Despite of the disaster of the last vacation, my husband and I just booked a trip for all of us to go away again the first week in August. (Dramatic pause)

Wait for it….Wait for it….

ON A PLANE.

I think the beers I drank while watching the Cubs game last Saturday are still floating around in my cerebral cortex somewhere. Because? A plane? Will probably equivocate to Dante’s version of hell, except instead of wasps there’ll be toddler temper tantrums, thrown Cheerios and formula sprayed all over the poor saps in front of us.

Mind you, we knew all of this fully when we hit that Book Flight button. But, we figured we deserved a vacation, it wouldn’t be that bad, maybe he would behave…blah, blah, blah. I believe I’ve just set the premise for every comedic movie involving what was sure to be a “fun-filled family vacation” that goes horribly awry.

It’ll be like National Lampoon’s Satanic Toddler Vacation.

Oh, did I also mention we have a two-hour layover in Atlanta? I’m sure my eleven month old will TOTALLY understand that connecting flights were much cheaper than direct flights and thus, we have to endure two boardings, two landings and two sets of people who will hate us from the moment they lay eyes on us.

And I’m sure he’ll be just FINE with the fact that the flight crew generally doesn’t like it when crawling babies block the aisles, stopping only to turn red-faced and grunt out a good, smelly poop, so he’ll have to stay on my lap.

He’ll definitely understand when I remind him that it’s not polite to rip out the hair of the person next to you, no matter how much her hair resembles something a bird would live in.

I mean, right?

(Oh, and to anyone who is traveling from Chicago to Savannah in early August, may God have mercy on your soul.)

Bookmark to: