We all know pioneers used to wipe their stinky buttocks with corn cobs. This is the image that comes to mind every time we play "corn hole." Whatever the name, I'm thankful for this game that kept my children happy for hours so I could read many a magazine at Mom and Dad's this summer.
In other news, yesterday we dropped off Baby Squirrel, that sweet cuddlebug, which had just opened its eyes and started biting me, at the Va Beach SPCA that has a wildlife rehabilitator on call. The bird rehab woman happened to be in the building when we dropped off Squirrelly, and I could tell we were making her uncomfortable. While the check-in girl, who appeared about 20, was friendly and admiring of our adorable wild baby and my large brood, the bird lady was aghast when she learned we fed the little rodent instead of bringing him immediately to someone of wiser, more mature years. (Admit it, rodent adverse siblings, it's cute!) Not only did we feed him, we let multiple small children hold him, but I didn't tell her that. She doesn't realize how close I came to NOT turning him in. It was the thought of having to feed a baby every 2 to 3 hours for the next three weeks that really was the turning point for me. I've just returned to my pre-nursing bra size of "AA," gosh darn it (Almost A, that is, for those of you who are more generously endowed).
Seeing as Pop recently had to pay $80 to repair a truck wire that a squirrel chewed up, I thought he would appreciate this snippet: James commented that he had never held a squirrel so closely before, to which Joe, holding up his hand, replied, "The closest I ever held a squirrel was this:"