Them Floyds (and Direct Relations....)

At my sister's house last night we played a number of parlor games.

One of them was quite simple--a person walked out of the room, changed something about their appearance, then walked back in a everyone tried to guess what was different. My sister put her dress on inside-out for this game, and left if that way the rest of the night.

Another game was Psychiatrist, where someone is selected to leave the room, then everyone else decides on some rule for how to answer questions, then the person comes back in and asks questions to different people until they figure out the rule. For example, When it was Makenna's turn to leave the room, the 'rule' was that all answers had to start with an animal noise. Another 'rule' was that the answer had to start with the first letter of your own first name.

Anyway, I told you that to tell you this:

During 1 round, the rule was that when we were answering a question we had to do whatever my nephew Ben was doing at the time. He started off easy--he would scratch his head, or swing his arms around, or make kissing faces--and then really got into the groove of things.

And when it was Cindy's turn he took his shirt off and sat there bare-chested. Cindy of course had the presence of mind to not mimic him that time--though no one but the questioner wouldn've seen anything anyway through the veil of tears wrought by hysterical laughter.

Literally speaking????

I was making a double batch of brownies this morning and instead of putting them in 2 9x13 pans I thought it would fit in my large 11x15 jelly roll pan. During the cooking process they started to raise far enough above the rim of the pan to roll over the edge and then fall onto the bottom of the oven resulting in a somewhat smokey and stinky kitchen. (Darn it...I had just cleaned the oven a few weeks ago too!)
The neighbor girl walked home with Allyson and upon entering the kitchen said, "It smells bad in here."

"Yes." I replied, "I am burning something in my oven. Rats!"

"WHY?"

Then figuring it was easier to show than explain that my pan was too small and the food was falling off the edges I took her to the oven to see for herself. I opened the oven door and she looked inside.

"That's not Rats!" she said.

I couldn't disagree with her. Good thing I didn't say, "Bummer!"

Fatherly Compassion

In one of her last rushed preparations for camp last night, Erin decided that she needed to shave her legs.

A couple minutes later I heard her yelling out to me.

Walking in, I see her sitting on the edge of the bathtub (suitably clothed, of course) with her feet in about 6 inches of still-rising water, a razor in one hand, a bloody washcloth in the other.

Looking to where she was focusing her energies, I saw a narrow stream of blood cascading from the side of her knee, where she had evidently nicked herself pretty good.

Always the loving father, I remained calm and gave her the following instructions:

‘TURN THAT WATER OFF! THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH WATER FOR JUST SHAVING YOUR LEGS!!!’

After she turned the water off, I proceeded to get her a piece of tissue paper and explain how it would help stop the bleeding and aid in the coagulation process.

For some strange reason, Cindy burst out laughing when Erin explained the above unfolding of events to her.

I can only assume that Cindy is still somewhat lacking in the compassion department.

Summer Vacation Cabin Fever?

A couple days ago Cindy was walking by Erin’s room, when she noticed Erin making a sign on a piece of paper.

Looking over her shoulder, she read, ‘Monkey is in labor. Please do not disturb.’’

Puzzled about its meaning, she looked into Erin’s room.

She saw the following scene:

Erin’s big monkey was lying on the bed dressed in a frumpy dress that looked somewhat like a maternity gown, and her other monkey was at its side, holding its hand.

Cindy chuckled in quiet amusement as Erin proceeded to tape the sign on her door.

An hour later Cindy and Erin went off to run a couple errands, and Cindy asked her, “Oh, so you left your monkey alone in labor?”

“Not at all,” she replied in a professional tone, “I put some quiet music on to help her relax.”

Later on in the day, Cindy asked her how the monkey was doing.

Erin replied brightly, “She’s still pushing. She’s still pushing.”

Some time later Cindy heard Erin upstairs screaming wildly.

Wondering if she had hurt herself, Cindy asked her what the problem was.

Erin yelled out, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy!”

POSTSCRIPT: Later in the day Cindy saw Erin’s sign again. Sometime during the day she had added the following:

“Progress: [Daddy] Bear passed out. Sponge-Bob passed out.”

I hope Erin's camp teaches ladylike etiquette...

Sweet Erin was in the kitchen when she came up with what she thought was a wonderful idea!

"I know!" she gushed, "I should try to freeze my spit!"
She promptly began hawking into a cup.

Fortunately I was nearby, and between my gagging I was able to put a stop to that idea.

Frozen spit?

There is no way I would allow her to do that--at least not until she filled her mouth with something to flavor it first, like Hershey's syrup, Oreos, etc.

Songs from the heart!

Allyson has turned into our little singer. Any moment she will start singing. She like "The Wheels on the Bus", "Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama, my first word.", "Jingle Bells", and "Old McDonald". All of these have their own rendition, in fact, the Mama song is one Makenna sang at a school program and is actually supposed to be "have you heard" instead of "my first word". My favorite song she sings is "I am a Child of God". This is her way of singing it.

"Teach me.
Guide me.
You walk me by my street"

Puts a smile on your face every time.

On another singing note. Since Michael Jackson died the kids have started enjoying his songs more and more. Of course since we are not really Michael Jackson fans we like the weird Al versions. Now Makenna walks around singing , "Fat! Fat!" and Cameron and Erin prefer the, "Like a Surgeon" while striking some strange pose with one arm pointing up and the other down with their legs split.