Pin It Okay, so my post is late.
I have a valid reason.
The dog ate all of my timepieces, including the little digital clock in the bottom right-hand corner of my laptop, and I had no clue that it was already a little past eight o'clock.
She was hongry.
Actually, I spent the morning hours driving around town (and a neighboring town) taking care of various things--the weekly bank trip, the post office, fundraiser collections, dog to kennel--so I could then spend several many more hours in the car as I made my way to grandmother's house for Thanksgiving. That's the kids' grandmother, my mom, who lives in Columbia, SC.
Normally, I make a four and a half hour trip just four hours. I'm special that way. No bathroom breaks and a respectable ten over usually does the trick. Today, though...what a day.
I had carefully planned on leaving Monday for SC and returning to VA on Friday, figuring that most families would have left either over the weekend or on Wednesday, and would be returning the following weekend. And I think I was pretty accurate in that...I only saw four cops and the traffic was fairly doable. Until, that is, I got to Charlotte, NC.
You see, my morning errands ran over just a bit, which unfortunately put me close to Charlotte around rush hour. If you've never been in or around Charlotte during rush hour, just close your eyes and imagine a Walmart parking lot on Christmas Eve. And there you have it: H-E-double hockey sticks.
My four hours ('cause I was making good time, people) quickly turned into five hours. We've all been there. It's adjusting your seat so you can stretch your legs and feet, rotating your ankles, which are screaming from all the back and forth brake and gas action, cracking your knuckles to relieve some steering-wheel-grip tension, and answering the same question from your eight year-old twenty times in the space of three miles. "No, Lawson, this is still North Carolina."
I won't even mention the various Morons who attempted, more frequently than I've ever experienced, to sideswipe me and push me off the interstate. I'm not sure what the problem was...I must've forgotten to remove my invisibility cloak before leaving home or something. At any rate, I very politely slammed on my brakes to allow the Morons to assume my position in the long line of cars we were currently in. And I didn't mouth anything about checking blindspots or putting your glasses on, or anything like that.
But we finally made it. We limped into Mom's driveway somewhere close to seven p.m., and made our way into the house, loaded down with bags and suitcases and as many of Lawson's thirty stuffed animals he couldn't live without. Mom was waiting. "There's my fat girl!" she screamed, throwing her arms around me and everything I was carrying.
I swallowed a retort. After all, I was cranky, hungry, tired and well aware that as the granddaughter of Myrtle Elliott, niece to four Elliott sisters, and daughter of the fifth, I was fair game for rude and insensitive comments regarding my weight and any fluctuation thereof.
I didn't have to wait long for more. "You have really gotten huge!" Mom said, a big smile upon her face. She curled her fingers around my bicep. "Even your arms!" I cringed inwardly. Rub it in, already. I can't do push-ups anymore, for Pete's sake.
The torture continued. "And I mean this as a compliment, but I have never seen your butt so big!"
A compliment? Really? "Thanks, Mom. Really. You do understand that my butt has to grow bigger in proportion to my stomach, right?"
"Well, I didn't mean--"
Lawson giggled. "Your butt is bigger?"
"Yes, Lawson. You see, you can't carry around this big ole belly Mommy's getting on scrawny little chicken legs. So my butt is getting bigger to help balance things out." He laughed.
"And you are aware that I am still a size six, right--my pre-pregnancy size?" Mom's eyes grew wide,
I sighed inwardly. Relatives. Gotta love 'em.
*Guys, I am so sorry this post is late! Mom's wireless is experiencing problems, so I am currently in PANERA Bread trying to get this posted...albeit late.