Despite being 41, my husband still thinks that Ozzy is the king. He regresses to about age 15 when “Crazy Train” or “Ironman” come up on Sirius. He vows that he will attend OzzFest this year. He will do so alone.
We will, however, be travelling to Oz together.
JP gets to travel quite a bit for his job. He’s been sent to India, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands . . . . all kinds of places I’d love to see. However, since I seem to be either gestating or lactating at any given time, I’ve been unable to go with him. Now, though, my body is no longer playing host in any way to any offspring, and when JP announced he was going to Australia, I told him that there was no way he was going without me. We may have to load the credit cards a bit to take care of my part of the trip, but his airfare and food and five days of our lodging will be paid for–it just has to be done.
With six kids between the ages of two and fourteen, it’s been an interesting job farming them out. Luckily, I’ve had no shortage of folks offering to take one or two or six for varying lengths of time, and I made a masterpiece of a ten-day schedule of “who’s got which ones when” that is even color-coded. I’ve never been away from my kids for longer than a week, and that was when I only had four–and it was to England, not halfway around the world. It’s not that I’m really worried–I know they will have a great time and be taken care of very well, and I need a break and a chance to hang out with my full-time-working, bishopric-serving, game-store-overseeing, 4H-leadering, horse-training, spring-crop-planting BUSY husband that I like a whole bunch. But. Because this is business, I didn’t get to choose the time for us to go, and I’ll miss two track meets, three teeball games, a band concert, AND a dance recital. That makes me a little sad.
But not enough to stay.
G’day, mate! Maybe I’ll post a time or two from down under.