Angels visited the Green Goddess and Professor Wednesday and Thursday, but these weren’t celestial apparitions. Our cherubs consisted of the Senator and Governor, who were in grandparental care and custody. We helped out, because our favorite goalie had a new cast on the arm she injured when deflecting a missile-velocity soccer ball.
The boys were perfectly well behaved, with only one occurrence of wailing, and that was understandable. The Gov. pinched his fingers in the dishwasher latch—hereinafter to be known as the “big owie” handle. (Hereinafter is one of two words I’ve always wanted to use; the other is contraindicated.)
I bring this up only because the Chairman’s prescription for putting the cherubs to bed is contraindicated (tah, dah—two words out of two) by fact. The Chairman may have misled you into believing that bedtime for the Senator and Governor required an assemblage of ropes and pulleys, fire and tong. From our experience, that is manifestly unfair to perhaps the most angelic creatures who ever went over the river and through the woods to … oh, you know whose house.
In this instance, “over the river and through the woods” was precisely accurate, as we departed the farm to cross the Crow River and go through the woods that line its banks. Driving to you-know-whose-house was without problem, except for the minor distraction of an ethereal glow from the van’s middle seats. Could that luminescence have radiated from cherubic halos? Hardly a peep for 60 miles, but give proper due to the Green Goddess’s cornucopia of toys-that-are-kept-out-of-sight-for-emergencies.
Bedtime for the Gov. occurred at 8 p.m. Wednesday, shortly after he crash-landed on the living-room rug. When told it was “night-night” time, he said only, “Snuggle first.” After being rocked a while, he nestled down for 12 hours of sleep interrupted by a nary a cry or even a sigh.
The Senator remained up until 10 p.m., helping the Green Goddess cut fruit for a Thanksgiving salad. (I’ll predict a career in microsurgery for the boy; given the way he diced watermelon into pieces the size of aspirin tablets.) Oh, I almost forgot, the Senator also went to bed without protest and was out for 12 hours.
We took the boys to the farm for Thanksgiving at Nana and Bupa’s and returned them to our abode that night. No details, however, since the Chairman might think it smug for me to continue on about how easily things continued to progress. Hey, not gloating is the least I can do to make up for teaching the Gov. to say, “Hustle buns, mama!”