Letting The Dust Settle

Yesterday's housecleaning felt like the first bit of pragmatic help our little ship of fools has received since the crash landing in August. The pro appointments feel like still more ink stains on the over-loaded busy calendar. Like we need more busy buzz. . . Clean corners and toilets are help you can measure. Proof positive. Thank you, my working girls. You are a bargain at twice the price. My senior bones thank you, as well.

The cleaning crew was still hard at work when lunch-time rolled around. I found myself getting grumbly when my stomach got rumbly. How am I going to make luch with all those extra bodies flittering around? By the time Hubby's rumbly tumbly showed up on the porch, I was astounded to have realized "A Norm" had been disrupted. It has been a while since I have felt a Normal Spot and? ? ? What do I do with this one? ? ? Dunno, but Hubs sold 6 jars of honey after the cleaning crew realized The Honey Dude was on the scene. It was a treat to see his Corporate Robo Cop armor fall off while he was dishing out the honey. He was extra slow in putting it back on for the long commute to his Robo Cop Headquarters by "The Old Man." The Old Man is Big Bro's new name for the old farmhouse. It seems to be catching on.

Big Bro nearly antagonized his first-ever friend, W, out of his life last night. During last week's barbecue, Big Bro grew convinced W was out to steal a particular Beyblade from his modest collection. W is still painfully shy about speaking up when away from his family, so I cannae know if he shares the fixation on that particular toy, or not. I have zero doubt W is completely mystified by Big Bro's abusive behavior. The clearest voice W has given to the conflict is, "I want to go home." When W raised that voice last night, I guided him back to the room Big Bro still seems to be guarding from Sandbox Bullies who might take it away from him. I stretched out on the floor and initiated a dialogue about the nature and importance of sharing with friends. Initially, W witnessed the exchange from the bedroom door. As I took the coveted Beyblade from Big Bro's hands and began spinning it idly, W inched closer. When I spun the toy into W's knee, the child jumped as if he'd been snake bit. I silently reclaimed the toy and continued spinning.

As the convo prattled out of steam, I asked W if he still wanted to go home. He shrugged at me. I told him to let me know what he decides and left the boys to find each other anew. Hubs gave a thumbs up report after he checked on them a bit later. Neither boy got a lick of sleep last night, but are looking good through the droopy eyes.

Proof unavailable, but I believe we have found our normal-for-this-little-ship-of-fools. Just in time for the Spring Break visit to the other grandparent house. Can we let that proverbial dust settle now?