We were supposed to be in Florida this weekend. SUPPOSED to be is the key word. I nearly killed myself the past week getting everything organized. AND ORGANIZED I WAS. The 5am Saturday morning flight where we had to be at the airport at 3:30am was going to be a breeze. The flights and connections with two toddlers were going to be no match for me and my super organizational powers! The 60 minute drive after landing in Tampa was going to be easy and flawless. I burnt the midnight oil to get several projects completed in my less than happy work schedule. I tracked down regular strength Tylenol to soothe my 6-month pregnant + unhappy sciatic nerve.I was going to go away with nothing to worry about. I was pretty much consumed by the details of taking the girls down to spend Thanksgiving with one side of Dan's family... to meet their new cousin baby Jake - AND for Penn to meet Grandpa Jim and Dan's brothers and their wives for the first time. And for me to meet everyone for the first time as well. Everything was going to be perfect. I was especially looking forward to meeting my sister-in-law Jessica in person because we have grown close over many long-distance but close friend conversations. I had gifts for everyone. We had a collection of other peoples gifts for brand new baby Jake. I found our dogs a place to stay when our original plans for them fell through at the last minute. I had the tickets and the car rentals and the bathing suits and swimmer diapers and booster seats and first aid kits and EVERY FRICKIN' THING prepared. I cleaned the bathroom so we would come home to a happy place. Changed the sheets so we could return delighted and exhausted to our own sweet beds. I had my cameras and camera chargers and media cards and all the technology I could think of so that I could document the whole darn thing and give everyone a way to remember the girls. And for the girls to remember the family they don't really know yet...
After dropping off the dogs (and meeting a Unicorn***).
After getting frustratingly lost on a dark dirt road that I was trying to convince Dan was a short cut to the place I had to drop off a last minute painting (and getting there 2 hours late).
After getting home WAY PAST BEDTIMES and getting two small girls to bed and dreaming of their plane ride to see Gramma Chris.
After cleaning the kitchen and packing my flight bags full of healthy, thoughtful treats.
I COULDN'T FIND MY PASSPORT.
Correction. I CAN'T find my passport that I just ASSUMED would be exactly where I left it. Which is why I didn't search for it sooner. Because WHY ON EARTH would it not be exactly where I left it?
Dan and I tore the house apart. Bag by bag. Paper by paper. Room by room. And then over and over and over until it was 3:30 in the morning and if we weren't at the airport in 5 minutes - we wouldn't be getting on the plane anyways. That's when we cancelled our trip. And that's when the stress of the week and the day and the ridiculousness of situation just sort of rained down on me. That's when the woman on the phone at Air Canada asked me if I had checked my underwear drawer. And that's when I wanted to punch her and send her a photo of all my underwear that had been frantically thrown out of its drawer in sheer panic. That's when I felt the heavy realization that I had just let a WHOLE LOT of people down AND THAT FEELS TERRIBLE.
That is a passport to no where.
To be continued...