While the boys were in bed and bath respectively, J opened her suitcase and started unpacking. First thing out was the red-and-white box of Popeye's chicken. One of the few things I really regret about living here is that there is no Popeye's chicken franchise less than 3 hours away by car. Every trip we go on, back comes a box. When we used to visit the inlaws in Toledo, we'd pull in at the truckstop on the way from the Detroit airport. So even in the haze of sleep-deprivation that was taking care of almost four months and almost four years, J remembered to picky up a box of spicy chicken.
And I am a sentimental fool.