I just booked a Christmas flight to the east coast so that we can spend our first Christmas with family in 3 years. How wonderful, right? How picturesque, a white Christmas in my childhood home, surrounded by loved ones. How heart-warming to see my daughter doted on by her loving grandparents, aunts and uncles.
This is all really how I feel deep down inside. But right now my stomach is in my throat. The ungodly amount of money we just spent on tickets would make Dave Ramsey's head explode, I'm sure. After juggling dates around like so many live chain saws trying to find a combination that wouldn't amount to $1200 for a single round trip ticket, we had no choice but to settle on a pair that has us out of California for 13 days and 12 nights. The few days which exceed the original trip we expected to take have unexpected repercussions, like the added stress of "boarding" Smashy at the Dunns' house for nearly two weeks, invading their home during the holidays, not to mention making me feel a sudden urgency to vomit.
There is more to going home for Christmas than simply going home. How did it all get so complex, so tangled? And why should I have to pay to check my luggage, Continental Airlines? As if you don't already have both your hands, up to your elbows, in my pocket, you feel the need to charge me for the 'luxury' of bringing a change of underwear and some toothpaste to my destination?
I'm tired and cranky from wading through the muck and mire of .com airfare sites tonight. Maybe I'll have a fresh outlook tomorrow.
I'm going to pray for the grace to change my attitude and for the strength to put this all behind...er, ahead of me until it's necessary to think about it again. This day, from start to finish, has been a logistical nightmare. I'm praying for a clearer day tomorrow. I'm praying.