I can’t make this stuff up.

Auntie Kim made me a trade: I would clean up the kitchen, empty the dishwasher and load it again, and she would give the girls a bath. Ha ha ha – sucker! Twenty minutes later, I had showered, taken out the trash, and was finishing loading the dishwasher when Kim came out of the bath.

“Hey!” I heard a short person yell from the other room. “Why are you leaving me?” Turns out Gracie (the short person in question) wasn’t bathing fast enough. Kim thought leaving her on her own would be incentive to hurry. Yeah. That short person doesn’t hurry for anyone.

Just to prove my point, five minutes later Gracie was still toweling off, singing and then talking to herself. A dramatic pretend-play scene was unfolding and Kim and I were desperately trying to decipher exactly what was going on. I was only catching three words out of every twenty. One of them was “leopards.” And then I saw understanding dawn across my sister’s face. She started signing to me – Gracie was playing with pretend leopards. And teaching them sign language.

“No! This is ‘C!’ That’s ‘A!’” we heard ring out. Hunh. Funny how distinct each word sounded now that I knew what she was talking about.

And then…Gracie finished her alphabet lesson with her leopards and led them all in a rousing rendition of YMCA.

I. kid. you. not. But peoples, this is why I am a mom. That is all.

“You are very silly stisters.”

Kim and I have heard this quite often this month, usually from my Bee-baby (as you can tell from the rather adorable way she pronounces “sisters”). The pronouncement quite often comes after we’ve cracked one another up and commence laughing uproariously, oblivious to whoever is around who might consider us nuts. Like Bee, who looks first to one of us. Then slowly to the other. “You are very silly stisters,” she’ll intone, gravely. And we laugh some more. “One day you and Gracie will be ‘very silly stisters,” we tell her. And they will be. Everyone needs someone to laugh with and someone to lean on.

*****

Gracie struggled to finish her reading log last night. “My eyes can’t stay open, Mom!” she complained. Ignoring for the moment the fact that I told her to go read a chapter an hour before instead of leaving it all until bedtime, I finally got her settled into Auntie Kim’s bed where she could read with the big light on until she was finished. I wasn’t worried about the light being too stimulating – that kid can drop off to sleep faster than you can say “Good night, Gracie.” It was the other one I was worried about. And maybe should have been for other reasons, too, because Bee started crying. “I can’t be in here alone,” she whimpered, trying to choke back the “little kid” tears. “I want Gracie to come in here.” The kid is five and has never slept a night apart from her sister (that she remembers). Already, she’s leaning on that silly stister of hers.

*****

The girls have been calling home more often since Auntie Kim is here to help free some of the burden of single parenting. And now that the girls are in the habit, they’ll frequently ask to call. And while most of the year they ask to call Grandma or Grandpa, since our vacation back home they have been asking to call Uncle Joey. (I figure it is just a matter of time before Uncle Joey starts getting called Crazy Uncle Joey.) Uncle Joey was the one who taught them to roller skate. Who lifted them over his head. Who maybe dangled them off the deck for the thrill of it. (Okay, yeah, not the last one…but I wouldn’t put it past him. You know, if it was safe.) Uncle Joey is the one who lets them use bad words and shows them movies Mom wouldn’t approve of. And the girls – they have caught on. “Let’s call Uncle Joey!” would definitely be code for some dangerous, worry-inducing escapade – if not for the 1700 miles between them. Sometimes I think of that as a moat around my childrens’ police records. (Kidding!)

*****

Today my good friend and longtime reader Kathy is going in for gall bladder surgery. I wish I was closer so I could cook her homemade soup and bake her tasty, gall-bladder friendly desserts with which to recover, but I can’t. Instead, I have to worry about her and let her lean on me from half a country away. (Which mostly involves pestering her with emails and trying not to make her laugh. Not easy when you’re as naturally hilarious as I am.) So – get well, my friend! I’m sure your mom and your kids are taking very good care of you. Make one of them play about a thousand games of Rummy with you while I figure out how to mail soup. Be well and safe and sleeeeeepy so you can wake up and be all the way better.

Yes, all of us need someone to lean on. Bonus points if that person is just as silly as you.

And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down…

Thankfully, where my family is, it appears that rain was the only part of Hurricane Irene that really impacted them much. Roads are flood and most impassable. My sister’s town – along with the rest of Connecticut – is still without power, but my parents’ house  never lost electricity. [Thank goodness, because my parents pretty much watch TV and grump around. My brother maaaaaaaybe joked around about medicating everyone into good behavior if they lost electricity, but let's just say I'm glad we never found out how much truth lay in the statement.]

