Right now while the rest of the west coast sleeps - and rightfully so - us Hook's are boarding an aeroplane to Atlanta for a week of mayhem, family, birthday celebration all leading up to my sister RV's wedding where all three dudes will be ring bearers and I will have the honor of photographing her special day.
That may sound lovely and fun and warm-you-in-the-crotch-fantastic but if you've ever flown with three kids ages 7 and under before (and I haven't, so I feel absolutely qualified to speak on this) you know getting there is half the battle.
Sure, I've come as prepared as I can be for the absolute chipper-ness that will be three kids who were woken up at 3:30 am in order to get to the airport in time to board a 7 am flight by packing each a backpack chock-full of word puzzles! books! snacks! SNACKS OMG SNACKS! iPads! iPods! every kind of iToy! laptops! DSi's! all of which should keep their attention for what? the first half hour?
This is where you laugh at me for bringing them each a pillow and blanket should they feel tired. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA I am such an idiot.
This, of course, is assuming we made it through the security screening with all our above electronics, our bajillion kids and not have L-Dub mention to the TSA about mommy's "magic beans" which are really just orange Tic Tacs but sounds really bad to those not in the know.
I feel sorry for whoever is behind us in that line. One kid won't want to take off his shoes, one kid will translate "take off your shoes" into "disrobe completely" and the other kid will be asking the Awesome Soldier Dude if he can hold his gun. You think I'm joking.
Worse is watching every passenger walk down the aisle of the airplane with their boarding pass in hand, eyeing each row, saying a silent prayer that they aren't anywhere near us because EEEEEWWW KIDS WHERE'S MY SARS MASK AND EAR PLUGS WTF?! Calm down assholes, chances are they'll be far more interested in the laboratory than your airport book store novel and if they do annoy you that much you can thank me when we land for loaning you some complimentary birth control.
Five hours, people. FIVE HOURS ON A PLANE WITH KIDS. Five hours with ADD. FIVE HOURS ON A PLANE WITH KIDS WITH AN ATTENTION SPAN this big. Are we there yet? I have to pee. Where does the poop go? I'm huuuuungry.
And that's just me. I'm pretty sure they're going to whine too.
Wish me luck. Scratch that, think good thoughts for Atlanta. They'll never know what hit 'em.