Steve spent this afternoon trying to convince me that we should throw... well, everything to the wind and go to Montreal in June for the Canadian Grand Prix. Like, actually buy tickets and book a hotel.
While it is true that Steve and I share a completely unexpected passion for Formula One and equally true that we have not been away together since Patrick was born and Montreal is one of my favorite cities and it would be so much fun...
WE. DON'T. HAVE. A. SITTER.
I want to emphasize this fact because it seems to me that this lack constitutes a significant deterrent to our leaving the country but Steve seems to view it as a bagatelle; less of an impediment and more of an incentive.
"Once we buy the tickets we'll be that much more motivated to find a sitter!" he promised.
"A sitter. To take care of the children. For five days. You think this is possible and yet I have been unable to get anyone for three hours next Saturday so we can go to your work thing?"
"Sure! We'll just... and then we could have... and no doubt if we called... it'll all work out! They have food there," he coaxed. "Food you like."
I have gotten as far as looking at pictures of smoked meat sandwiches and sighing but... I don't know. I never have a good sense of when I am being abnormally anxious and when I am being sensible. Not taking a trip alone in thirteen years probably falls under column A but booking airline tickets without childcare lined up or any clear idea where we might find it... ? Seriously. I don't know. Help me out here.