Chicken parmesan, penne with basil oil.
My parents had planned to join us for dinner tonight. We see them, and Chuck's folks, at least once a week. I think this is pretty great because when I was a kid, we never lived anywhere near my grandparents so we only got to see them a few times a year, tops--much less after we moved out here. The boys adore their grandparents and are always impatient for the next visit, even though it's never more than a few days since they saw each other last.
But after a weekend of travel to an out-of-town wedding (and a fancy schmancy one at that, I hear), they were pretty tired. My mom had caught a cold and wasn't feeling up to coming over. So around mid-afternoon, my dad called, presumably to cancel. Josh took the call. I heard only his end of the conversation:
Hi, Grandpa! When are you coming over?
Oh, really? But you can still come over, right?
Great! Be here at five. Bye!
Talk about a command performance. (Josh wasn't even here at five; he had soccer practice. I suspect he wanted to account for tardiness.) This should be a warning to all the grandparents: Stay healthy, or Josh will leave you by the side of the road. My father, being a dutiful grandpa, showed up as promised. At dinner, we amused the children with stories of various minor car accidents we were in as teenagers.
I sent extra chicken parm back so my mom doesn't have to cook tomorrow. I hope she feels better after a good night's sleep. If she can't come for Thanksgiving, you know who she's going to have to answer to, and it isn't me.