The more I watch my grands, the more I recognize my inner
child when I myself don’t want to do something:sitting on the couch, red-eyed, eyelashes all starred together, an inch
away from passing out, tears leaking down my face, crying for my stuffed animal
– but really,really, hoping and praying someone
will just swoop me up, lay my head on their shoulder and go put me in my crib where I can be all by myself to drift off to sleep.
Saturday night I went to eat with
family friends. These friends have two adorable children, a girl age 7(I’ll
call her Belle) and a boy age 1 ½(I’ll call him Crash). These kids are
seriously funny. Belle is elegant, prissy, but not afraid to get dirty, already
a heck of a hunter as well as a serious basketball player. Crash is all boy,
but flirty and funny, too. Both kiddos are sweet, smart as whips and function
well around adults.
We’re through eating, visiting, and
all of a sudden, Crash sits up straight in his high chair. He has this look of
surprise on his face, says something (we’re not sure what) and points to his
bottom. We laugh, and so does Crash.
Mom: Hey, Crash. Need to go to the
Crash shakes his head no, and goes
on playing, sticking a chopstick into one of those square pretzels, then
popping the pretzel into his mouth. He’s pretty dang good at it.
The conversation quickly morphs to
how loud Crash’s burps are. Belle is avidly describing just how gross her
little brother can get, all the while laughing. She laughs so hard, we all
laugh. And then we hear it. And it is LOUD. And LOOOOOONG.
Mom, Dad, and I all turn to look at
Crash, who looks at us, like, “What?” And then, it hits us. That sound emanated
We look at Belle, and she’s got
this surprised look on her elegant little face, but is half smiling, too. Mom
and I look at each other, and start that silent shaking laughter, you know, the
kind that is so strong, it hurts? Tears are flowing down our faces. Belle
starts laughing, Dad starts laughing, and finally, Crash decides he’ll join in,
Lord. You can’t pay for
entertainment like this.
*This is a story from my old blog, transferring over a little at a time. Bear with me!
After a couple of rough days and nights, and vet visits, Zack the Wonderdog is way better. Unfortunately, Zanna followed suit and had exactly the same symptoms. Fortunately, we had her at the vet a day earlier and on treatment, so her symptoms haven't been as rough as those of Zack. Plus, she's younger. I found out she was sick in the early morning hours, as I readied myself for work. She was curled up under the covers, and I was traversing the house in the dark when I slid upon the evidence on the rug in the living room. Ugh. The second time, in the dark hallway, an hour later, I had to be rescued by ThatManILove at 6 a.m. Yes, the same ThatManILove that took his darn.sweet.time.getting.to.me.with.wet.wipes. You know, because he was overcome by such a bad case of the giggles and snorts. He got there in the nick of time. I was seriously considering running for my shotgun, stinky feet and all. GRRRRRROSSSSSSSSSS.