December 24, 2010

The List, And Why Jr Is A Lucky, Lucky Boy

So we made it to Fennsylvania (says Miss).  Alive, and sane.

Alive, anyway.  Did I mention we have a VERY small car?  But Sesame Street for her and Terry Pratchett on the iPod for us got us through.  Jr?  He slept.  What a star.

Here's my packing list:

Do you see written anywhere on this list identification for my son?  Because I don't.  And so, slave to The List that I am, I didn't pack any.  Miss has a passport, but Jr only has his birth certificate and social insurance number, which would have been sufficient, had I brought them.

Bless that nice young man at the border - young, she says, like a sixty-two year old grandmother - who asked if it was our first time to the States.  Because clearly seasoned travellers do not leave everything but their son's health card at home.

We're here to see Mr's family - mine too, since I married him, I guess - and in the twenty hours or so that we've been here, Miss has already learned to jump on the bed, eat whipped topping from a can, and throw balls in the house.   I'll tell you what, though: she was tired at the end of today.  So tired she curled up at the end of the couch and practically begged to go to bed.  Best vacation ever.