It was a typical day, and maybe worse: crayons, schoolbooks, loose papers, K'nex and pillows from the couch lay scattered across the living room floor; John Mark was typing frantically on the computer in an attempt to convince his literature teacher that he knows something about the Civil War; the little boys, having abandoned their math lessons, were squabbling over the last of the cheese slices for lunch; and I was working on lesson plans for co-op classes tomorrow. The doorbell rang. "It's State Farm!" the kids cried.
I trudged up the stairs. "Why would State Farm be at my house?" I wondered. We use Allstate. "Go to your rooms!" I hissed at the half-dressed boys, hoping that whoever it was would not have to enter the house. Counting my blessings that at least I was bathed and dressed, even if the little boys were not, I opened the door. It was my brother! I had to let him in, of course. Matt lives in Tennessee, but he travels all over the country for his job training catastrophe teams for State Farm, and is usually anywhere but home. When he realized he was driving right by our exit today, he stopped in. What a fun surprise!
We shoved the crayons and schoolbooks out of the way and chatted for a while. He climbed up on the roof to see what could be causing the leak in Becca's bedroom (because family ties trump insurance ties), and then we decided to throw schoolwork to the wind and go out to lunch at Wendy's, where Uncle Matt treated us all to burgers and fries. The kids were thrilled with this exciting interruption to an otherwise humdrum school day. The only let-down was that Uncle Matt was driving his work van, instead of his "cool car," as the kids call it. (Oh, the life of a bachelor...) After we parted ways and were headed back home, Philip said, "Thanks mom, for taking us to Wendy's!" "It was Uncle Matt's treat," I reminded him. "Oh yeah," Philip sighed. "Uncle Matt rocks!"
Why, yes, he does.