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.

Varmint turns 13 this week, and one of her good friends got her an excellent Bow and Arrow set.

(Varmint is an avid fan of the CW Series show ‘Arrow’.)

The family gave her about 5 minutes to play with it before they all started grabbing for a turn.

Critter had to one-up Varmint by shooting two arrows at once.

What?

And then Grandma Jane said, “Let me give it a whirl.”

The kids smirked and snickered.

And then promptly had their asses handed to them on the target board.

I love Varmint’s and Critter’s expressions here.  THAT is called being taken to school.

Don’t mess with Grandma Jane!  She’s one tough broad.

I don’t get dressed up often, but Critter’s fifth grade promotional ceremony was reason enough for me to break out my nicest skirt and crisp poplin blouse.  I was intent to honor my boy’s graduation from ‘little kids’ school’.

I have a pair of flats for this outfit that is exceedingly comfortable.  They’re actually Croc brand shoes, made with the same spongey material their ugly clogs are, but these are instead conservatively designed for business use.

As we prepared to leave, I looked down and saw something strange on one of my shoes.

Are those holes?  And why are they wet?

What the?

You have got to be kidding me.

My beautiful dress flats.

I’ll kill him.

Critter’s kitten had decided he was a dog, apparently.  Sir Monty had gnawed all the way around my left shoe.  I’m not made of money; I sure as heck can’t go buying new dress flats every time Sir Monty steals into my closet.

I said something to that effect when I angrily showed them to Critter.

“What are people going to think when they see these shoes?” I barked at him.

“Just explain to them that you saved a baby kitty’s life, and every time you see these shoes you remember what a good person you are.”

***sigh***

Aw hell.  That boy is smooth.  Damn smooth.

……And these are now my favorite shoes.