Yesterday Davis and I were downstairs in the craft room (ie: the room we shove all the extra stuff in) and I had just got off the treadmill (first time in several months - I lasted 7 minutes before Davis came down because Curious George was over - 7 minutes was plenty for me). Inside the closet I have a large flat plastic bin (the kind you can slide under a bed) and an ironing board leaning against the wall (among a plethora of other junk - these are just the two things that pertain to this story) . Apparently that is all you need for a successful road trip. Davis sat on the bin, pulled the lever on the ironing board and said, "Bye Mom! I am going to Grandma and Grandpa's house." And pulled the closet doors shut. I asked if I should call Grandma and let her know he was coming. He said "Yip" and so I did (I told her Davis was in the closet, on his way down, and they should expect him any minute). Grandma thought it was pretty funny. Too bad it takes a little more than a bin and an ironing board to get there.
(I am pretty sure I overused parenthesis in this post, but I wasn't sure how to punctuate my stream of thoughts.)