Change in plans

Darin went to Vegas "for work". Our daycare was closed at the same time. My wonderful outlaws were nice enough to offer to take the kids FOR DAYS while he was gone so I could have some time to myself.

I almost declined. Why? Total and complete dependency and dysfunction, naturally.

Diane said to me "just take it!" and I thought about it and I said to myself "duh, just take it!"

And so I did.

The girls had a far better time getting fed ice cream and going to amusement parks with adoring grandparents than they would have at home. With a mom who's had it "up to here" and making them pick up after their messes and what not.

And then, as life would have it, I got a awful throat infection. Couldn't get out of bed. Darin had to make me doctors appointments from Vegas. I couldn't swallow, eat, or open my eyes the pain was worse than labor.

I realized I needed the village of grandparents and could not have survived without them.

I eventually went to the wonderful ENT doc that performed Lily' surgery a few years ago.

He put me on some wonderful drug and I am cured.

Our vacation for the following week, however, was cancelled due to my condition.

Alls well that ends well, however, because 4th of July weekend was spent with me on the mend and unexpected home time, just us 4.

Our vacation was easily rescheduled.

We spent our time cooking and playing, just us.

I have repeated the just us, part, I know.

Sometimes (like Easter) it takes something unexpected for us (me) not to fill our life with plans and allow for The Lowe Family Circus to be just that and nothing more.

So we went to the pool.

And Taste of Lombard







And even took our kids to the late night entertainment of Slaughter.


I am for realz here.


Slaughter had one really big hit song in the 90's.


I don't know what it was.


The music was so bad we left before we heard it.


BUT


for the first two songs, D had a beer and I had a cranberry ice something or another.


And our kids jammed out with the Harley-ish folks around them.


We came home at a respectable hour.


Smelling like funnel cakes.


Dizzy on rides.


We walked to the car holding hands in a foursome line and singing our own songs,


in Slaughter-ish yell.


And it was the best weekend.