Needing a little escape, I sneaked out to lunch with Suzanne today, and nobody even knew I was gone. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, to tell you the truth. There were no messages on the machine when I got back, so I wasn’t missed. That’s good, but maybe the Boss should know how badly I need to get out of this house for an hour or two every so often.

That’s not asking for too much, is it? In fact, I’m just as productive when I’m out to lunch as I am when I’m here and getting interrupted every ten minutes. It’s a whole lot more fulfilling to have lunch (and, sigh, an adult conversation) with my sister than it is to be feeding kennel billings into the fax machine over and over because the machine at the other end keeps jamming. That’s what I told the Boss, too.

Well, in my mind I told him that. I didn’t actually talk to him at all today, so I can’t be sure how he reacted when I told him.

As a philanthropic gesture, Suzanne and I stopped by Tammy’s house on our way back from lunch to rescue her from her kids. I guess I haven’t mentioned it in a few days, but Tammy is still pregnant, and she’s painfully uncomfortable in too many ways to mention (not that I’d mention anything quite that personal). She was having a time with D.J. and Dakota, who don’t go back to school for at least another week.

We picked up the boys and then Suzanne brought me home. Dakota was confused when he saw me. “Uncle Mike’s green car?” he asked sweetly. I told him it was at my house, and we were going to ride in Grandma Sue’s red car. He gets to do that a lot these days.

The two of them sang a harmony duet of a Travis Tritt song all the way to my house. Over and over and over. I can sort of see why they might drive Tammy a little batty, but I kind of liked it. I might have even encouraged it a little too much, since I got to get out of the car and Suzanne still had to continue on with them to her house.

The song, by the way, was “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive,” and D.J. faithfully reported that when David heard the song yesterday, he said, “Shut up, Travis.” I have to hand it to the kid. He knows when he hears something funny. (By the way, he wouldn’t say “shut up” in front of Suzanne and me. He said, “That bad word that starts with ‘sh-’ and ends with ‘-ut up.’”)