Yesterday, The Man left for California to represent our small family at the Big Family Wedding. Small Child, Large Dog, and I have been rule breaking ever since. Nothing major, just things like pets on the new patio furniture, Large Dog upstairs, and thrown together meals eaten in bed.
Getting him out the door on time was a real clusterf*ck. His flight - the airport is about a two hour drive in traffic - left early this morning, and given that dawn does not elicit birdsong in his world he decided to stay at an airport hotel the night before. First, we thought we'd turn it into a family outing. You know, swimming, room service, etc. As departure grew nearer, and folks (uhm, one male in particular) grew grumpier, this plan turned into, "I think you'd have a much more relaxing trip if you had some quiet time the night before. Why don't we just run you down to the hotel?" As grumpiness degenerated into snarling, and I was faced with a drive into the city in rush hour traffic, I threw caution to the wind and called a car service, knowing full well that the likelihood of an available town car was slim. At this point, however, I'd have happily taken out a second mortgage for a super stretch limo.
The stars were in my corner. The service just happened to be making a one way run from the airport to the town just north of ours. So when The Man returned from yet another errand he'd neglected to plan for, I told him that he'd be transported in anonymous peace.
And we all heaved a huge sigh of relief.
Two hours later, a polite man with a German accent and a tie whisked him away.
And tomorrow I begin packing in earnest.
We will be spending a week and a day on Balboa Island. The Man spent portions of most childhood summers at his grandparents' house there and has many fond memories, including waving at John Wayne as he cruised the canals in a PT boat. I love this island, too, but I'm not so much looking forward to being cheek-to-jowl with my anorexic mother-in-law.