This weekend, we made a quicky trip up to the ROC for a memorial service for the Husband's step-father. He'd passed away this summer.
It was a lovely memorial, with a lot of great singing and heartfelt stories, which he likely would have enjoyed. What I'll remember most, however, is the road trip with both kids, who are of an age to be mostly enjoyable on road trips.
We made it in late-ish on Friday. The Tween had been awfully quiet. My neck hurts just looking at her.
Mr Hulk Hands did not look forward to having to sit still during the memorial. I might have let him know that if he didn't behave, nothing fun would happen until he was 30. Don't judge.
And after the service, the Flamenco!
And after after the service, drinks and snacks at The Old Toad, which is about as close as you can get to a British Pub while still in the states. This includes, of course, largely indifferent service and expertly fried proteins. The Tween was doing a little dance because she'd just Rickrolled her brother.
Then a long drive back home, where the stumpy dog let us know we were missed.