Varmint and Critter NEEDED to be outside today, before they shortened their lifespans. With exasperation, I sent them out to water some new Cheyenne Spirit Coneflowers I’d plunked down in the earth yesterday.
Our hose won’t reach where they are planted, so the kids had to use the ol’ ‘haul-empty-buckets-of-catlitter-filled-with-water-in-their-old-red-Tikes-cart’ technique. Not the most efficient technique, but it would keep them busy for a while. That’s what I wanted. That’s all I wanted.
That. Is. All. I. Wanted.
Well, that, and for them not to get killed or maimed in the process.
I went back to cleaning out the nastiest vegetable drawer any fridge has ever seen. And half an hour later, I looked out the window, vaguely wondering what was taking them so long.
They were in the midst of a waterfight, the likes of which My Captain would have been proud. They were completely clothed, but it’s summer, and stuff like that flies just fine at The Little Cottage during summer!
I went back to the nastiness that was my refrigerator, and was elbow-deep chiseling something that might possibly have been hot pepper hummus a few years back, when I heard My Captain’s leaf blower.
His way-expensive, supercalifragilistic, supersonic leaf blower.
You know, the leafblower capable of blowing a maple leaf into the next county? The one made by Boeing? Yeah, that one.
And I thought, “Oh hell.”
I had only enough time to snap this picture through the screen door before I began belting out admonitions for Varmint to not blind her brother, and for goodness sake to not electrocute themselves as they stood in the puddles with the electric cord wrapped around their feet:
Critter will never again be able to shut his eyelids, as they were rolled back behind his skull.
But he was dry. I’ll give them that.
So I did what any other loving mother would do.
I shut and locked the door.