A (more than) three hour tour

Oliver, Lucy, and I went to see my parents in Georgia last weekend, the same afternoon that Grandma Kay had to go home, too.  The trip is normally three hours on the dot, if there's not a lot of traffic and I don't have to stop to clean up dog barf.  This was not to be on this trip, though.  Around fifty miles out of town was an enormous sinkhole on I-24E.  The eastbound interstate was closed, and the traffic was rerouted through a tiny rural town for almost 10 miles.  The delay was two hours.  I had timed the trip so that most of the driving would happen while Oliver was napping.  So when he was the most tired for his nap, we were in stop-and-go traffic.  He woke up and fussed most of the way through.  I, on the other hand, had a crisis situation (one that will not surprise my sister) detailed on the other blog.

Oliver cried and slept on an off the last two hours.  It was awful to hear, but I knew we couldn't stop long enough with the dog in the car (on a warm day) to really give him any relief, so I thought it would be better to just get there.  We were both very happy to arrive.

Oliver spent the weekend playing with mom and dad's vastly more interesting array of toys and traipsing around the beautifully landscaped outside.  He visited my dad at school, played reluctantly in the wooded area behind their house (liked: tossing stones in the creek; disliked: falling in the water), and really enjoyed the playground in the neighborhood.  He got really upset when I took him to the nursery at church on Sunday, but the woman working in the room said he calmed down pretty quickly.

The trip home was, mercifully, much easier.  Lucy did not barf (which she did on the way down), Oliver napped and sat happily, and the whole thing was over in around three hours.