And that song is "T-R-O-U-B-L-E," if anyone now wants to watch it... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w3Ms1IE6M3s&feature=related.
The fun all began at 7:30 am on Saturday... when I woke up. I blame the LJ for sleeping in-- I never even set my alarm clock anymore, because by 5:30am one of the two of them is always awake, generally LJ. Not so this morning!! At 7:30 I sat bolt upright with a horrible feeling that we had slept through the surprise party for my grandmother in Maine. It wasn't that late-- we didn't need to leave until 10, but Elijah and I still had a Dunkin Donuts date and wading through the Market Basket chaos before we could even head out. We came, we saw, we conquered... and by conquered I mean we ate a LOT of donuts-- for a skinny little blondie, Elijah can put down his weight in donuts. About 9:45 (we Nimon men believe in not wasting any time in between events) we pulled into our little Court when it started to feel like a was driving a tractor. For anyone that cares, I've never driven a tractor, nor have I been within fifty feet of one; it's just how I imagine driving a tractor would feel, because it took all my strength just to hook the car left and park it. That's right-- with ten minutes remaining to load up the car and fly off to Maine (or risk ruining the 'surprise' part of a surprise family gathering), we were carless. Foreshadowing: At this point, I thought to myself, "Gee, this is the worst thing that could happen to me today." And I would be really, really wrong.
So with no time and no options, we thought outside the box. After all, what's more fun (to Elijah and Judah, not to us creaky-boned adults) than riding a truck an hour and a half on the interstate? So I emptied $5000 worth of tools out of my truck into the kitchen (I almost took a picture, but the sight out a kitchen filled with power tools was just so sad) and replaced them with what seemed like $5000 worth of baby junk... I think it's what the Queen always dreamed a weekend's worth of vacation would be: riding in a romantic vehicle (a beater truck with no shocks) with her husband and kids, complete with pine and cedar shavings throughout, an incredibly whiny Judah, and the fact that a bit of rain would ruin all our clothes, which were now in the open bed of the truck. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a romantic picture not even a good rain could ruin.
That theory was immediately put to the test, when it started raining 15 minutes into our epic adventure. "Do you think the clothes will blow out onto the highway?" the Queen asked me at one point, once Judah had finally fallen asleep. "No," I replied. "But it wouldn't really matter-- they're going to be soaked anyway." Fortunately, I was wrong-- the rain stopped within five minutes, we smiled indulgently at the lines at the toll as we cruised through with our EZPass, and we were only twenty minutes late to the rendezvous point off the highway where about fifteen of us met up to form a caravan to travel the last ten minutes to my grandparents' house. Then fateful event number two happened.
It's my theory that all things start with a single act-- for example, as you read tomorrow's edition, think what would have happened if my mom had stayed leading the caravan instead of trying to turn the wrong way in a supermarket parking lot. I swerved around her, wondering where she was going, and in doing so found our little family leading a six-car caravan down the road-- and that's when the fun REALLY started. Stay tuned.
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