Getting Ready to Head to the Farm - Score 1 for Mississippi.

It's Friday, and I'm getting ready to head down to the Farm. THE Farm? Nope, don't think commune or cults, it's where my father-in-law grew up. He doesn't live there full-time as he and my MIL are farther down in Southern Mississippi, but they spend half their week there. Every other weekend in the summer, we'll pack up on a Friday afternoon, and head down to spend the night with them. They leave on Saturday afternoon, and we'll head home on Sunday morning. Since it's only about an hour and a half drive, you get the "getting away" part without having to drive for hours.

Cue the Andy Griffith Show music . . . .

I love this place. There are acres and acres for my son to roam - no, not by himself, hold your calls to Social Services! There are several ponds, and he and his Daddy try their hand at catching the "big one." There are gorgeous lush plants that I walk around and drool over, and there's the gardens to check on. But, more importantly, we decompress. No computers, no schedules, no phones ringing -- just family.

The "score 1 for Mississippi" part comes in because we didn't do this back home on a regular basis (in Alaska or Washington). We didn't have access to a large family piece of land (in either state anyway), and we certainly didn't have Grandparents an hour and a half away. But what makes this so special? Our typical Friday night. We pull up the drive-way about dinner time (yes, I know our timing is impeccable). My MIL has made a great meal, baked something delicious, and after we've eaten and done the dishes (by hand!), we sit around a table in the kitchen, and . . . play games. Yep, you heard me -- we play games. Not video games, not arm-chair Deal or No Deal, or poker (we save that for our trips to visit my Parents in Montana). We play dominoes. And, to top it off, we've become quite the aficionados of the games of chickenfoot and Bendominos. We tend to gravitate towards the dominoes games, because the few times we did play the new electronic Monopoly, Grama and Grampa got kind of cut-throat, and my son had to sit between them. Think June and Ward going at it over debit cards.

But, seriously -- ten years ago if anyone had ever told me I'd be sitting in a farm house in rural Mississippi, around a kitchen table, that could sell for a nice price at a vintage store (got to love those old red and chrome tables with the vinyl chairs), playing dominoes with my child and in-laws? Well, I'd have frisked you for the drugs you were obviously on.

Score one 1 for Mississippi, and score 1 for me.