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Maren returned from California late last night. The boys were surprised to see her in the middle of the night when they independently awoke.
This morning, we had dueling YMCA appointments. David and Anne took Wyatt to swim class at one Y, while Maren and I took Declan to a different Y for gymnastics. Dave got in the pool with Wyatt while Anne watched. Wyatt was still less than enthusiastic about infant swimming. It was better than last week’s waterboarding, but not much. He fussed after first entering the pool and then stoically resigned himself to his fate. It was agreed that he was not having much fun.
Meanwhile, at the gymnastics center Declan was finding it difficult to get with the program. Aiden, his friend from daycare was in class too and there was some rivalry occurring between the two. He did enjoy bouncing on the trampoline and swimming in the pool-of-balls, which were actually not balls at all, but cubes 8″ on a side. I got to observe these proceedings from the second-floor lookout.
With Maren’s return our reason for being here is done. Tomorrow, we fly home. Hopefully. It appears in the news that TSA’s patience with working without pay is getting thin. I expect that tomorrow, when we pass through security, ICE agents will be there. While we never joke at these checkpoints, this time will be especially unfunny. I hope we make it home OK.
Happy Birthday, Bubs!
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Knit Series: Killing Time
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Minions
It’s Saturday-Saturday! No work for David, at least none that he gets paid for. So, we divided our forces and split the party. Anne and I took Declan to the library. While Dave took Wyatt to the grocery store. This worked out pretty well, except Declan wanted to go to the grocery store too. He also wanted to go to the library but has not learned to replicate himself. Now, that’s a scary thought! On a Saturday morning, its children’s section was doing a pretty good business. We stayed for about two hours, until David called us home. We could have stayed longer, but this boy has a schedule to keep. I’ll leave you with a poem, My Mother Made a Meat Loaf by Jack Prelutsky:
My mother made a meat loaf that provided much distress, she tried her best to serve it, but she met with no success, her sharpest knife was powerless to cut a single slice, and her efforts with a cleaver failed completely to suffice.
She whacked it with a hammer, and she smacked it with a brick, but she couldn’t phase that meat loaf, it remained without a nick, I decided I would help her and assailed it with a drill, but the drill made no impression, though I worked with all my skill.
We chipped at it with chisels, but we didn’t make a dent, it appeared my mother’s meat loaf was much harder than cement, then we set upon the meat loaf with a hatchet and an axe, but that meat loaf stayed unblemished and withstood our fierce attacks.
We borrowed bows and arrows, and we fired at close range, it didn’t make a difference, for that meatloaf didn’t change, we beset it with a blow torch, but we couldn’t find a flaw, and we both were flabbergasted when it broke the power saw.
We hired a hippopotamus to trample it around, but that meat loaf was so mighty that it simply stood its ground, now we manufacture meat loaves by the millions, all year long. they are famous in construction, building houses tall and strong.





