You know what happens when you don’t write for a few days and decide to do reruns like you’re “Sanford and Son” or “Joanie Loves Chachi”?
The portion of your brain that generates mediocrity on a daily basis shrivels up to the size of nothing, rendering you completely incapable of composing even your usual brand of okay.
So you will sit and watch women’s gymnastics for hours while trying to come up with something of interest to share and become completely distracted by all the various hair clippies that gymnasts use to hold their hair back. Why all the different colors? Why is there not more hair accessory coordination?
I think I may have just realized why I was never a serious athlete.
Anyway, last week Gulley and I took the kids on a little road trip to Bryan/College Station, but without the College Station part. We had every intention of visiting the A&M campus in our continuing quest to ensure that we are sufficiently brainwashing our children to become members of the Fightin’ Texas Aggie classes of ’24, ’25, and ’27, but there were too many obstacles in our way.
We were initially a little concerned about making the trip because we were heading right in the path of Tropical Storm Edouard. There were predictions of torrential rain and fifty-five mile an hour winds that turned out to be a light mist and a slight breeze.
Oh meteorologists. You kill me with your enthusiasm and predictions of Armageddon.
Fortunately for us, but not for the credibility of any meteorologist in Texas, Edouard turned out to be a big fat nothing.
We arrived at Gulley’s mama’s house just in time for dinner on Tuesday night. She had made us a home cooked dinner of barbecued brisket, baked beans, and twice-baked potatoes. I wanted to cry from all the happiness. There is nothing in the world I like more than a good home cooked meal that I didn’t have to cook.
Caroline had a cough that started on her birthday and, by the time we got to Bryan, it had turned into a full-blown cold. She had a low-grade fever and just didn’t feel that great, plus Jackson was getting over strep. Basically, our energetic bunch was content to hang out at the house and play with Gulley’s mama’s new puppy.
So that’s what we did.
And, actually, it was really nice.
We headed back home on Thursday and accomplished something heretofore unattainable. We made the entire three hour drive without making one stop.
Do you hear what I’m saying? Three hours. Three kids ages six and under. No stops.
Gulley and I both later admitted that each of us had to go to the bathroom about twenty minutes into the trip, but there was no way one of us was going to be the reason we had to stop.
Neither of us could endure that kind of shame.
The failure would have caused us to feel like a meteorologist.