So...we are planning a vacation to Florida. At first thought I am on cloud nine. Images of me laying in a new bathing suit reading my favorite nonsense fiction (Twilight ... don't hate) while lying next to a crystal pool dance behind my eyes. Yes, oh yes. I want this.
Then, I begin planning this thing. Now, let me begin by saying that I think (read as: worry) about everything coming and going. So, we are heading out in September. This means (at the time) that I have only a few short months to diet, tan, get the kids tolerant of the sun, save to pay for this, get new luggage because the beast we call a closet has eaten ours, remind my dearest husband 23 times to take those days off, find a condo big enough for the entire family, rent the plethera of baby equipment needed for sustaining life with a one year old, diet, find someone to pick up the mail, get on birth control (don't ask), find a vehicle to rent, take out a small loan to pay for the gas that will probably end up costing more that the condo, make sure the kids have the cutest clothes on the beach, look up how to build a killer sandcastle, memorize home remedies for sunburns, DIET, remind Mike yet again to take those days off, oh and finish potty training my 3 year old. I can do this right?? *sigh* Maybe I need prozac and a stiff drink instead of a vacation.
*Vintage (with minor edits)
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