I remember the excitement as a kid on those early mornings where we got up to rush to the airport to fly somewhere. It was a hurried affair that I simultaneously loved and loathed. While most of me vowed to never deal with such mornings as I grew older, I think some small part of me always expected that one day, I would be guiding my children on similar mornings.
Today, that small part got its moment in the limelight. Alex and I had not gotten to bed until well after 1am, having to finish packing, take down our Christmas tree (didn’t want a trying piece of highly-flammable timber being left inside), and making sure all was well with the house. (Oh, and dealing with a sick Monkey. Choo Choo got more sleep than the rest of us, combined.)
And yet, we were off and running in under an hour. Not bad, eh?
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