Cherubic Choir

Packing List? Check.
To Do List? Check.
Worry? No.
Mild apprehension? Easily fixed. (glug, glug, glug...)
Airline baggage regulations? Check.
Small portable pharmacy? Yes, yes, check, and give me something harder to plan for.

I'm thinking and prepping and readying to pack. It takes a lot of my concentration to prepare for this adventure. I should have been a girl scout. It's a challenge to have the myriad of supplies ready for any child of 4 to require. But, oh the pay-off, when I reach into that backpack with just the thing. Oh, yes. There is a spousal smirk & a tip of my head. It's really the only time I'm clever these days, in the prep department. I live for that tip of the hat some days.

So imagine my loss of focus, when - in the midst of my list-making and (most importantly) thinking - I kept getting beseeched to solve Sibling WWIII again and again. And imagine my pleasure when I closed the back door behind them all.
And then - stick with me, I know you are up to the imaginative task - imagine the look on my face when I heard a cherubic chorus outside the window.

They were perched on chairs, slides and see-saws and they were chanting.

"I hate my mommy. I hate my mommy. I hate my mommy!"

I stared.

I fumed.

I grinned.

I waved through the window, like Ms. America on parade - and went back to my list.

I'm sure they'll love this story one day.