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My Varmint is only 12 years old.

I’m 5’9″.

Look at this picture.

HOLY CRAP.

Like any other Halloween, ours started with a vision, that morphed quickly into an unrealistic expectation, and matured into frustration.

But this year, it didn’t end in disappointment.

Which is nice.

As is normal, we start with the gutting.  Truly, it’s a man’s job. (Did I say ‘truly’?  I meant ‘Thankfully’)

“Are you just going to watch me do all of these, Dear?”

You’re doing fine, love.  I’ll just sit here with the camera.

“mumble mumble rats a fratza….better get some roasted pumpkin seeds for this….”

This can take a while, depending on the squash, man!

And then….Zee Arteeest begins his craft!

Zee Arteeest, he takes his craft more seriously than any homework assignment in the history of his five grades.

Uh.  Critter,…remember you have to carve the drawing you make.  Make sure it’s reasonable.

“Mom, I totally have got this.”

Okey Dokey.

EEK.  It’s amazingly scary, love.  Now, how are you going to carve it?  Keep your expectations realistic, honey.

I begged My Captain to keep Critter’s expectations in check when the carving came. I encouraged him to mitigate the disappointment. I feared the tears to come.  Why couldn’t we have just stuck with the ol’ triangle eyes and nose?

Apparently, ‘Perseverance’ was his strategy.  For two full hours, and very little help from My Captain, he kept at it.  Inch by inch he made his Jack-O-Lantern into EXACTLY what he had envisioned.

And everyone kept their digits.

Here I was trying to lower expectations, and here he was, blowing me away with his talents.

Obviously there are times when it’s more helpful to say nothing.

NOT my strong suit…….

I’M the one who adopted him.

I’M the one who brought him home in my car with Critter holding him gently, as he mewed piteously.

I’M the one who took him to the vet for his first check up, and got scratched when he needed to be held still on the scale.

I’M the one who bought him the special food.

I’M the one who made his bed out of my favorite fleece blanket so he wouldn’t be lonely his first nights.

I’M the one who bought the laser pointer for him to chase the red dot around and around and around with.

I’M the one who gives him his oral de-worming medicine.

I’M the one who scoops the cat box two stinkin’ times a day so it doesn’t smell up the Little Cottage.

But who does he sleep with?

Who does he choose to snuggle with?

Who does he believe will keep his wee little kitty-kins safe from harm as he slumbers peacefully?

It’s just not right, I tell you.

My revenge?  Putting these photos on the blog.

Bwaahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa!

WHAT?  It’s not like he’s naked, or anything (as far as you know).  Don’t judge!

Do you remember in my previous post entitled ~ Herringbone Pattern ~ how I took pictures of My Captain starting to lay our patio pavers?  Remember how he worked, and worked, and worked, and I captured the whole process on camera, (entertaining myself hugely in the process,) until he walked off in a big, “Hurrumph!?”

That was fun, wasn’t it?  Remember how supremely pissed he got that I wasn’t helping?

Ahh….good times!  Good times!

Today we bought a big ol’ pallet of sod to put up against the laid patio pavers.

God Bless our friend Muddy for helping us with that!  My Captain pulled his sod-laden Chevy Silverado up to the back yard, and then, at my insistence, went inside the LIttle Cottage to do some prep-work for his meeting with Chief, later today.

(When one meets with the big CHIEF, it’s best to be ready! They had a lot to talk about, and if you know My Captain at all, you know he had it all written out, itemized, italicized, and highlighted…. The Chief is a busy man, and it never pays to waste his time, so getting ready for a meeting with him?  Oh yeah, it’ll buy you a pass out of laying sod, that’s for sure!)

But our rolls of sod had to be laid TODAY.  I looked to my left, I looked to my right, and realized, the ‘layer-of-the-day’ would be…drum roll, please….ME.  So with a big breath, and an “I think I can!” attitude, I began to unload the sod from the truck bed, and lay those puppies.

It’s heavy.

It’s muddy.

It rarely co-operates with the way you want it to fit.

And somehow, the dirt gets in your boots, no matter how you wear them.

After a while, My Captain took a break from typing up his talking points and came out to see how the progress was going, camera in hand.

**Click, Click**

“How’s it going, there, Honey?”

**Click, Click**

“Looking Good, Babe!”

**Click, Click**

“But that piece is a little crooked.”

**Click, Click**

“Come here and say that.”

Nrrrrrr.

The story has a good ending.  My Captain survived his smarty-pant-ness.  Chief Lohr was very pleased with My Captain, and, if I do say so myself,….

the sod looks really good!

(Just go with it.  Lie to me if you have to.  I’m too tired to fix anything!)

After we acted as Human Tampers for My Captain this weekend, he decided to reward us with a creek hike.

To an arthritic, overweight, sloth-like Mama, there is questionable validity in the term ‘reward.’

We aren’t all made the same, is what I’m saying.

But I love my munchkins, and I could tell they were in need of a change of venue, so I dutifully came along.

At first we found great beauty and reveled in the excitement of adventure.

But it was about the time we entered the creek I realized that My Captain had not brought along the necessary gear…..He didn’t have his muck boots.

What did this mean? It meant My Captain would be the official Camera-Man.  It also meant that Mama would be the one in the drink with the kids.

This was fine for a while…..

And then Critter’s boots started rubbing his shins raw….

So I carried him barefoot to the flat path parallel to the creek.

It is a good thing my arthritic, loping, ga-lumphing limp, and several wind-milling-armed near-misses did not translate to film.

But even if they had….there is no way on God’s green earth I would have posted them!

I have SOME self-respect, after all.

(not much, but some.)

If you haven’t gone fall-creeking with your kids….do it today.  It’s worth every blooming near-miss, every galumphing gait,

and every photo-bomb.

I promise.