Tuesday, March 22, 2011

In This Corner . . .

Our littlest grandson is a violent sort.  He's seldom happier than when he is wielding a soyd (sword) or just generally kicking the crap out of his dad or grandpa.

He's always polite about the whole thing, asking nicely if Grandpa wants to beat him up.  If we say no for any reason, he's brokenhearted, but he'll find something else to do.  If Grandpa says yes, it's game on!

They have two arenas.  The first is in Grandpa's chair in the front room, and the second and most usual is in Grandpa's bed while Nana is trying to watch television at night.

Nana or Momma are important ingredients in the mix, because somebody has to save him when Grandpa gets him pinned.  We never put our hearts into any rescue, because before we can resume our original positions, he's back running up the front of his grandpa with a new can of whoop butt.  We finally had to tell him he was on his own.

The first time I told him I was out of the rescue business, he didn't believe it for one second.  We were in the bed arena, and as usual, Grandpa dumped him head first (gently) over the side of the bed.  He jumped up to his feet and looked at me with astonishment and said, "OK, Nana! Wheh wuh you?" He struck a new deal with me that each time I save him I get a hug and a kiss. Who could pass that one up?

Whether on the chair or the bed, Grandpa unfailingly pins the kid then asks if he gives up.  The standard reply is: Nevah!  

This is one pinned kid.  The only thing he can move is  his head.  Grandpa put him here one day last December and he started to get a little angry because he couldn't get lose no way no how.  He told Grandpa, "(Struggle, struggle) I bet when you were a little kid (struggle, struggle) Thanta didn't bwing you any Chwithmath pwethents!"

After he pleads for Nana to save him and she remains on her duff in the chair, he puts on the pitiful puppy dog face. He would normally put his little hands together in supplication, but it's kind of hard when Grandpa has his elbows pinned to his ears.  

He tells us Grandpa and Daddy beat him up best, and Mommy is kind of good at it. Nana isn't any good at it at all. She's only good for loves and kisses.


Thursday, March 3, 2011

Brain Cell Loss

Don't worry, I'll be fine.  I'm a little weak and dizzy, but I have a beer to sustain me. It's been a trying morning, a math morning.  To make it worse, it has been an easy math morning that I couldn't make go from my brain to my fingers, to my spreadsheet, from the bank, etc. and end up with proper results.

It hasn't been that long ago that I did this sort of thing, and much more complicated things, for nine hours a day. . . on my head. . . . barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways. Yeah, those days are gone.  To add insult to injury, just because it is finished to my satisfaction today doesn't mean it won't be indecipherable tomorrow.  To heck with it, let tomorrow fall where it may.

After spending three hours on a 20 minute project, I felt so efficient that I checked on different insurance for the cars and house.  I didn't feel cocky enough to make a decision on that, so I'll wait and see what Hubby has to say.

I actually got him a valentine this year.  It's probably the third card I've given him in 22 years, but it was funny.  On the inside are a little old couple, cheek to cheek, looking sweet. She tells him he still makes her heart race. Also on the inside Little Old Man's hand moves up and down.  All the way open, the man's hand moves to the lady's chest, and she says, "That's not my heart."  On closing the card a little, the hand moves lower. The back of the card says, "That's not my heart either."  It made me snort.

One day I was sitting in my chair enjoying a happy bum and this is what I saw:

Hubby's mom showed up in the heart perfectly.  It was awesome. Check out what the front of the card says.

After expending so much energy on mathematical and computer effort, the rest of the day must be  spent listening to audio books and knitting.  It's only fair.