On Wednesday afternoon, a week ago, when Joey and I pulled into my parents’ driveway to drop off Henry and our luggage before meeting everyone for lunch at Zio’s, we noticed something in the garage.

One of Dad’s real estate signs, the kind that’s plastered all over town on the properties he has for sale or lease.  It was small, sleek, and tempting.  Joey grabbed it and dropped it in the back window of our car.

“We can represent for your pops this way,” he said.

Oh, sure.  Just what Pops needs, even more representation.

But I gamely went along with it, we kids are always trying to get our dad to be as famous as possible.  (And it’s working, but surprisingly it has nothing to do with the efforts of his four children and three partial children.  Dad’s just that good.)

Anyways, off we drove to Zio’s, Dad’s sign rattling away happily in our back window.  We giggled whenever we looked back at it.

Dad finally noticed the sign in our back window on Thursday morning.  I had to point it out to him, unfortunately, but he got a good chuckle out of it and even suggested that we swap the metal sign for one of his paper ones (the paper ones go inside building windows, I guess).  We made the switch, and the paper sign was much less rattly than the metal one had been.

And then yesterday I noticed something.

“OH NO, we drove all the way back to Texas with Dad’s sign in our window still!  POOR DAD!”  I wailed to Joey.  “What if he needs it!”

“Um….oops,” Joey said.

I called Pops on the way home from the grocery store as I was restocking our kitchen.  (We had zero food in the house, unless you count barbeque sauce and dijon mustard.)

“Uhhhhh, remember that sign we had in our back window?” I asked Dad.

“Yep,” he replied.

“Uhhhhh, it’s still there.” I confessed.  “We seem to have forgotten to take it out.”

Dad chuckled at me.  “Oh well.  You can give me representation down in Texas.”

“It’s true,” I said.

So…the Dad’s real estate sign is still in my back window.  It’s too big to fold up and mail back to Iowa, I already considered doing that, so it looks like it’ll be living with me for awhile.

In other news, we managed to get all the frozen cow from my parents to fit in our freezer.  It was iffy at first (meaning, Joey got it all in and then the freezer wouldn’t shut) so we had to eat a bunch of ice cream to free up some space.  We finally succeeded and this is the final result:

There is also frozen chicken in there (bones ‘n all….jibblies) but it’s buried way back behind the six packages of ribeye and t-bone steak.

OHMYGOSH I love Iowa.  Also I love eating cows that I recently fed with hay from my hand.