The last morning started out as most mornings of my life have started. *Mom texts at 7:30am asking if we’re awake* *We don’t respond because we’re NOT awake* *Mom bangs on our hotel door* *I run to open it* Me: What. Mom: GOOD MORNING! As you know, breakfast is the MOST important meal of the day and we’re off to eat it, hope you will join us! So, I wake my sisters and we get to breakfast. This is where my family of 6—plus my grandparents—all squeeze around a table meant for 4
Ryan shot archery in the morning and placed #49 in the country. As any good Texan does, we celebrated by eating Mexican food. The restaurant’s guacamole was less than satisfactory, but one cannot expect much when not in the deep South.
Next, was the Hoover Dam. My brother and Dad opted out of this adventure. Ryan: I’ve seen the Hoover Dam three times now. Once was enough. Me: I feel the same way about your face. So, off we went. When we arrived, we headed down to security. I
I was dropped off at the airport. Alone. But not anxious. At first. Let’s be clear, it’s not being dropped off, saying goodbye, or dragging your luggage around that makes flying hard.
It’s the walking into the airport. Questions like: Where should I print my ticket? What if I try to check in at the wrong spot and end up looking like an idiot? What if I go through security and they say, “No ma’am, we can’t let you through because you look nothing like your ID.” Worse, they sa