Pretty fly.

Last night my dad hopped in for a visit. 

The pirates saw the plane and kept reserved at first...

But as Pilot and Co-Pilot, they could hardly contain themselves. 

It brought back so many memories. 

Growing up, I figured everybody's dad flew airplanes.
Florida, California, Maryland, New York... 

By the time I started fifth grade, the easier question was "Where hadn't I been?"

It wasn't until high school that I realized not everyone spent summers traipsing the United States with their Pops.

You should have seen Enriqueface when he found he could make the wing flaps move. 

He has this thing for steering wheels and moving parts, 

which lead him to his next question... 

He needed to know if Gramps had ever heard of a flying truck. 

(He's asked several people in hopes of finding someone who has.)

After checking out the plane, we brought Grandpa Home Sweet Home, 

with Johnny's Pizza and a salad. 

And after dinner Robs read him a book, 

and basked in the praise. 

Enriqueface built him a track, 

and let him choose between playing 

motorcycle or motorcycle. 

So many options...

But this morning we dropped him back off at the airport 

and sent him on his way with blueberry muffins. 

Monday was a delightful combination of too quick and just lovely.