We arrived home yesterday afternoon from Georgia. I survived the four-hour plane ride. Just barely. During hour three, Brad told me my breath stunk and I told him I hated him. This was right about the time Sloan decided to double her hell-raising quotient.
She had lots of fun trying to pull apart Beatty’s lovingly created Lego vehicles and then throwing all the important little pieces on the ground. She also liked laying on the nasty airplane carpet. And pushing her feet REALLY HARD against the seat in front of us. And digging out the garbage someone had put in the seat pocket in front of us. Then to top it all off she had to grunt one out, and that poopy diaper was so much fun to change while having her stand on top of the tiny airplane toilet.
Skittles come in handy with a two-year old on an airplane, and I’ve learned how to stretch one bag out for an entire plane ride to Atlanta. Sloan prefers to lick them, which can stretch one Skittle out for at least five minutes.
Oh, and did I mention that Sloan, who had taken off her shoes and socks on the flight, decided that she must walk through the Salt Lake airport BAREFOOT or else she was going to scream and cry and fall out on the ground like a limp bag of bones? So I just let her. I know this is trashy. I know it’s also kind of gross. But we had already touched so many nasty things on the airplane that I figured we should just keep the germ bonanza rolling.
Next time we travel we will have to pay for a seat for both the young uns, and I’m secretly kind of glad. Airplanes just feel way too tight when a six-year old and a two-year old are crawling all over you.
Do you blame me for downing at least seven gin and sodas last night? No, you do not.
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This is what Griffin pretty much looks like. I don’t know how the hell people find their way around there, because the roads are all crazy and not very organized (thank you, Mormon pioneers) and you have no mountains to guide you and give you a sense of direction.
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My mother-in-law’s backyard. Beatty and Uncle Shane and cousin Tanner would go back in the woods towards the back of the property and hunt deer. Yes, they had a rifle. Yes, it is legal to shoot a deer in the backyard. CRAZY.
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I have to include these pictures of the front of their property…because last year’s tornado just devastated it. Four hundred old trees where knocked over, destroyed, uprooted. You used to not be able to see my mother-in-law’s house from the road – now it has basically been wiped clean. So sad.
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One of my favorite things to do in Georgia. Buy the lottery scratch ticket. Because one time I won seventy-five bucks, and that was A GOOD DAY. Charlie Sheen is right. Winning is awesome.
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This is your typical dinner in Georgia. Except they call it supper. This is what some people call “normal” food, because anything else is kind of exotic and weird. This is what people go to buffets for, and it sort of mystifies me. I saw one man who went back to his table with a plate piled high with just fried chicken. Damn, that was a lot of fried chicken.
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But all of that is OK, because Sloan just loves her male kinfolk. LOVES THEM. And they would carry her around and spoil her with popsicles and let her snuggle with them on the couch. She was in hog heaven.
I would eat country cooked suppers every day and lose all my money on scratch tickets just to get to spend time with Brad’s family. They are so much fun. And actually, some fried green tomatoes sound pretty good right about now. I bet they would kill this hangover FAST.