Reid and I are going to San Diego from the 23rd to the 30th. I have a conference to attend and Reid is a nursling (and I couldn’t leave her for that long even if she wasn’t). Aunt Karin will meet us in Detroit – our flight connects there – and we’ll fly the rest of the way together. I’m pretty excited about the trip. Mild weather, May-like for Ottawa, and a conference that looks fabulous, not to mention a break from the office will be nice. We told Reid about the impending trip last night on the way home from Melissa’s. She was interested in going in an airplane, despite a bit of a letdown that it wouldn’t me, “me and Mama and Daddy and Reid”. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Daddy have stay home.” But then she got back to the thought that *she* would be in airplane and that was good. She noted that the airplanes were “there” indicating the sky to the west of our house, where we often see them, and we told her that’d we’d have to go to the airport to get on one. Maybe she’ll climb ropes into “helidocters” when she is bigger but not me and not her right now. (I will be sad when she can say this word; already it has gone from “hepidocter” to the present.) As we pulled into the driveway, though, Reid started to cry because she wanted to go on the airplane right then. Sadly, we had to go to bed. I held out the promise of the rocking chair and slipped in a mention that we won’t have a rocking chair after we’ve flown on the airplane. Maybe she’ll remember I warned her. Or, if she has a memory like mine, I will have to tell her when we get there.