…but any day that starts out in the chicken houses, and ends by tossing The Boy, I would have to define as a not-so-good one. (Yeah, katiebird, we would probably have some stuff to talk about. Email me some time; maybe we'll put our phones on speaker so the spouses can contribute too.)
Thing is, the part in between was pretty good. A coroner in a town called Demorest has a sort-of Christmas party every year; they put luminaries on all the grave sites and invite the public — innovative, and I told the owner so. Daughter Dearest’s choir was invited to sing outdoors, so we went along to videotape the performance. Their second set was after sundown, so I got audio with the iPod/MicroMemo combination — they did five Christmas songs, only one of which most of you would be familiar with, all a cappella. I’ll include a couple of them on the next Podcast from FAR Manor (Special Holiday Edition) if the director doesn’t mind. Daughter Dearest winced a couple of times at the recording, which she listened to on my iPod on the way home, because she knows how each song should sound and can identify the mistakes.
When we came home to find The Boy’s band milling around between the house and the detached garage, we weren’t too put off by that (we knew they would be there). But when Mrs. Fetched walked into The Boy’s room (to tell him to turn down the music) and caught him and his girlfriend in flagrante delicto… well, you can imagine. This, after he agreed to clean up his act as a condition of his continued residence at FAR Manor. If it had been me, I would have run laughing to grab a camera and then threw them out. She got straight to the point, as usual, which was probably the best course of action.
While he packed, I talked to a couple of his friends outside. I was pretty blunt: I told them that The Boy had no respect for anyone, probably including himself. Maybe they’ll remember that while he’s living off them. The thing is, I’m not sure how we’ll reconcile this when the time comes. Right now, I think he’ll have to give us some kind of token gesture like cutting his hair and ditching the piercings.
My Rosemary Wood Floor beer needs one more week, I think, to be mature. I guess I’ll hit the rum for now.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
7 comments:
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I have to tell you Farfetched. I am hook on your blog and the things that are happen with the boy. Been there done that! So please keep it coming. I am waiting to see how things turn out.
ReplyDeleteDee
Thanks, Dee. A few of us should probably grab a chat room some night and swap stories!
ReplyDeleteYes the kids cane drive us crazy at time!!! But if it any help we do make it though the hard times and are better for it. Our sons are now 41,39 and 33. You already know the 33 yr old..Darrell.
ReplyDeleteDee
Sorry should have said WTP Darrell.
ReplyDeleteIt just seems to never end does it? Here's hoping you good luck.
ReplyDeleteWow, deedee, you're Darrell's mom? That's cool to know you're on line with us here!
ReplyDeleteFM, our back channels tell us The Boy thinks that it was probably the best thing we could have done — right now, we're just too incompatible to live together. They're going to still practice here, so we'll have some lines of communication.
Yes Farfetched ..I write in my blogs (that Darrell has got me hook on) about some of the things that we have done with the kids and grandkids. If for no other reason not to kill the kids, it is the hope of grandkids....lol. Just keep the faith!
ReplyDelete