Family Togetherness

By the sixth day of sleeping in one hotel room, sharing beds with one another and spending every waking moment together, we found our family starting to melt down from all that family "togetherness."



To catch our 8:00 am flight out of Chicago, we decided that we should spend the night IN Chicago the night before so we could avoid the 2:00 am departure from Johnson's Creek. (By the way I say "creek" and they say "crick") This new hotel room is even smaller than the previous room, so the family is really starting to freak out.

"Why do I have to sleep with T?"

"The sheets smell like smoke, can I switch beds?"

"Turn off the TV it's too loud."

"Turn off the TV it's too bright."

"Hey, I'm the dad and I want to watch Monday night football."

"Shut up people, I want to sleep."





The next morning we followed very cryptic map quest directions to the car rental return. You know the crazy directions that drive you through the most questionable part of town, all the while you can SEE the highway you are trying to access from the bridge you are crossing. T hates these kind of stressful situations, so he was tired and a little cranky by the time the car was finally returned. In the mean time the youngest of our crew has told us over and over how we are doing things all wrong, C has stopped talking to us because he thinks T is mad, and B likes to make fun of the family crisis as it unfolds.



Airport security is a farce and pushed this PMS woman over the edge. After I've unpacked my laptop, taken off my shoes, bagged up my liquids, check the boys stuff for "questionable items," had my ID checked, stood in line for 30 minutes, C is told he can't wear his hoodie through the security screener. He's scared so I take the sweatshirt. I "think" I can just hold the stupid sweatshirt and carry it through but NO. I must get back in line to put the jacket in one of the tubs. By this time, my family is already putting back on their shoes and I'm waiting to shove my tub onto the conveyor belt. I assume that the person behind me will just continue to shove my also, so I get back in line to go through the metal detector. Nope, gotta go back and push my OWN tub through, apparently C's sweatshirt should not go un-maned. Now I'm pissed and so is the TSA personnel. I'm ready for a full body cavity search because there is just about nothing else I could possibly do to make these people happy. How much I'm willing to do to get on a plane that is lacking leg room, and they don't even serve peanuts anymore? So after I make it through the security screening, I very sternly tell C to go get his own sweatshirt off the belt. He got made at ME because I yelled at him, only to be asked by my husband, "Where do you want to go eat for breakfast?" UUUG!