Gobbleobbleobble

It's been a great week.

Molzer Dolzer came back from the dark side Tuesday night, was picked up from the airport by her sister.  Their mother was in Vancouver, so acting in her stead I demanded that SB apprise me when "the package" was in hand.

Somewhat later in the evening than expected, came the call.  "I got her.  She's here." 

Hmmmm - something wrong? I axed of the normally loquacious one.  "Nothing wrong.  Everything's fine.  Gotta go."  Only trifecta of two-word sentences ever from that one.  And even more suspicious, Molzer didn't get on the phone.  SB disturbingly sotto voce.  Those two are up to something.  My long dormant parenting antennae shot up.

Sho nuff.  The reason SB was using her "I did too go to school today" voice and sentence structure was that the two little knuckleheads went out and got tattoos.  A star on each ankle for Shaween, on one ankle for MDolzer.

Not swastikas on their necks or anything, but still. (The son-in-law, awakened from his well earned slumber to view the carnage, says to his wifey, "Now you'll always look like you're wearing Converse.")

And the best part - when their mother calls the next morning, finally, and I express my shock, my outrage at the perfidity of the fruit of her loins, there's this pause, and then in a level voice she says, "How would you feel if I got a tattoo, too?" 

sigh

Thursday, rather than the twenty to thirty peeps we're accustomed to having over, we had just the kids and grandkids. Played bocce ball and tag and threw the football until I roughhoused too much with the Gabe and whacked his head on the ground and his mother got into my face and I felt bad and that evening we all went to Zoo Lights, for which I broke out my annual holiday channeling of Boo Radley.

Friday the wimmens went out for the 4 a.m. kick-off, from which they returned heavy laden.  Joe and the grandkids came over for some marathon Mario Party Seven, and I think we all had one of the best thanksgiving weekends ever.