Haunts
I try to torture the kids with trips down memory lane whenever I can. While we were in Southern Oregon, I was sure to point out the place Daddy proposed, where our old house was, where we met. Lexi was polite and would at least look the direction I was pointing. Like she cared. I will give her that.
Monday night, we went to see Charlotte's Web at a renovated historical theatre near my old college stomping grounds. When the last little spider flew away and I dried my eyes (I admit it), we walked next door, to Flying Pie Pizzeria . I knew the kids would not care about all the times I came here while I was in school - the dates, the times with my friends, dressed up as cheerleaders or stuffing our shirts like pregnant ladies, being silly and having a great time. (I went to a Christian college. In lieu of booze or drugs, we opted for dress-up and pranks. Wholesome. Or dumb. You decide.) But I knew no one in my family could pass up the ooey, gooey so they indulged my nostalgia, played along - and begged to come back again.
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