I looked out my window and saw two boys throwing sand clumps at two girls, in the sandbox.
These would be my well(?) behaved grandchildren.
The screaming was getting louder.
I check my blood sugar. Ooh, I can have icecream for a snack. Yay!.
I went downstairs and set the dining room table with a candle, placemats and cloth napkins.
I get in the China cabinet and get the fancy schmancy sherbet cups and demi-tasse spoons.(I’m not sure why I even have these things, lucky I guess?)
I called the kids in and send them up to wash hands and faces. I almost said to put on clean clothes, but I’m on laundry this week. Dirty teeshirts are fine.
I engage the lil’wrekker and Hamza to help.
We dip up loads of icecream. Get sprinkles out (no matter they are Christmas colors) and chocolate syrup.
Oh, boy! Fine China and a icecream party!!
All the kids (and child like semi adults) sprinkle up and syrup up.
By the glow of candle light we enjoy our icecream party. No fights or broken dishes. No boys throwing sprinkles at one another (that may have happened, but I choose to believe it didn’t)
All the jerks (rest of the family) ate their icecream at the island.
Me and kids and semi adults had fun.
Afterwards the oldest granddaughter sez: “Nana, I’m always going to eat icecream like this, forever!”
Beck, I think you’ve made what could’ve been a traumatic year for the grandwreks something they’ll tell their own grandwreks about. “I remember the summer summer the whole family stayed at the farm. All of us! It was amazing - we picked vegetables from the garden, and looked for Bigfoot. We had ice cream with sprinkles and did crafts. And everyone was there!” And your gr gr grandwreks will be like, “yeah, whatevs Grandma. Who cares. But can I have some ice cream with sprinkles?”
I’m sitting in my chair, quietly.
My female Siamese purring in my lap.
I thought to my self, “Where is Bear, the boy cat?”
About that time he landed on my head, my glasses flew off. The tablet slid to the floor. Meeko(female) jumped 12 ft. (Slight exaggerating, here) in the air. Screeching like a banshee. (What’s a banshee?)
Chihuahuas started barking. Beagle rolled on to her back and farted. Yorkie never woke up.
I screamed a little bit. Thereby causing every Grandwrex on the premises to run in my room and get on my bed. The baby Wrek started jumping. The oldest found the remote and started changing the TV channel which automatically turns it to un-mute and I heard some news lady with a shrill voice exclaiming we’re all doomed. COVID is gonna kill us all.
As I’m sitting next to a upstairs window I contemplated jumping.
But, I don’t.
I look over my domain. 4 dogs. 2 cats. 4 Grandwrex. Something stupid on TV.
I contemplated the jump again.
But…again I remain ambivalent of the prospect of splooching on the ground below my window.
And …
There’s a high probability I may get to eat icecream again tomorrow.
Cannot pass that up.
Kinda jealous, wish the sithlings were around (and old enough) for funnanigans like that.
We used to all pile on Mom n Dad’s bed some sunday mornings and have mass family tickle fights and then instead of going to church, Dad would go to the store and buy donuts for breakfast.
Years and years from now, people will talk about the Great COVID pandemic. Quarantine, isolation, suffocating masks, weddings postponed or canceled, and inevitably there will be talk of all the people who died. Most stories will include an entire family wiped out.
This will be on the level of World War II in history.
Rest assured, your Grandwreks will put some bright splashes of color in that dreary picture.
Fort COVID (with a flag, no less!), scavenger hunts, fish fries on the back deck, tie-dyeing t-shirts, helping in the garden, watching Gramma Dead-Eye shoot feral pigs, and massive amounts of healthy, good-tasting food! What food shortages? What
deprivation?
We are having water color painting this afternoon.
The baby-wrek fell asleep. We’re waiting on her to wake-up. You don’t leave her out if you want peace. That little 30lbs of dynamite will ruin your life.
It’s amazing how we change our behavior to make sure we don’t upset her countenance.
I’m looking forward to painting. We will add these works of Art(?) to our Art gallery in the garage.
The kids get a kick out of displaying all their art-works and I’m happy they’re outside in the garage.
Tomorrow the outer bands of Hurricane Laura will be upon us. We’re likely to be in the storm shelter most of the day. Son-of-a-wrek is checking bug-out bags and removing spiders from the shelter(ugh).
Big Wrek is worried about his hay crop and checking the generator.
The Siamese are alarmed because I got the pet carriers out. The Chihuahuas got in one and are asleep in a ball of snappy-stinky little dog.
I think we can have our Art day because we are Storm ready.
Yeah, baby!!
Me and Son-of-a-wrek had to bomb the storm shelter. Turns out it’s the maternity ward for spider mom’s. 100s no, no 1000s of the evil spiders with babies attached to them. We swept up a bucket full. Some were still squirming. Nightmare material, right there.
Holy Christ on a cracker!!
I will not be in that storm shelter. I’ll take my chances in the bathtub, thank you very much!
The Siamese will deafen us all confined in carriers in a cement box underground. Nope, nope, nope.
Me and 2 cats will ride out any tornadoes, up top.
Someone has to be able to tell rescue(like they’ll come out here at all)where the storm shelter is after a large log house a barn and countless trees land on top of it.
That person will be me.
