Strangers in the back yard

Two little things before the stranger story:

1) G’s famous whole wheat pancakes: how I want some of these right NOW.

2) And why I keep talking about legs and gross things:

Yucky, huh?  This is actually not some poor, pale fish, mauled by a Grizzly.  This is actually ME.  I was gonna get fancy with the graphics and draw an arrow pointing to the thin purple zig-zag line to tell you that they actually just plain drew on me with magic marker during the procedure, and another arrow pointing out the nifty squish patterns the compression stocking left all over me. I do not look like this now.  But I thought you’d just be fascinated, seeing for yourself how fun all that leg stuff was.  And you are, right?

 Now: The Stranger

I warned all my kids not to expect me EVER to babysit for them.  And look what happened when I did:

Do you notice anything slightly weird about this man? 

 Scoots and I had decided (Scoots decided) that we needed to go out into the back yard.  In other words, he looked up at me, snagged my hand and willed the door open.  So out onto the grass we went.  I came up on our little fake-wicker lawn settee, AND THERE WAS A LIZARD ON IT.  I know, I know – big deal, right?  But I have never, ever, not once before – or maybe once but I don’t really remember – seen a lizard in my yard.  Which is sad.  We all love lizards.  Anyway, he surprised me.

This little reptilian  felt basically the same way about me – maybe because I’ve been out in the backyard a sum total of three (five?) times this whole summer (too busy making Toyota keys).  He leapt off the settee in a panic and swam like crazy over that grass sea, using all four legs as paddles.  But I was too quick for him – cut him off before he could get to the safety of the thicket.  And why?  Because G is Lizard Kid and has been since he was a kid in CA. and I didn’t want him to miss an actual lizard at our very own house.

“A blue belly!” G said when he finally came out. He scooped up the little thing, and it immediately ran up his arm, across his shoulder, to end up perched on the top of G’s head.

We tried to share this miracle with Scooter—

but he never did catch the vision.  (Note the slightly skeptical look.)

“You say what, now? You have something up there on your head?  I don’t see anything, actually.  Up there on your head.”

Scooter considering: is it even polite to mention to Grandpa’s little dandruff problem?  And does dandruff actually look like that?  With eyes and everything?

“Ummm.  Gram.  Could you please take me now? Nothing personal, Grandpa.”

Scooter preferred wild pears to wild life.  This must have pleased our pear tree: the rest of us never really appreciate the eight pears it produces every year.  But Scooter found them quite nice in the fading light of the gloaming:

He ate pears while sitting up.

 

He ate them while strolling the yard. 

 

He ate them lying down.

And then the matter was confused by the introduction of a Potawatomi plum.

How to deal with an embarrassment of fruit-stuffs?

Share.

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All in all, it was a good day.  More like hanging out than like babysitting.

And we can work with that.