My baby sister and Kim’s cat, Friedrich, (whom Rhi evac-ed to safety) are still hunkered down in Mass. It will be interesting to see how many trees are down as she makes her way down Route 84 and into the backwoods of Connecticut. I wonder how many trees will be down and how many times she’ll have to turn around. Even more interesting – I wonder if she will be able to find Friedrich who may ignore the jangle of his leash in favor of all! the! bugs! he can kill at my parents’. It’s like Friedrich-heaven, I’m sure. Well, except maybe not quite as morose. Maybe more like a Friedrich-amusement park? Yes, that’s more apt, methinks.

I’m glad everyone is safe, even if I am jealous of all that rain. The sky sprinkled on me for five minutes on the way into work and you would have thought it was Christmas from the way everyone was shouting and laughing in their cars. I have never seen such joyful Monday-morning commuter traffic, let me tell ya. It almost made me forget that someone stole my hurricane. Maybe if I am very, very good, one of those systems brewing in the Atlantic will make its way through the gulf and shower us with a few days of rain. Possible back-up plans include raindancing, stealing Kim’s friend from Philly who lost his house and all his worldly possessions in Hurricane Katrina and was just slammed with flooding from Irene, and…well…I haven’t really come up with Plan C yet.

So! To recap! Family and friends on the East Coast: water-logged, but safe. Texas: Still scorching hot and drought-ier than you can imagine. I have the glimmer of a Plan C forming in my mind, but it involves duct taping drinking straws together to create the world’s longest rain gutter…

Friedrich the Great and Uncle Joey watching Irene float by...

Hurricane party, Casa de Katie-style.

Technically, there are no parties yet. But there has been much watching of The Weather Channel, lurving on Jim Cantore, and general mocking of everyone but the Weather Gods. (Hey, they’re pretty much smoting us already – no reason to further incite their fury.)

So, anyone want to guess when Auntie Kim was supposed to leave me? Sunday morning? Ding ding ding! And anyone want to guess when Hurricane Irene is supposed to pass directly over Kim’s house? Why yes! Just when she’s flying into Boston Logan and driving to Connecticut! Yeah, so not happening. In fact, her crazysilly airline is telling her she’ll be lucky to make it back before next weekend. Heh. Silly hurricane. Silly airline. But hooray for me and another week of homemade dinners!

So, while Kim and I live it up and try not to kill the children, our baby sister has been trying to batten down the (rented) hatches of her and Kim’s places before evac-ing to our parents house further inland in good ol’ Massachusetts. This has made for some very interesting convos. Rhi hasn’t lived on her own before and is still learning to juggle everyday life, never mind hurricane prep. Could she prep for a blizzard? Heck yeah! Hurricanes? For a New Englandah? Mehhhh - a little bit sketchier territory. But that doesn’t mean we’re not gonna laugh our way through it.

Rhi: Hey, ask Kim if 6 gallons of water is too much.
[This made me crack up because 6 gallons was exactly the number I had randomly told Kim Rhi should get if she was staying in Connecticut. Apparently telepathy isn't a feature uniquely shared between Kim and I.]
Me: Ha! That’s how much I suggested for just you. I’d get 10 for the 4 of you. [Since she's going to our parents. Plus the cat she's taking with her. Whole. other. story.]
Rhi: kk, I’ll get some more. I asked Joey to get some and he’s like ‘Meh, it’s a regular storm.’ [Apparently, our brother is CRAZY, yo.] I also got some cereal, peanut butter, bagels…anything else?
Me: Bread, Kim says you needed more kitty litter. Meds? Benadryl or ibuprofen? Batteries. Pop tarts! lol
[The Weather Channel had a "special" on about how Walmart says the biggest sellers before hurricanes are beer and pop tarts.]
Rhi: Cart….getting…heavy. Huuuughhhughhhh.
Me: Kim wants to know if you’re speaking whale. [All the parents in the room know that's from Finding Nemo. Duh.] Not that she wants you to see one! [Me to Kim: But how cool would that be?! A whale washed up inland afterwards! Kim: Ew.]
Rhi: Uh. No. It was my pushing-heavy-cart noise…Duh. Should I get apples? They float.
Me: Yes! And string.
Rhi: That’s donuts, not apples.
[Which is when Kim explained that Rhi obviously thought we meant for party games. You know. Hung from strings.]
Me: You’re supposed to tie the apples into a flotilla and then you’ll be on CNN, not play party games!

