Olie

Olie is only 2 1/2 but already has the reputation as a funny kid. I watch Olie and his brother Aidan on Mondays while Afton is at work. Last week I decided to let Aidan help make a jello salad. They love to "help" in the kitchen. Aidan was really pleased to get to cut up the bananas saying excitedly that he had never cut up bananas before. I left to get the camera and log in the event and could hear them laughing hysterically in the kitchen. Apparently the banana slice would stick to the knife and while they waited for it to drop into the jello mold, Olie would say in his giggly little voice, "Wait for it...wait for it...wait for it". He was drawing out each phrase with the drama befitting a seasoned actor, each phrase higher in tone until the climax of the banana slice dropping off the knife. Then the hysterical laughing would begin, followed by another cut and the drama would unfold all over. Who knew making jello was so much fun.

Olie narrating the banana caper.

I am a hunter with my camouflage shirt and pants, gun, cowboy boots and hat.

I am a hunter/cowboy who can also shoot baskets.



Olie the bank robber.

Seriously?

In the last two weeks, Terry and I have been trying to get our routine doctor visits completed. This is not always easy to schedule and still care for grandchildren and grandma. On Wednesday Terry had an appointment at 8:15 a.m. and I had one for 11:00. We literally passed each other in the garage with a "high five" at our ability to tag team with precision. My appointment was a mammogram, and when I returned home I began to describe with detail about the discomfort of the ordeal ending with, "...and then after hydraulically compressing these two metal plates ...(I swear I could hear the beep, beep, beep sound of a fork lift as these two plates were coming together.)... she asked me not to breath, as if I could have done anything else but hold my breath under the circumstances." With absolutely no sympathy from my spouse he proceeded to whine about the fact that he had been a human pin cushion that morning with far more damage to his body that I had sustained. He had had blood drawn and a couple of shots and his arm still hurt. "In fact" he said, "feel this, I still have a huge knot on my arm under this bandage. " He did have a bulge, but I pointed out that if he had had his "member" place in a vice, he would be singing a different tune, and more than likely and octave higher.

The following day I asked him how his arm felt, curious as to whether the shot was still giving him a problem. He confessed that he took off his bandage that morning, and what he thought was a swollen knot was in actuality a cotton ball that the nurse had put under the bandage. Seriously? All I can say is I am glad men don't have to have babies.