"Ma’am, Your Bag is… Moving"

I normally don’t have to worry about bodily fluids ending up in my carryon bags when I fly.  I also normally don’t have to worry about them making noise, emitting foul smells, or squirming so much they tip themselves over in the bathroom stall.

Normally.

‘I’m in a glass case of emotion!’ – Ron Burgundy, Anchorman (also, a few years later, Frankie the dog)

There was nothing normal about yesterday’s OH –> CA flight.  There will also, most likely, be a lack of normalcy in general from here on out.

Chico and Franklin-the-new-guy (Chief Frank, Leader of the Bear Cubs, as deemed by Mini Twin) are getting along as well as two sub-15 lb, jerky little asshole dogs might.

Ok, that’s not fair.  They are “full of personality.”  However, when those personalities are polar opposites, an attention-whore has to learn to share mommy’s love, and legs are lifted over the other’s food bowl, it turns a little more towards “jerky asshole”

But we’re working on it.  I have zero remorse about addition #4 to our family.

What I do have is a little anxiety while I sit here, wondering what kind of terrorizing has gone on in the apartment while B and I have been at work.  I keep picturing my new running shoes sitting on the floor.  My unpacked (open) suitcase in the bedroom.  I’ve caught myself twice googling “steam cleaner rentals near Irvine, CA” as I mentally invision hundred dollar bills slowly burning to ash in the form of our security deposit.

But really, I just hope they are unharmed and happy when I walk in the door.  Preferably no carpet scrubbing will be required, but really, two still-living dogs will be fine.  And also, that my running shoes are still in one piece.

If flying with kids is like flying with a dog (and I can’t shove them in a carryon), I’m not playing,

Sarah Soon-To-Be