I have never had such trouble going on vacation.
First, it was a crazy day at work. For any number of reasons, I didn't get done with work till 6:15; the only good thing was I was working from home (because Peter was sick, which added a whole-nother level of stress), so I'd been able to get a few things done. Finally threw the last few things in the suitcases, and we were off.
We'd planned on staying at a hotel near the airport that offered parking, shuttle service, etc. We actually wound up getting there before happy hour ended (yay, free wine), and then decided to go to Cracker Barrel for dinner, which was fine. After dinner, there was a minor meltdown on Graces part, because she didn't get to finish a game of Checkers, but it resolved itself.
I had to make a Barnes and Noble run to get a book for the flight, and it was on the way back to the hotel that the real traumas started. You have to understand, I always forget something on vacation. Always. Sometimes big things, sometimes little things, but I ALWAYS forget something.
This time, it was my contacts. Yep, that's big. I had the ones in my eyes, obviously, but no extras.
So, I dropped Dad, Kathy and the kids off at the hotel, and schlepped back to Chapel Hill to pick up my contacts.
I ran by Kathy's to get a book for her, then headed BACK to the airport.
And that was when the real trauma started.
Buddy, who's been around longer than Peter has, was supposed to go along on this trip, but got forgotten. Buddy has gone on nearly every trip since, oh, forever. Poor Peter tried his best to be brave and deal with the no-Buddy-ness, and did....OK. Until it was bed time.
Inconsolable does not even begin to describe this boy.
It got so bad, that Granddaddy finally agreed to drive Peter BACK to Chapel Hill to get Buddy. So, yeah, another hour long trip BACK to Chapel Hill.
But Buddy and Peter were re-united (cue the Peaches and Herb).
It's got to get better than this, right?
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