Eastbound and down.

God help me, I'm going to Regina. On purpose, even.

Next Friday we're packing up the kid and hitting the sky. We're surprising my parents, and for once I've actually been able to keep a secret. I booked the flights over a month ago and have managed to keep my mouth shut, very unlike me. It'll be worth the torture of secret keeping, I'm really looking forward to seeing their reaction when we walk through the door. Of course, it's not me they'll be excited to see--I'm not kidding myself on that account--it's George. My dad hasn't even met him yet. They are planning a trip out here in September, but they keep calling to say how much they wish they could see George and how hard it is to miss seeing him grow and develop. So, a couple of seat sales and an impulsive late-night flight booking later, and we're going to the prairies.

I'm trying not to think about the fact that for the same price we could have gone to San Francisco for the weekend. Or to some lovely coastal town in Oregon or Washington for half the price. The destination isn't the important thing, it's the people who live in the destination. And, as a bonus, our visit falls on Mother's Day weekend. Bringing her daughter and grandson to visit sure beats the cardinal-shaped bird feeder I gave my mother last year. Another bonus is that George will get to meet his two Saskatchewan cousins. They are both under five, so there should be some good photo ops with the three of them.

Not looking forward to the flight, though. Not only do I have to cope with my newly minted terror for air travel, but I have to handle being the person with the screaming baby on the plane, too. Luckily it's a 2-hour, direct flight. If I keep a bottle or a boob stuffed in his face most of the time we should be able to make it through. Besides, if he does act up maybe it'll distract me from the fact that we are trapped in a speeding tin can high above the Rocky Mountains.