As a family unit we probably have less effective communication than most. Brian told me a while back to reserve the first three weeks of August for travel, so I did. A few weeks ago, he said we'd be coming along on his Wednesday-Thursday meeting trip to some beach place in North Carolina; he said we'd be driving. Then sometime the following week we'd fly to Portland (to visit my sister, although he insists we're not staying with her long--whatever that means) and then to Seattle the week after that, where he has another meeting.

Victoria and I, in a fit of advance-planning, packed a bag for our trip to the beach. This evening, Christopher asked if I would go with him to get a milkshake and I said no but he could come along as I returned our library books. The library is across the street from the grocery store, so he decided to get milkshake stuff there. I suggested he also buy a few life-sustaining essentials, since I'd let things run out in anticipation of our absence (Chris is taking a summer class and can't travel with us). He was shocked to learn that we were leaving and was still expressing his amazement as we returned to the house.

I said we'd be coming back this weekend before heading west; fortunately, Brian heard this and corrected me. Apparently we are renting a car to get to NC and flying from there. I'm supposed to roll with stuff, so I am rolling but jeez. You pack differently for a 20-day airplane jaunt than you do for a 5-day drive to the beach. And Christopher is still whining because he has to feed himself. And Jennifer is up to who knows what. And her birthday is tomorrow. I seem to leave on every vacation wishing I could just cancel the damned thing; most of the time it's not that awful once I get out there. Here goes.