So, we're packing up for a trip to visit the grandparents' up in Butler. They have this gigantic pond, big enough for a paddle boat, possibly three, and so we go and float around on rafts and enjoy the sun in all it's cancerous glory. Steph and I packed up the girls, put them in the back seat, and we started NOT driving toward the highway.
"You're not going to go on 69?" (I know, the highway we drive on is a sexual position...)
"We're not going to visit your grandparents, are we?" I asked.
"Then where are we going?"
"Where do you think we're going?" Steph said.
"Are we going to Michigan City?"
"We are. We're going to Michigan City!" I said.
For two weeks I had this weekend in my head. Drive up north. Visit grandparents. Not worry about cooking. Let the girls, especially Fauna, play in the water. Play Hillbilly Golf.
When Steph writes messages on the mirror with dry-erase marker, everything was "take to grandma's" and she told me last Thursday how "she talked to grandma and they're free that weekend" and so I was excited to go on a short trip just to hang out.
And then we went a different direction. We were never going to grandma's, but Michigan City (where we honeymooned) to celebrate our anniversary. The hotel was reserved, the girls were going to stay at Steph's parent's house. All this was planned out and I hadn't a clue.