The boys and I are headed to Florida in a couple of days – for a couple of days.
It started with “I need to get back to Florida.”
Then, “I really need to get the boys to Florida.”
Then, trying to find dates that work for all three work schedules, which included contacting one boss and working out a schedule with him while the child was on the river.
Then, the next one, trying to figure out schedule and getting permission from the parole officer to leave the state.
Because that’s our new normal.
Then, trying to schedule a trip over a weekend so that someone doesn’t have to cover me for a full work week. But that didn’t happen.
$2300 to go to Florida for 5 days.
Plus a rental car.
Then I had to find a house sitter – someone with whom Elvis will bond not bite.
All of that taken care of and suddenly I realize…
I’m going on vacation with my children.
Holy shit, it’s been years.
It’s also been eons since I’ve gone to see my folks when no one is in the hospital.
Granted, August in Florida might sound a little torturous, but it’s the beach and the ocean and snorkeling and my mommy and daddy and my amazing boys, and their birthdays, and dune grass and palm trees and sea glass and chocolate milkshakes.
And no smoke.
After all of that squeezing in and finagling and coordinating I get to sit still, do something fun, relax, read a book, and hang out with my favorite people in the whole world.
Yay Florida in August.