Whenever we travel abroad as a family, my husband is in charge of two things: packing the electronic stuff (like computer, iPads, cameras, etc) and remembering our important documents. And by important documents I mean the really important ones. In other words, the ones that will get us back into Canada upon our return.
My husband claims that he was simply allocated these jobs without any say in the matter. Other than me barking not-so-subtle instructions at him, like “Have you downloaded that Thomas DVD onto the iPad yet?” and “Have you recharged the camera battery?” and “Have you got our passports?” while bombing around the house trying to find summer clothes and toys suitable for occupying young children on a 15 hour flight.
My husband, therefore, maintains he is not to blame for what happened next.
I beg to differ.
But perhaps I should start at the beginning of this particular story.
Which is set in Sydney.
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