Had grandkids early and often over weekend. Adventures in Babysitting was an '80s movie which prompted a crush on Elisabeth Shue.
I’m suitably exhausted. We started out watching OSU game but within the first twenty minutes our middle child was crying for reasons now lost in the archives of babysitting history. Dog Max had gotten something he shouldn’t have, and 2-year old Katherine was trying to climb over Steph while grabbing everything that wasn’t nailed down.
We made it till mid-4th quarter when game seemed wrapped up before heading out in the frigid cold. First up was cutting the grass (or rather leaves, since a heavy blanket of leaves sat on it). Despite charging the mower for a few hours the battery wouldn’t start. So next up was leaf blower which, alas, didn’t blow leaves since not powerful enough. This left the unpalatable solution of raking the leaves by hand. The boys and I started raking and three minutes later the kids’ hands get cold. So I told them to go in and get gloves. They do and next thing is Max is running loose, loose as a goose in the front yard. Someone had left the door open. So I spent then next ten minutes chasing Max around until he went into somebody’s garage and got cornered.
Max restored, we re-started the leaf-raking, doing it for a solid hour and getting it under control before diving into leaves for photo ops.
Then to hot tub, me, the boys and Katherine. Afterward Steph took Kath home and I ordered pizza. By 7pm we were happy and full. Rented movie Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days which was surprisingly good. For earworm purposes I introduced the boys to ‘80s song Safety Dance after reading Amy Welborn did that for her kids recently. But no earworms were said to have formed - except for me. I'm still singing that song in my head. No bad deed goes unpunished. They had Alexa play something more their speed: “Radioactive”.
Sleep, blessed sleep, at 9:30. For them if not for me. I holed myself up in my room like an outlaw, drinking Edmund Fitzgerald Stout and reading from the severely underrated writer Joe Queenan. He’s sort of a sophisticated male version of Erma Bombeck.