With the threat of marrow-freezing weather awaiting us as it does every winter, we decided to hightail it to Florida to visit my parents for a week and bask in the sunshine. Deciding to take advantage of the three day weekend afforded by MLK Day, we booked our tickets for mid-January. January 17th to the 24th to be exact. This was back in November. Before the election results had come out. Before we understood that Inauguration Day fell on January 20th. Before we realized that we'll be in retirement mode while everyone in town (and many from out of town) would be in the midst of Obamapalooza. Do'h!
I try to console myself by remembering that it is unlikely we'd be able to participate in any of the history-making events occurring in our backyard since we have two wee ones, we have little tolerance for the cold, and even less tolerance for tourists. I'm glad that we can celebrate vicariously through family and friends who intend to be in attendance for the insanity. But I can't help but feel wistful that I'll be missing out on the various activities planned for that week. We live about a mile from the White House and probably could have seen the parade. We may have run into Oprah. We could have heard Bruce Springsteen play for free. We could have mingled with leather fetishists. Ah well. We'll get dressed up and have our own Toddler Ball. We'll prepare our own speeches ("Ask not what Mommy can do for you . . . "). With homemade meals (mmmm . . . haleem), a chance to show the kids the beach, and an entire week of fun in the sun, I can't really complain. Except, you know, for the complaints recited above.