We have had our four grandchildren here since last Tuesday. They are at the airport now waiting for their flight to Austin, TX, where their Dad and their dog, FeeBee, will be very happy to see them. Baxter and Molly, however, have had mixed reactions to the intruders. Molly, even though the kids have been gone a couple of hours now, is still in hiding in the basement, where she spent most of their visit. Is there PTSD counseling available for cats? Baxter came and went from view throughout the week. He occasionally found temporary (but ineffective) hiding places:
And other times he was quite happy to spend time watching the kids. This morning he even seemed unhappy that they seemed to be preparing to leave.
We have four children here, ages 13, 11, 7, and 5. I think they are having a good time even though we haven't done anything exciting. I did, however, take all four to the mall, something my daughter claims she has never done. They were well behaved, of course, and we accomplished all of our tasks: the American Girl Doll store for the two younger girls, a phone case for the oldest girl, and the Lego store for grandson. (OMG. Don't MAKE me go in a Lego store again, y'all. Apparently making decisions is real hard for a seven year old!) For the finale, the youngest three rode the carousel. The biggest accomplishment for me was that I made brisket,Texas brisket, using a Pioneer Womanrecipe. Everyone thought it was really good, except for my little Texas grandson, who announced that it was NOT like Texas barbecue brisket. Then he had three servings. This is all that is left of 3.5 pounds of brisket.
It is on a small salad plate. Maybe enough for a sandwich, I'm not sure. This morning we had the two younger girls swooning over this:
It is their mother's dollhouse and oh, my. They were entranced and I heard the word "adorable" over and over. They took everything out of it, cleaned it up, and then set about furnishing it. Now they are off with Grandpa for some Varsity lunch. Their mother and I are enjoying the quiet......
Ihave an extra bedroom and I use it as my ironing/blocking room. But with my daughter and family arriving tomorrow, I had to make room. Seems wrong somehow to make them sleep on the floor. This is what I found on the bed and on the ironing board:
Really and truly, I hate ironing, and although I'm not the only one to feel that way, I also know people who love ironing. I tend to let it all pile up (obviously) and then iron what I need when I need. It has sort of backfired. I have (according to Rowenta) a GREAT Rowenta iron, with the ability to put out lots of steam, and that should make the task easier and quicker. However, it's summer in Georgia, so lots of steam isn't completely a plus. It kind of feels like punishment for letting things get this out of hand. As if the universe cared. I've done what people I know who love to iron do. I brought the whole pile of clothing, hangers, the ironing board and iron into the tv room, and Monsieur Hercule Poirot kept me company.
I spent some nice time with Hercule (I love him and I call him by his first name; he does not approve.) and finished the stack of ironing. But then I checked the closet. Back to ironing. And Hercule. WARNING: In surfing the internet for information about the quarter of a century of Poirot episodes, I came across a spoiler about the final episode. And it is SHOCKING, y'all. Do not read the Googles about Hercule!!! Seriously, don't! Really and truly, don't. :-( (And just so you know, David Suchet says that he accomplished the sort of mincing waddle of Poirot by clenching a penny between his buttocks. I report.You decide. Ick or interesting? Your call.) And I must say, if I say so myself, you really do get your money's worth here, don't you!
My daughter posted this on FaceBook today after spending a couple of hours at the pool with her kids (so she says):
They all arrive on Tuesday for a week's visit. My husband is the pool chaperone, so I guess that, if this is in fact a true account of today's activities, dealing with this supposed behavior will be his fate. But I am shocked, SHOCKED, I tell you. I can't believe that this is a true account of what went on today.
OUR grandchildren would never behave like this. My daughter is slandering her own children!!! Shame, shame.
We just sold the Demon Bike, the one I fell off of. I think it was just too tall for me, even though when I bought it, I had tried it out, compared it to others, and felt fine on it.
For a brief few days while I was recovering from the surgery to fix my broken wrist, I thought, “I WILL ride that $%^&* bike. No bike is going to beat me.” Then I looked at the ugly scar running up my arm and thought, “Never mind.”
I had really good intentions when I bought it. I was going to ride it to the Post Office, the grocery store, Michaels, PetSmart, the gym. I even bought a basket and a lock for it. Riding it would be FUN!!!
But the bike did beat me, and now it’s gone. Sniff....sniff...sniff.... I'm actually a little sad about selling it; I really did want to be able to bike places.
Never heard of it? I made it up. Accidentally. I meant to make a blueberry pie, and it did look like a pie, until I cut into it.
Ooops. A friend suggested that next time I should use instant tapioca instead of corn starch to thicken the blueberry mixture and I will. I used a William Sonoma recipe and this does taste great. But it's difficult to serve.
I am still waiting for the results of my DNA test, and I had thought that I would learn about the Neanderthal/Homo Sapien components of the wonder that is me (I?).
But NOW, thanks to those pesky anthropologists, I might have to learn about Denisovans and an unknown species. And I guess that the Homo Sapiens that evolved into modern man comprise the three other species mentioned. So I think that means I am 100% HS, but made UP of the other three. Right?