the sweater

The color made you think of walnuts, not too dark, not too light. It had big round buttons, like milk chocolates in a sea of cocoa powder. The neck was high and the pockets were deep. There were patches of fuzzy suede, and the yarn was just ever so slightly scratchy.

When I was a teenager I had a habit of swiping my father’s clothes. It was the 80s and both baggy clothes and menswear were in. Pop’s sweater smelled of Old Spice, was roomy and comfortable, and it matched my camouflage pants perfectly. (Hey, like I said, it was the 80s!) Of course I wore it to school so often there’s even a photo of me in it in my senior yearbook.

I was fourteen, fifteen, an age where you don’t hug your parents as much as you used to, when you’re trying to gain a little independence and become your own person. But that sweater, it was like wearing a hug. So was his gray plaid bathrobe I stole before I went off to college and wore until all the seams ripped out.

When I was eighteen and went out on my own I left some old tee shirts behind, the ones that I thought I was too old to wear. I came home on break once to find Pop wearing one – with a silly Garfield cartoon on it! We laughed so much that for years he wore it every time they were expecting me. When I think about that now I wonder if maybe to him that tee shirt was like a hug from me?

It didn’t take me too long into my 20s to realize that hugging your parents isn’t just for little kids and I started up again. Since then I’ve hugged and kissed them everytime I’ve seen them, which isn’t often enough. I sure wish I still had Pop’s sweater. I could really use a hug right now. I love you Pop. xoxo

Author’s note: My father passed away on December 4th, 2010, ten days after I wrote this. He never had a chance to read it. My mother, however, read it on December 5th and promptly found the Garfield shirt in my father’s closet and gave it back to me. My sister believes she swiped the sweater from me when we lived together in college and she wore it into rags.

the mostly mighty hunter

Long story short; every fall one or two mice get in the house. I wish I could find the dang hole they use. Gross, I know, but we are surrounded by woods, so it’s to be expected. And it’s why we have a cat, the mighty hunter George. Anyway.

A week or so ago we had a bit of late night excitement when George caught a mouse and proceeded to play with said dead rodent in the hall outside Josh’s bedroom door. I guess he wanted to give his boy a present. Damon picked it up with a paper towel and threw it outside.

A half hour later, more commotion ensued when George chased another mouse around the foyer. Do they travel in pairs? Ick. Damon trapped that one in the powder room. Tried to get George to go in and kill it. He wanted to play with it instead so Damon had to kill it himself. ~shudder~ I might have stayed in the next room.

Cut to tonight. Damon left for Florida early this morning. Josh just fell asleep. I am chilling with my crocheting and my Property Ladder on HGTV when I hear a ruckus in the hall. I pretend I don’t hear it. I really don’t want to know.

George comes trotting in with what looks to be a dead mouse. Looks. Did you know mice play possum? I didn’t either. Unless it was just stunned. Anyway, I thought it was dead so I tried to get George to drop it so I could, um, dispose of it. Ew. Only he wouldn’t let go. I should have known then, but noooo, I had to follow him around the house. Around and around and around the house. We have a circular floor plan. Around and around and around. Until! Yes! He dropped it! I can pick it up with this paper towel and…

Uh. It’s tail moved. It’s running. It’s cornered again! Bottom of the stairs! Three way standoff. I dare not move for fear it will run again. Like toward me. George makes his move! And just wounds it. Dude. I’m dying here. Wait that’s the mouse. Dying on my area rug. “Kill it George!” I whispered but George just looked at me proudly as it lay there kicking. And not dying fast enough. ~gag~

Hey Damon. I had to use one of your sneakers to beat the mouse to death. Hope you don’t mind. (And come home soon!)

Then I threw it outside. Of course, George escaped while the door was open. Because I am stupid. I almost let him stay out. Instead I put on shoes and went out in my pjs and got him. He waited for me, in the middle of the yard, proudly sitting next to his prize.

Let me just say, there better not be another effing mouse in this house tonight. Or tomorrow we’re going to a hotel.

My evening was Awe. Some. How was yours?

George says his evening was just fiiiine.

Mouse breath better not try to snuggle with me tonight either. Just sayin.

sniffle snort ugh it’s Halloween so I must be sick

The plague has descended on us. Josh is the only one to have escaped it. So far.

This is the 3rd year in a row that I was signed up to run/walk in our local Santa Fund run. And the 3rd year in a row that I was too sick to go.

I did manage to leave the house long enough to take the boy trick or treating.

Take that Voldemort!

This is his 3rd year in a row that he had some kind of caped costume. Of course, he’s never sick on Halloween. Maybe I need a cape.

ps. If you’re looking for serious cuteness, I suggest you go here.

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