After While, Crocodile

Henry and I spent yesterday afternoon packing for our big adventure.

I despise packing in the first place, but add to that packing for an infant as well and I instantly have a stroke.

Babies have a LOT of crap, man!

We battled through, however, and got mostly everything around.  We waited until Michael got home to pack the suitcases because he has an eye for these things.  I would just stack things in, simple enough, but his brain automatically does the mathematical calculations and trigonometric equations to figure out the most logical approach.  I'm almost positive it involves some on-the-fly calculus as well.  That will allow us to bring even more crap, which he will then have to do more mental math to figure out how to fit in the car. 

As we were getting Henry's diaper bag packed...'preparing for battle,' as Michael put it.  He gave me the minute by minute run-down of what will happen at the airport. 

From the moment he pulls up to the curb and drops us off while he parks the car (and hauls our 14 suitcases).  To getting through security.  Down to the order in which we are to take off our shoes and then place formula on conveyor belt.

Or...crap...was it place formula on conveyor belt and then take off shoes? 

I knew I should have taken notes.

I'm considering smuggling a travel sized hand-sanitizer or a shiv in my back pocket.  I want to see how fast he can adapt.  That is NOT in the script.

I love that my husband has mentally rehearsed every detail of this journey, and watched all online TSA videos on 'traveling with infants.'   Speaking of...that was my assignment yesterday.  Shit. 

He is the ring leader in this goat rodeo.

So, I guess this is goodbye for now. 

I plan to return sometime next week.  Unless I have access to a computer and something mildly hilarious happens.  Then I will be forced to share it with you all, because I am a performing chimp...and I have become your slave.

If you never hear from me again, it is probably safe to assume that I got frostbite in the wilds of Minnesota. 

Nine fingers were amputated, and with my one remaining pinkie I lost the will to type out my mental diarrhea.

XO