We Travel By Plane, Hopefully

Less than 25 hours to our meeting with Diane (and maybe Sam). Nerves have set in as the need to pack brings on the first real decision – what will I wear tomorrow? Per our adoption attorney, I should look “put together.” To me, this has traditionally meant “wear a belt.” But then she dropped this bombshell, “If you wear jeans, wear nice jeans.” I did not know there were degrees to jeans. So I’m going with the fallback position of every styleless male, khakis. And a belt.

Next on the list of possibly devastating decisions is the flight itself. The weather is fine here and at our destination, but we don’t know where our flight is originating from. If our plane is starting the day in Chicago or Boston or New York or Pittsburgh or pretty much anywhere else that just got pounded with snow and ice, it might not be sitting at Dulles waiting for us. Given the timing of our flight, its cancellation would leave us with 21 hours to make an 18-hour drive. The only good thing about that scenario is that it leaves no time for any stops at Cracker Barrel.

Hopefully, six hours from now, I’ll be in south Florida, enjoying a 50 degree uptick in temperature while hunting down some good Cuban cuisine and thinking up pithy things to say in an update. But I’m fully prepared to be, as my mom would say, “flying low” down I-95, desperately trying to prove GoogleMaps time estimate woefully high.