I dropped my jeep off at Dad’s shop this morning for a service. The kids and I had the opportunity to walk home. I always sort of dread that walk (no stroller!) until I’m in the middle of it.
Isn’t life kind of like that? When Dad would wake us up in the early mornings to go work in the garden, we would always moan and groan until we were smack dab in the middle of the cornfield singing, “Daddy won’t sell the farm” at the top of our lungs… then we were laughing.
There are exceptions to that rule (labor and delivery, for instance), but today was not one of them. The kids and I hopped over cracks in the sidewalk. We counted ants. I told them lies about how naughty children get tossed in the cement wells over the irrigation ditch and they giggled because their mother is just SO GOOD at lying.
I even got to teach them that the artsy looking white splats on the sidewalk were, in very fact, bird poopies. It made their day.
The walk home has other treats. We stopped of at great-grandma’s house for a quick hello, and then we stopped off at the Grandpa’s horses to feed them weeds (every horses dream, right?).
Cousin Dolly came running by and we got to have some laughs with her. She walked with us a while, and just as she left, GRANDPA HIMSELF came cruising up. The kids went bonkers as grandpa promised them doggy doo-doo (which, if you’re a frequent blog reader, you know is actually Rice Krispie Treats) (Grandpa is a much better liar than I).
He promised me half a bag of squeaky cheese that he’d picked up on his drive home from Utah this week.
So to recap, today’s walk went something like this:
Grandpa’s shop
Grandpa’s mom
Grandpa’s horses
Grandpa’s niece
GRANDPA HIMSELF
And we all walked home as visions of doggy doo doo and squeaky cheese danced in our heads.
Thanks for the laughs (and the oil and the horses), Dad!
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