Your Father's Grandchildren

It's a beautiful day here at Casa Fries, and I am out on the porch enjoying it. I'm trying to get some other writing done, and I'm blissfully (and finally) working away (my gutters aren't being cleaned anymore), happy that the words are coming, when Hubby bursts out onto the front porch.

"I was putting the ladder away at the far side of the house, behind the toy box," he began.

I nodded and added a detail that I felt needed to go into my paragraph.

"Are you listening? You really need to be listening."

I turned off my writing playlist, stopped working, and gave him my full attention. Then I noticed Middle standing behind the screen door. Oh boy.

"And there, on top of the toy box, is part of an old cinder block with a dead mouse in it. Completely forgetting Rule #2, I asked, 'Why is there a dead mouse on top of the toy box?' And your child told me, 'Leave it alone; it's mine and MBFF's pet, and his name is Jerry.'"

It was at this point in time that I performed a migraine salute: I placed my fingertips and thumb on opposite sides of my nose and pinched, gently.

You know, I'd thought I'd gotten rid of the headache I awoke with this morning . . . 

Not so much, it seems.

Mind you, this is the kid who enjoys watching NCIS with me. She also enjoys Forensic Files. 

I stared at her through the storm door, desperately trying to think of the right word. "You are aware of this thing called decomposition?"

"Uh-huh!" she said cheerfully.

"Putrefaction," I mentioned next.

She nodded, and Hubby stopped me. "You're just feeding the crazy."

He had a point.

He went on to tell me about the current state of this poor mouse, its fly friends (there are many), and Middle explained that, when Jerry is just bones, she and MBFF will have a skeleton good-luck-charm of sorts.

Face, meet palm.

Hubby then explained that he asked her (also probably a violation of Rule #2, to be very honest) where she and MBFF had found Jerry.

"In the yard, next to his squished cousin." Middle paused then, apparently for effect. "And don't worry, Dad. We sexed him. Jerry is definitely a boy."

Middle is giggling now as Hubby relates this part, and I'm at the point of I don't know what else this kid is going to surprise us with. 

Hubby reached for the door handle. "These are your father's grandchildren," he pointed out. "Your father's grandchildren."

Yes, well. My father isn't around to help them get into mischief, but it seems they're finding enough on their own.

He'd be proud.

Grossed out, but proud.