomorrow morning for the States, and I still need to finish laundry, pack, make cookies for daughter's Christmas party at school and attend same, go to the bank, blah blah blah. All of which is slightly complicated by the fact that I tripped going up the stairs on Saturday and severely jammed my left pinky finger. It's usable (barely) but it hurts, which makes doing things like washing dishes rather uncomfortable. I'm surprised by how inconvenient it is to try and do things without my pinky finger. I mean, jeez, it's a pinky! It's not like it's an important finger, right? But apparently there's more going on there than meets the eye (or hand, or whatever....leave me alone, I'm stressed).
Naturally tomorrow is going to be awesome - hey, I'm going home! - but I anticipate a certain degree of stress there as well. First of all, we have to get up, load the van and drive to Frankfurt, which is approximately two hours away on a good day. Unfortunately you never know what you'll find on the autobahn at any given time. We've taken trips before when we spent hours moving at a measly 20 kilometers per hour. So we're really hoping we don't have that to deal with. Also, what with it being the holiday season and all, we're a wee bit fearful that the airport will be a seething mass of irritated "let me on my plane NOW" humanity, and we'll wind up losing a kid or some luggage or something, which would not be good. Not to mention our last few brain cells, which we are anxiously hoarding against future events like trigonometry classes or requests for car keys. (We'll need 'em bad at times like those.) And finally, the flight itself. It's long, cramped and boring. Airline food (at least in coach) is uniformly sucky. The seatbelt sign always comes on just when I decide that I can NOT hold it any longer and absolutely must go to the bathroom. And last but not least, my youngest son Never. Shuts. Up. That kid can come up with more questions than a roomfull of Democrat reporters grilling a Republican president. On our last flight, we were scattered out - husband in one row, two older kids in another, and the young 'un and I towards the back. I swear to you that I wanted to blow out my eardrums somewhere over the Atlantic. He's not a bad kid - actually very sweet - but he never stops. I have prayed for God to install a mute button somewhere on his chunky little body, just to help preserve my sanity, but so far no luck. However, this time hubby has been warned: HE gets to sit with the young 'un. Mommy has had enough, now it's time to share the joy. We've actually contemplated targeting the most inexperienced-looking flight attendant and feeding him/her some involved story about how our kid wants to be an FA, and could he please just sort of follow them around and learn what it's all about, really, he's a good kid, can he just hang out with you for a few hours?
I like it, hubby's not convinced we can pull it off. We'll see.
Well, the lousy house-elves are apparently on strike again, because there's nothing in the suitcases. Guess that means I'm the responsible party (darn it). Tick-tock!