Golf is always primary on the agenda at Camp Granddad. It is his dream to have all five grandsons out on the course together– no easy feat as they live in different states and are involved with Little League, camps, and lessons in their own areas. I don’t know how he plans to squeeze five boys and one granddad into a foursome. Begging comes to mind.
He and the grandsons love puttering around, doing projects together. The Big Project this time was to to be replacing a broken sprinkler head. He’d found one of the pop-up extensions lying on the grass near a small hole, but alas, The Fix had to be cancelled due to rainout. Mother Nature abhors clean cars, even if they’ve been washed by little boys in a Life Skills session (see yesterday’s post), so the stormy weather wasn’t exactly a surprise.
He began working on it after they left, enlarging the hole he’d found, looking for the sprinkler line.
About 15 inches into the hole, he realized he was barking up the wrong tree… digging in the wrong hole, which explained why the chipmunks had been sitting under the tree in their little lawn chairs, passing around bird seed. They shrieked with laughter at the spectacle their dig had produced. DB was glad the grandsons weren’t there to join them.
DB says he doesn’t object to these pictures, provided I announce that there is now a 180-degree pop-up head ready to operate smoothly whenever we turn on the system.
That was not the only unholy mess Camp Granddad created. Our daughters are quite health conscious and their boys don’t eat much junk. In fact, one of the boys’ favorite food requests of the cook (that would be me) is oatmeal. The secret? Had Mr. Kellogg tried Silver Palate oatmeal, he wouldn’t have bothered inventing cornflakes.
DB, however, loves to indulge them by taking them out for a junk food lunch while they are here. Fun, but there has been…um… feedback from three of them during these outings over the years. The first time, one threw up in the soda shop restroom before returning to the table to polish off his milkshake. Another year, the pepperoni pizza with extra peppers eater threw up on the guest bedroom carpet in the middle of the night. We replaced the carpet. This year, the double hamburger with bacon made its re-appearance around 2 AM.. Same spot, different carpet. The embarrassed grandson didn’t want to wake anyone, so he cleaned up the mess himself, googling instructions on his computer, which had luckily escaped unspattered.
Alas, there were lingering problems. The padding had to be replaced because I used too much Nature’s Miracle. Forget what they say about pouring it on the stain.
The evening before the carpet guys came back to insert the patch, DB and I were talking about how we’d just rip the carpet out and refinish the hardwood floors if it didn’t work.
“You know this is your fault,” I said bluntly.
He says I have a special talent for making everything his fault, so I was surprised when he agreed.
“Yeah, I was trying to think of what the common denominator was. It’s ME!” he said dejectedly.
Luckily for him, I could offer an alternative. Our bedroom isn’t carpeted and I have a cast iron stomach.
Add chili and slaw to that order, please.