Need a Ride to the Airport?

Call me. It doesn't matter which airport you need to get to. I'll probably end up going there anyway on my way home.

I dropped off Brandon's family, the last relatives in town, at the Long Beach Airport on Wednesday. Then 20 minutes later noticed I was at LAX. Oops. That's what happens when you give a girl with no sense of direction a car. Flipped back around, passed the Long Beach and John Wayne, and made it back home a mere 120 miles later.

I'm going to go visit my sister in Escondido next week. And stop through Temecula on my way home. Because that's what I always do.

If Found, Please Dial...

I think it's oddly disturbing that my precious little two-year-old has been lost and found twice in the past 48 hours--once in the church parking lot and once in the dollar store.

But apparently, that wasn't as oddly disturbing to today's Disneyland clientele as the fact that I put these stickers on my toddlers' backs. Because the strange looks and questions I got today from mouse-eared humans gaping at my save-me stickers placed me in the same demographic as moms who leash.

(*Note: No parent of an actual toddler gave me any grief whatsoever.)

If she shows up at your door tomorrow, please, please call me.