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My Captain and his father, Papa, are back at it again on the back patio project, lovingly known as “The Mudpit.”  You may or may not remember this project starting a while back in “A Family Affair,” that we are building a walk-out patio on our vintage Sear’s Kit Cottage.  And when I say ‘We,’ I am using the term loosely.  It’s really just My Captain and Papa.

But I help where I can, like making sure that before they start early in the morning, they have a good meal.  Today they had huge stacks of multigrain pancakes slathered in heavily salted butter and pure Vermont Maple Syrup.  Because we are in to HEALTHLY choices in this family, that’s why.

They ate out on the soon-to-be finished patio, surrounded by the chaotic explosion of flowers that I call a garden.

They were surrounded by bird calls, the smell of honeysuckle,

and plenty of gnats.  Ah the romance of nature!

We try to take pictures along the way of this project, mostly so we have something to show the trauma team when the accidents happen.  So after breakfast, I picked up the camera, and started taking pictures of the progress….but I didn’t get very far.  Basically, I got this photo, and only this photo:

Why?  Because even after all of these years, whenever my beloved is around, I’m highly distracted.  I got that one photo of the project, and the rest were……..

of My Captain….

and his assets.

I got so distracted and flutterpated just by taking these pictures, that I then proceeded to get on the lawnmower and mow for half an hour, without the cutting blades engaged.

I wish I was kidding.

Don’t judge.

Oh Sir Monty….

I’d laugh at you as you wait for the birdies, but I’m the same way in front of the microwave.   I won’t judge you, my hungry little friend.  

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.

Firmly.

Last night we ate dinner on the back deck, one of my favorite things to do.

I love the evening song of the birds as they settle for the night.  I love the dusk rise of all the fireflies from the grass.  I love the gentle breeze and the flutter of the leaves.  All of that makes my dinner taste so much more delicious.

Varmint hates the bugs in her drink.

Critter hates the fact that he has to sit and eat, regardless of where it has to happen.

And My Captain hates eating and sweating at the same time.

But they are so charmed by my romantic notion of eating Al Fresco, that they willingly comply.  (Or maybe it’s a deep and abiding fear of my threat that they won’t eat at all if they don’t get their asses out there.  Either way, it’s compelling.)

As I glanced around in my final meal preparations, I noticed something unusual.

Something hanging on the corner of the rail.

A home made bow….

and arrow….

The bow was strung with something that looked shockingly like my expensive stretchy jewelry wire, and the arrow had been painstakingly sharpened.

I ran to my cutlery drawer to inspect the condition of my Cutco Steak Knives, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Critter then reminded me that My Captain had bought him another pocket knife, and wasn’t I proud of him for making a bow and arrow instead of carving his name in his bedpost like he wanted to?

And this, my friends, is why we can’t have nice things…..

Now that Varmint has come of babysitting age, My Captain is reviewing CPR and the Heimlich Maneuver with her.

He does this not so much because he wants her to have all possible caretaking tools in her arsenal, but mostly because if something awful SHOULD go down while she’s on the job, she won’t just sit there like a bump on a log …..and make him look bad.

‘Cause come on, let’s be honest here, when someone hires the munchkin of a nationally recognized rescuer as a babysitter, they’re expecting someone who knows what to do in a crisis!  So this isn’t about altruism so much as ego, frankly.

Last night My Captain was lecturing Varmint on The Heimlich, and he needed a Dummy.  I offered, but was told I’m ineligible because 1) She needs to practice on children, since that is what she will be watching over.  2) Thanks to my inability to withstand the luscious siren call of McDonald’s Sausage Burritos, we’re not entirely sure where the hell my waist is.   That’s important when you are trying to push in the right place.  And 3) my family has learned the hard way that pushing on Mama’s belly can have dire consequences for the entire room.

God help me if I ever choke.    God help us all.    Amen.

Where was I?

Right, CPR, The Heimlich, and babysitting lectures.

So Critter was drafted to be the Dummy.

And My Captain showed Varmint exactly what to do on a child should they be choking.

He was, as usual, detailed, exact, and painstakingly thorough.  And Critter suffered.  Greatly.

My Captain enjoyed himself a little too much, and squeezed the begeebies out of poor Critter.

The upshot of it is that Varmint has the tools she needs to be an awesome babysitter….. but if Critter should ever choke around My Captain…..um…lets just say that, henceforth, Critter will be chewing his food extremely well.