How Not to Hook Up With a Blogger Buddy

So, I'm hanging out on Twitter last Friday and what do I see but an entry from Miss Britt:

so apparently I'm driving 10+ hrs to Nashville tomorrow. Oh! Hi! Surprise! (holyshit i have alot of laundry to do in the next 16hrs) Panic.

What I saw was Nashville. Yeah. Britt? Lives in the Orlando area. To go from Orlando to Nashville, Britt and her family traveled this route:


Which meant she would pass within a few miles of Casa de CMG. So, of course I demanded that we meet for lunch 'cause dang it, if you're coming within five miles of my house, we're hooking up! She agreed (because you know, I'm pitiful when I whine and beg) and on Sunday, on her way back from dropping off her kids with their grandparents, Ty-man and I got together with her and her husband Jared for some exciting lunchtime craziness at Cracker Barrel. On a Sunday. With three kids in tow. I'm such a masochist.

This particular Cracker Barrel is just off of exit 271 (when speaking of I-75 in Georgia). So I told Britt on Sunday morning to call us when she and Jared had reached mile marker 290. Nineteen miles would give us plenty of time to load up three kids and 15 pounds of crap* into the minivan.

At about 10:45AM, I get a text message from Britt that they're stuck at mile marker 300 in stand-still traffic. Crap. That's the never-ending construction on I-75 south. Nothing new. So, I text her back that we can always meet at the Cracker Barrel off of exit 290, quicker for her but not-so-quick for us. But in order to beat the Baptist lunch crowd and fight construction, this will probably be our only option.

No response. I call and leave a message. No response. I see that she's on Twitter wondering if I've received her texts. I go upstairs to dry my hair and suddenly, there's Ty-man behind me shouting over the hair dryer, "They're at mile marker 280!"

Holy crap! Only nine miles! Load up the kids! Put on their shoes! Change J-man's diaper! I'll be there in a minute, 'cause I'll be damned if I let her see me with wet hair!

It was like Keystone Cops in this house. Ty-man and the twins are in the minivan with seatbelts flying. I'm changing J-man's diaper while simultaneously putting on my shoes and brushing my hair. I'm racing downstairs grabbing the 15 pounds of crap (thankfully packed up earlier) and my cute little purse with J-man precariously hanging off my shoulder. He gets chucked into a seat, Ty-man throws himself into the driver seat, and I'm racing around for lipstick.

Finally we pull out of the driveway and are at the Cracker Barrel in under ten minutes (just enough time to apply said lipstick, check my hair, and chew up two mints). As we wade through the Sunday crowds, we see Britt and Jared walk over. They had thankfully put in our party of seven (SEVEN!!!!) and within moments we had a table (which took ten minutes to get to because of all the God-fearing church-goers who had invaded the restaurant).

As we shouted over the din and juggled conversation, catching up, and feeding kids (not to mention a fussy Bubba who decided the mens' room was too terrifying to pee in), it was all over in just an hour. We said our good-byes and wished Britt and Jared luck as they traveled toward home and three weeks without kids, thankful we got this quick chance to see one another.

And wouldn't you know it? None of us took any pictures. At all. But that's OK. I don't need a picture to remember beautiful, fresh-faced Britt sitting next to me and watching my kids, missing her own.

They'll be back before you know it, doll, and thanks for the hook-up! Nice meeting you Jared!

*(Definition of crap in relation to this post: diapers, Desitin, wipes, potty seat, Clorox wipes, pull-ups, 1 place mat, 3 sippy cups, 1 container of Cheerios, 4 books, and 3 toys. I'm nothing if not pre-friggin'-pared.)