Today I decided to hit the highway and go to Palo Alto and see my dad. With Christy in tow we hit the road at 8 am. Just before 10 we arrived. I kid you not... I walked into my dad's room and my phone rings. A number I know very, very well. The school. Joe has wet his pants. Every person that I can think of to help me is in the room with me 70 miles away from where I need them and myself to be.
I call daddy and off he goes to rescue Joe. Joe was unsavable. He's a mess. A little sad needs to go home. I get home just after 2 and wisk him off to the doctor to check out the mysterious stomach ache, sore throat. The throat thing is allergies, the stomach ache probably his Papa being in ICU for nearly a month. A pep talk and flu shot and we race to soccer practice. It was dads and brothers against the team. The team won. In the car we head to dinner, then showers, homework and I am beat.
I have a lab exam tomorrow, fund raiser out the wha zoo (anyone want to buy Cold Stone pies?) and a dog eating ever piece of plastic she can find and honey I got plastic around this house.
So my dad looked better and I think he might be on the road. I hope. He was not as agitated today. Still talking crazy in his sleep but when he was awake he wasn't. It was worth the drive to see him.
Oh and if the VFW calls me one more time to ask me to buy magazines I am going to go insane.
I am going to try to get these boys into bed. I know it's only 8 but I think our bodies think it's still 9, it's worth a try.