There's a wheel missing off my metaphorical buggy. I know for certain that the brakes are toast. The only way to stop is to run into a large stand of brush and then pick my way out. Again...metaphorically speaking. It gets me where I want to go. It carries what I need to carry. However, lately it's been "whumping" a lot and I fear the left rear tire is...well...missing.
I knew something was off. I felt the odd bumping when I got in the buggy this morning, but it was early. I wasn't inspired to investigate. I had to get up, get out, and get going. I thought maybe I could have a slow, clingy, huggy Saturday morning with Beanstalk.
Beanstalk turned a viewing of Despicable Me into a national sporting event. His whole body was hopping up and down in my lap, swinging his long arms as wide and strong as he could. He delivered every line, some of the soundtrack, and added his own emphasis vocally when he thought it was needed. When something good happened, he cheered like it was the Super Bowl. I love it when he is so excited. It requires all your strength and muscles you never thought you had just to sit with him in your lap.
It never fails that the day before we have a big Beanstalk day, Buddy has a big outdoor project that has to be done That. Very. Day. So we attacked some brush that was surrounding some bushes and trees on the south side of our lots.
OFF TOPIC: I hate defoliating our land. However, it makes my Dad happy. I have no idea what we're going to do when we run out of "brush" to clear (yes, by hand) but if we start felling trees again I may loose my marbles and the remaining wheels on my buggy altogether.
Mostly what we try to do is clear vines (trumpet vine!!!!! ack!!). That's the company line. Personally, I think Dad likes to use his electric chain saw. Nevertheless, gathering it all up, putting it in the truck, and putting it on the fire while it's burning is some serious work. When I quit for the day, I did my buggy check and all I got was a light that said "engine check." Right.
So this morning, Beanstalk wanted to watch movies. He wanted to watch movies like someone who is a died in the wool fan of some sort of football team and if you are not participating in the joyous frivolity, then he will take your arms in his and swing them for you.
We went outside to play and he walked around behind me and hugged me around the neck and climbed me like a long, noodle-shaped monkey. Without any other available option, I carried him around on my back. It was like Mutt riding piggy-back on Jeff. Arms and legs everywhere. Not to mention my buggy phoned in with "check engine" again and "check oil" and every other light it could possibly throw out.
We got on the swing which means Mutt sits on Jeff's lap and he Never. Holds. On. So, I hold on to his waist by wrapping my arm around his waist and hanging on to the chain on the other side. Then I hang on the the swing with the remaining hand. He totally eclipses me. After a minute or two, the buggy up and quit. My legs cramped, my hand was locked in a grip around him. I was stuck. He was perfectly happy. So we stopped, he ran off alone and I was stuck. He couldn't step down over the rail that keeps the little wood chips in the swing area, so I got the famous call:
Mom dragged her carcass to the edge of the swing area, helped him over the rail and attempted to keep up with him when he took off running (yay! he runs now! This is actually good, but you know, now so do we. All. The. Time.) Finally, he wore himself out and we could cave in on our blanket for a few minutes.
With the ants.