Raisin Boogers and Two-Story Chairs

by Andy Wood on August 15, 2012

in Gamblers, LV Alter-egos, Turning Points

Heh heh heh…  You’re gonna know I’m not smart enough to make this up…

They’re trailblazers, I tell ya’.  They’re not about to let a coupla’ Johnny-Come-Lately’s (or Shepherd or Cason or Fischer-Come-Lately’s either) get the drop on them.  No sir. They’re the first-born, by George, and they’re assuming their rightful place on the family frontier.

Um… except that maybe that family frontier may have a few unexpected twists and turns.

The Floor Exercise

A week ago our “Baby A” had her three babies at church, where Carrie was holding newborn Baby Fischer and showing him off to the tunes of oohs and aahs all around.  That’s when she looks up and sees the one she calls The Sasster grab her brother by the shirt and proceed to drag him on his belly – Wilma Flintstone style – across the floor.

Therrrrre goes Carrie, Fischer in hand, yelling at her to stop.  That didn’t work so well.

Dad to the rescue!  And in Carrie’s words, he “took care of things.”

This is me and the Lord discussing the situation:  “Heh heh heh…”

Doggie Door Breast Stroke

Then this past Sunday “Baby B” was herding her two boys up to get them to church.  Dad was long gone, preparing the worship team to lead God’s people into His presence.  Cassie was being led somewhere else.

Have I mentioned before that the two-year-old would just as soon not wear any clothes – or at least as few as possible?  Save that little tidbit of information.

It’s Sunday morning and Cassie is winning the weekly war of church-on-time.  All is well.  Cohen, the little priest, is dressed and promptly seated front of “Lady and the Tramp.”  Both house doors are locked.  All she has to do is change Cason and they’re off to the races, pole position.

No more than five minutes later, out she comes with the baby in tow.  But there is no Cohen to be found.  He’s not answering her call.  Both doors?  Still locked.  Is this a case of Whodunit or Houdini?

Then she sees it… the Marmaduke-sized doggy door.

Uh oh.

Sure enough, the little priest must have been conducting some kind of pagan ritual.  He was nearly completely undressed, and b-l-a-c-k from head to toe.  This, Cohen, is what we call charcoal.  And he was covered in it.  So much for being at church on time.

I talked to the Lord later about this strange ritualistic backyard practice.  Here’s how the conversation went:  “Heh heh heh heh heh.”

Here are Cassie’s musings on the subject.

Payback’s a What?

Now you just have to know that these are the two little girls who, 27 years ago, when their mother dressed them in their finest and invited the Laaaadies of the Church over to the pastorium to get to know the new pastor’s family, got a little too quiet – especially for toddlers in walkers.

Just as the first doorbell was ringing, Mama found them.  Elbow deep.  In the diaper pail.

Smearing poo all over themselves, each other, and anything else they could find.

Next pastorium – decorated to the hilt with expensive wallpaper and carpet fit for a queen.  ‘Til the Twins in Sins got a hold of it.  Peeled the wallpaper right off.

Next house – they all passed around a bottle of Children’s Tylenol.  Orange Crush for everybody!  Then woke up out of a dead sleep and both lied about who did it.  Two trips to the ER later, I think the doctor got their attention that time.

And now, fast-forward, they’ve been invited to the Motherhood Club.  And we get a front-row seat to what-goes-around-comes-around.

Hehhh hehh hehhh.

Nasal Pole Vault

Stop me if you’ve heard this one…

Once upon a time there was a grape.  It was a happy little grape, growing amongst millions of other grapes in California.  And like all good grapes, it dreamed of what it would someday become.

Will I be squeezed into wine or grape juice?

Will I be carried whole and sold in bunches for people to eat me straight out?

Or will I be – oh say it ain’t so – a raisin?  (Grapes don’t like becoming raisins because they have to bake in the sun for long periods of time and it messes with their cosmetics.)

Anyway, a raisin it was.  But not just any raisin.  There was no cinnamon roll or oatmeal cookie partnership for this bad boy.  No sir.

This was a teaching raisin.  Sent by God to teach two-year-olds that there are some things that you’re just not supposed to plunge up your nose.

Lessons began (and hopefully ended) yesterday morning.  There was shrieking.  Crying.  The obligatory call to the pediatrician.  And one last heroic (and successful) attempt by Dad to perform a nasal raisinectomy.

“Oh Lord,” I cried with tears in my eyes, “Stop it.  Huh huh huh.  You’re killing me!”

Uneven Parallel Chairs

Then yesterday I get this text from Carrie.  It says:

“Woke up from my nap to find LK out of her bed and this in the kitchen:


Here’s the text exchange between the twins:

Cassie:  Oh my lands.  Between LK and Cohen you and I are going to be lucky if we all survive adolescence.

Carrie:  At this point adolescence is too lofty.  I’m just shooting for the end of the week.

Here’s the exchange between the Lord and me:

“Hah hah hah… ho ho ho… I’m outta breath, Lord!”

And you were thinking there ain’t no justice in this world!

(You got any stories you want to share?  Feel free to leave a comment below.)

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

Martha Orlando August 15, 2012 at 1:59 pm

Oh, you had me rolling with this one! I checked out Cassie’s blog, too, and left her a comment. Never a dull moment with children!
Martha Orlando´s last blog post ..Sunsets and Puppies

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