You Can't Go Home (to Boston) Again

Here we are, sitting at Miami International Airport, waiting for our 9:45 p.m. flight that has so far been delayed to 10:15. The kids are exhausted. In an attempt to keep them awake, I made the smart and rational decision to pump them full of sugar in hopes of keeping them awake until we board the plane, because Pie already fell asleep once on the way to the airport and then again when sitting on Adam's lap at the gate. I went in search of cash, but the ATM was out of money, I tried to buy a trashy magazine, but there were no People magazines in English, and I'm really not excited about going from mid 70s weather to sub-freezing temps. Call me crazy like that. Of course, once we get to Logan, we still need to get a shuttle to our off-site parking, drive home, and somehow transfer the kids upstairs to bed.

Our trips to Miami have a certain rhythm to them, a checklist of activities to be ticked off. Trip to Jungle Island and/or the Seaquarium? Check. Ice cream at the Frieze? Check, check, check. Stone crabs? Check. Spa day at the Standard? Check. New Year's eve at my cousins'? Check. New Year's day ride on my cousin's boat? Check. Runs on the beach? Check. Pool time, alone time (as the kids stay with the Nana), lunch at Van Dyke, breakfast at Front Porch, cafe con leche, cafe con leche, and just to be safe, another cafe con leche. Check.

This trip was no exception. T Rex and Pad were in town (from California) as usual and they picked up with Doodles and Pie as if it had been last week that they'd seen each other, and not last year. There were a few tussles between Doodles and T Rex--Doodles has this annoying HBS habit of stating--with ABSOLUTE certainty--"facts" that are completely wrong, which upset T Rex to no end. But it all worked out well, and this year, Teener Tuna's daughter, Billie (remind me why I call her that?), was old enough to peak Pie's interest. Billie, however, had no interest in my daughter, but that didn't stop Pie from chasing her, saying, "Billie! Do you want to play baby? Do you want to run? Do you want to dance?" Billie barely had the time to answer the girl.

I guess I'll have to finish this post later, as my daughter is moaning that she wants to go to sleep (so much good the M&Ms did) and she wants to sleep on me. So I'm off in that other parental role--mattress--and I'll be writing you again from Boston... I hope.