One more hard day of travel is nearly done. I'm writing from the passenger side of my best good ride. There is still close to an hour to home, but I've got a lemonade, and I've already taken my evening pills plus some Tylenol. I ought to make it all right.
Everything went okay until we changed the hustle at the very last minute. We had promised Valerie a specific order of transportation, and as we waited to deplane, we agreed to send two adults to retrieve the cars from the remote lot, and the others would stay with children and luggage. Valerie was quite disappointed to miss out on her promised bus ride, and I feel like we incurred a curse at that point. From there, everything went to hell. Tiredness caught up to us, and I ended up having to stand around for what felt like hours. Getting picked up at the curb went sideways, because we didn't realize that baggage claim level was for rideshare only. Logistics to get everyone and all luggage down to the proper level felt like one of those logic puzzles on how to get stuff across a bridge in the proper order.
Once I have had a night to cuddle my floofy girls, and had a day to decompress, I might be more coherent. For now, my brain is shutting down. Immediately.
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