This past weekend was absolutely spectacular.
Spectacular, if you don't count the vomit, fevers, and general plague that has inflicted two of my three children, that is.
Sort of like saying, "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"
Lucky for us, these visitors were patient and fun, in spite of our less-than-stellar state of health.
We loved having Oma and Opa come visit. There was a forced photo shoot (by me), a treasure hunt, a World War II war medal internet search, and plenty of embarrassing stories told about the Husband.
Because the best thing about his mother? She remembers absolutely EVERYTHING and the kids cannot get enough of it. Who can blame them, what with juicy nuggets like the infamous tale involving a very manly pink baby blanket? Or the one where the Husband's face was left looking like hamburger meat after a bike crash?
What they don't realize, however, is that someday I will be proudly telling stories to their children, too. I think it's only fitting that I begin with this one.
Maybe by then I will have forgiven them.
But we took advantage of the near-perfect weather and headed to the town pool, where we sat poolside for hours. Those that were unwell, sat pitifully in the shade of a large umbrella. Those that were well, did lots of this for their captive audience's viewing pleasure:
Those that were named Stie did lots of this, merely for her own pleasure:
We truly loved having them here. It was a fantastic few days, and we're already wishing for more.
Coming later this week: The Yanni concert review, which introduced the world (and Oma) to her new Latin lover, as well as identity theft, i-Tunes style.
Trust me, you don't want to miss it.