First story, Bennie Boy cut his head open and became our first child to require stitches. It remains an unsolved mystery to this day as only he and mom were home and, as all good mom's do, Tara had locked herself in the closet to sneak a sip of the hard stuff and steal 5 minutes of peace. Just as she was tipping back the Johnny Walker Blue, she heard The Man screaming and came running around the corner to find him standing in a pool of his own blood, shirt soaking, face unrecognizable. So the story goes any way. Tara will have to post the gory details as I was quite busy enjoying Saturday play at the Shell Houston Open and choking down bad hot dogs at the employee tent. Seriously - they were cold and non-beef, the hamburgers were less than edible, and the cheese was sweating. I had to have 3 ice cream bars just to cleanse my palette. So anyway, Tara Leigh took him to the local ER and he got six stitches and is well on his way to his first battle scar.
Of course, he has since been getting attention from all the hotties in the nursery. Chicks dig scars.
Tara has a theory that the injury resulted from the following key circumstances that came together at exactly the right time to form a perfect storm, if you will. Just prior to the incident, Ben:
1. was prancing about in Abbie's flip flops,
2. was prancing about in said flip flops on the slippery tile in our entry way, and
3. was prancing about in said flip flops on said slippery tile whilst rummaging through easter baskets and plastic eggs - empty eggs and baskets, emptiness that could have created confusion and panic as he searched for the normal spoils that accompany such festive artifacts.
Observe:
By the way, the first thing Tara said to me after the frenzy had subsided was 'It's too bad it wasn't in the shape of a lightning bolt. I asked the doctor to cut another little jag at the bottom but he wouldn't do it. So he got not tip from me.' True story.
Speaking of stories, here is story number 2 from Q1 2009:
We went camping. Technically the trip occurerd in Q2, but everytime I post I feel like it may be my last so I am going to get this story in now. Let me digress for a moment, though, since you brought up doing something for the last time. We were in Chicago in February visiting Tara's mom as she celebrated her . . . wait for it . . 60th birthday. 60! Holy crap, that's old. And I only say that because I know she's the one person reading this blog (kind of like the time I plotted the 'accidental' deaths of my in-laws online). (She took it well). Truth be told, 60 is the new 55. You're still young and spry, Carol, and don't let them tell you any different. And if they do tell you different, and you have something clever to rebut with, be sure to put your teeth in beforehand because it's really hard to understand you when you forget. Ladies and gentleman, that last age joke brought to you by the 3rd oldest man in the Summerwood Texas Ward, Pete Fontano at age 34. 34 is the new 40, my friends, and I've got the hair and ponch to prove it. Rather, I don't have the hair to prove it.
Now I've digressed from my original digression, so let's get back to Chicago. We were eating at Portillo's - world's greatest hotdog restaurant. Love those jumbo dogs and their Italian Beef is dynamite as well, so having to pick one over the other proposes a very real quandary. (Reminds me of a great Katie Couric joke as told by Phil Hendrie impersonating Katie Couric, but not repeatable here. I'm sure Mike is the only one that gets that if he's reading). Anyway, what does one do in such impossible situations? Naturally, I got the Italian Beef and the jumbo hot dog and the large cheese fries; I convinced myself that I didn't know when I was ever going to be there again, so I better get one of all my favorites. As it it turned out, we were back 3 days later with Bud and Lindsey, but at the time, I truly felt like it could be my last Portillo's Italian Beef, and it very well could have been.
As a result, I made that visit count; I seized the day; carpe diem! Oh captain, my captain! Oh foreman, my foreman! And just as I put my body on the line that day, and pushed my arteries to their very limit, so today I am going to make this blog post count. Indeed, it will be my finest hour. And chances are I'll be back in 6 months to a year, but just in case I don't make it, you'll know that when the crew was up against it, and the breaks were beating the boys, I got out there and won just one for the Zipper.
So we went camping, as previously mentioned. Yegua Creek Campground at Somerville Lake, Texas. We went site unseen, and I was particularly nervous as I had picked the site and there were 4 other families with us. Really I was mostly afraid of Tara after what she did to Bennie (see Story Number 1 Q1 2009) so I was really hoping the campground would prove to be the greatest campsite ever found by man. And it was. Not really, but it was a nice campground and exceeded my expectations. We had 3 lake-front sites and, although they weren't the most level ever, they were probably a solid 100 yards deep and you could go toward the shore to find fairly flat ground. It was a lot of fun. We did some fishing, swam in the lake, hung out, burned stuff. It was good times to be had by all and here are some pics of the weekend.
Jeremy modeling the tent quite seductively.
Ben hanging out. He was pretty miserable for a lot of this trip but he did enjoy these rockets that Talmage brought.
Jeremy loading up the same rockets on the launcher.
Here's a shot of a lot of the kids.
Abbie flanked on either side by her mates Megan and Callie. These three are nuts.
And finally, a few pics of the kids playing in the water.
Forget that carpe diem crap, I'm going to bed.
