A Shout Out ...

... to my SIL on Fathers Day.



I know it's odd to come at a Fathers Day post by praising your son or SIL, but I think it's fitting today. While refraining from losing character by becoming overly maudlin and sentimental, I do want to pay tribute to this b man. I almost stumbled there and called him boy because he is compared to me, but he is The Man to his kids.

He is a good Daddy, a very good Daddy. He spends time with his little ones, and they adore him. When he recently had a little found money come to him, he did not run out and buy boy toys but spent it all on an expensive fence (remember the pics?) so his kids could play securely. With the little that was left, he then purchased a pretty grand playset and then spent many uncomplaining hours putting the thing together.

Not only is he a great dad but he's a pretty fair SIL too. However, in that role he is and forever will be known as The Boy.

Bugs, Campfires and Bread

What with two lots of company, babysitting and illnesses, it's been a hectic and draining few weeks here in Anvilcloudia. So, it was that both Cuppa and I luxuriated in the quietude of a slow-paced Monday. The only real item on the agenda was for me to attend a jam session on Monday evening, something that is hardly a chore. However, at the event, fatigue caught up with me, and I found my brain beginning to shut down less than halfway through the session. Cuppa has an expression: "It feels likes someone has pulled the plug and I'm circling the drain," and for almost the first time that expression seemed aptly descriptive of my Monday evening letdown.

However, on the way home I found solace in the knowledge that Tuesday should have been another fairly relaxing day as should the next few after it. Alas, I came home to the news that Althegal was very anxious to get to the cottage on the next day and would really like to meet us there. Of course, since get-togethers are few with our west coast daughter, we knew we'd make the effort.

Come Tuesday morning the p[lot thickened when Thesha called letting us know that Zach was sick and wondering if we could we babysit Nikki Dee during Zach's medical appointment. Shortly after, we heard further news from Althegal. They would be getting to the cottage around three o'clock and would need us to supply the key. Meanwhile, Cuppa also had a hair appointment, so we couldn't leave until about three, but we promised to get there as soon as we could. After all ...

... which of you, if his son makes a request for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he makes a request for a fish, will give him a snake?(Mathew 7:9-10, Bible in Basic English)

So, off we went on a three-hour drive into the Canadian hinterland to offer our hapless white but succulent bodies to both the black flies and the mosquitoes. In less than twenty-four hours we fellowshipped with the girls around the table, in the sunporch, and by the campfire, before tiredly journeying the three hours back home with much less blood flowing in our veins. However, we felt good in the knowledge that we had made the effort to be there for our kid and also to support the insect population of the forest with aour blood. Yes, we were leaving many happy and sated bugs behind. I felt sure that I could glimpse them in the rearview mirror waving contentedly and languidly on their blood-induced high as we pulled away.

But more importantly than donating our blood, we also gave our daughter bread rather than a stone, and isn't that what parents are supposed to do?

---

Following: a few photos around the campfire. Bug jackets are prevalent in some, and some are taken by holding a flashlight in one hand and the camera in the other. The perpetrator of the event, Althegal, is the subject of the first photo and manages to get into most of them. The little fellow, bug-jacketed from almost head to toe, in the last photo is her nephew by marriage.

The Peripatetic Toddler

This child is a roamer, and we have found that it's best to not try to confine her too much because she knows what interests her and is too young to understand why she can't investigate.

Her peripatetic tendencies continued this past week when we all went to the mill for a picnic lunch and stroll in the woods.



Her wandering commenced even during lunch, and we took turns trying to steer her back to the family fold. This time, it was Mom's turn (below).



The harness comes in quite handy with her. She still gets around but is more susceptible to a little bit of guidance (below). "Yes, you can climb onto the bench. No, you can't climb over the back."



She is quite the tease, and is laughing at Amma's attempt to haul her back in after managing to scamper across the bridge.



I resumed the reigns for a walk in the woods, but when she decides that something in the path is worthy of her attention, she just flops down, and I wait.



The path meanders alongside the river, and this distressed her greatly because when she see's water, she wants to get at it — right away if not sooner. Although the bank was too steep for the most part, mercifully, we eventually found a way down. She was not at all reluctant to get right in — shoes and all.




Even so, I thought it better to remove her shoes because I didn't feel much like swimming downstream to retrieve them should the current sweep them off her feet. (If currents can sweep, that is.)



Later, it was the aunties' turn to direct her path, so to speak. She's not really sticking her tongue out, just working it as both she and her Buppa are prone to do.



Of course, she's always gadding about. The very next day at home, she donned her purse, Amma's sandals and announced, "Outside." So, outside it was.



For some reason though, it became Buppa's responsibility to carry the purse for a while.



Occasionally, the peripatetic toddler stops for a brief respite.



And that is good.

Moi the Canvas

In the past she's painted my head for Christmas because it makes such a large empty canvas, but I guess that was no longer enough for her. So she thought she'd have a go a dying my beard this time. Just the small gray patch below my lip. Everyone else, meaning Cuppa and Thesha, were being daring after all, and I wasn't about to play Mr Partypoopingchicken.

It coulda been worse.



And after a shower, it became quite faint.



Cuppa's two patches are much bigger and are sticking rather well, but I'll leave it for her to post. Meanwhile, here is the culprit-painter.



Does it all make sense now?

Aargh!

I guess if all my frustrations in life remain as small as this one, I'll have it made in the shade, but really now.

I finally find a place that will sharpen lawnmower blades and ante up the rather exorbitant $16+ (but it's okay because that includes tax — Ha!). On the second mowing after this super duper sharpening job (I must admit that they did a good job), didn't I run over that blankety-blank raised water valve in the front yard, the one that I've been able to steer around for the past two years after learning slowly, very slowly, in our first two years here?

And then, if that isn't enough, didn't I run over the part of a rusty hanger that the guys so thoughtfully left behind after planting that new tree out back? And then, didn't I run over a second piece of hanger?

Guess who needs to have his lawnmower blade sharpened?

Guess who' absolutely refuses to do it until he buries that valve better? Or has a brain transplant?

She

She is kind enough to share my piece of Daddy's birthday cake with me.

I take her home from a visit and stand to leave. To prevent this, she closes the front door and leads me by the hand to the back yard.

We are at the park for a family picnic. She runs to me, hugs my leg, and says the magic words, "I love you." She doesn't know what they mean, but they touch me deeply.

She is the one whom I name like I have named no other. I name her honey, darling, sweetheart: words which are not, were not in my vocabulary. I don't know why; they just weren't.

I have loved and love them all, Cuppa, the children and their spouses, and they know this, but it seems that she somehow touches me in a place that is specially and uniquely hers and makes me different in some way.

Posting on the Fly

We're managing to keep busy, but here are a few more pics from the weekend for those who check for these sorts of updates.