war-ish

Oh my gosh.

Tonight m.c. was here, along with t.c. and l.c. and they ran all over the house playing. John wanted to check out Heidi's burned house, and he was on solo child care, and coming to the grandparents' is a good outing. Plus he was delivering Little Jay home to us from college for Thanksgiving. Whew. QUITE the errand, eh?

So m.c. was telling us all about her impossible friend, and it was a good story. She's a bit pretentious, and m.c. sees this and can laugh about it, even though she wishes she were privileged enough to be pretentious too, she gets it.

So then Kari, aka LYDIA, starts complaining about HER friend, a ten year old boy. He's adorable. We've known and loved him his whole life. But he and Kari are not on the same page at this point.


She ranted, "All he wants to do is play war. He actually asked me, what do you want to do? Play Civil War or Reva-LOOO-shun-ary War?"

"Neither!"

"Well, we could play WWI?"

"No."

"Or Indian and musket war?"

"No!"

"How about Revolutionary War?"

"I said NO!"

"Star Wars?"

"NO! Absolutely not! Nothing war-ish. Nothing gory, nothing disturbing!"

She apparently convinced him to play tea party.

Good grief. Is she nuts?

Then she was angry because he brought a GUN to the tea party.

Seriously, who brings a GUN to a tea party? But then who invites a guy like this to a tea party in the first place?

And then Tim was pretending to smoke the pretend candles in the tea party basket, and our friend pointed his toy GUN at Tim and told him to put out the cigarette.

Lydia: "Yes, he was overly strict about the smoking. A gun, hello? IN-appropriate."

Oh, Lydia, Lydia. Stop. Nobody in our whole family smokes, but she's still got it in the proper perspective. At this point, I was sitting on the bottom bunk, laughing SO HARD, m.c. was worried about me.

Strict? I think a firearm in response to a cigarette goes into a definition beyond strict.

More laughter, wiping of the eyes.

She said, "As far as I know, we don't even own a gun."

No, we don't. That's true.

Oh Lyddie, he'll grow up and become civilized. I have no doubt about that. Hang in there.

In other news, the insurance guy told Joe and Heidi they'll be back in their house in 60-90 days. That precious little pea is due in 90 days.

I suggest they work quickly.

Heidi and Joe are incredibly good sports, but I cannot imagine being displaced from my entire home at six months pregnant. But we're so damned relieved their safe. This will all be okay. One day at a time.

Onward! Tomorrow is the day of cleaning for the hosting of the Thanksgiving meal and the day of great Dog Hair Warfare. We will be battling it on many fronts. Perhaps our friend could bring a weapon, like a dog hair blaster. love, Val

this is a pic from the little pool last summer. it was 13 degrees out this morning when i started the car. oh, for the days of the little pool...