That Ain’t Chocolate

It was chaotic at my house on Labor Day.  That’s because there were 16 of us, including kids, and everyone was talking at the same time and the kids were taking full advantage of the fact that we were all distracted.

I’m still picking Cheetos out of the carpet and furniture, and I didn’t see the cat till Tuesday morning.  I still don’t know where one of the remotes is and my tape dispenser is missing its tape.   If I hadn’t kissed every one of those grandbabies goodbye I’d be looking for one taped to a wall somewhere.

My oldest son has a little boy (he’s two) and he is just…well, he’s perfect and precious…and he was sick with strep – yay..now we can all enjoy the fruits of his bacteria-laden smooches.  He’s on antibiotics that give him…well, let’s call them what a former colleague did – the hershey squirts.

I’ll give you a moment to cleanse the visual from your brain.  Bleach anyone?

Better now?

So, after a particularly impressive episode the boy’s shorts needed washing…and why don’t parents these days pack extra clothing for their kids, especially the little ones?? Boggles the mind.

Instead of actually washing the shorts, my son decides to rinse them and dry them.   This is the same child who used to dust his room with canned air…he’s nothing if not inventive.

He puts the shorts in the dryer, along with a clean load of clothes that had already been dried…mind you, these shorts were  still dirty and *aromatic*.

My youngest son walks up to the table where I was chatting about important matters, such as what color feathers I wanted in my hair, with my daughter and daughter-in-law.

Youngest Son:  Mom, you can yell at (older brother) if you want but he just put those stinky shorts in the dryer with your clean clothes.

Me:  He didn’t!!

Youngest Son:  Oh, yeah, he did. I know he thinks it’s okay because he sprayed  oxycontin on them first.

Me: *blink* Wha…?

Daughter:  You have oxycontin?  Where?

D-I-L:  If you’ve got some, you better share!

YS:  *looking terribly confused* What are you talking about?

Me: *unable to respond, laughing too hard*

Daughter:  Oxycontin is a pain killer, brother, I think you mean Oxi-Clean

YS: *totally embarrassed, does not answer and walks off in a huff*

Me: *still laughing hard and now wondering if I may pass out*

And, yeah I did have to re-wash all those clothes.

Sigh….you’d never know these “kids” are all in their 30’s.

Duck, Duck, Wha….?

I’ve never understood the children’s game, “Duck, Duck, Goose!”…..and, if pressed, probably can’t remember the rules, object, or anything else about it.

Good thing it has noting to do with this post.

We have a boat.

Which reminds me, I don’t get the whole “I’m On A Boat” thing.

I do, finally, understand “The Cake is a Lie”…maybe I just need to ask Uncle Google about the boat. 

Good thing it’s not important to the subject at hand as I’m too lazy to do any research.

No, this post is about..well, this:

I'm a Duck on a Boat...sort of...I'm actually on the lift that holds up the boat...that my famous twin, who sells insurance, owns but won't let me ride. I haz a sad.

 The look of disdain is because we ran out of quackers…hahahahaha…”quackers”..get it?  

Yes, I’m easily amused.

And White Duck – as I call him/her – I can’t tell the sex and really I think it’s a little early to ask the duck to lift his/her feathers for me, I mean we did just meet last weekend – was accompanied by Black Duck:

Hi, I'm Black Duck and I follow White Duck...EVERYWHERE!

They were waiting for us at the dock when we decided that it was time to get off the lake, because the temperature at 11:00 a.m. was somewhere around 147 degrees, and I was beginning to turn bright red in spite of wearing SPF 50.

We fed them all the crackers we had, hubby even getting White Duck to take a cracker from his hand…something I totally missed on camera despite repeated attempts.  The closest I came was a blur of feathers and water at the end of hubby’s empty hand. 

As a photographer, I’m a pretty good duck feeder.

After all the food was gone the ducks swam around the slip for a while, complaining.

It wasn’t until we were back to the parking lot when I realized something.

Angry ducks+uncovered boat=a whole lotta duck poop to be cleaned.

Wonder if I can feign some illness this weekend so hubby can go out alone and spend the first thirty minutes of the day cursing me and the ducks.

(edited to add: OHMIGAWD, people!!! Why don’t you WARN me about asking Uncle Google questions like “What is I’m on a boat?” Hmmmm??? Why?  Now, my ears are singed and I think there’s a piece of my soul missing.  Thank you…ingrates)