Vitafamiliae

Friday morning was all kinds of different crazy.  It started out pretty calm.  We got up, got dressed, finished packing, and headed out the door for breakfast.  Andrew took us to a place called “Crepe o Chocolat,” which means “Food I Love” in any language.

We ordered crepes, of course, and let the boys peer over the counter to watch.

This is what the chocolatey goodness brought to my table looked like before I lit into it.

Willa didn’t get a crepe, but she smiled big anyway.  Apparently Crepe Happy is contagious.

From there we walked to Bluebottle Coffee Co. for some coffee.  I’d pointed it out to Andrew the day before and he enjoyed a mighty fine mocha.  So we sniffed out the closest spot to our hotel for one last shot of yum before we left San Fran.  While there, I succumbed to temptation and ordered myself a bowl of steel cut oatmeal (to cut the sugar buzz from the crepes) and a decaf mocha.  This picture is pure poetry to me.

Those of you who know me well know that I don’t normally drink coffee.  But this mocha was made with the same type of chocolate I filled my suitcase with the day before.  And the coffee was so good, I actually finished an entire cup.  I don’t think I’ve finished a cup of coffee before.  Ever.  Starbucks, I spit on you and your burned beans.

The fact that I had two breakfasts before 9:30 am is Reason Number 1 why I will not be stepping on a scale for the next month.

We ran back to the hotel and grabbed our bags to meet the car service.  The driver was very punctual, but it was useless, because he didn’t have the car seats for the twins.  Now, I’d let the boys ride around downtown without car seats, but I wasn’t about to take them on the freeway without a five point harness.  I’ve watched too many YouTube videos.  The guy promised us it would take fifteen minutes to get car seats delivered.

Forty minutes later we pulled away from the curb and I drummed my fingers on the armrest while writing nasty letters to the limo company in my head.  We raced to the airport and dumped our luggage out onto a cart before running everything to the line at the ticket counter.  Andrew suddenly announced, “Something isn’t right.  Wait, is that bag WET?”

One of our bags was leaking.

It was the bag we keep all our toiletries in.  That morning, in my hurry to get to the crepes, I wasn’t thinking and put a glass bottle of vinegar in the bag.  Which we promptly broke in our hurry to get to the ticket counter.  We opened the bag and pulled out the glass (only one cut was received, but it hurt twice as bad because it was laced with vinegar).  The bag was still leaking onto all the other bags, so I pulled a dirty t-shirt out of someone’s bag and jammed it in there to sop up what I could.  Meanwhile, the line was moving quickly so we were shuffling our eight bags, our kids, a stroller, and our vinegar operation, while trying to remain inconspicuous, lest someone mistake us for Vinegar Terrorists.

And then one guy at the ticket counter said loudly to his buddies, “Does anybody smell something?”

Pause.

“Well, I don’t know what it is, but I know I’m having me some fish ‘n chips for lunch.  With lots of malt and vinegar.”

Andrew and I ducked our heads and snickered.

When we finally reached the ticket counter and began checking in, the guy with the luggage kept saying, “Seriously, do you people not smell that?”

We finally said, “It’s us.  It’s vinegar.  We spilled it.”

He looked relieved.  “Oh, good.  I thought I was going nuts.”

Then he very kindly wrapped our bags in plastic so we wouldn’t get kicked off the plane for stinking up the cargo hold.  In addition, he took one look at our wild eyes and handed us both drink coupons for the plane.  “You guys look like you could use these.”

Yes.  Yes, I think we could.

Now that we’ve made it safely to San Diego, I’ve done my best to remove the fish ‘n chips aroma from our bags.  But I keep running across a random shirt or three that was dripped on.  And I haven’t had a chance to wash one of the bags that caught a lot of liquid, so, in general, our room smells like dirty feet.

We make excellent house guests. Seriously.  Who wants to have us over?  We’ll bring the vinegar.