Cold Sunday

I had lots of big plans for this weekend with the grandkids. We were going to be outside while the lambs cavorted in the pastures. We were going to plant seeds. We were going to make and decorate stepping stones. We were going to make sidewalk paint and paint on the driveway.

Unfortunately, there’s a cold wind blowing, the temperature is below 50, and Zoe is ill with a URI. She tossed and turned last night. She would not keep a blanket on her. I took her to bed with me to try to keep her warm and covered, but she’s a little wiggleworm. She turns sideways and kicks and throws herself around. When a little head contacted the bridge of MeeMaw’s NOSE, the little crying coughing wiggleworm was returned to her crib where there was barely enough room for her, for every single “baby” that is in the house has to be in there with her. Stuffed monkeys, kitties, bears, ducks, lambs, teddy bears, all in the crib, and all have to be covered up to go night night.

Zoe and I ventured outside briefly this morning to let the sheep and lambs out to pasture, let some hens out, and feed the rabbits. Then we joined SwampMan, Dylan, and Jacob who had started a HUGE bonfire. We sat on a bench and admired it while trying to keep from getting our hair scorched whenever the wind shifted. Then Zoe tugged my hand to go to the house. Zoe *never* wants to go inside. Zoe still isn’t feeling very well.

She fell asleep while watching “Dora the Explorer”. I crossed my fingers that she would have a good nap when Jacob came bursting through the door. “SHHHHHHHHH!” I hissed. “Your sister is taking a nap!”

“MeeMaw, WHAT is that horrible noise?”

“That horrible noise would be Nirvana. What do you want?”

“I accidentally stepped on Zoe’s foot!”

Zoe is a tiny lil’ 2-year-old. How in the world can somebody accidentally step on her foot when there is plenty of room all around here to walk? Nevermind. I don’t want to know. I hope he didn’t come inside just to step on Zoe.

The door burst open again. “MEEMAW! Look!” Dylan yelled, holding up ash-blackened hands.

“SHHHHHHHH!” I hissed again, sounding like a deflating tractor tire. “Your sister is ASLEEP! And don’t touch ANYTHING.”

“Oh. What is that noise?”

“That would be Drowning Pool.”


“The radio.”

“It sounds yuckky.”

“Why are you in here?”

“I found a penny! I want to put it in my money bag!”

I guess that’s why he was displaying ash-blackened hands. There was a penny in there somewhere. “Okay, I’ll put it in your bag for you.”

“Don’t lose it!”

“I won’t. Go play!”

I started cleaning up the breakfast dishes. The door burst open again. Dylan tried an experimental sob for effect because, sometimes, if there are real tears, MeeMaw may have a cookie handy. This was not one of those days.

“Dylan, what did I tell you about your sister sleeping?”

“But MeeeeeMaw,” (gaspgaspgasp) “I accidentally fell with my whole body in stinging nettles and they burn!”

Since I had told him repeatedly to stay out of the stinging nettles, my sympathy meter didn’t move at all. I eyed him up and down. He had on jeans, shoes, and a heavy jacket. “So, by getting those stinging nettles all over, you mean on your hands, hunh?”

“But it hur-hur-hur-hur-hurts!”

“Mmmmmmmm. Go wash your hands and if you wake your sister, you will know REAL pain.”

Meanwhile, perhaps I would be able to get the chocolate cupcakes actually baked and frosted before they were eaten, and get the potatoes baked. No, no, I am not. They’re back inside. Again.


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