I Hate It When They Do This

I was sitting in a chair on the lawn this morning watching Cubby and Charlie complete the ruination of their first set of clothing in the muddy garden when Otty came trotting up to me. She had the top quarter of a woodchuck in her mouth.

It was dead, obviously, and had been quite well-chewed. Pretty much all that was still intact was the head and a little of the pelt. It was, needless to say, incredibly disgusting.

So of course she dropped it right at my feet and then lay down next to it for a well-deserved rest. And so, also of course, I got up, put on one of A.'s work gloves, and carried the grisly remains of the woodchuck over to the fence, where I threw it into the gully.

Because the only thing worse than a dog carrying around a chewed-up woodchuck head is a child carrying around a chewed-up woodchuck head. And you just know that would have been the next scene in this little comedy.

Ah, the romance of country life.

Inconsistency, Thy Name Is Cubby

10:30 this morning

Cubby: I could eat meatballs anytime.

Me: You want meatballs for dinner tonight?

Cubby: Yes. I love meatballs.

Me: Okay.

4:30 this afternoon

Cubby: What's for dinner? Pasta?

Me: No. Meatballs.

Cubby: WHAT? NOOOOO!

Me: You said you wanted meatballs, so I made them.

Cubby: I did NOT say I wanted meatballs. I hate meatballs! Make something else!

Me: Too late. They're already cooking.

Cubby: Take them out of the oven!

(He went on in this vein for another minute or two, but it was very irritating at the time and will no doubt be just as irritating in the re-telling, so I'll spare you.)

5:30 this evening

Me: Cubby, it's time for dinner.

Cubby, upon viewing his plate: NOOOOO. Or . . . maybe not no.

5:32 this evening

Cubby: Can I have some more meatballs?

5:35 this evening

Cubby: Can I have another meatball?

Me: I'm glad you like the meatballs, Cubby.

Cubby: I LOVE meatballs.

Through great effort of will, I managed not to roll my eyes or say something sarcastic. But it was most certainly a very great effort.

A Silenced Songbird

I have this habit--no doubt excessively annoying to the members of my household--of singing bits of songs whenever I'm reminded of them. Since I have a more or less inexhaustible store of song lyrics in my head, this happens more often than you might think.

So, for example, I might be sniffing some meat to see if it's still good and start in with the refrain to "Tainted Love." Or maybe Charlie is wailing inconsolably during one of his many (MANY) unexplainable almost-two-year-old tantrums and I'll start singing in my best twang, "Gloooom, despaaair, and agony on me; deep dark depression, excessive misery.*"

Anyway. I sing with some frequency is the point. I didn't even realize how often I sing until yesterday when my stubborn and long-running cough transformed my pretty decent voice into something resembling a three-pack-a-day smoker's voice. It's ugly. I keep starting to sing something and then stopping myself, horrified at the sounds coming out of my mouth.

So I haven't been warbling about very much lately, except for the one mandatory song. And that is Cubby's lullaby. Every night before bed--and every day before his nap if he takes one--I have to sing Brahms' "Lullaby." I've been doing this now for two years, and you best believe Cubby will not tolerate any change in that routine. So I sing it, even though it kind of hurts my throat and most definitely hurts my ears.

Let's hope my voice returns soon; I'm pretty sure Brahms turns over in his grave to cover his ears every time I butcher his lovely melody.

* I had no idea until I looked this up just now that this song is from the show "Hee Haw." You should really check out this clip. Magnificent.