Yesterday morning, I woke up with the great idea to get my grandmother over here for a week. I haven't seen her since Christmas and she complains DAILY that the boys will grow up and never know her/the neighbors see her boys more than she does/we never call anymore and every time she goes a day without a phone call she just KNOWS it's because something bad happened and I don't want her to know. (Your pick.)
So I called my dad in an attempt to sweet-talk him into meeting me in Asheville so I didn't have to make the seven-hour drive back to Knoxville.
He had to work.
So I told Dorkfish, "I'm just going to drive over there, spend the night and bring her back with me tomorrow. I'll be fine. It's just fourteen hours, round trip, no biggie. I know you're going to worry, but I promise it's not a big deal."
Secretly, I'm practically giddy over the thought of spending that much time in silence.
Before I could assemble my playlist in my head, Dorkfish says, "That's fine. Just take the boys with you."
Apparently, his new promotion at "The Harris" from Safety to Performance means that he has a lot of homework to do. I can only assume he's now having to make sure the bag boys no longer put the beer on top of the eggs.
So I loaded the boys up and drove fourteen hours to spend twelve in Knoxville. Twelve. TWELVE.
This means that in a twenty-seven hour period, I spent fourteen in a car with a six year old and a three year old.
This? This is a nomination for sainthood.
The real shock was that I came home to a spotless house, clean sheets, flowers, dinner cooking, candles burning and was told to go take a hot bath and relax. I haven't figured out what he did wrong in those twenty-seven hours, but it might be worth it.
However, my grandmother saying, "I don't know what he did either, but you're going to be paying for this later," made the entire trip worthwhile. Heh.