I'm not there

On Monday as I raced out the door to take Mr de Elba to catch his train so he could catch his plane so he could catch his shuttle bus so he could catch his boat so he could catch his golf buggy trailer thing so he could start his amazing Schoolies experience, my Crazy Sister called me.

As the phone rang, Mr de Elba called, "No no no no no!" but I answered it anyway, knowing that he would take another 5 mintues to get out of the house at any rate. Crazy Sister had some wacky plan and I remember saying, "Yes, yes, okay, whatever, let's talk later, thxvrymchgoawaybye!"

And I didn't think much more about it until I saw these words on her blog 24 hours later: "Today, I drove nearly three hours in the car with my kids."

Hm.

My parents' house is nearly three hours from her house.

I had a vague recollection, about as clear as a long-forgotten dream, that on Monday morning, Crazy Sister was hatching a plan for us to convene at Mum's house (okay, it's Dad's house too, but he just reads the paper, watches TV and gets mad at our kids) around Wednesday-ish.

I called. She was waiting for me. I was (at that stage) not planning to go.

Sigh.

I got off the phone, packed, picked up the kids from Aunty Awesome's house and did the trip to Mum's house.

So here I am. We are blogging together tonight. Our kids are all finally alseep. Dad has been getting mad at our kids. Mum made four salads and took off to a ladies' thing. Crazy Sister is claiming that her yawns do not mean that my blogging is boring her, but that they really mean that her throat temporarily needed widening.

I will log off and if you don't hear from me until Thursday or Friday, you can rest in the knowledge that all is well.

Except for Dad getting mad at my kids.