Hi.

Remember me?

It’s okay if you don’t. WordPress nearly didn’t.

It may of had something do with the fact that I forgot my password.

The trouble with long absences, other than technical difficulties,  is that it is hard to know where to start.

It’s kind of like when you forget to call someone back. When you remember, you feel guilty about forgetting and avoid calling that person. The longer you wait, the worse you feel and the more awkward it becomes. Of course, this has never happened to me.  Never.

First I considered a recap of the past two month, but dismissed this due to the sure volume of such an undertaking. Brevity has never been my gift and despite what you may think, I do have some consideration for your potential eye strain.

Then I thought I would share footage of the “biggest Easter Egg hunt ever!” Because, frankly, if I don’t post a picture of the child at this house soon, I may lose contact with my mother-in-law forever. Which would be tragic on many accounts, including the facts that I like her and the Parisian scarves she sends me.

HungryMan has my laptop and therefore all my pictures at work. Sorry Penny. Ava’s taking a spontaneous and self-prescribed nap. I don’t have any phone calls that I avoiding. So pictures or no, I have to grab this opportunity now.

So here we go.

Last week, my parents flew into town after a weekend in Florida. It happened to be my brother’s birthday, so we  planned to celebrate together before they drove back to Iowa. About an hour before the party, my mom called to invite Ava to drive home with them. We were planning to travel to their house on Friday, so they thought it would be a perfect opportunity for her to visit them by herself.

When HungryMan asked Ava if she would like to go, she tore off to her room in frenzy shouting, “I HAVE to start packing!”

“Ava, aren’t you going to miss us?”

“I’ll miss you very much…but i havetostartpacking RIGHT NOW!”

Needless to say Uncle Moose’s birthday dinner quickly transformed from a celebration to the most tiresome and cruel wait that Ava has ever endured. When a sugar-deprived four-year-old blows off a chance at birthday cake, you know there must be an urgent and pressing matter.

A matter of switching her booster from the Saab to the Zephyr. Also a matter of transferring all her lovies, snugglies, books, crafts, and blankets in what could only be described as a frightening fast-forward version of Trading Spaces.

Thus they began their four and a half hour journey of Alan Jackson hymns and Culver’s sign spotting. It’s a pity I couldn’t travel with them.

Now I have a strong aversion to fast food, which has lead to varying degrees of starvation on more than one road trip. I do, however, enjoy a Culver’s ButterBurger on occasion.

Plus, their kid’s meals come with tokens for free ice cream and actual prizes. Not prizes which are really trash carefully disguised as molded plastic. So while most American children clap their hands when they see the golden arches, mine cheers when she spots the big blue sign.

The next morning, Ava hopped into my dad’s truck and pointed to the steering wheel as he buckled her in.

“Papa, you got your truck from Culver’s. Didn’t you, Papa?”

“What?”

“It’s from Culver’s. Right? Look, it says Culver’s.”

He must of saved a lot of tokens for that prize.