This weekend the twins were coming, arriving Friday while I was at work. Usually all 4 grand kids land on me at the same time. This time it was just the twins, with an occasional cameo appearance from John, who prefers his mommy's house (next door) to my house. (Can't say I blame him for that.)
I prepared for their arrival by doing the most important thing. I made my bed. Don't wonder at my reasoning, it is sound. The kids often take a break on my bed to watch a few cartoons during the weekend, between forays outside to play. This means they slide under the covers, even in 90F heat, and I sleep in the dirt and sand they drag in and deposit there during the day.
I got a text from Steve later that day:
I asked Dunc why he had lied to Gramps that afternoon about making the bed. His reply was "well I straightened it up a little after I laid on the bed, and THAT counts too." Hard to argue with that kind of logic.
|photo by Dunc's mommy, Jen|
"Did you fail a grade?'
I told him yes (evil Grammy surfacing instantly). His next comment, without missing a stroke, was:
"What grade did you fail?"
At that point I could not continue the joke, knowing it would just backfire on me, so I told him I had been lucky, and was going to get to learn to treat wounds, and would be able to take a test and get a piece of paper soon that would say I was certified to do it. He just nodded absently and wandered off. Wounds aren't that interesting after all, unless there is blood.
...life is good. ~cath
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