Spain, Day one

We’re doing this again? Traveling to a totally different time zone with two littles? Sure, why the hell not? Life had been too easy lately.

We’re packed: we have passports, toys, food, bathing suits, everything we need. We’re off to Chicago to catch our flight.

Thirty minutes into the drive and Mouse (who’s been a whiny mess all day) just keeps bellowing, “mama, mama!” We make the mistake of thinking he’s being a whiny mess when he’s actually trying to tell us, “listen people, my stomach isn’t right.” Less than a minute later he’s blowing chunks all over himself and the car. We’re off to a stellar start. Fuck. So much puke and the smell isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. First set of backup clothes, gone. I ask Derek if we should turn around and give up. He gives me a death stare and tells me to cool it. He’s right. Oy. We can do this!

I spend the rest of the ride in the backseat, shoved between the carseats, ready with a puke-bag. But the kids seem to be content with pinching me, demanding itsy bitsy spider so they can scream at me to stop singing, hitting me, and general poor to inexcusable behavior. But we’re traveling, so we’re basically in the thunderdome and there are no rules. Derek owes me.

We get to the airport without another incident. So, on the plus side, it looks like it’s motion sickness and we’re not all going to succumb to some horrible illness as we’re traveling across the ocean. The Larsons are back in travel mode, ready to tackle the day. We are impressively efficient and get to the check in counter. I’m all prepared with our passports so I place them on the counter and let the ticket agent do her thing as I search for our travel laundry detergent (we now travel with this and a portable drying line. Lessons have been learned). I hear her politely say, “this passport, blah blah blah.” I stop what I’m doing so I can also gush over the baby passport pictures of the kids. But she’s holding mine up and what I hear instead is, “This passport is expired.” “Excuse me?” I say. “Yeah, this expired in March.” Um. Fuckity fuckfuckfuck. How could I be this dumb, you ask? No idea! I’m constantly telling people I have three remaining brain cells to rub together, but I’m often mistaken as trying to be funny. Nope. I’m simply stupid now and can only address one thought at a time. Passports expiring didn’t even enter my headspace.

Ok. So, now we have to find a hotel in Chicago and hope I can get a passport expedited for our new flight Monday afternoon. I’m going to pretend this was all part of the plan. A weekend in Chicago and a protracted experience with government bureaucracy pre-Spain. If anyone’s keeping count, this is the second time I’ve massively messed up our lives due to passport snafus. Adulting is hard.

Ug. We’ve got a hotel. The kids have been fed cookies and ice cream because, guilt. They’re actually being pretty great about the massive change in plans. You know, because of cookies and ice cream. We also may have let them watch all the tv. It’s 8pm and I’m giving up and going to bed.