Day 2151 Juniors Farm

 Some days I struggle to find something to write about, search for a photo to inspire me, or rack my brain for a story to share. Other days, well… where to start?! This was one of those days, so I’ll do my best to throw it all into some sort of thread that makes sense...if that’s even possible.

The day started early, and for reasons I can’t explain, I had it in my head to tackle the ever-growing water bottle battle. I think most people will agree: like vases and Tupperware, water bottles seem to multiply overnight. Before you know it, you’re staring at fifty of them with nowhere to put them. I gathered every one I could find, lined them all up on the kitchen table, selected a few favorites, and when Tim woke up, much to his dismay, he was asked to do the same. We each chose five (probably too many), but after saving our favorites, the rest filled a garbage bag destined for Goodwill. Phew… one job done!

Then, as if struck by a moment of temporary insanity, I moved on to the closet under our basement stairs, pulling out toys, nonsense, and all kinds of stuff that at some point seemed important. I emptied the space to store pellets for our stove, figuring it was a much better use of space than whatever clutter had taken over. Some things did get set aside, like a bin of G.I. Joes complete with a cache of weapons and clothing… I’m sure my son will want those someday!

I had to put my cleaning frenzy on pause because Tim and I had a very important date in Stamford. Two of our grandsons were having their birthday party, and although we dreaded the drive, we wouldn’t have missed it for the world. The drive to Stamford is always a nightmare, traffic, crazy drivers—and this time we added a snowstorm to the mix. We were almost there when we bailed and stopped at a rest area to gather ourselves and grab a bite to eat. As I stood looking out the window at the storm, I heard someone call my name. To my surprise, it was someone I know from town. Imagine running into each other two hours from home at a highway rest stop! We chatted for a bit, then Tim and I were back on the road, battling the storm and amazed by the amount of traffic on a Saturday.

The kids were happy to see us, and we both took turns holding the new baby, so hard to put that tiny one down! We watched the boys tear into their presents, trying to play with each new toy as quickly as they opened it, and enjoyed some precious playtime before we had to face the dreaded ride home. Thankfully, it wasn’t snowing on the way back. Tim had prepped with coffee and a Red Bull, while I planned on napping. Luckily, I slept peacefully as he listened to football on the radio and navigated the highway.

I woke up just as we hit Rhode Island, and we both agreed we’re officially too old to do that drive in one day. Next time, there will be a hotel involved. Two miles from home, trip almost done, and suddenly we saw the red and blue lights of a police car. Yup, pulled over in the final minutes of our journey. Ugh.

The officer approached the car and immediately asked Tim if he was a veteran. He has had veteran plates for a few years now, and we both agree they’re worth it! After asking where we were coming from, I told her we were returning from our grandson’s birthday party in Stamford, Connecticut. I swear I could see empathy in her eyes at that moment, and I knew we weren’t getting a ticket. Veteran plates, exhausted Grandparents. Clearly not the URI hooligans she had expected to pull over. She returned with the registration, told Tim to slow it down, and sent us on our way.

Truth be told, it was Paul McCartney’s fault. Tim was jamming to Juniors Farm, and we all know that song  makes anyone drive faster! We finally made it home, me crashing straight into bed while Tim, still buzzing from his coffee, Red Bull, and adrenaline, stayed up for several more hours.

Thank goodness neither of us has to go anywhere else this weekend. We’ll soak in the peace and quiet of home… and who knows, maybe I’ll even tackle another cleaning project or two.

“Home is the nicest word there is.” — Laura Ingalls Wilder