Sunday Morning

So easy – I’m hankering for summer holidays. Just a week and a bit to go. I can’t wait for sleeping in and episodes of The Lord Of The Flies in the backyard. We have a few weekend trips planned over the next few months but nothing on the scale of #scotland or fucking #italy, and so backyard shenanigans are practically guaranteed. We do have a wedding in San Francisco – fingers crossed for positive shenanigans only.

Shenanigans aside, our summer is going to be the shit. This time last year, however, I had lots of fun things planned whereas this year I have precisely dick planned. I’m expecting similar results, though. Maybe I’ll think up themed day activities, rather than weeks.
We certainly aren’t having successful gardening camp this year – I’ve used up all my time writing rather than weeding or seeding or mowing or plowing or anything, so it might be a jungle camp if anything. The grass is literally as high as 7yo in places.
We could give the hideout another going over, and possibly the “paths” on the hill, but it might just be dragging the kids around to the gym and then bike riding and then who knows what else every other day during those deliciously hot weeks.
I’m trying not to think aloud about these things because Husband merely points out opportunities for finishing things I started many moons ago that I may or may not be interested in continuing. He might term such a thing Flotsam and Jetsam Camp. While he would no doubt love it, I’m not sure the kids would be as enthusiastic. Planned activities would include clearing paperwork from various surfaces, a good amount of shredding said paperwork, weeding, deconstructing the backyard fort, planting seedlings and weedlings in various states of rooting that have languished on the bathroom window sill for I’m not going to mention how long, updating the chicken accommodations, and opening cans of whoop-ass on the encroaching blackberries. At the very least, all of the above might very well improve the curb appeal of the house and Husband LOVES watching things change on Zillow. Maybe there would be an econonics camp in there somewhere, too.

Scottish Reflections

Does anyone remember the semi-calamitous holiday a few years ago? #italy. Lost carseats, a small car accident and blah blah blah?
Well, this time we go to Scotland, land of pipers and who knows what underclothes, and our first flight (of three) was delayed, which meant that we would miss the next two, so we were rebooked, but apparently, the luggage department didn’t get the memo…
The first flight was ok; we were sitting a few rows apart but the boys were grouped accordingly; I was sitting with 8yo and we both read our books 90% of the time. It was utterly magical to see him engrossed for so long.
Off the plane, however, the only magic was not wringing their respective necks. Boys were a bit fighty and energetic without the requisite listening skills for an airport lounge, so I gulped a glass of wine between flights because I’m tired and, hello, wine!
We got on the next flight and I watched nearly 3/4 of the movie Jupiter Ascending, or Jupiter something, which was on my watch list for a while, but it was a bit disappointing in the end, before we even took off. I was wondering if the bags from the other delayed flight would make it onto our plane, but alas… Finally we took off and !wine! with dinner, then another movie, then I tried to catch some sleep, but the stupid pricks in front of us who had the bassinet seats, opened the window shades hours before landing, so my seat was quite sunny when it was supposed to be midnight. I used the c word a few times in my description of their actions to Husband, and I stand by my statement now, days later. So I might have got 20 minutes of actual sleep on the plane. I managed some undainty snores in the car whilst driving the idealic Scottish country, past castles and sheep, then fell asleep against the dashboard like a drunk. Yay for pedestrians.
Our suitcases ended up on the wrong flight. Luckily, husband suggested we take the wedding case as carry on luggage, and we had it with us. What a shit show if the dress had not made it! Because I made the dress myself, and what a waste of sneaky-only-sew-when-Husband-is-away time that would have been!

We waited in the rental car club for too long with fidgety monkeys; we tried to find out where our bags were; we had to organise more carseats because ours were in one of the suitcases. We also needed to buy some clothes, since we only had wedding gear. Bloody hell. We managed to get to Gretna Green (home of elopements since the 1750s) and find a shopping outlet village. I was wearing what felt like days-old clothes: a loud orange print skirt (because it was perfect for air travel – loose and long), knee high Van Gogh Starry Night socks – for compression, red knit cardy which clashed loudly, but, again, is loose and comfy for air travel, sporting a large pink handbag, clashing just as much. Stares galor. #fuckimtiredandneedafuckingshower.
When we were sort of a bit settled, it was too late to pick up the kilt for the ceremony, so we had to do it the day of, and a short meeting with the bridal consult to confirm, oh, I don’t know, where the wedding is.
Anyhoo, in the wee hours we woke up because of the old concundrum of early to bed, early to rise in different timezones with the sun still high near 11pm. At least it provided an opportunity to double check the status of the flight our bags were (meant to be) on, because Husband had to collect luggage and return carseat rentals at the airport. But guess what? The bags weren’t on that flight, or the one the next day, or the day after that. Then on our way north during our itinery, there was a bag (carseat) that had arrived, so we picked it up at the airport on our way through. But where were the other bags? Nonody knew. T’was an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in United Airlines luggage tags. #notrocketscience
Yesterday, 5 days after landing, the other 2 bags finally did arrive and were – wait for it – delivered to the wrong hotel! Yes, delivered to Gretna Green, even though we left there 3 days ago and were calling those baggage fuckers every, single, day. By then we had repurchased much of what we had/have in one of the cases, so.. yeah. Good work United.

In the mean time, we have visited some ruins.

We aren’t even going to unpack one of the bags, and I only opened the other suitcase to pull out pajamas – what a luxury – and put in dirty clothes. #wine
Stay tuned to find out if the boys’ shitty behaviour is ruining other aspects of our holiday not otherwise affected by MIA luggage.