Just three days from now, I will embark on the first family adventure through the skies from Frigid Fargo to the balmy American Southwest.

Did you catch that? I’m FLYING with a three and almost six-year-old. I’m a bit nervous. What if Dylan kicks into high-gear hyper at 35,000 feet? What if Julia refuses to comply with security checks and instead flails and kicks a TSA agent?

I’ve read the mommy blogs, the suggested pack lists, and the weather reports. I’ve talked to others who’ve flown with children. I feel like this is childbirth. Tested tips and tricks may not necessarily work for me. I’ll just have to go through it myself to truly experience it.

But guess what’s on the other side? Beloved grandparents. Good friends. The OCEAN. I’m going to keep my eye on the prize. To see and capture the expressions on the faces of my kids when they land in the desert, see a cactus, and dip their toes in the ocean.

Just in case, say a little prayer for my parenting and marital sanity.


2 thoughts on “Phoendiego

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