There was troubling posting this weekend so I am late, late, late. Mea culpa.

We had a good weekend all around. Miss Miranda was supposed to come on Friday so that Mom and Dad could go to Momma's office party, but Miranda got the crud so Mom was solo.

Saturday Dad was The Single Parent while Mom went home for great aunt Evelyn's estate sale. (Funny side line: I bought a ring and then realized that the checkbook was at home. The limit on the debit card was too low for me to actually pay for what I bought. Uh-oh. Good thing that Uncle Tim is a banker and able to float me a loan. The interest rate for two days was exorbitant though!)

When I got home, Dad headed out for Uncle Monty's to play chess and watch the "big" game (which was an absolute, total, unmitigated disaster). Mom quit watching after the first half and listened to NPR news instead. bleh.bleh.bleh. It is going to be a long winter if the quality of play does not improve.

On the "up" side, though, the boys were most excellent. Griffith is learning to share (don't laugh -- he really, really is.) He has been wonderful.

"Griffith -- don't take that from Allan. Share, please."
(hands the bowl back)
"GOOD BOY, GRIFFITH !!!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD SHARING !!!!!!!!! GOOD LISTENING!!!!!"

Which generally resulted in him giving Allan whatever. On occasion it resulted in him (inadvertently -- we think) clunking Allan on the head with the truck or pig or whatever. But, usually, so long as you praised him to high heaven Griffith was happy enough to share. (Jay noted that Griffith is a lot like him: willing to do about anything so long as you give him "atta boys" long and loud.)

On Sunday not much was accomplished. The weather was foul, foul, foul. Rainy and gloomy and cold. Dad went in to work for awhile and then, when he came home (to a house with two sleeping babies!) I headed out to the grocery. What an absolute misery. Shopping pre-Xmas is impossible. Only by dint of sheer will did I stay in the store and get everything (nearly) that was on the list. And,where in the hell do they put raisins anyway? Not on the "snack" aisle with the nuts. Not on the baking aisle. I have no clue whatsoever and the boys may never have another raisin again. They look like nasty boogers anyway. So what. Big deal. Who cares?

Got home to find Allan asleep (again) and Dad and Griff "watching" football. At 2:30. Griff hadn't had lunch. At 2:30. He had slept through lunchtime and then really wasn't throwing a fit (probably too weak from not having lunch -- at 2:30). He was an absolute pain in the a-double-s for the rest of the afternoon.

Jay decided to make roast beef and Yorkshire puddings for dinner along with roast potatoes. All of which was delicious (except for the puddings which are, essentially, biscuits of undistinguished origin) but resulted in the absolute destruction of the entire kitchen. Instead of cleaning up after himself, Dad decided that it was time to add more lights to the holiday display. Whoever said the British were restrained about those sorts of things never met my husband. People are going to be stopping by thinking this is a casino if he doesn't stop stringing up lights. Carbon footprint be damned. The next thing you know we will have an inflatable Santa on the front lawn!

The boys enjoyed watching Dad put up more and more and more and more lights, though, so we had that going for us.

We had the best time with Allan and Griffith. Allan kept pulling up to standing and got to shaking his head 'no-no' which Griff thought was Hy.Ster.Ical. So Griff would laugh and Allan would shake his head and laugh. Then, if Allan didn't shake his head soon enough, Griff would shake HIS head 'no-no' and laugh and then Allan would do the same. It was so much fun to see them paying attention to each other and laughing at their own little jokes.

The best moment of the weekend, though, we didn't catch on film. I was in the kitchen and Dad was hanging a wreath on the garage (don't ask!) and I could hear the fellas playing in the living room. As Jay came through the back door I turned around to see that Allan had Griffith by the back of his sweatshirt, trying to fling him to the floor and giggling the whole time. We tried to get the camera in time, but didn't make it. (Instead of, you know, intervening or anything.) Of course, when Griffith knocked Allan to the floor 2 minutes later, he had to go to time out (the valuable lesson here is one that Cousin Thomas learned early on in pre-school - "they always catch the one who hits second.") We have started having to say "No, Allan!" and "Gentle, Allan!" Frankly he is going to be quite a little monster. When he got tired of shaking his head and laughing at his brother, he kept bending over and I couldn't figure out what he was doing. Until he almost bit me. Monsters. Two of them.