Hasta

"Turn off the TV!" I yelled.

"Why?" the middle kid yelled back.

"Because you need to pack!"

"Stop yelling!"

"Then come here!"

He stomped upstairs, exhausted and crabby. "What?" he demanded.

"You need to pack," I repeated.

"I can do that tomorrow."

"No," I said. "Your brother has a baseball game tomorrow and you have soccer practice."

"So? I'll do it after practice."

"I don't want to pack at 11 p.m. Besides, I have to pack, too."

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To the annual conference for work," I said.

"Oh, right. There. Have fun."

"It'll be okay," I said. "It's an easy drive."

"Not as nice as Playa del Carmen," he said.

"Which I'm paying for," I reminded him.

"You're just paying for the airfare," he said. "My friend S. is paying for the room."

"Your friend's mom is paying for the room," I corrected him. "And just the airfare was a small fortune."

"You have a good job," he said.

"I have a great job," I said. "That doesn't mean I'm rich."

"You always say you're rich."

"I am, in the context of people around the world. In the context of people who send their children on vacations out of the country, I'm not."

"So you're poor?"

"No, I'm not poor. I'm tired of this discussion, though. Can we go finish packing?"

"Can we argue while we pack?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Alright," I said. "If it gets you out of the country, I'm willing to give it a shot."