Praying for Safe Travel...and an Upgrade...or a Coma

 September 15, 2011

One week until I leave for Kazakhstan to love on orphans and those who care for them. 

One week until Team 2Hearts2Taraz delivers hundreds of pounds of medical equipment and clothes and new beds and teddy bears. 

One week until we repaint bedrooms and make up an orphanage full of tiny little beds. 

One week until I return for the first time to the place that started me along this amazing adoption/advocacy  journey....the place my beautiful daughter was born.

One week.

And all I can think about is...

How the hell am I going to survive 24 hours of travel in COACH?

Call me spoiled, I'll answer to it. Guilty. Admitted.  No argument what so ever. I'm not ashamed to embrace the shallow truth that I fully appreciate the merits of the lay flat seat!

I hear you tisk, tisking me.  I know you're judging.  So be it, because at 45 I am way too freakin' old to pretend I'm some sort of college kid eager to backpack though Asia and bunk down in the youth hostel. (Been there, done that, didn't really dig it)  At this stage in the game I need to think in terms of preservation by any means possible, including seat upgrades.

This is not about luxury people. This is about survival and me being OLD. My bones creak and my muscles ache.  I have a heated aromatherapy neck wrap on right now.  Seriously, no joke, I'm a mess.

I don't want to be a martyr or anything (ok well whatever) but as far as I'm concerned I'm risking my very life to go to Kaz under these UNHOLY evidenced by my doctor's suggestion that I pack these:

Again, I'm serious. Deadly serious.

So let's all pray one more time that I survive these painful, grueling, bordering on torturous and potentially life threatening flights (fingers play tiny violin). 

More specifically, please everyone, pray that I am upgraded to first class...for the sake of the children, (checks for lightening bolts).

And if that's too much, please pray that my ambien and red wine cocktail puts me into a temporary coma until it's time to get off the plane, (winks, only half kidding).
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 The Wimpy Missionary c/o Put Your Big Girl Travel Pants On, Whiner Town, USA
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