First, The Slaughter

In keeping up with those trendsetting honeybees, our Mansion wasps have also done the disappearing act. Almost. They are kind of like a 3rd grade magician. You know, like they can pull a buttload of handkerchiefs out of a cane, but can't make an elephant disappear. MOST of the wasps are gone. There was still one little enclave, a nest about four inches in diameter, with four or five puffy white embryonic future-wasps stuffed in some holes. Oh, and there were five big black three-inch-long superwasps crawling over the old homestead. I didn't even know it was there. The #1 son told me, when I was crying some crocodile tears about the loss of our wasp population. So I did what any good hillbilly mom would do, and opened up a big can of wasp killer on their waspy black a$$es. Three were dead before they hit the porch, one writhed in agony for about five seconds, and another fell off the porch and pretended to fly away. But I think it was just bravado, because it's a long way down, and methinks his wings quit working after a couple of flaps. That nest was soaked and dripping globs of Save-A-Lot insect killer. I think the babies must also be dead. But HH is the one who's going to knock it down. Better me safe and him sorry. Because it IS all about ME.

When I went outside to check on the wasp herd, I noticed that Poolio was having some difficulties. Not so much Poolio as his own personal ROOMBA, who I shall call Polarious. Because he's really a Polaris, but he's quite the little blue comedian, and I find him to be Polarious. He always gets himself into a jam. Usually around the steps. Then he can't do his routine. It's like he has a stammer. He pulls forward, gets caught on his net hose, backs up, and tries again. And again. And again. And...well, you see what I mean. Usually, the #1 son can be tricked into going around back and reaching his arm over the side and freeing Polarious. Because he is all about the technology. But it seems the bloom is off Polarious this year, and the boy refused. So I wheedled #2 son into doing it. Except that he is a much smaller boy, and can barely see over the side of Poolio. So a different tactic must be used. I told him to slip off his jammie pants and go around to the backyard in his t-shirt and underwear. It was about 10:00 a.m., but that's really no excuse, because that boy wore his jammies today until 5:15 p.m.

Anyhoo...the plan was for the boy to climb down the ladder far enough to reach the dragging net hose of Polarious, and pull the net away from the bottom of the steps where it had become lodged. But the hose was too deep. So I told him he could take off his underwear and t-shirt and get down in the pool to free the hose. Oh, don't think #2 son minded. He lives to get naked. At least we've stopped him from bending over and pointing his butt. So he stripped down and got into the pool and freed that hose and even swam Polarious across Poolio so he could start his rountine over. It was all in a day's work for that boy. He is the helpingest kid I've ever seen.

I worry about #2 being tortured by #1 son when they are out of my sight. Just this morning, I heard gunfire and screams. OK, it was the Nerf dart gun. They both have one. What darling Christmas presents you give, Grandma. So I figured they were just waging their usual war. This afternoon, #2 went upstairs for a snack. We had been watching Shiver Me Whiskers, the Tom and Jerry cartoon. I thought #1 was safely preoccupied in his room with Lappy. Then I heard the squeal of terror, and the pounding of feet. I could see the feet by the stair railing. And a bigger pair of feet right after them. So I bellowed for the shenanigans to halt. And here is the story I got.

"I didn't do anything to him. He just started screaming. I don't know why. All I did was go to hug him, and he took off screaming. Yes I did. I wanted to hug him. Because when he was in the pantry, I got behind the door, and then he said I scared him, and he kicked me, so I felt bad for scaring him, and I was going to hug him, but he ran away."

I am concerned about that boy's future as a lawyer. He's got to think up better stories than that to protect the guilty. I could drive a Large SUV through the holes in that story.