Cabo-yes? Cabo-no? Too late now...time to go.

 I'm not sure how it happened. Jack Frost had hit the snooze alarm on the sunrise for, far, too many days. I was groggy. Ornery. Short-tempered. Impatient. Simmering. "You know what you need?" Sydney asked as I listed my litany of complaints to her over the phone. "What?" I growled, my inner-hibernating bear waiting to explode out of her cramped den. "Cabo," Sydney said, simply.

Cabo.

Two syllables of sunshine. A wave of relief washed over me. Yes. That was EXACTLY what I needed.

But...

Cabo...go?

Or...

Cabo...no?

Impulsively, I agreed and Sydney locked it in before my fears could gain ground.

Pictures and suggestions were sent to me daily...captivating carrots for Sydney's stubborn mule of a mother who began to obsessively worry. "What if I forget my passport?" I'd ask. Sydney would counter by offering me a choice between riding a camel or a horse on the beach. I debated those options for days. TSA is enough of a struggle for me, anxiety-wise. How on earth would I handle Customs? Sydney shared ten suggestions for swimsuits for my perusal and I agonized over skirt or shorts. 

I kept oddly quiet about my decision. What if I chickened out at the last minute and canceled my plans?

The week before break, my grade level team was playing cards at lunch when conversation turned, naturally, to our vacation. I merely shuffled the deck, remaining silent. Whew. Made it. Except I missed the devilish twinkle in my friend Katriel's eyes as she maneuvered the conversation back to me. "Will you be able to squeeze in a visit to your mom's before your flight?" she asked, eyes innocently wide as I glared at her. "Where are you going?" my friends said excitedly, turning to look at me expectantly. I was bubbling like a little volcano and could not staunch the sudden lava flow:  "Cabo, baby!" I shouted and the table erupted.

The next few days were filled with happy chatter so that I only had to contend with sleepless dread at
night. Who could possibly understand how I wanted to stay home, curled under a blanket on my chair, staring at re-runs rather than to bask in the warm sun, blinded by diamonds dancing off the water, a cold drink attached permanently to my hand?

For good or for bad, I made it out, right ahead of the weather.

Navigating carefully, Brad got me to the airport with ample time to spare. He cheerfully extracted me from the car and bustled away quickly.

I took a deep breath and headed to a kiosk. I could do this. Thousands of people do this every day.

Confirmation number. Blurred through the frightened tears in my eyes. I punched the buttons. Printed my ticket and then waited patiently for the luggage stickers.

And waited.

I hate those stupid luggage stickers. I can never seem to follow the directions correctly and end up completely enveloped in them.

I tried the kiosk panel again. No sticker.

I went to another kiosk. Nope.

Got in a line.

The wrong line.

Got waved over to the correct line and then babbled on and on about luggage to the poor man who could only stare at my tear-stained face as I lamented my utter failure in regards to the successful printing of luggage stickers. 

He effortlessly produced them for me and then asked if I was traveling alone. I could only nod as I thought about TSA and Customs ahead of me. Not to mention my intentionally going to a country where I do not speak the language or understand the currency exchange. I'm hard of hearing as it is and let's just throw an accent on top of that. Plus I am spatially unaware, am terrible at listening to AND following directions, get overwhelmed by my environment, and get motion sick.

"What?" I asked the ticket agent. He'd been talking for some time.

"I don't like your small window between Buffalo and Phoenix," he repeated (probably for the twelfth time), "I'm switching you over to Vegas." He took the tickets I had successfully pulled from the kiosk and gave me new ones. "Look," he said, "I marked your tickets so you can board without worry." He circled something on my ticket. "When the agent says this (insert Charlie Brown's teacher's voice here), I want you to board the plane. Do you understand?" I nodded. I did not understand. "You're going to do great," he said with a thumbs up as I shuffled sadly off.

I sniffled my way through TSA and found my gate. Inspecting my tickets, I was horrified to discover predominantly circled red ink declaring me eligible to board ahead of my fellow able-bodied passengers. I work in education. I knew what this was. I was given the airline equivalent of an IEP accommodation. The plane began the boarding process and, mortified, I hid behind a post until I was spotted by my kind benefactor who had apparently followed me to make sure I safely made it to my seat. Like a sheep dog, he herded me into the waiting line of wheelchairs. "I do not deserve special treatment," I hissed in my phone to Sydney. "You wear glasses," she sang cheerfully, "think of them as wheelchairs for your face." I dove for the first available seat which was located in the first row. The flight attendant wrestled my backpack away to store it in the overhead compartment...taking with it...my snacks. Leg room but no M&Ms. 

Five candy-less hours later, I made it to Vegas. A night-time flight over that city does NOT disappoint. The terminal is a nightmare for someone with sensory issues but once I was squirreled away in a safe little corner, I enjoyed watching the action

Vegas to San Diego...this time clutching my M&M container (aka: My backpack).

I made it! I stood outside, taking in the towering silhouettes of the swaying palm trees and reveling in the lack of snow when a voice cried out in the darkness, rising over the hundreds of conversations swirling around me, weaving through the traffic crawling along, waiting to gobble up passengers. "Mom!" It didn't occur to me and it certainly didn't register to Sydney Lynn...as Douglas turned to his wife as they raced toward me from a block away and he said, laughing, "Half of this crowd is made up of mothers. She's not going to respond to your voice." Sydney didn't bother answering him because I had already turned, waved my arms, and exclaimed joyously, "Sydney!"