K and J attempt a holiday. (Or: The blue line from O'Hare at 9pm on Sunday night reeks of vomit.)
So. It's that time of year. We all know how I feel about that time of year. There is absolutely no reason to expound upon the angst that crushes my soul between Halloween and Valentine's Day. This year, however... well, no, this year would be no different except that this year J and I will attempt our first holiday alone together as our own little family unit. And that's a brilliant, wonderful thing, and I would want it no other way, and I am just a small bit frightened. Not about the spending a holiday together as our own little family - that's not a problem at all. The problem is that instead of spending that holiday at home where it's warm and comfy and there is carpet and a kitchen that I can actually use for things with directions more complicated than "mix with water," we are spending it in Chicago... where it is cold, and the floor is cold, and the new leather couch is far colder than I expected it would be, and it's generally just uncomfortable all the time because it's really, really cold (until 4am when the radiators kick on for their one use a day, at which time it gets really, really hot - enough so that I sweat while I'm blow-drying my hair - and then it gets cold again). Regardless, though... we're going to get through this. I have donned my holiday battle-armor with the grim determination of a kamikaze pilot (as Ron White says, "I don't want to limp away from this wreck") and I've already made what I make best for dinner (reservations). We will spend the weekend doing touristy things. Or we will spend the weekend hiding from the holiday in bed. Either way, it's the beginning of a new era because either way... I'm looking forward to it.
