Grand Slam Communication
Sunday morning breakfast.
My favorite meal of the week.
When the kids were first diagnosed with diabetes, Sunday mornings were kind of a shock.
No more waffles.
No more bananas foster.
No more cinnamon rolls.
No more coffee cake.
We’ve made the adjustment, though.
Now its bacon and eggs.
Or omelets.
Or breakfast burritos.
It’s our new normal.
And it’s still my favorite meal of the week.
The Grown Son and his Roommate were hanging out at my house.
Me (to Grown Son): Pick up after yourself – you’ve left a debris trail all over the house!
Roommate: That’s funny. That’s exactly what he always says to me.
Me: Really?
Grown Son:
Roommate: Uh, sorry Dude.
I went all summer without any bug bites.
The bugs have suddenly realized that they need to catch up.
There was a party on my left ankle last night.
The thing I have learned, since moving to Bug Country, is NOT to scratch.
Scratching spreads the venom and makes the itching even worse.
If you can hold off scratching, the misery subsides quicker.
How do you stop the itching?
It’s a very stinky procedure.
But it works.
I sloshed vinegar on my ankle all morning.
The swelling subsided.
The itching stopped.
And my family has stayed far, far away from me.
Vinegar – it stops the itching,
AND it keeps the family at bay.
It’s a win-win situation all around.
Recently I gave some sage advice about NOT putting plastic dishes on the hot stove.
Apparently the Grown Son didn’t heed my advice.
I found a kind-of melted, disfigured plastic dish in the kitchen.
Apparently he caught it before it completely melted.
It was the plastic microwave dish cover.
Like a moth to a flame, this thing just keeps landing on the hot stove.
Luckily they are cheap at Target.
I need a new one.
Maybe I’ll buy two.
Just in case.
Bob always mows the lawn himself.
While we were on vacation, he hired a guy to take care of it.
Apparently the gardener never showed up.
The grown son, who did a surprisingly good job of keeping the house tidy in our absence, forgot to mention the no-show lawn guy.
It’s now a jungle out there.
He’s got a huge job to do today.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds some old appliances or even cars dumped out there.
Maybe even a body.
Bob won’t care, though.
It’s too hot.
He’ll just shovel up the evidence with the lawn clippings so he can go inside for a cold beer.
It’s the perfect crime.
Bob has been travelling on business.
Today I am flying out to meet him for a vacation.
I am leaving the house in the hands of my Very Capable and Very Responsible Grown Sons.
They promised me, as I was leaving, that they would not be installing an indoor slip-n-slide.
I am not at all reassured…
The grown but not mature son told me that his friend will be passing through town.
Could I put him up in my spare room?
I said of course.
The grown son asked if I could make a special dinner.
I said of course.
Lasagna?
I said of course.
But, I told him, I’ll need you to go to the store for some things.
The grown son rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance.
Proving that he is grown, but not mature.
Not yet anyway.
The kid is a genius.
He went on vacation.
He’s not old enough to rent a car.
So he rented a U-Haul.
U-Haul has a lower age standard than the car rental agencies.
He sent me some pictures.
OMG – I can’t stop laughing.
The kid is a genius.
Or a moron.
Or maybe a little of both…
The other day, we finally visited the Buc-ee’s rest stop.
We’ve been in Texas a year, and we had yet to visit this place.
The word is it’s an amazing rest stop.
We happily discovered that it IS an amazing place.
The gifts!
The candy!
The beef jerky!
We had just eaten, and Bob was disappointed.
He would have liked to have eaten dinner here.
I promised I would bring him back for Father’s Day.
And then I immediately regretted that offer.
My birthday falls on Father’s Day.
I don’t want to have my birthday dinner at a rest stop.
Apparently I have already made the commitment…
And now we wait.
We were expecting a monster hailstorm.
Bob tried to put both cars in the garage.
With the motorcycle, a huge tool bench and the lawn mowing equipment, we don’t have room to park the cars inside.
Bob played Tetris and managed to get both cars in.
However, it was jammed so tight that he couldn’t open the door to get out of the car.
I had to open the hatch on the Expedition so he could escape.
But there was no room for the motorcycle.
I suggested that he wheel it inside the house.
We have a large entryway.
There’s room.
Besides, he once put his gas tank in the dryer.
He also cooked some engine parts in the oven and scorched my butcher block afterward.
So why not crack some tiles in the entryway?
It would match the motorcycle-distressed décor of the rest of the house.
However, our very kind neighbor offered up a bit of space in his garage.
Our entryway has been spared.
This time.
And now we wait.