Which is to say...we are tired...

Dad: Um...hey...

Me: Didn't you just leave here?

Dad: Yeah. Well, no. I'm still here. Just not there.

Time passes. Things evolve. Humans acquire ESP, but Dad's never been much for adaptation and I'm not feeling like naturally selecting him out of the population given that his genes are pretty much already in the pool and done with in so many ways.

Dad: Listen, I forgot to give you the truck keys.

Me: So?

I can't think of where I'd go since my job is to stay with grandma in the hospital. The whole point of the truck was to get me here so the use of the Civic as the house to hospital shuttle could begin. So?

Dad: Ok, well, then I think I'll just leave them here in the Civic so they're with us wherever we are when we're there.

Me: (I forfeited my turn here. That last statement pretty much covered, well, everything. Everything and so much more.)

Dad: I'm going home.

Me: Oh, good.

After all, that was the whole point. If he's too tired to ride the elevator up a floor to give me the keys or carry on a coherent conversation, then he doesn't really need to be driving. I didn't argue that point since I was in that same car driving here under the same conditions just fifteen minutes earlier.

Dear God, get him home.
Scat

Did you know?

Spiders lay eggs in their brains!! Says Squib...

Really? I'm definitely looking this one up. He's been obsessed with spiders of late. However, I know better than to doubt the short one. He has a nasty habit of being freakishly right. Frankly, if any species of spider does this, then good riddance regardless of beneficial effects of spiders in the biosphere. Sorry. Spider-haters here. There are enough spiders I've had to pay detailed attention to, though, for me to believe this is part of the life cycle of ALL spiders. They lay a gadzillion eggs, so even if it's true, what's one dead spider if it's laying a bazillion eggs in its brain? Pardon my counting measures.

Thing #2: Do not bother with those widgets that plug into the wall sockets and emit high frequencies to eliminate the influx of bugs, spiders, and whatnot. At least out here in the boonies, all that happens is this:

Device: SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (ad nauseum) EEEEEEE!

Bug/Spider I: What the hell is that racket? This is just going to make crawling in there to bite the kid that much worse. I think I'll bite him twice.

Bug/Spider II: I think I'll go with you. He's juicy. Besides, we have to listen to that ever-flipping screeching no matter where we are around this place. We should recruit the ants.

Bug/Spider I: Perfect idea!

Thing #3:

Today we stood in Radio Shack for two hours upgrading Buddy's phone. He didn't want to do it because he "wasn't sure he would get it right." Granted, there were a few details they needed to keep up with, but seriously, he's smart. Former telecom executive, etc. Not sure he was going to get it right?

I took Squib with me to Radio Shack thinking this would be a thirty minute thing and--hey!--we'd be in Radio Shack! The store with so much electronic goodness that it's hard to focus your eyes until you've been there for almost thirty minutes. We'd explore the bits-n-pieces section of the store and talk about how to "make stuff" and maybe talk about a radio or a speaker set.

No.

It was a knock down, drag out session with smart phones, the AT&T rep, the store manager, and one of the lesser store peons trying to get the deal done. I simply stood there stewing in my juices and taking deep, relaxing breaths. Squib, however, complained--out loud, legit complaints--whenever he thought he had an audience. When he reached one hour, thirty minutes and screamed, "My mom stole this other phone!" well...I don't have to tell you I was ready to clobber him.

He ran away from home at least twice, decided he was going to go live "with the people in that blue car" once, pledged to duct tape himself to a store employee named "Daniel," accused me of shoplifting several times, tortured the staff for a minute-to-minute ETA, and generally tyrannized Radio Shack. This was after his usual forty minutes to an hour of good behavior. And he was still very, very good. Just a total ham.

Tomorrow, we aren't going anywhere for anyone else who isn't sure they'd get something the least bit wrong. Nope, sorry. It's a lazy Memorial Day weekend. Church, flowers for grave, lunch, nap, and...well that's it.

Scat

My New Weekend's Resolutions

Don't hate. Some of us can only plan for, like, an hour. I can actually dream of what a one-year plan nested inside a five-year plan would be like. But, seriously, at Green Acres it's like running triage and trauma surgery 24-7. Yes, that does include actual medical crapola or else I'd not use the analogy. Chickens don't have emergencies. We've gone from 5 to 4 adults, 2 to 1 child, 2 to 5 cancers, and I'm not even going to total inflammatory diseases, and two chromosomal abnormalities. NOT S****ING YOU.

And by S***, I mean SNARF. Squib asked, so there you go. **ahem**

So, when you make plans to have dinner with friends who are going to be in town on any given day, you probably put it in your calendar and look forward to said event and find a babysitter, etc. I put my events in my calendar--laugh hysterically--ask Buddy to babysit--laugh hysterically--wait and see. There's a 10% chance I'll go. There's a 5% chance I'll be rested enough to stay awake. srsly.

1. Clean the office and my bedroom. Because...dang, woman.

2. The bathtub. All the paint peelies from the handy dandy tub refinishing kit are, well, peeling. So sterilize it within an inch of its life. It just looks nasty. Peace of mind. All that.

3. Sort out the laptop situation. Data transfers etc. blah blah blah.

4. Try not to fall asleep during the movie. This is the little Mr.'s request. I will need toothpicks.

Scat

Bathroom Monitor

I think I got it on me.

Seriously. Someone went in and judging from what came out I'm pretty sure he's in a bad way. I'm surprised he's not leaving a slime trail...somewhere. Holy mother of all stench. My job today is bathroom patrol for state testing. So, I'm three feet from the bathroom door. Actually, there is no door. Just a cement block opening from which emanates...

This isn't going to just wash out of my clothes.

Scat