And that was the last I heard from Rhi. So, either the cart rolled over and killed her (Ohmygod! You killed Kenny Rhianyn!) or she beat up some lil old grandma waiting in line and is now in lockup, or quite possibly lost the thread of our conversation and gave up.

Rhi wasn’t the only one we were harassing. Kim talked to the dad of one of her friends online; he had been teasing her for stalking The Weather Channel from Texas – like it was gonna do any good. (The talking or the teasing, nat.) He also told her he was having a Hurricane Sale – he owns a liquor store in backwoods PerfectTown, Connecticut – and Kim asked him if he had a pop tarts display up, too. He replied he didn’t, but that there was one next door at the supermarket. We might have suggested he go steal it. You know, or we would have if that wasn’t criminal. Ahem.

Even The Weather Channel hasn’t been beyond our mockery. From the beginning, their coverage included a map that showed the threat potential to the northeast. Most of New York and Connecticut was listed as High Threat (in a nice, neat red). But The Weather Channel people were going on and on about how they had added an extra category: Extreme. (Go ahead and guess what category Kim’s house in listed under now. Go ahead – guess.) But wait! There’s more! There was another category that was called CATASTROPHIC.

This graphic was created by the very nice folks over at The Weather Channel. I had nothing to do with making its pretty little self, only linking over to it.

Why, oh why, Kim asked, would they call it that?! That’s when we suggested that they add another color in black called “PANIC! Panic at the disco!” They could add glitter to the black, even. Then we discussed how Rhi probably has glitter in her hurricane kit; to her, everything’s better with glitter.

So there you have it, folks. Come Saturday, I imagine we’ll be glued to the TV and our phones, making sure our parents and friends and everyone is okay. Hopefully it’ll be a whole bunch of nothing. A few downed limbs. Quickly restore electricity. And if not, well, Kim can just skype the college courses she’s teaching and live at my house.

(P.S. No, Kim, I did not conjure this mighty, mighty hurricane in an evil plot to keep you here. OBVIOUSLY, I would have directed the rain a little closer my way. That would have been just as effective AND more fun!)

You can worry, or you can prepare. (And by prepare, I mean buy more chocolate.)

First, let me say: school is going great. We are loving school at Casa de Katie. Bee has declared she has the nicest teacher evah and has many new friends…although she can’t remember any of their names. (“Mom! I am going to ask them their names today. Would dat be a good idee-a?”) Gracie is Gracie and so has reveled being back in school like a fish returned to its favorite stretch of pond. Which, um, means happy, splashy and full of smiles? Or something.

But the point is everyone is having fun, no one has complained about anything, everyone has managed to get to their classrooms without getting lost, and my arms haven’t fallen off yet from making all the lunches. Except for the wee little matter of Bee-girl almost getting on the wrong bus on the way home from school yesterday.

Yeah – that gave me pause, too.

We were driving home from daycare, ho-humming and chatting about our day. Bee had volunteered that she remembered her classroom, which made Gracie point out to me that she was right because she wasn’t allowed to walk her sister to her class (“The kindergarteners line up in the gym and walk as a group, Mom.” Fine, fine, I was wrong.). And then Gracie thought it was a great idea to somewhat blurt out, “And Bee almost got on the wrong bus, but I saw her just in time, and I said, ‘Bee! No! That’s the wrong bus!’, and so then I saved her and brought her to our bus just in time.”

Commence small, internal Mama freakout.

Bee, using her spidey senses to deduce than an explanation would kinda help out here, offered, “But the YMCA bus was white, too. I didn’t know how to read [Daycare] bus.” Duh, Mom.

Okay, this is entirely fixable, I thought. We’ll just pretend I’m not almost panicking about Bee wandering around the city. “Well, Bee, [Daycare] bus starts with ‘C’.”

“Yeah, but YMCA has a C in it, too.”

Wiseass. Still – she was right. “Yes, yes, it does. But [Daycare] starts with a ‘C’ an the letters are in different colors, and… Hey! I know what you can do. How about when you get on the bus, you ask, ‘Is this the [Daycare] bus? And then they will say ‘Yes! It is!’ or else you can get off the bus and ask for help.” Ta da! Tools to help her out. Bee was pleased with the explanation. Gracie promised to make sure she was on the bus. And instead of worrying, I wrote my cell phone number on the kid’s backpack, lunchpack, and maybe the back of her neck. Kidding! (Sort of.)

