For which I am grateful. No, really. I am. Except it rained. And you know, I'm grateful for that, too. Except that when it rains at the cabin, you cannot get out on the county roads (dirt roads) without your car going into a ditch. I knew I had to be back in town by at least 3 pm today to go to a dance rehearsal, so when Nolan wakes up, he calls his parents to drive to Childress (2 hours away) and come get us. They skip church, and do it. They're sweet people.
But I've skipped ahead of myself. On the way down, Katie Bell decides that she's going to get into the dog food that we've brought (Enough for 2 dogs to eat for 3 days) and EATS IT ALL IN ONE SITTING. That leaves Katie with a stomachache for the weekend (I'll let you imagine the ensuing mess - none of which I had to clean up, thankfully) and poor Abbey with nothing.
So the dogs are already antsy for different reasons, though otherwise Saturday was uneventful. I went for a leisurely walk (got the bejeezus scared out of me by a covey of quail), pondered writing, took a loooong nap and made dinner, watched television, and was generally happy. SUNDAY (henceforth known as the DAY o' DOOM), however, was NOT. Nolan went out Saturday evening to get dog food, and came back in 10 minutes, not even able to get off of our 600 acres (which, in Texas is not a ranch. It's a 'place.' Though we have cows. And fields of crops and stuff.)
Anyhow, Sunday morning finds me dragged out of bed and getting the cabin ready to vacate before I've even had a proper cup of coffee. As it turned out, we couldn't even take Nolan's car to meet his parents, we had to take the 4 wheel drive mule: no sides, a plexi windscreen and canvas top, in the pouring rain 4 miles to meet his folks, who were waiting for us at the nearest paved road. The boys serenaded us with the Aggie's song from Whorehouse.
Ethan and AJ. "One more mile until we get to heeeeeaaaaven...."
Nolan. (looks at me - sotto voce) We're going to hell.
Me. (sighs) It appears so.
Nolan. And for once, you're driving the bus.
Me. Concentrate on the road, mule boy.
Abbey had to ride in the open back. She was, to say the least, displeased. As was I.
At this point it was 11 am. Wet, muddy and cold, the six of us (eight including Nolan's parents) loaded into their car and began the trip home. Nolan got a call about 3 seconds after we got in the car that a customer needed help in Childress. Since we were only about 10 miles away, we did that, and then backtracked to Amarillo. I hadn't eaten and neither had the boys, but we waited until we were 45 minutes from home to stop at a Sonic (where my poor FIL had to order for all 8 of us. Would have been hysterical if I weren't tired, wet, muddy, cranky, cold, caffeine-deprived and carsick). I felt less homicidal after a diet coke and a salad, but still not dry. Or clean. I had mud everywhere. On my face, my clothes. IN MY HAIR. The dogs had to be hosed off when we got home. Poor Abbey must think that was the crappiest vacation EVER.
Let's just say it wasn't Florida.
And then I went to a dance rehearsal where I got sweaty, tired, and sore. Turns out that it was the highlight of the day.
You know what folks? THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME.
A truer word was never said.