Early Saturday morning (like roll-out-of-bed-and-into-the-car-early), Dave and I were driving up the interstate with both kids in tow. We ate breakfast in the car, so I was in the process of loading caffeine and still groggy.
Dave, as he usually is first thing in the morning, was all happy and singing with the music up loud enough to drown out Ella.
Ella, like Dave, was also all geared and chattering non-stop at the top of her lungs.
Luke, in an effort to compete with Ella, was alternately hollering, "Mama!" and "Hussshhhh" when I responded.
I've mentioned before that I don't like to be spoken to in the mornings, right?
Anyway, about halfway through our drive, after thirty-ish minutes of coping with the music, and the singing, and the chattering, and the Mama-hushing, all at top volume, Dave asked me, "Where is Greece?"
Huh?
As my sluggish, over-stimulated brain processed that question, I wondered why he was asking me something so random. I looked at him weirdly and I replied, "On the Mediterranean."
He looked at me even weirder and said, "The CD."
Oh. Grease! The musical. For the loud singing. Right.
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