In the 36 hours since I officially became a grandmother, I have had more than my share of "duh" moments.
Yesterday I took my three youngest kids, Leah, Abbie, and Elijah, and the girls' friend Brooke to Virginia Beach for the day. We love the beach and always try to go one day before summer jobs start and the crowds hit. Why we picked the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend is beyond me, but that actually worked out pretty well. I feared horrible traffic (especially at the Hampton Roads Bridge-Tunnel), but we were pleasantly surprised by no heavier traffic than any other day. Gotta love that recession.
It was mostly sunny and around 75 degrees with a lovely, warm breeze. We had a great day swimming, building sand castles, sleeping on the beach (my personal favorite), and burying Elijah. We were very careful to cover everyone with sunscreen (that spray-on stuff is the bomb). But somehow in the chaos of making sure every inch of skin on all five of us was covered, my back got forgotten. Ouch. In cases such as these, leather seats are not your friend.
Then this morning, I got up to go to the commissary while the rest of the family headed to the church workday. I got home a few hours later, put all the food away, went to Walmart, came home, ate lunch, did laundry, and finally sat down on the couch. I wondered why I had such a bad headache, until I remembered that I had forgotten to drink my coffee this morning.
Did you read that?
I had forgotten to drink my coffee.
This has me a little worried.
Then, after talking to my mother-in-law this morning, I decided to text my sister-in-law the one, lone picture we have (hint, hint Deb) of Sticky Bean so she could show the MIL (the great grandma). I did so and a few minutes later received a text in reply.
"Congrats. Who is this?"
I laughed in disbelief, because everyone in the family is aware that we are new grandparents, and, hello, grandparents share pictures, right? I tried to send a smart-aleck reply, but thankfully, my phone is acting up and wouldn't send it. (I have to turn it off and back on to make it work sometimes. Not the greatest scenario if I'm being chased by hoodlums, but I deal with it.) This gave me time to think about why on earth SIL wouldn't know who the photo was of.
Then it dawned on me. I have the wrong number.
So instead of my snippy reply, I sent a "disregard the last text, I have the wrong number, etc." message.
Of course, at the end, I had to add, "ps. it's my grandson" because, hello, I'm a grandmother . . .
Be thankful ~