Admittedly, this is not the Normandy invasion — we’re not even going to Normandy — but it is Departure Day.
I’m almost packed, lacking just the step of putting my carryon bag together. I’ve figured out the metro routes we need to take to get to our hotel in Paris, two hops total, and I know the metro station I’m going to. I’ve just tracked down phone numbers and addresses for every hotel we’re staying in, and made notes of them, so I’m set for that. Our cats are taken care of (Thanks, Brady!) and the house is nearly in order.
And I’ve got butterflies the size of houses in my belly. I’ve only been on a trip this long once before, and although I was an adult, I still had my Dad with me, which spared me a lot of worry. This is going to be a blast, don’t get me wrong, but I’m still nervous as hell. I’ll be fine once we’re on the road, and I’ll be even better once we’re on the plane, settled in to the hotel, and enjoying the wine and dine of the City of Lights. But for now, I wait to wake Char up, and I twitch with anticipation.
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