Mayday on May Day

A certain 7 year old was exploring past the boundaries of our property. I caught his attention and ordered him back to our side of things, posthaste. My first mistake was turning away while he was still descending the far creek bank and heading back into the house, assuming he'd follow.

Once again, to my wondering eyes should appear a normal looking boy, but no, I am met with a mud covered, wet, mostly triumphant human being who apparently had to hit every single water molecule on his way back across. 

After being ordered to strip to skivvies outside and then come in as I was starting his bath water, the kid magics himself into thin air. There's the pile of his clothes and boots, but no kid. And no skivvies, thank heaven, so we can assume for the moment that he's still in them.

I track him down again to be informed, "Liam dared me 50 dollars to go back in in just my skivvies." 

Are you even kidding me? First of all, your brother does not have anywhere near 50 dollars. He has about 53 cents. And secondly, seriously!? In your skivvies? And yet, why am I surprised? 

The Shenanigans continue as he loudly informs me, "I have a snail on my finger and I can't get it off!" Turns out that, yes, there are leeches in the ditch/creek and he found one or was found by one... either way, he got it off himself as I'm on the cell phone on the front porch to Dada, doubled over and crying with laughter because we had just talked about how surprised we were that none of the kids had found leeches yet. Leave it to the Damonater...

Something for everyone

It has been some month. April is known for throwing curveballs and I'm not just talking about the ridiculous weather. This April, my 90 year old Nana passed away. That means family gathered together, road tripping from all over North Carolina, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and who knows where else. Fortunately, it was a beautiful, warm, and dry weekend so there were fewer traveling hassles than there could have been. Though we've been married for 19 years, there were still family members Dada had never met. Some of these were my cousin Ruthie, her husband, and sons. Our boys all hit it off and were quite the sight:  

After a concise service including music that Nana had preselected which had been written by a relative, there was a little bit of time to spend before the lunch would be served. Cousins being cousins and it being way too long between times spent together, some Shenanigans ensued, which may or may not have involved our kids and my cousin's kids, Cora and Blake. 

I remember thinking that it was the perfect kind of spring day: some clouds in a blue sky, a slight breeze, warm sun on our shoulders. I think Nana would have enjoyed all of it except maybe our "monkeying around" at the cemetery. I know there are other pictures on Dada's phone so I will have to see what I can track down to share. 

It's bittersweet that she is gone. I don't think she ever had any desire to be the world's oldest living person, so to make it to 90 is quite an achievement. I'm so glad that we saw her last summer while we vacationed with her in good health; that those memories of sunshine and her interacting with us and the dogs and her nurses are the ones closest to our hearts instead of the ones where she sat wretchedly on the alarm pad of her bed in the nursing home while taking multiple medications. I'm glad she got time with all of our kids and that they'll remember her. 

I'm glad we have fun family that takes advantage of opportunities to get together and make more memories. I'm sorry that we won't get to see Nana at the beach this summer. It will be odd to not have her coming out of her room with her walker to ask us if we've eaten yet or what we're up to that day. I'm glad that she didn't linger a long time through her pneumonia, being miserable. I'm glad that we got to celebrate her life. I know it will be a process, and the kids have already mentioned missing her, and that's how it should be as she held a special place in our hearts and lives. 

Nana Carrie, 1927-2018, we love you.

"I swear I ain't droppin' no eaves..."

The problem with shared technology is that one can't always tell exactly who is having the conversation with whom. This text exchange began with me (blue) texting Dada (gray). See if you can figure out where Carrie took over the conversation.

I can only imagine the Shenanigans once she finally gets her own phone...

The Bosley Chronicles, episode 2

Such a sweet, innocent face, right? Two of the most endearing traits this dog possesses are the brown, dotty eyebrows I find completely irresistible and the "who me" face.  I mean, how could something this hilariously adorable possibly cause Shenanigans (yes, indeed, with a capital S)?

I'll tell you.

We knew he was big into shoelaces, having chewed almost through a pair of Damon's, a house guest's, and the ends of some others. We knew he likes paper as he regularly steals from the box of to-be-used-as-firestarting-material. We have caught him redhanded with slippers in his mouth. He has a special fondness for socks, some of which has been encouraged by us as we've tied together mismatched socks as a tug-of-war toy. 

Until recently, it's just possessions which have been left on the floor that we've had to safeguard. In some respects, that's just fine as it teaches the kids to pick up after themselves and not leave their lives strewn everywhere if they don't want their sparring bags and equipment gnawed to pieces. 

However, he's now tall enough to peruse the holdings upon the coffee table. This includes tax bills. And, alas, library books:

Sweet Dada found another copy on Amazon and I did the walk of shame to the library, performed my lament, replaced the book and brought the gnawed one home. Dada looked it over and said, "they didn't mark anywhere on here that it's no longer theirs?" My first thought: we hold these truths to be self-evident...

I had already done another walk of shame into the tax office where I endured a much warmer reception that I'd gotten from the librarian. In fact, there were delighted giggles when I sadly informed the ladies, "I'm 42 years old and, for the first time, can honestly claim 'my dog ate it'..." There was general merriment, inquiries as to what kind of puppy ("some dumb shepherd/hound mix"), and a story about their boss's son's Great Dane who devoured said boss's shoes and then refused to allow the delivery person access to drop off the replacements she'd bought. 

Plus, he's a grade-A Photobomber: 

Still, he is pretty cute, and he is not quite 8 months old yet, so I guess I should give him some slack. And find his Kong.

Rub a dub dub

This post is for my mother, who begged me to blog as she was sure I had anecdotes to share. I believe that's what you call jinxing things, like walking past a church nursery and commenting on how quiet it is. 

Thing 3 was in the bathtub, which had already had a small amount of bubble bath added to the water. I attempt to sneak some bites of my dinner in the other room and heard him holler, "Moooooom! Wash me!" When I open the door, lo and behold, there is one sudsy kid in that tub. I immediately notice more bubbles than should be there given the amount I had poured in. 

Hmmmm.

I next notice a good two more inches missing in the level of the strawberry shampoo bottle.

Mystery solved.

This kid is NEVER going to be rinsed clean of strawberry shampoo. Bubbles are begetting more bubbles and he's getting frustrated at how many cups of water I'm dunking on his head, which serves him completely right in my mind.

We discuss how it's easier and smarter to start with a tiny amount of things like soap, because it is easy to add more but once it's out of the bottle or tube or whatever then you can't exactly get it back in.

(At some future point, words will be said which will be regretted, and I'm hoping I can remember this bathing experience to tie it all together.) 

We finally get him out relatively soap-free and rethink draining the tub. Those of you who know me well know that I may have a slight addiction to NCIS and therefore Gibbs. Rule number five from Gibbs is "you don't waste good."

"Hey Carrie! Bring Bosley in here!"

Now Carrie can't stop commenting on how soft Bosley is, and we have one sweet smelling boy and one sweet smelling dog.

Don't even ask about the resident Newfoundland. She did not participate in the strawberry bath experience- not because she doesn't need one because she desperately does, more  mainly because our pipes and drains would all take one look at her and abandon our house completely and never you mind the hair catcher over the drain. I envision holes throughout the house where they simply yank themselves out of the walls and take off gimping towards the horizon. She's bringing in so many locust twigs and leaves that if I don't sweep every day the kitchen/hall/dining room look like they're morphing into a forest floor. 

Tonight is bath night again. Perhaps I'll leave the shampoo up high unless I am there to supervise...