Last Friday, William and I got up and headed east. A birthday party for a four year old was slated on Sunday. It is early because the new baby is due in early August, which makes it difficult for a mama to plan a birthday party while recovering and taking care of a new baby as well.
William also got some cousin time, which is not common, since both of my grandchildren live on opposite sides of the state. Friday night, we took in a carnival and fireworks. Saturday, we went to the pool. Sunday was a party. Monday was a lazy day, a trip to the playground, a walk on the health trail. Tuesday was a chance for mom and dad to have a date night, one last date night before the new baby. William and Iris and I had a date night of our own, snuggled together on a bed to watch Tangled on William's portable DVD player, with the blinds down and the curtains drawn so that our glow in the dark bracelets glowed a bit more dramatically.
They both sprawled lazily and their laughter seemed quite nearly choreographed. The exact same things struck them as hysterically funny.
I was unbelievably happy to be sitting between the two of them, listening to that laughter. Could there be a moment any more perfect than that?
That's it really. I'm beat. Why does the trip home always seem to take longer?