This past weekend, Jim, the younger boy and I took a quick trip to Tennessee to hang with the in-laws. As a group, we didn’t have any set plans to speak of. (My individual dance card, however, was full: I had plans to lunch with my favorite Dad-of-triplets on Friday as well as a visit with Kate, Bean, and Squeaks on Saturday.) Overall, it was going to be one of those great, lazy weekends during which we wouldn’t do much except hang out. Pretty exciting stuff, because having no firm plans is a once-in-a-blue-moon thing for us.
About eight hours into the ten-hour drive, the younger boy leaned forward from the back seat and asked, “Um, what are we doing tomorrow?”
I told him I wasn’t sure, but probably nothing, to which he responded, “Oh, good! Well…I was wondering…could we go to the store to pick up the underwear I forgot to pack? Some socks would be great, too.”
I sighed. “Sounds like a plan.”