The kids and I loaded the minivan with luggage, snacks, Scooby Doo, and Rapunzel and we were on our way to pick up Grammy for our road trip to my sister’s in North Carolina.
I really wish I was on the letter P in my alphabet meme. Because if I were on the letter P, I’d tell you that P stood for:
Power struggles with the kids that existed only because Dad wasn’t present.
A near miss with poison ivy…for not paying attention. Frustrated mom with pursed lips.
P is for putting things in perspective, however. Preserving the good memories (and there were plenty) of the weekend.
Pretty, pink, princesses – meaning there were 4 girl cousins under the same roof, having so much fun).
(Even while sharing that roof with pesky boys)
Ploo Koon battle scenes (do I really know who or what a Plo Kloon is? I’m sure I misused the Star Wars reference) but Max and my nephew had a blast playing with SW Legos all weekend. Except for the times they picked on each other. Boys.)
Hey. Speaking of. P is for picking strawberries.
Posing on old tractors.
Panning for gemstones.
Petting baby chicks, bunnies, and ducklings.
Wonderful Easter Praise and Worship service at my sister’s humongo church. They had 5 services that were expected to be packed so we went to the Saturday evening service. It was so good and the kids loved the children’s program.
Going to Easter on Saturday evening has its plus side. First, there’s pizza afterwards. Then there’s the lingering Easter morning in our pajamas. Preparing a big meal that is low stress. Going to town with a Paas egg dying kit while the ham is in the oven.
Playing on the Slip and Slide.
Easter egg hunts with pink and white gingham baskets and Princess heels.
Final P’s. Are you tired of this?? Is this not the longest post ever?
P is for Chick-Fil-A.
Okay, P is for the playground at Chick-fil-A on the way home. It’s always nice to see that sign when hunger strikes and legs get antsy and know that both the play area and the bathrooms will be clean.
Speaking of bathrooms.
Finally, and I do mean finally, P is for, um, panic. On the way home, Mini had to go while we were sitting in bumper to bumper traffic on I-95.
P shoulda stood for planning. And Pull-ups.
But no. Sadly, P stands for pulling over. And preparing to position myself as a barricade so that she could squat in peace alongside an audience of onlooking SUVS and sedans (and who knows how many Facebook statuses).
Poor Mini. Poor me.
I was too late. Clean-up on Aisle Pretend-This-Isn’t-Really-Happening. Ahhhh! She needed to be disrobed immediately (we’re talking everything, t-shirt to sandal) and I SO wish I had a box of baby wipes instead of a single bottle of water and some flimsy tissues. And where in the world is my emergency bottle of Purell?
Oh yes. P is for Precious, PRECIOUS Easter memories on the way home.