On Friday morning, bright and early, I throw a week and a half worth of clothes for seven people in the van (7×12 = 84 outfits. Be still my beating heart. We’ll take less and wash laundry. I’ve learned to limit them to packing in their backpacks or our gas mileage will suffer from the weight they attempt to bring.) and we drive ten hours to South Dakota to my parents’ home.

Pray for me on Friday?

It’s a trip we’ve made many times. The kids are champion travelers. We’ve exacted our technique to a science. (Except there’s no Taco John’s on our trip until the miles past lunchtime. That would make it perfect. I haven’t had Taco John’s in months and months and months.)

It still fills me with a bit of dread. The worse case scenario, followed by a multitude of other scenarios, fill my brain each time we go.

But, when we get there, I get a day of rummage sales shopping with my mom. A day of sheep shearing that the kids get to be a part of. A visit with good friends whose children fall into friendships with my children like it hasn’t been months/years since we’ve seen them last. A camping trip to North Dakota is on the schedule, and the kids are beyond excited about that.

Ruby tells Blaine he needs to tell the teacher at his work that he needs some days off so he can come with us. If only it were that simple. (Where the teacher idea comes from instead of a boss, I haven’t figured out. For weeks she’s been calling the awful wormlike seed structures falling from the trees ‘mancha’. We couldn’t figure it out. Found out friends told her that’s what they are. In the end, I think she’s saying a version of ‘mulch’. Cheap entertainment, I tell you, when we all sit around and try to figure out what Ruby means. Fun times.)

When we get back, we potty train Pierce. Posts to come that will be greatly anticipated, to be sure. A battle of wills may ensue, knowing this boy.