Two Guys Walk Into a bar...
... Ouch! Ha Ha...It's bad joke night at our house. I will close this post with my favorite involving a quaint little Easter candy, but first the drama.
Grace stepped on a thatching rake, cutting the bottom of her foot. The cuts are neither deep nor grotesque - much to everyone's disappointment. Not mine, of course. Blood makes me feel a tad queasy. Don't get me wrong, I can hack your average little flesh wound, but if you crack your head open and need help keeping your brain inside, please stop at someone else's house first.
Moving on.
We decided after much debate and some unsuccessful Googling to run her up to instacare for a potential tetanus shot. Long story short. Grace was scared. Brynn was worried and overly consoling. Grace's immunizations were up to date. Doctor was not concerned. Nurse consulted with us in the lobby, so we didn't have to pay the copay. We went home. No shot.
Pulling up the driveway and opening the garage door we see...Dum, dah dum, dum dahhhhh... Rake was still there!!!
What?!?! A small army of disaster experts did not sweep in and remove the offending rake in our absence?? Oh, the horror. How will we get out of the car, with the imminent danger in the garage?
Chad, lone man in the estrogen wilderness, got out and moved the rake, so people could safely exit the van.
We then embark on a series of conversations about rakes and other dirty things and why you potentially have to get tetanus shots. We go out to look at the rake, just to see how terrifying it is.
We (and by we, I mean Brynn) say the blessing at dinner. We pray at length for the rake. That it will move. That it will get cleaned. That it won't get any more blood on it. That no one else, especially her, will be affected by this horrible garden implement.
We get ready for bed. We ask about the rake. We wonder, also at length, when it will be safe to go outside again? We wonder if dad will throw the rake in the trash. We think he should. We go to bed.
We are tucked in and resting, but we call out to our mother, just one more time (probably to drive her positively to her breaking point) to make sure she will not be bringing the rake in the house.
~
And now for the bad joke. I told the kids I would take the for ice cream after the instacare -- wanton bribery, sue me -- but I was too tired. So while picking up some big bandaids at Wal~Mart, I bought them a package of peeps. After dinner we split them up and bite their squishy little heads off. (Not Chad, his palette is too refined for peeps). Out of the blue, Chad says...
"You know, in high school I had a buddy named Tom and he loved those things. He loved them so much we called him Peeping Tom."
Ah, hurts so good.
And please don't anyone send me/bring me/gift me any peeps. I've had my three little chicks for the year and my peep craving has been thusly satiated.
Grace stepped on a thatching rake, cutting the bottom of her foot. The cuts are neither deep nor grotesque - much to everyone's disappointment. Not mine, of course. Blood makes me feel a tad queasy. Don't get me wrong, I can hack your average little flesh wound, but if you crack your head open and need help keeping your brain inside, please stop at someone else's house first.
Moving on.
We decided after much debate and some unsuccessful Googling to run her up to instacare for a potential tetanus shot. Long story short. Grace was scared. Brynn was worried and overly consoling. Grace's immunizations were up to date. Doctor was not concerned. Nurse consulted with us in the lobby, so we didn't have to pay the copay. We went home. No shot.
Pulling up the driveway and opening the garage door we see...Dum, dah dum, dum dahhhhh... Rake was still there!!!
What?!?! A small army of disaster experts did not sweep in and remove the offending rake in our absence?? Oh, the horror. How will we get out of the car, with the imminent danger in the garage?
Chad, lone man in the estrogen wilderness, got out and moved the rake, so people could safely exit the van.
We then embark on a series of conversations about rakes and other dirty things and why you potentially have to get tetanus shots. We go out to look at the rake, just to see how terrifying it is.
We (and by we, I mean Brynn) say the blessing at dinner. We pray at length for the rake. That it will move. That it will get cleaned. That it won't get any more blood on it. That no one else, especially her, will be affected by this horrible garden implement.
We get ready for bed. We ask about the rake. We wonder, also at length, when it will be safe to go outside again? We wonder if dad will throw the rake in the trash. We think he should. We go to bed.
We are tucked in and resting, but we call out to our mother, just one more time (probably to drive her positively to her breaking point) to make sure she will not be bringing the rake in the house.
~
And now for the bad joke. I told the kids I would take the for ice cream after the instacare -- wanton bribery, sue me -- but I was too tired. So while picking up some big bandaids at Wal~Mart, I bought them a package of peeps. After dinner we split them up and bite their squishy little heads off. (Not Chad, his palette is too refined for peeps). Out of the blue, Chad says...
"You know, in high school I had a buddy named Tom and he loved those things. He loved them so much we called him Peeping Tom."
Ah, hurts so good.
And please don't anyone send me/bring me/gift me any peeps. I've had my three little chicks for the year and my peep craving has been thusly satiated.
Comments
So as I was on Facebook, I saw your comment on needing to blog about the cherry blossoms. To make a long story short, here I am. I was reading a couple posts and can I just say how much I miss walking outside and visiting with you!!! Can I just say that with the 6 year old and two 3 year old girls, I can totally relate to the drama!