Welcome to Fat City.

We are back from our sweet little vacation in Branson, MO – America’s Show Capital a.k.a. the G’s stomping grounds. The Branson airport looks like a log cabin. How have you not have visited this place yet?  A LOG CABIN? COMBINED WITH AN AIRPORT? Amazeaballs.

 Ellis enjoyed his first flight – and since there were approximately -2 people on the plane, he even got his own seat. Not that it really mattered since he crawled all over the entire time but it was fun to strap him in like a little man for .05 seconds. We also pumped him full of food so his head didn’t explode. And then he threw up. I guess we should have seen that coming.

The purpose of the trip was to spend time with the G and take care of estate matters (cue Debbie Downer “wah wah”.) Mrs. S made the trip from Phoenix to kick it with EK and high-five the rest of us. Ellis totally didn’t get any attention. 
Upon arrival Ellis spotted his new pool. I know, it’s pretty amazing and you wish you had your own pool. Unless you do have a pool. In that case he won’t trade you because he loves his pool.
Such a baller. 
While in Branson, we went to the Walmarts (a.k.a. “fat city” according to the G), got ice cream from a shop that shared a door with a residence and met my grandpa’s angels. 
The angels have been taking care of the G as far back as six years ago when both Ho-Hos were working on their bikini bodies for summers at Table Rock Lake. As expected, the winged-lovelies (RNs) had heard a lot about little EK and seemed fairly enamored (if not a little amber alerty) about the baby.
Ellis working on his guns.
Note to mom – Ellis is not so into Ozark men
I am currently eating frozen yogurt out of the carton.
Mr. Swirley worked a bit on the G’s house since it is up for sale and I did nothing except for force little EK on big EK. I don’t think the G minded too much. Especially when he had his hearing aid turned off. Which is always.
Matching shirts courtesy of L & L

Partaking in some sort of man project.
Friday we left for O’hare and didn’t have the easiest flight back. But our real return to reality happened when I had a little run-in with Ho-Ho Sunday night. We took a late-night family trip out to Oak Park to rescue a $300 car key I left at her place. As we left, she handed me an envelope and told me it has something to do with Roswita (her Swiss friend). I opened it up and inside was packet of Swiss-Miss hot chocolate. I knocked on her door and asked her to tell me what I was supposed to do with the packet. She gave me a knowing look and told me to “read the package.” Obviously it is a coded message about Ms. Swiss Roswita. Not a packet of hot chocolate someone thought she might enjoy and left in her little inbox next to her door. Then today she told me she stopped taking her Ritalin because it wasn’t working and now she is sleeping all the time. Who would have thunk you would be tired if you stopped taking a drug that helped keep you awake?
Oh Branson, I miss you so.
Chickie Chickie Parm Parm.

Wise words? Bring it.