Happy Punch

It only looks like Barbara and Armin are taking the boys out for an early morning sled ride. What you have to remember, though, is that our last name is Johnson, which carries with it an unwanted but unavoidable obligation to be late to any and every event that Angie has ever planned. But who's to blame?

Sure I could point fingers at Angie, who needed two and half hours to wax her fingernails. Or maybe it was Angie, who must have read somewhere that blow drying your hair for three hours helps prevent wrinkles. It could even have been Angie, who suddenly decided that it was absolutely critical to rearrange the sock drawer and alphabetize our soups. It doesn't really matter - I'm not one to judge; the fact was, we showed up for our fun-filled day of sledding shortly before sunset.

Luckily, our boys don't care about silly concepts like 'daytime' or 'sunlight'.

I should point out that this was their first slide. It got so dark that even the flash didn't help with the subsequent four hundred runs. You might ask if Angie had joined us on the icy knoll. Instead of answering, I would simply thank you for disproving the 'there are no stupid questions' rule.


We made it back to Casa de Barb to find a warm and rather happy Angie. The 'warm' was clear to everyone, since she had self-sacrificingly volunteered to stay in the nice heated apartment to watch Tom sleep while the rest of us played midnight sledding. The 'happy' became clear when I discovered that Angie had discovered Barb's warm punch at some point during our happy little ice capade.

I almost grabbed a mug and joined the happy siblings, but then I saw this lovely gem.

WHAT in the name of all that is HOLY is THAT??!! My second thought was that someone should really start a group to stop the unethical treatment of fruit. I mean, really - what did that poor orange ever do to Barbara to warrant such cruelty?

After bearing witness to the unsolicited sequel to Clockwork Orange, I decided to go check on the boys.

At first jump, I was convinced that David had somehow gotten his hands on some of Mama's happy juice. I almost left the funny looking creatures to their own devices, but the thought of returning to the Little Shop of Fruit kept me focused on the mission of putting wild animals to sleep.

If you told me to jump, I'd tell you to go pound sand. If you told me that there is no way I can get three hyperactive animals under control in less than 20 minutes, I'd take that challenge. Then I would declare myself the funk soul brother and tell you to check me out now.

Please don't ask about Tom's obvious heritage with ostriches; I've learned long ago not to bring up Angie's college days.

When a less than large, flightless bird awoke from it's slumber the next morning, it's Mama decided that a freezing-cold repeat of the night before made so much more sense that warming up it's young with pancakes and syrup.


Not surprisingly, Angie's cold logic paid dirt when it came to Tommy's amusement factor. He took exactly ONE snow plow trip with Mother before his lungs quite loudly convinced his nostrils that they didn't enjoy being packed with snow. Had Angie's plan been to shy the not-so-shy boy away from white powdery substances - GOOOOOOAAAAAALLLL!

You might wonder where Armin was on day two. I didn't. Neither did Barbara or Angie, but that's not really the point. We (Angie) had stuck him on 'Peter & David' detail. The problem was that, in addition to finger deficit, Armin has a bad back. I'm not even sure if this is true, but that didn't stop Angie's logic from convincing her weirdness that pulling Peter and David around would be medicinal for him and his decrepit spine.

After an hour of 'treatment', someone looked ready for a medicinal puff after a double dose of the Zoo. I won't name names of course; it would be too embarrassing.

There's safety in numbers, or so they say.

Looks more like 'crazy in numbers' if you ask me. But who's to blame?

Sure, I could point fingers at Angie, who became certifiable seven and a half years ago with the words 'I do'. Or maybe it was Angie, who sneezes at the sun and has an extreme addiction to cucumbers. It could even be Angie, who is related to a woman who tortures fruit. It doesn't really matter - I'm not one to judge; the fact was, we ended our fun-filled day of sledding with a memory that warmed me up almost as much as Barbie's happy punch.
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Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That I go down the slide on me own.
David: Papa, you know - the sled on the ice and whoosh, I so fast.
Tom: I was laughing like this - hee, hee.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David keep saying everything that I say.
David: When we go home after so short.
Tom: When I cry.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: Build a cave.
David: Play with and Mama a game where I the winner.
Tom: Grams and Opa and a book.