As I sit here one Saturday morning contemplating if I have any material for a new blog, it is handed to me in the form of Grady. All is quiet the house, Rob is grocery shopping - a chore I am forbidden to do on account of the fact that I destroy his sense of order by not trudging mundanely up and down each aisle, but flit gayly from one part of the store to another, which makes him mental - so there's an upside in everything.
Anyway, I digress, as I sit quietly, there is a blood curdling scream from the playroom, followed by a second and then a third. Before I can react - I'm awfully slow on weekend mornings - I hear Grady bellow a few choice words - not to be repeated here & thank goodness Rob was out - followed by "Die! Die! Die!" . This was accompanied by several large bangs. My first thought, "OMG, Sid has pushed him too far and he's done her in".
If that is the case, then there is no sense in racing upstairs now, what's done is done. I yell up to Grady and ask him what the hell is going on. My son answers with several more expletives and then tells me he had a wasp on his foot, which judging by the "Die! Die! Die!" has now met an untimely demise.
However, Grady is not out of the woods yet, he may have escaped the wasp but he now has to face the wrath of his sister who was woken from a deep slumber by his commotion.
Personally I'd take my chances with an angry wasp over Lindsay any day.
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