I was just sitting here thinking about what in the world to write (a picture, as they say, speaks 1,000 words), when I heard huge commotion through the baby monitor. Apparently, Tigger & Piglet (small plastic, totally unsafe characters that came -- randomly -- included with a large lego set and do NOT pass the "if it fits through a toilet paper role then it's not appropriate for children under 36 months" rule) both, at the same time, bolted out of JEB's bed, plummeting onto the hardwood floor with a 4th of July boom. He insisted upon taking them both to bed with him. Last night it was Big Doggie and Blue Teddy, both of which just came out of solitary confinement in the freezer, where they served 24 hours wrapped in garbage bags in an attempt to rid their hides of dust mites. There's always Arty Dog, a blanket, and a sippy cup of water in the crib, but the other bedmates vary. And through all of that commotion with those plastic characters' suicidal diving display, HE NEVER STIRRED, people. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout.
Ah, the obsessions. Right now it's "meows" and "tracties" thank you very much Macy & Grandaddy. I can never decide if "G-Diddy" should have 3 or 4 "d's."
Even though my body is here in this WAITING FOR POTENTIAL EMPLOYEES TO RETURN YOUR CALLS ZONE, I am still on vacation there in that cabin built out underneath a pine tree canopy. If you look up, you see this:
Tweenage pine trees in neat little rows, beckoning you to come take a leisurely stroll through their shade and get devoured by ticks and chiggers. Which brings me to my next point ...
I love DEET. I tried to go the au naturale way and use cedar oil mixed with geranium juice, citric acid, and lavender, but y'all: POISON WORKS. It keeps bugs away and if you've ever been attacked by an army of chiggers then trust me, you will even risk the dangers of 25% DEET. I didn't step foot off that back porch except for that one incident where the barbeque grill literally tipped over and spewed steaks all out into the yard and my entire first family along with my child were in its path. Then I ventured out there to take note of the damage (none, luckily), but never again. I get enough ticks, chiggers and what have you in my own back yard simply waterin' my 'maters.
Which, by the way, are about seven feet tall, not that I've measured.
Let's see, what else ...
The Goose did not cough even one time on this trip, which is why it seemed to me more like a vacation than any of our last escapades. We dutifully lugged the nebulizer, but it was not needed.
And, in other exciting news, there is hardly ever any yellow in The Goose's diaper because he, despite MANY "accidents," almost always prefers to use his potty chair for #1. Granted, there are lots of times when I hear, "Uh-oh ... no-no-no-no. Tee-tee." Which means "Go get a towel, I just peed on the floor again." And speaking of translation ...
- "Meow" = "There's a cat."
- "Tracty. Jah-Jah" = "John-John's Tractor"
- "Bye B" = "See ya later, Dad"
- "Dee Dee Dee!!!!!!!!!!" = "Look mother, there's a digger to your left."
I made the mistake of making up a digger song to the tune of "The Wheels on the Bus" and Lord help me if I don't spend half my life singing about dogs, cats, wipers, babies, shushing mamas, and I don't know what all on that digger. And since we've gotten back from Newton, he wants me to say "tracty" instead of "digger." Of course tracties are SO much easier because, as everyone knows, you can hook up so many different attachments to the fronts and backs of them ... bushhogs, front loaders, etc., and then there are all the animals that the tracty passes by.
Here they all are ... each guy has his own rocker.
Otherwise, the trip involved massive amounts of blueberry eating -- picked directly off of back-yard bushes, eaten off of home-made non-vanilla ice cream, scooped up off the floor -- and lots of tracty riding, as I've already made clear.
There was also this photo op, which I love ... the pot belly, the serious expression, the sideways spoon.
I'll leave you with that. But you can click here for more.