tidbits: the in-laws edition

The back yard is completely mowed. The front yard is still unkempt. I intended to cut the grass in both sections, but two things conspired against me.

One: I flooded the motor. Two: It was starting to rain. (OK, it was only a sprinkle. It was precipitation with a slight but ever-present potential for a downpour.)

My father-in-law also felt the drops of water falling from the sky.

"You could mow in the rain," he said. "If we lived on the Olympic Peninsula that would be the only way we could get the lawn mowed."

I nodded, then he asked, "Did you mow in the rain a lot when you lived in Seattle?"

"No," I relied, "we just let our grass grow."

You think I'm kidding. I'm not.

* * * * *

My son has texture issues. This makes him the pickiest of picky eaters. One of his greatest food barriers are sauces. Anything ranging from spaghetti to pizza sauce, to ranch dressing or ketchup. He won't eat it. Zu, however, craves saucy textures. Whenever we feed the kids foods that normal people would dip in some form of condiment, Zu and the Tank are both served ketchup. Christian doesn't want to be the only kid at the table not dipping his chicken nuggets or fish sticks into something, but he won't get over his texture avoidance. He's a bit more creative. (Side note: odd eating habits is one of the possible symptoms cluing in to a possible aspergers spectrum diagnosis)

My mother-in-law is our primary weekend babysitter, but tonight she had a migraine. In lieu of her abilities, my father-in-law pinch hit for her. I had to explain Christian's strange habits when detailing dinner plans. The following transpired after I gave him the cooking instructions for corn-dogs.

"Should I give them something extra?" he asked.

"Pretzels, Goldfish, Pirates Booty." I answered. "Whatever is easy for you."

"What about granola bars?"

"Sure. You can do that."

"Do they get ketchup or anything like that?"

"Zu and the Tank will want ketchup. Christian won't want any." I said. "He may, however, want peanut butter."

"Peanut butter... for his corn-dog?"

"Yes," I answered, "he doesn't like to be left out."

* * * * *

After being absent for two hours, I called to make sure Dad had not been tied up or incapacitated in any way. What he told me, I wasn't expecting.

"I called in your mother-in-law. I got in over my head." He said.

"Awww. I'm sorry. What happened."

"They were playing in the back yard, and I poked my head out to see how they were doing. Zu was completely gray."

Gray? Brown I could understand, that would mean they were playing in the dirt (which they often do). But gray?

My father-in-law gave the details. The kids were playing on the deck - which we don't allow, it's the yard or inside. Come up to the deck and you come inside. That rule was not communicated to my father in-law so he thought nothing of it. That is until he checked on their actions. While on the deck, Zu dug into the ashes under the Webber grill sitting in the corner of the deck. She danced in it, rolled around in it, and coated herself from head to toe.

The cavalry with the migraine was called in to assist with the bath.

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