"Matt, come on!" I hissed as we were beginning to weave our way through camping chairs and legs.
"I am not walking in front of everybody, especially with a DOUBLE STROLLER," he distinctly replied in husband-putting-his-foot-down voice.
Fine! I thought to myself. I commandeered our mammoth, child-toting vehicle, parked it by the nearest tree and stomped through the crowd of people to find the spot my sister-in-law had staked out for our night at the concert in the park. Luke and Wes were in their respective places -- Luke hand in hand on my right and Wes on my left hip. We swiftly sat down and cozied in for the most angsty, semi-depressive music in the world. (Think CW primetime, teen dramas, circa 1999 -- what up, Dawson's Creek?) It was actually quite fitting for the minor spat Matt and I were engaged in, and I think I may have laughed out loud at one point.
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