If Mary Poppins Had A Garage...

For me it's always a struggle coming back from vacation and trying to reenter the monotony of real life. Right now the crushing sadness of missing family, and the disaster of a house that I need to get cleaned up have made me stress out to the point where I will end up painting my living room before I get to the mounds of laundry, just to defy my to-do list. Anyways, I will get around to posting about how much fun we had on the trip but for now I want to share two not-so-quick stories before I forget the particulars.

1. The Muffin:
We (the kids and I) went to the park one morning with my Mom, my nephew, Ebby, and my niece, Autumn. We had brought some bread and a very old muffin to feed the ducks, but about half way into our excursion Ebby and Livi found the bag of bread and started on it like a pack of rabid dogs. Ebby, who is not allowed snacks because then he wont eat at meal times, was especially...vigorous in his eating of the contraband.

After a few minutes the bread was all gone and I remarked "Well at least we still have the muffin!" Next thing I know Ebby has pulled out the extremely stale muffin and is trying to take a giant bite out of the marble-like top. We decide we need to start feeding the ducks ASAP if we want to, in fact, feed the ducks and head over to the pond. Soon all 5 kids are throwing pieces of week old muffin at the delighted ducks.

Unfortunately one muffin, even a giant Costco muffin, does not go very far with 5 kids and soon we were getting to the last crumbs. My mom remarked to Ebby as she handed him his final piece "Last one Ebby, then the muffin is all gone," trying to prepare him for the end of the duck feeding frenzy. Ebby looked down at the muffin in his hand and promptly shoved the piece in his mouth.

The kid may have loved feeding the ducks, but he wasn't fool enough to feed them his last chance for an illicit snack!

2. The Cave Of Wonder
My Dad either needs a 12,000 sqft shed in the backyard, or he needs the Hoarders tv crew to come out and help him wade through my parents "garage." I say "garage" in quotes because in all the time they have owned the house (23.5 years) I can remember a car being parked in there all of 1 time. True, houses in Southern California do not have basements, and most houses do not have adequate storage, but really, it is a daunting hold-all (and I have to say 99.9% is my dad's stuff).

I get my love of hobbies (ohhhhh, I have to write about my newest one soon, it is AWESOME!!!) from him, but the difference is he can afford to go all out on them. Having a lot of hobbies means having a l0t of hobby specific equipment. Having lots of equipment means that the garage is turned into an apocalyptic wasteland where you are afraid you are going to run into a band of scrounging survivors every time you round a corner. And there are many corners. Walking into the garage is like entering a labyrinth. Down one aisle is 19th century clothes and street corner light (for a youth dance), another has a replica guillotine and electric chair from the spook alley he does every year, and the edges have various cabinets for wood turning, ammo making, house repair, and probably even his secret lunar exploration module that we will all get to ride in next Christmas. I would post pictures as it truly defies words, but that would embarrass my poor mother too much, so I wont.

whew, where was I...oh, so Ella was following my mom around as Mom picked up the house after our holiday madness, as children do, prattling on about dancing, music, princesses, or probably all three. Mom opens the door to the garage to put out a cardboard box and I hear from my spot on the couch Ella stop mid-stream of speech. Then in a tone part wonder, part fear "Grandma...what IS this place?"

Ella, we've been asking ourselves the same thing for years!