Although we're home, I don't really feel all here.
Mainly because we're all not.
I think I left A's blanket at the hotel.
Please, don't. I await a phone call saying they've found it amongst the discarded blankets of the little double bed Frick, Frack, Freak and I shared every night. They have my credit card number to FedEx it as soon as it is found--which will be a miracle in itself if the description of "a child's pink blanket" can reasonably apply to the thing that A-Dog carries around everywhere. Hopefully, Housekeeping has not mistaken it for a spool of dirty yarn from a seconds store. Or a bag lady's knitting basket. Or Barney's lower intestine and colon. Or what a muppet threw up after a night of binge drinking.
Oh, I'm in trouble.