So it was certainly an interesting family weekend. After the Phone Call from my uncle on Friday, I talked to my mom. She and my flying biker brother* were heading off on an overnight hike this weekend and would be stopping in on Sunday. My dad was set to ferry them from where they came out back to the car. Now, without knowing my parents, you wouldn't automatically know that said ferry vehicle is a motor home. My dad loves that thing. He drives it everywhere he can. Coming up to watch Boy shoot arrows in Auburn? Drive the RV. A soccer game? A car would be too small and confining. Were we going to be home Saturday night, because if so, dad would like to come sleep in the driveway. We were, and he did. Girly slept out with him (Boy decided that 2 single camper beds was 1 to few-- no wonder he's earned a scholarship already!). He arrived around 5, took us to dinner, went to bed around 8, and left before 9. They did come visit as promised, and my brother gave the kids cash, just because he can.
After all this, I find myself seriously pondering what form of craziness will I embody after I turn 60?
*My brother went flying off a mountain bike trail this summer, leaving him with some broken vertebra, strained wrists, and other random injuries. Since he didn't like the medical instructions to lay low, he pretends they don't exist. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of the two of them heading off to tackle one of the hardest stretches of the AT at this point in time, but it was useless to even suggest they rethink the mission. Luckily my fears were not justified.