I’m venturing to say that the phrase “There’s no place like home” was coined at 3 AM by a woman traveling alone with a 2 year old and a baby.
The boys and I went for a long weekend adventure to Greenville to attend The Indie Craft Parade with Aunt Lola. We left Daddy– who wasn’t thrilled to be left–with ties to match the shirts, and dinners covered in plastic wrap.
I stayed at my parents, who were out of town. READ: Oma who dotes on babies was gone and the toddler was sleeping in a “strange” bed in the same room as I. Let your imagination fill in the rest. Always one to let social-events win, I fudged on proper naps and bedtimes, lugging the boys about town and eateries. But what treats! We sampled the new-cool-place-to-be,Tandem (think smooth coffee and key-lime crepes), ate pizza at The Mellow Mushroom, sandwiched and souped at Panera. Celebrated a cousin’s birthday with brownies, ice cream and coffee, had my first #PSL of the season. Listened to Northanger Abbey, Pavarotti and Aloe Blacc. (It was a quick, last-minute library grab- what can I say?)
And then, the main attraction: the fair. Indie Craft Parade, 5 years old now, was started by people I was in school with. That’s how crazy-amazing my classmates are: changing the scene of the town. It’s a craft fair, but it could read as an art exhibit. In fact, I wish I could mosey along looking, touching, talking without that awkward “I’m not here to buy.” That, and the pressing crowds. (the downside of such a cool event)
Now, we’re home, and I’m back in the swing of things–which actually means, sometimes in the motion of accomplishment, and sometimes feeling overwhelmed by the simple act of getting out of bed and therefore putzing around with the tv on, make-up not on, and a mug of coffee taking regular trips to the microwave.