Don’t get all mad, but I’ve been at my parents’ place for a little over a week. I have a long list of beloved friends in the area, and I’m just not making the rounds. Next time, though, I promise.
The weekend we arrived was the toddler’s delayed birthday celebration, starring BOTH sets of grandparents all piled into one house. We were so busy having fun, though, that the birthday boy fell asleep before we could eat the cake we all made. Correction: We ate the cake we all made without him. We also ended up opening birthday presents via Skype with Grandma and Grandpa Swedelock (technically Grandma Swede and Grandpa Polack) after they drove home. Maybe by the time the kid’s three we’ll have it figured out.
The weekend made me grateful for both sets of crazy grandparents. I wish we could all pile together in one house more often. No. I’m serious. QUIT LAUGHING! I’M SERIOUS. In fact, if one parent comes to live with us, the New Rule is that ALL parents come live with us. It’s the only thing that will result in Superb Owl cakes.
Maybe I had too much bourbon at lunch. Mardi Gras is dangerous.