I can't say I was especially looking forward to Thanksgiving this year, since it was going to be the first without Dad. However, based on how things ended up, Hubby and I opted to keep with our original plans and go to visit his family for the holiday.
With my folks so close, and Hubby's previous job obligations requiring us to stay home over Christmas, we have always alternated years regarding where we spend Thanksgiving. We were at his family's last year, as well, so that we could be back on a schedule of being with my family when more relatives attend the annual Thanksgiving brouhaha.
Now, since we live in rural PA, Thanksgiving is kind of a big deal. Well, not so much Thanksgiving itself, but deer season. So, our Thanksgiving break runs nearly a full week.
The kids were all excited about going to see Gramma Bevvie and the assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Middle informed me on Monday morning last week that Oldest had imperiously informed them that they had a two-hour delay for school on Wednesday, which she knows because she's Oldest, of course.
"No," I corrected. "You do not have a two-hour delay on Wednesday."
"But Oldest said we do."
"Oldest is wrong. It's silly to have a two-hour delay the day before Thanksgiving."
And I thought the matter was settled.
That afternoon, an email pinged in from the school district, and I immediately understood the confusion. This Wednesday, the schools dismiss two hours early because of the holiday break. Then, school is closed through Tuesday of the next week (deer season, people), and on next Wednesday, there is indeed a two-hour delay because of Act 80 teacher inservice training.
"We have a two-hour delay on Wednesday."
"No. You have a two-hour early dismissal on Wednesday."
"We have a two-hour delay tomorrow."
"No. You have a two-hour early dismissal tomorrow."
"We have a two-hour delay tomorrow!"
"No! You have a two-hour early dismissal tomorrow!"
"Do we need to set our alarms? We have a two-hour delay tomorrow."
It was a migraine salute moment. I performed said maneuver, pinching the bridge of my nose and closing my eyes. "NO. You have a two. Hour. Early. Dismissal. Tomorrow."
"Don't we have a two-hour delay this morning?"
It's a wonder I didn't screech in reply.
Lather, rinse, foam at the mouth, repeat.
Thanksgiving went well enough. We had a good time with my in-laws; the turkey was delicious, and lots of food was consumed. Middle and Youngest turned nine and were showered with presents. We made it a true family vacation after my mother-in-law took us out for Chinese on Saturday night, and Special Edition had an allergic reaction to (apparently) some crab legs she ate. There's a history of shellfish allergies in her family, so that's likely what she reacted to, but all the same, she had a bad reaction to something, which necessitated an ER visit that night, and another on our way home on Monday. Good times. (She's still itchy, poor thing.)
Tuesday morning rolled around, and...
"We have a two-hour early dismissal tomorrow."
Give me strength.
"No. You have a two-hour delay tomorrow."
Did it end there? Oh, heck, no. Hubby had to take Special Edition back to the ER Tuesday night because her hives had returned and nothing was easing them, so I tucked the kids into bed. That's when I noticed that Oldest's alarm was set.
"Why is your alarm set?"
"Your alarm. Why is it set? You have a two-hour delay tomorrow." I don't know about you, but I have no desire to be awakened by my pop-tart child at 6:45 a.m. when I don't have to be. When I know there's a two-hour delay, nobody sets their alarms.
"Oh! Right!" She jumped up to turn it off.
Next up, twins. Same thing. They had their alarm on too. I turned it off and our conversation repeated verbatim.
I know we had the same conversations more times than I've detailed here. I couldn't tell you how many times, though. I honestly lost count.