On Thursday I packed up the kids and we flew to Northern Michigan to visit my family.
The trip was mostly uneventful, if a little squished.
My squishedness was caused by one brassy-blond-woman-in-23E. Here's what I have to say to HER: if you insist on reclining your seat, at least glance over your shoulder first to check out the situation of the unlucky soul BEHIND you.
Namely, me trying to fold 74 inches of body into three square feet of space while tending to small children who, every five minutes, need something fetched from the backpack which rests directly under your lolling head.
And if you MUST maximize your space by hogging up a large chunk of MINE, at least ease down slowly and do not slam yourself back after beverages have just been served.
There. I feel better now.
The little corner of Michigan where my parents live is pastoral. There's no more appropriate way to describe it.
You know you're in the country when you can instantly locate a brush pile taller than a silo.
And a silo.
And a huge, steaming heap of manure.
Just kidding about the steam. There's no livestock on my parents' land.
But there are sunflower fields.
And overturned wheelbarrows (that I didn't even stage for this particular photo shoot).
And chocolate chip zucchini bundt cake my mom made that is safe for Fruit Bat (and delicious too!)
And, over yonder, pig roasters sitting in people's yards
While we're here, I fully expect to sit entranced, drunk on sunshine and contentment while watching Fruit Bat and Kitty Cat frolic in grassy fields, to get lots of sleep (up in the hayloft) and to catch fireflies in a jar. Coming across a maiden milking a cow would be icing on the cake.