Moles and Other Things We'd Like to Excise

It's true. I've seen the picture. Sarah Jessica Parker ditched her mole. A friend of mine who watched the SATC movie will be so relieved. It's the good news/bad news of the day.

So, I'm getting excited about our trip to the beach Saturday. A trip with all the benefits of being away from home and few of the downsides. I thought I'd recap some of my "favorite" memories of past trips this year in an effort to permanently exorcise these demons.
First, The Cruise.
I've retold this story many times. I concede that S was sick and felt awful. So did I. Still would have rathered a boat ride on the Styx. I didn't eat one dinner in peace. He fussed for a 3 hour bus ride to the ruins of Chichen Itza. THREE HOURS, people. When we got there, M took S so that there was some possibility of my enjoying the ruins. Two things to keep in mind if you ever make your way there. One, the Maya built the city square in such a way that a simple clapping hand could be echoed throughout the area. Just imagine how far the voice of a screaming two year old carries. Second, the Maya had a giant well into which they threw child sacrifices to their gods. I have stood upon the precipice, and in my most spiritual moment ever, pondered whose gods were in charge.



Second, The Flight
Earlier this summer, we took a family trip to Vancouver, BC and from there went to visit my family in Southern California. M stayed in BC a few days longer than the boys and I to see friends in other cities. The boys and I traveled from Vancouver through Seattle to Orange County. First, I had to check in. Sam is clamped in my legs while I struggle with the automated kiosk. Actual real-life agent is of no assistance. Then I have to schlep everything through U.S. customs. Like a rat through a maze. Only I look more like a donkey: car seat, carry-on, mammoth suitcase, less mammoth duffel bag, kid backpack that kid no longer wants to carry, booster seat, purse. I need my own freaking Sherpa to get me through the airport. Clear customs. Walk the wrong way to the gate. See, I thought our gate was actually IN the airport. Turns out, it's in terminal North Pole, and we have to walk forever to get there. Our flight is delayed. I ask Useless Agent #2 if this is going to compromise my connection in Seattle. "No problem," replies UA #2. We board and sit on the plane for 30 minutes because they can't seem to balance the luggage any better than I could. I ask Useless Flight Attendant#1 if there is any way she can advise my connection that I will be late, but hopefully not too, and they could hold the plane. UFA#1 assures me there is a shuttle that will whisk me to my connection. Upon arrival, UA#3 assures me there is no such shuttle. UA#3 refuses to book me on next flight leaving in 12 minutes. Then UA#3 answers the phone. To person on phone: "You'll have to hold on, I've got someone bitching up in my face." UA#3's name is Lori and now that I have been booked on a much later flight, I have time to talk to customer service at gate C12. But first, I have to take (the wrong) elevator. Have a charming conversation with a hottie from Australia, stop at Burger King, take two, count 'em 2 subway trains to Terminal South Pole. Still, only 10 minutes...could have made the flight UA#3 (Lori) wouldn't book me on. Flight's delayed. Order an adult beverage from UFA#2. UFA #2 graduates to Hero #1 when she comps me a rum and Coke. S spills ENTIRE drink in my lap. Hero #1 graduates to Best Friend Ever when she comps me a second drink. BFE stops by with treats for kids. I love BFE. S is now shredding Sky Mall. Very methodically, into teeny tiny pieces. He is going on 13 hours without a nap. Me, too. We touch down. We gather our supplies, trudge off the plane, wet underwear on, Sky Mall in a billion pieces on the floor. I hope BFE didn't have to clean it up.
I can't believe I still get excited about vacations. This one should be fun, though. REALLY. Short drive, no sightseeing, no schedule. It'll be great. It'll be great. It'll be great....