The notes are taped to the fridge. The "good snacks" list includes 3 kinds of Goldfish cracker, several fruits, and the addendum that one must cut t.rex's dried apricots unless one likes to do the Heimlich Maneuver. I reminded Dr. Krog to brush the Biscuit's hair on a daily basis. I've set out the clothes and finished the dishes and swept the floor twice, even though I know my mom will still say something about it.
I've charged all the devices and gathered a colorful tangle of wires for recharging them when they inevitably start blinking at me like idiot dogs. I've got extra books on my Nook. I've even got a good ol' fashioned paper book from the used bookstore for that pesky time when e-readers make planes fall from the sky.
I've got a box of protein bars and another of mixed nuts, since breakfast is, oddly, "at my own expense." I finally gave in and bought that dress I liked at Target for $20, even though it wasn't on sale. And I bought some charcoal gray Chucks because I don't have any heels less than 1.5 inches, and they want me to do this odd thing called "sightseeing."
I never get to see sights.
I'm always too busy holding hands, opening doors, providing sippy cups of water. But this weekend, I get to go on a trip all by myself to see something new I've never seen and do things I've never done. And possibly feed whales.
Last year, thanks to my super sweet gig with Cool Mom Picks, I went to Germany with Weleda and ate flowers. I went to Minnesota and met *the* Mrs. Meyers and made the counter cleaner with which I've now cleaned my counters.
And now, thanks to my selfless husband and mother and friends, I'm going to make PeeWee Herman's spirit journey to the basement of the Alamo, thanks to the city of San Antonio.
Will I find my long-lost bike there?
Probably not. I'm pretty sure I left it chained to a stairwell in Clemson.
In any case, I'll keep you posted.