The Crazy 48

This week has flown by SO fast! I swear it was just Monday yesterday...but how could it have been when today is Friday? I barely know where I am, and I really had to think about what day it was for that last sentence. Wanna know why things are so nuts? Oh...you don't? Well. Then quit reading, cause I'm about to get all Jim Henson's The Storyteller up in here.

I worked like a dog Monday and Tuesday at work. They felt like long, endless days because I had to cram most of a whole week's worth of work into that time. After work on Monday, Kennedy had softball practice. She's been begging her coach to let her practice pitching so she can pitch during a game, but that hasn't happened yet. Maybe I'll have to talk to her...

Tuesday I got off work a little early so I could make a Target/Old Navy/Library run before I went home. I knew Kennedy had a lot going on that evening (last Brownie meeting of the year and a softball game), so I sped through all of these places. I got home, we missed most of her meeting, but she still got to make her sit-up-on for camp, so that was good. Then I rushed home, made dinner and rushed Kennedy back out to her game (which they won, b-t-dubs). As I was trying to eat dinner and relax for a minute, Bryan kept reminding me that I had to pack for the crazy flying trip I was going to make to Arkansas the next day. I swear it was like he was the parent and I was the child. And I got annoyed and pouty and went upstairs to pack. FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER: I am done packing. That's right...15 minutes. I was only staying for 2 nights so I didn't even pack a carry-on size suitcase. I had my backpack and a purse and that was it. Ok...so on to the actual crazy part:

Wednesday morning, May 23rd, 5:30 am: I'm up, taking a shower, getting dressed and taking all of my stuff downstairs. Make coffee, leave the house before making breakfast because it was only 6am and I'm going to do as little as possible at 6am. Bryan drives me to the airport...we left 20 minutes later than we wanted to, but it's cool. There was no traffic so we had a nice, peaceful drive filled with coffee and talk of how many Xanax I was going to take before/during my flight.

7am: Exiting the interstate for the airport. Me: "So are you going to park and walk me in?" Bryan: "No. I'm dropping you off at the door. That would be pointless." Me: *pouty lip* "Fine." Then we hugged and kissed and said a quick prayer of protection and I entered the airport. I'm super excited because I printed out my boarding passes when I walked in using my debit card and entering the first 3 letters of my destination city. Pretty cool.

7:20am: Boarding is 10 minutes away and I'm stuck in security. They have to x-ray the bin with my purse and shoes 3 times. After the first time, I asked for my shoes back, but they wouldn't let me have them...so I stood barefoot and waiting. I hate being barefoot in public. I will probably get some airport foot disease or something now.

7:30am: I buy a water for the first Xanax to be taken and I sit (stand) and wait to board. The plane at the end of the jetway looks pretty small...surely that one is going to pull away and a Boeing 747 will pull up so I can board that one. Nope. I'm on the little one. Awesome. I board. I sit. The Xanax kicks in. We're good. My seat partner doesn't talk the WHOLE flight, which is awesome because the dud in front of me will NOT shut up to the obviously uninterested man sitting next to him. He was interested for the first few minutes, but then he realized he wasn't going to have any peace for the full 3 hour flight. Poor guy. The man behind me continually tries to hock up a lung. I briefly worry about contracting TB and make a mental note to use lots of hand sanitizer when we land.

Somewhere over the states between Indiana and Colorado, but closer to Colorado: We prepare for descent and my seat partner speaks to the flight attendent and I realize he's from the UK and has a lovely accent. Drat. Now I wish we would have talked some. Oh well.

**Side note** I was flying from Indianapolis to Little Rock, and I had a layover in Denver. Does this sound wrong to anyone BESIDES me? It is a 2 hour flight from Indy to LR. I went fron Indy to Denver in 3 hours, then 2 1/2 hours to LR. Altogether it took me almost 8 hours. Driving to LR takes 9. Do the math. It's dumb.

9am Denver time: We land, I say a sincere prayer of thanks and walk up the jetway into the airport. I have a 45 minute layover and I'm starving. As I'm looking through my bag for my wallet, I realize that I need to print out a new barding pass to LR as I have misplaced the one I had. I walk to the gate I will be departing from and have a new one printed. The lady with the lovely (not) personality behind the counter informs me that boarding will start in 5 minutes and they will shut the door 20 minutes later. I still need to eat and use the little girls' room.

9:20 Denver time: My missions have been accomplished. I made it to the ladie's room and bought a blah ham sandwich from the coffee shop. My boarding section is called and I walk down the jetway. I am told that my gate is down the stairs to the left (a lot of gates shared one jetway which I vaguely thought was odd). Well down the stairs to the left was a door to the outside. There was a lovely man who took my ticked and informed me that my plane was to the left. Wait. I'm outside. Why am I boarding OUTSIDE?!?! Oh, because I'm getting on a teeny tiny plane. Awesome. For the second time in 4 hours, I take a Xanax and pray. It was a horrid, bumpy flight, but I was so hopped up on happy pills that I was totes ok.

Twenty four hours later: I am driving BACK to Indiana with my sister. The whole purpose of my flying to LR was so she didn't have to make the 10 hour trip with just her and my 2-year-old niece. Yep. I'm a great sister.

So here I am, about 60 hours after waking up at 5:30 am. I'm exhausted, but can't sleep. I barely know what day it is, or what time it is. And my sister has the whole weekend planned for us. It's a good thing I love you, B. :)

Our Place

I know that we aren't the only couple in the world that dreams. We dream of winning the lottery, of going on vacation, or being super successful. I know everyone does that. But I'm pretty sure that we are the only ones who have a made-up location in our minds that we go to whenever we're stressed out or can't sleep. We made up this spot waaaaay back in the day when we were just dating. It's rolling hills with mountains in the background. A vast open grassy plain with a lone shade tree in the middle and a wide stream flowing lazily through it. Every time I think about this place, I think of Marty Stauffer's Wild America. This is straight out of that show. We would talk about our spot on those late nights where 60-some-odd miles separated us and we didn't want to hang up the phone. Since then, we have added a house, a large garden and a lovely hammock. There's a dock out on the stream that we would sit on and catch our supper.

We were talking about this place of ours just recently, and decided that THIS is what we want. Quiet. Peaceful. No offices to go to. Bryan would design, I would blog and sell tasty treats online. We would have a tv, but we would only watch Netflix every now and again. We would homestead, I'd can and jar all of our produce. We would play Scrabble and card games in the evenings on our front porch with our girls, whom I would home-school. Judy, my boss (the coolest person ever), says that I could never live this way. I'm too social and I would go crazy. She might be (a little) right...I think I would have to escape to the city every now and again for some excitement. But I'm at a point in my life where raising my kids in peace and quiet sounds amazing.