Last Friday I stuffed both kiddos in the car and headed south for a holiday weekend in the Garden State. The whole point was for Jeff to have a quiet empty house in which to rip up the kitchen linoleum. It took an hour just to get through Worcester (how depressing is that) and Charlie woke up screaming in Sturbridge, so we stopped at a McDonald's. Summer's Happy Meal toy was a tiny Madame Alexander doll--a boy doll, which I promptly exchanged for a girl, because, really, please, have you met my daughter Summer?
The epic rainstorm that is still going on right now, eight days later, began precisely as we were leaving the McDonald's, so we sprinted to the car. I stowed Charlie and then ran around to buckle Summer, rain soaking my back. When we were all three finally safe in the Volvo, Summer exclaimed, "Well that was refreshing!"
I laughed out loud and then called Jeff and told him what she said. And then called my mother. And then Allison. And then Julie. With each telling, the little sliver of guilt in my chest got pointier. To this day I can't stand it when I say something funny to my mother and then she goes into the next room and repeats it to whoever's in there. It's not that she's stealing my lines--she always credits me. I don't know why it bugs me, but it really does, and now I'm doing it to Summer. So I'm not going to do it anymore. At least, not within earshot of Summer.
When we returned, the linoleum was gone. 
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