Dobby Goes to College and Other Weekend Wrap-Up Notes

Part of our adventure this weekend was bringing Dobby. Katy adores Dobby, Grant loves to tease him, and he can actually stay on campus with Lindsay at Lock Haven. In fact, I’m pretty sure the kids are happier to see Dobby than they are to see us. That’s true for Lindsay for sure and possibly also true for Carson, her boyfriend.

Dobby’s adventure began Saturday afternoon when the girls dropped him with Carson to hang out while they went dress shopping. He hung around with Carson and his boys in Fairview Suites; by the time Grant, Graham, and I met up with the party, Dobby was ready for a frat induction with Carson, Tanner, and Skinny Grant (Carson’s friend who is not our son). When we headed out to dinner as a family and with Carson and his mom, Dobby went with his new frat brothers, Tanner and Skinny Grant (and one other kid whose name I forget). After we ate, we headed back to Lewisburg to stay with Katy and Grant, while Dobby stayed with Carson and Lindsay. For Dobby, the party was only just beginning.

Lindsay called over Stella, one of her wrestling teammates, and Dobby and Stella became instant friends. Pretty soon Dobby was hard-core cuddling her, and it’s possible that Lindsay got a little jealous because when Stella said she wanted Lindsay to go to a party with her, Lindsay said Dobby had to stay behind with Carson. Dobby is used to going to bed around 10:30, but with Lindsay out all evening, Carson stayed up, and sometime around midnight, Dobby caught his second wind. Soon enough, he was barking at his bag, which contained his favorite ball. Carson doesn’t know the rules—he was obligated to take Dobby out for a game of soccer. Not knowing this and fearing that Dobby might wake up sleeping residents, Carson took him for a midnight walk on the dyke along the Susquehanna. Lindsay didn’t get back till two am. She has no roommate, so Dobby got a whole bed to himself, which is for the best since he is a major bed hog. The late night set him back—he had to be rousted out of bed at nine am to head to Lewisburg to meet us for breakfast and then to start home. So all in all, a good weekend for Dobby—picking up chicks, creating frat bro relationships, partying late, crashing in a strange bed.

I would have thought stuff was back to normal today, and for a while it appeared that way. I drove Graham to school while Lauren took Dobby for his walk. When I got home, I joined them for the final mile, then took Dobby for a four-mile run. Lauren headed out to the office as we arrived back home. I came home and found the dishwasher stuffed to the gills, so I started it. Then, I went upstairs and my blood ran cold. There it was in the middle of our bedroom. It wasn’t even Thursday. What does this mean, readers? This is some serious Sun Tzu Art of War stuff. I took this picture so all four of you could verify with me. No towels, right? Please confirm—you see NO TOWELS AT THE TOP OF THIS LAUNDRY BASKET.

I took another picture to verify that there are, in fact, towels hanging in the bathroom still. All four of you, please also verify—you’re going to be called to testify under oath. There ARE TOWELS IN THE BATHROOM AND NOT IN THE LAUNDRY BASKET. You see this, right?

I warily added my workout clothes to the basket, then checked for pressure-release bombs. All appeared clear so I took it down where I tossed it in and started the washing machine. As I sat down to work, the washing machine churning and the dishwasher whirring, Lauren sent me this highly suspicious text: And I know you are doing everything today, and I appreciate it. There had to be something behind this, something I was missing. Was the next text a clue? This is a friendly reminder to pick up Lucia’s prescription. Ah ha! The “thank you” was to butter me up to get me to do more work! Except that I had said I would do it without being asked, and I had told her to put our HSA card on the island so it would remind me.

Then the recipe for Monday night dinner came through, and I noticed that it wants me to marinate the chicken breasts in a recipe. I should “cover and refrigerate at least 4 hours.” Ah ha! There’s no way for me to succeed at that—I have a job to do! I text Lauren about it, and she says back, “I wouldn’t worry about that.” What am I supposed to do with that? Just believe her?

I’m afraid all four of you will have to live with the same suspense I’m going through. I haven’t figured out the play here, but once I do, I will let you know.

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