See? No point panicking when you can just prepare – the kid with the tools she needs to not freak her mama the heck out any more, and myself with more chocolate.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch Casa de Katie, my sister and I spent the evening cooking, cleaning, spray-painting, and plotting escape plans while we watched projected paths of Hurricane Irene. But that is a story – and a batch of chocolate – for a whole ‘nother day. Suffice it to say that alllllll the squiggly lines devised by Jim Cantore with a wobbly marker and lots of (ahem) science have Irene headed straight for Kim’s House. Submit songs for our Hurricane Mix CD below, please.

In the blink of an eye.

Too fast. This morning went by too fast.

Despite begging their momma to let them go back to sleep, two little girls were up and dressed far faster than on any other morning.

Breakfast was devoured in the blink of an eye.

A certain five-year old didn’t whine when I insisted on a barrette to keep her hair out of her eyes. (And a certain momma pretended not to see the headband she put in on top of it. Hey, at least it matched.)

Too quickly, everyone was ready and so we got to cuddle in momma’s bed while we waited for it to be time to leave.

Even picture time went by in the blink of an eye. Four perfect shots of new school uniforms and spanking new shoes, all lined up by the front door – in just four tries?! When does that ever happen?

Parking was secured just before the mad rush descended on the school. I got a perfect spot right near the escape route. It was a short walk to the front door and a few quick pictures. And here was the only hiccup – for Gracie, she took an un-perfect picture of the proud Mom and her kindergartener. Yeah, I kinda want my head in the shot, kiddo. Heh. And for Bee, a small pause when she asked if her dad was meeting us. (He’s on vacation.) But even that small rain cloud was gone too quickly, as she quickly grabbed my hand and bounced towards the door, so excited and so dang proud of herself.

I have two schoolers! How quickly I keep forgetting!

A kindergartener who saw her name in a cubby and put her backpack and lunch box away. Who found her own nametag and – Quick! – gave me a kiss before waving me out of the classroom. And an equally confident 2nd-grader who dragged me bodily towards her classroom, but then wanted me to stand with her as she found a locker and signed herself in. How quickly that need for a mom’s reassurance will leave her! Honestly, who would have thought that was the moment that would make me pause this morning.

Blessed and Possessed, I usually nickname my two (and believe me – they switch off their titles). But this morning, all I’m coming up with are blessings. Sappy, yes. But sometimes so true.

I guess we’re ready; we’re certainly all set.

Today is the last day of daycare. Well, not forever. There will still be before-care and after-care and those odd school-free days thrown in there. But for all essence, since school starts on Monday, today is the last day of daycare.

I can’t even work up a single tear in my eyes.

You’d think I’d be a little weepy. I mean, my baby, my Bee-baby, my very last littl’un is starting kindergarten on Monday and instead of Waaaaah! the only sound that wants to escape these lips is Yesssss! So I guess that means we’re ready.

Certainly we’re prepared. We I bought $150 worth of new school supplies. Notebooks, rulers, gluesticks, liquid glue, crayons, markers, shiney bright new sneakers, a new backpack and coordinating thermos and lunchpack (her decision, not mine), and god knows what else: we have it all. I even splurged on a new uniform dress for each of them. (Really that was a bit self-preservation there – when Bee finds out she can’t wear skirts and dresses every blessed day, she’s going to take it on someone. 101 guesses who that is, and the first hundred don’t count.)

Last night we continued the tradition of picnicking in the car as we claimed prime parking and waited for Meet the Teacher Night to begin. This year we had two bouncy schoolers anxious to find out their fate for the year and one excited auntie who wanted to explore her nieces’ school and an entire car-load full of supplies (or so it seemed). And let’s not forget one exhausted mama who kept wondering why she wasn’t more emotional about her baby starting kindergarten.

It’s just that…Bee’s ready. For two years running, she has collapsed with tears because her big sister got to go to Big Kid School and she didn’t, and that her big sister got to pack and lunch and she didn’t, and that her big sister got to learn to read and she didn’t. I’m not one to insist on parity for parity’s sake, but I am pretty gosh-darn excited that a certain five-year-old is going to have to find something new to whine about. It’s going to be difficult to do, because Bee proved she is ready for the schooler’s set. She said hello to her teacher when she was greeted in the classroom. She rattled off the spelling of her name like she hadn’t just learned it a few months ago. She flippantly answered my questions about what to do if she couldn’t find her classroom. Bee is r-e-a-d-y.

