I LOVE COMING HOME. I got here and the house looked pretty dark. I went to the doors - locked. I knocked profusely. Nada. Finally, I saw my dad through one of the windows and caught his attention. He came to the door.
"Sorry. I was watching Monk," he said.
"That's OK." My dad has a propensity for quirky detective characters. The entire Poirot series from PBS is in his possession.
"I'm the only one home," he explains somewhat sheepishly. "Dawson and Duncan are at Phil and Jake's. Your mom is dumpster diving."
My family rocks. Once we regrouped, we had ice cream, played euchre, and talked life. Dawson and I talked about being a high schooler, growing up, and all that comes with it until super late on the back porch. It's a great weekend, and Drew isn't even home yet.
I know you may not care, but I want other people to know how totally cool the people I'm related to actually are. It's worth the drive (wherever you're from) to visit them.
