This is a writing/travel day

So I wake up with the hubby at
8am. I lay out his clothes and make him breakfast (makes him feel cared for). I shoo him off around 9:30 (his 'official' start is
8), telling to 'sell, sell, sell' and to give the clients some razzle dazzle.

I check email and my blogs for a half hour. I shower and change for another half hour. I check email and blogs again for another half hour (I have around 9 blogs). I write for about 3 hours with a couple wanders around the house (checking for mail which I collect and open once a week, looking at the pantry, trying to figure out dinner). The hubby calls, tells me he's coming home early (4pm) so we'll have plenty of time before our 8pm flight to Vegas. I panic 'cause that means he'll be home at 5pm. I eat that chocolate I said I wouldn't eat. I lug the suitcases downstairs. I call his dad to ensure he's picking us up (5:30). I find the camera the hubby set out to charge and forgot to repack. The hubby calls at 4pm to tell me he's running late. I make him a sandwich to eat in the car. His dad gets to the house before he does. The hubby swaggers in, unconcerned. I go ballistic,telling him we have to hurry, my voice getting high and reedy. He assures me we have 'plenty of time.' He eats in the car as we rush to the airport.
We run to the check in. We get the priority line because
we're late. We run to security (why I travel in running shoes).
Security gives us a rough time because I look nervous (wonder why?). We run to the gate, I trip over my carryon, hurt my knee, tell the hubby I'm okay. He says "You're a trooper. Shake it off." And takes my carryon. We finally get
there (farthest gate, of course). Everyone is still in
their seats. Flight delay. The hubby says smugly "Told you we had plenty of time."

---Kimber