dead meat

I don't do a lot of posts about my father probably because I'm so busy dealing with certain minors. But that is something I will have to remedy because, you see, I have a great father. And when I say great I don't mean great as in future president great, but something even better. He's great at all the important stuff. He's also great at keeping it real.

He owns a big company, but underneath he's a farmer through and through. He's also a get-her-done kind of guy.

For example, we have a big family reunion today. We've been planning this reunion for many months and everyone in the family is very well aware about it.

I called my mother to enquire about today's events and exasperated she told me that she hasn't even starting to get ready for the reunion. The one that starts today. I asked her what she was up to and she told me that she was cleaning her kitchen. And then she was going to sanitize it.

Okay, that's not really a thing I would do in preparation for a huge family reunion but whatever floats her boat.

Then she told me that the reason that she needed to do this was because my father woke up this morning and maybe to mark the occaision of the big reunion, or maybe not (who am I to say?) went to his farm, beheaded thirty-five chickens that he had been raising for meat, brought them home and announced to my mother that he and the boys were gonna clean 'em out right there on the counter.

My mother, having been married for 30 years to this man, eventually relented knowing that she didn't really have a choice as there was the issue of the chickens dripping blood on her floor. My father, having been married for 30 years to this woman, should have known that she may not have liked doing this a) at all, and b) on the day of her family's reunion.

But, hey. At least dinner's planned.

oh boy

Boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy.....

Yes, I am referring to the little boys that live in my house whom I often refer to kindly as sons, but once in a great while they act more like little hyenas--up to no good and always giggling about it.

Today, after being exiled to the yard, (and yes, I did use that exact word as I banished them outdoors) I went to check on them. They were in the garage. Besides the fact that there were cheetos all over the garage floor, which wasn't really a huge deal because they are easy to clean up, there wasn't really anything that seemed suspicious until I tried to close the garage door and it just wouldn't budge even after pressing the button several times.

Roman then explained that as the door was going up he had used it as a sort of a ride and then somehow it just stopped working.

Great.

Well, I hope Roman enjoyed his day in exile because it just may be his last. Which poses the question, is nowhere safe for young lads of, say, four and two-almost-three? I think not.

I now know why there is a foreboding phrase of "oh boy" and not "oh girl".

missing

So I walked into the bathroom the other day and noticed that the toilet paper roll holder was missing. Immediately I went to find the Two-Year-Old.

I found him sitting on the couch, relaxing.

"Do you know where the toilet paper roll holder is, Greggory?"

Without taking his eyes off of the t.v., he shrugged and said, "I flushed it."

Matter-of-factly. No remorse there.

This fact was confirmed by a sudden wailing coming from the bathroom: Roman. Trying to flush his...business...down. It just wouldn't. Funny how a little thing like a toilet paper roll holder will cause such a ruckus.

Enters Weston.

At this point, I decided to join Greggory on the couch, very innocently, and wait.

Weston walks into the bathroom to help Roman. A slight pause followed. Then an outburst of Mormon swear words. A question, directed at me. (At least I assume it was directed at me.)

"Where's the toilet paper roll holder!!!" I guess it wasn't really as much an inquiry as it was a statement? Or a demand?

"Um, Greggory said he flushed it."

More Mormon swear words. And muttering as he walks into our room and comes out with a sort of fishing contraption made of hanger wire. You know, hangers really deserve much more credit than they receive. They are so useful for all sorts of things. But that's another post.

Greggory and I follow him into the bathroom for curious observation.

"Are you fishing, Daddy?" The Two-Year-Old asks in perfect innocence. (I truly think that children are born with the "innocence voice/look" as a defense mechanism to enhance their survival.)



"You're lucky." Was all he said.