And, I suppose, am I.

It’s going to be a great year. Bee has the best kindergarten teacher in the school; someone I’ve been continuously dazzled by in school presentation after presentation and who has come with glowing recommendation by friends whose girls have gone through her class. She offered – without prompting – an explanation of her teaching style, and it’s one that Bee is very compatible with. I think my Bee-baby is going to bloom under her teacher’s energetic style. You could tell Miss B. engages her students at their level but is still completely in control of even the bounciest student. Even better? Bee is across the hall from Gracie’s favorite (and mine!) from last year, so there’s a familiar face nearby. (And, um, an excuse to stalk Gracie’s ex-teacher.)

It might even be a great year. Gracie’s teacher seems outgoing and mentioned in more than a few ways that she keys in on the subjects her students are interested in order to encourage independent learning. She asked Gracie for ideas on experiments to perform and research Gracie could explore on her own. Gracie was a little shy and quiet, but she smiled that particular smile of hers that let me know she was thrilled at the idea. And then her new teacher (who knew Gracie just from being in the same building with her) called her out on her unusual shyness and I thrilled on the inside because she must really know my daughter. What mama wouldn’t love that?

We’re ready. If the start of the school year seems a little anti-climatic before it’s even begun, well I guess that just proves my own point. Now, if Monday would only just get here already!

Quote of the Day (Vacationland-style)

One of the many, many things I love about my children is how darn quotable they are. Those girls crack me up AND give me plenty of blackmail material to hold over their heads when they are being rotten teenagers. Win-win! Gracie and I had this little exchange whilst at Grandma’s house and I’ve been saving it for a morning when we all needed a boost.

To set the scene: Uncle Joey had grilled us all these gorgeous steaks, and we had veggies and salads, and also some rather stubborn golden buttery potatoes that did not want to finish cooking. Uncle Joey finally gave up trying to grill them and instead de-foiled them and threw them in the microwave to finish while we started in on the rest of our meal.

Consequently, Bee had eaten her steak and her veggies, but was too full when it came time to eat her potato.

Gracie: You can’t eat dessert, then, Bee!
(Nothin’ warms a sister’s or a mom’s heart more than a helicopter mom who isn’t even a mom. Sigh.)
Me: Yes, she can. One, you aren’t her mom. Two, she ate a good meal: all her protein and her veggies. So she doesn’t need her starch.
<beat>
Gracie: I’m almost a protein.

[I thought about that one. Gracie is a smart kid so she probably meant she was made of meat, technically, and we did have that argument after going through screening at the airport about metals, and why her skull wasn't actually made of metal but of bone (and then about what bone was made of if not metal). So I thought she was talking about all of that.]

Me: <Beat>Yes, you almost are.
Gracie: No! Really! In a few years, I’ll be a protein!

It only took a minute. And then I had to cover my face and try to keep the giggles as much on the inside as I could. It didn’t work very well – my shaking shoulders were a dead giveaway.

When I could talk without braying laughter and further embarrass my sweet girl who knew she had somehow taken a wrong turn, I explained to my brother who was watching me, waiting for the punchline.

Me: She means pre-teen. Not protein.

Tales from Vacationland: Fooooood, Grommit!

One of the things I miss about New England – and believe me, there are plenty – is that we don’t seem to have any quaint little, inexpensive, family run breakfast joints around here. Okay, yes, the statement I have just uttered might be false: I will grant you the fact that 1) I am not a morning person and 2) I am not exactly a breakfast person, so it’s certainly feasible that these hidden establishments are just not noticeable during normal daylight hours. Be that as it may, the fact remains that my hometown and most of the surrounding areas contain a bevy of fine dining establishments known as diners and Tejas (or the greater DFW metroplex, at least) does not.

There’s a rather quaint diner quite near Auntie Kim’s house. We’ll call the Track 9 a diner even though it isn’t actually housed in an old dining car. I make the exception because the Track 9 is modeled after (if not actually located in? it wasn’t quite clear) an old railroad station depot. I know – you never would have guessed from the name. The first time I visited back in March, I knew I would have to bring the girls. To the left of the entry is your average restaurant-arrangement seating; however, the right-hand side of the diner has a few booths and a counter with several stools from which you can watch the short-order cook ready your order. And the best part? When he’s finished, he yells, “Order up!” and sets the plates on the counter. My girls have been playing restaurant and yelling “Order up!” far too often (and too loudly) for my taste for months. They would LOVE this place!

