Blimey, They’re Slimy!

When I came upon what looked to be a petrified pile of dog poop in the yard, I was baffled.  Who did THAT?  It wasn’t Ivy’s or Miss Piggy’s.  (Sad as it sounds, I do have expertise in that area.)  I went back into the garage to get a shovel so that I could remove it.

When I scooped the shovel underneath, the ‘pile’ fell apart and I saw what it really was.

Coitus Interruptus on a spade?

EEYYYYEEEWWW!

Before you make too much fun of me for not being able to tell a snail from a pile of poo, picture the two interlocked.  Thankfully, it’s not an everyday sight.  How do they even find each other?

I was so grossed out that I opened the garbage lid and tossed them in.

I’ve felt guilty about it ever since.  Had I trashed rare snails?  Had I ‘offed’ somebody’s mother and the baby daddy?

When I googled to read just how serious my sin, I read how very hard it is for snails to survive in a world with badass humans who kill them.

Can snails contribute to Wikipedia?

It didn’t take long for the Ghost of Snails Past to begin its haunt.  A  few days later, I walked into the sunroom and found it waiting for me on the sliding glass door.

The Haunting.

Yep.  It had suctioned itself to the sliding glass door.

GROSS!

Since the ugly little bastard was playing on my guilt, it probably thought it had a free pass to slime the door.   What to do, what to do….

I took the safe option:  I yelled for Dearly Beloved.

He dispatched it to a safe area, that being in a natural area wa-a-ay away from the garden AND the door.

Enough with suction-ing creatures attaching themselves to my house!

Then I went into the guest bathroom and looked at the mirror.

That one stays.

Camp Grandad: The Rainy Week

If there is one thing we’ve learned about Camp Grandad (yes, we’re minimalists–able to run it with only one “d”!) it is to expect the unexpected.

Like a week of drenching rains.

The three little guys and their mom are staying in an apartment on the beach for six weeks, with their dad coming on weekends.  The boys are come daily to the beach-house-not-on-the-beach for swim team practice and golf lessons with Grandad, as well as impromptu baseball, soccer, rugby, shark tag, and other games with the friends they’re already made here.  Usually, at least one of the chaps spends the night with us.

Our only camper-in-residence full-time is their dog, Ivy.  Miss Piggy has resigned herself to tolerating her niece,  but is still having to work on her sociability skills, especially in matters of food.

Speaking of food, Dearly Beloved and I have three kids–all excellent cooks–whose  dietary habits bear little resemblance to the food of their childhood.  One is concerned with fats and portion control to the extent that I pack emergency food rations for clandestine bedroom snacking during our visits.  The second packs his own snacks for visits to us since he’s into acai, pomegranate juice, and power shakes.

The third, who not long ago sold her grain-grinding bread machine in order to buy an equally fancy juicer when she decided on a vegan lifestyle for her family, advises that she is now leaning instead toward a paleo diet for both her family and her pets.  I’ve not read about the diet , but judging by the root word, I think that Dearly Beloved should head out to hunt and gather.

However, Daughter simply specified “no high-fructose corn syrup” and ”no screens,”  for her merry men.  I asked her to repeat that second part three times–I wasn’t even sure I was hearing right, since I didn’t know what “no screens” meant.  A week of rain with three energetic boys around made me a fast learner:  no computers, iPads, iPods,  or iTouches.  No TV.   I’d thought she’d said, “No screams.”  Definitely not the case.

By Day 2, we had checked two dozen books out of the library.   Granddad (aka “Gwandad”) and I were sitting in the sunroom with youngest grandson one evening as  I read aloud one of Beverly Cleary’s “chapter books”  in my best, most expressive voice.  My hopes that the little chap would enjoy it as much as his mother had were dashed when he interrupted,  asking, “Does anybody want to see my armpits?”

The times, they are a chaingin’.  

By Day 3, the older two were looking for some high-flying action.

Looks like some things never change after all.

Do you think the printer will still accept that paper?