And I have to admit, they did. Our first morning there, we sat the counter so the girls could have a “genuine” diner experience. The staff – practically all of whom know my sister and her best friend by sight – spoke directly to the girls and treated them like adults. The girls just ate that up. Bee, although half asleep, looked at the model railroad tracks and old coins that were shellacked into the counter and then drew on her placemat. Gracie watched the cook, plagued her aunts with questions and stared at the group of men across the way.

A bunch of regulars streamed in while we were eating. Salty old men who regaled the waitresses with cheap lines and long stories of their weekends. I missed dearly the way New Englanders will talk to you across the counter as you share your meal, flirt with your children, and change their stories on their toes so as not to offend young ears – while pretending they didn’t, naturally. Listen to their thick accents and tall tales and – somehow – their family ancestries was almost as good as the homecooked food. (Which was incredibly tasty and dirt cheap – two qualities that make up diner eating, as everyone should have the good fortune to know.)

Ah, Track 9. I already miss you. One more thing beckoning me home.

 

 

Tales from Vacationland: Signs of fabulousness.

It sounds silly to say, but I am a big believer of signs. Probably it comes from some overly emotional and disturbingly deep-rooted need for constant comfort, but meh meh meh. I just like having fun deciding on whether I’m going to have a good time or a bad time based on what I encounter a long the way.

On a related note: Kim and I both very big into turtles. (Shoosh, it is too related and I’ll show you how in a second.) This is also going to sound a little ridiculous, but our affection for said turtles is all because of a book. If you’ve read The Dark Tower (or much folklore), you’ll know that turtles hold a very special place in mythology. The Turtle (specifically, the one of Lud, but also many other unnamed turtles) is known as a “good” force (“His thoughts are slow, but always kind / he holds us all within his mind). He looks out for small children, knights-errant, and – I like to think – travellers on airplanes who are afraid of flying.

So, over the years, Kim and I have started collecting turtles. You wouldn’t know it to look around our houses. We don’t collect them to the point that we have turtley knickknacks scattered about, or turtles emblazoned on pillows, or woven into blankets. That would just be tacky. But we have miniature wooden turtle sculptures (mine sits next to my computer), and metal turtle charms (one stays in my purse), and other small tokens. See? So coming across a turtle is a good, good sign.

Naturally, when I first flew solo with the girls a few years ago, and Kim was due to meet up with us in Baltimore to fly the second segment with us, she found a restaurant in Baltimore International that was called – wait for it – The Greene Turtle Sports Bar and Grille. It was a sign. Not only would the children not make me want to commit hari kari whilst traveling alone, but the plane wouldn’t crash, we wouldn’t have turbulence and I would be fine. All would be well, all would be well, and all manner of things would be well.

Also? Lunch was delicious.

So during this trip, we decided to once again pay our respects to the Greene Turtle. Since it was vacation, I let the girls order whatever they wanted for lunch. Bee ordered pancakes. I had a fish sandwich (mmmm…seafood), and Gracie….well, Gracie ordered bacon and a root beer float. Remember – vacation rules. I immediately hailed her as The Queen of Going With Your Gut when I saw the bottle the root beer came in. Guys – it had. a turtle. right on it. I knew Kim would never believe me. Now, most people would stop, take a picture, and call it good. Yeah, whatever, that’s just lazy. Once Gracie finished draining that sucker, I whipped out my spare plastic bag from our carry on, snuck the bottle in there and pretended we had never seen it.

I STOLE AN EMPTY ROOT BEER BOTTLE.

And probably broke about 100 TSA rules, but look! No panic at the disco! All was fine! Except that I sort of had to esplain to Gracie why it was okay to steal the bottle (“We paid for it.”) and take it on the plane (“Auntie Kim neeeeeds it and they didn’t say we couldn’t.”) and why exactly we were keeping quiet about it (“They probably wouldn’t like it, but it’s not expressly against the rules – but even so, it will be an easier secret to keep if we don’t say anything.”) And all went smashingly except for that one eensy bitty little time when I went to recharge the girls’ DVD player and Gracie practically shouted, “BUT MOM! They’ll see the thing we’re hiding in there!”

Yeah. Whoops. I give all the credit to the Turtle that we never landed in jail between Baltimore and Boston Logan. See? Totally magic.

*You* tell me how I was supposed to leave that there!