Parent's Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas
when all through the house
I searched for the tools
to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied
and we were inspired,
in hopes we could manage
"Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
while Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
a kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's townhouse to boot!
And now, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes,
my heart skipped a beat-
let no parts be missing
or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
if we can't get it right, it goes straight to the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear
but 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
so if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
all over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
that all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
to keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
with "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
till our eyes, they went blurry; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
we fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my hubby just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
and not run to the store for one single thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
for the perfect, most magical, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose
I gratefully went, though I suppose
there's something to say for those self-deluded-
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!

~ Author Unknown

Vinyl Withdrawal

I really miss record stores. I just realized the other day that there are no longer any shops that sell new music in Athens. I suppose with the advent of digital music, itunes, and mP3, the market for these sorts of stores has gone the way of the dodo. There are a few used cd places downtown, but that's it. To me, that's sad.
Before Wal-Mart came along, I can remember quite a few record stores in Athens. There was a Tower Records, or something like it, at Beechwood where Borders is now. There were two places at the mall-- I think one was called Starship Records. I can even remember looking through vinyl at the ancient department stores downtown. It was either Belks or Macy's/Davidson's because Sears was over at the aforementioned Beechwood.
I loved record stores the way I love bookstores now. There's something great and visceral about being able to lay your hands on the product while you browse. To be able to immerse yourself in different styles of music and to find new stuff that you never new existed. There would always be someone hanging around perfectly willing to tell you, "Mannnnnnn, you just gotta check this out."
I'm sure people will say that you can do all of that on the computer, but downloading music is a pain in the rear end. It's tedious and I can't shake the notion that as soon as I get all of my favorite tunes safely on an iPod, the technology will change and I'll have to do it all over again.

Call me archaic, but I'll take vinyl any day. CD's are fine too. You can have your iPod.

Thanksgiving Proclamation, 3 October 1789

Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor, and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me "to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.

Now therefore I do recommend and assign Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be. That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks, for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a Nation, for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his providence, which we experienced in the course and conclusion of the late war, for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed, for the peaceable and rational manner, in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted, for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed; and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us.

And also that we may then unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions, to enable us all, whether in public or private stations, to perform our several and relative duties properly and punctually, to render our national government a blessing to all the people, by constantly being a Government of wise, just, and constitutional laws, discreetly and faithfully executed and obeyed, to protect and guide all Sovereigns and Nations (especially such as have shown kindness unto us) and to bless them with good government, peace, and concord. To promote the knowledge and practice of true religion and virtue, and the increase of science among them and Us, and generally to grant unto all Mankind such a degree of temporal prosperity as he alone knows to be best.

Given under my hand at the City of New York the third day of October in the year of our Lord 1789.



The previous was by our first President, George Washington. Anyone who says that the Founders were not religious men is deluding themselves. Or trying to re-write history.

Beware of Doug

I feel like this sometimes. Cartoon courtesy of Gary Larson's The Far Side.

Isn't this awkward?

My six year old son William had inserted himself into a phone conversation between his mother and his Aunt Cheryl in Iowa. He wanted to talk to his cousin Mitchell, and the two ladies allowed it-- even after William insisted that the talk be a, "secret".
Jennifer left the room for a few minutes to give William his privacy, during which time William apparently told Mitchell a, "big secret". Later we found out that his, "big secret" was that he had recently lost two of his teeth. Something that was not really a secret to either one of us.
After Jennifer returned and reclaimed her cell phone, Cheryl asked to speak to William. She told him that her son had told her all about his, "big secret". Jennifer said that William's jaw dropped and he said, without missing a step, "Well, isn't this is awkward?"

Hilarious!

It's Me, Joshua

My son Joshua has had a habit of wanting to come into our room and get into bed with my wife and I. He's done this ever since he could walk and clamber out of his crib. He's always been quite the little acrobat and daredevil. Ask my wife about the time when he was about two and he climbed out his bedroom window because he wanted to play on the swing set outside. You might think that was adorable until you learned that his bedroom window was about seven feet off of the ground! I doubt that even the legendary Alcatraz could hold my son.
But I digress. We tried everything to get him to stay in his own bed for the entire night. Ordinarily, we would have simply sent him back to his room. He got sneaky about it, however, and would slide into our bed with all of the agility and grace of a seasoned cat burglar. We would wake up when our alarm would go off and viola, there he would be.
We tried tiring him out before bed so that he wouldn't wake up. We tried bribing him with treats and money. We tried threatening him to within an inch of his life. I think he may have known that we were working from a position of weakness, because nothing worked. I think he may have even found it to be a little funny.
The clincher for me was the night I got the bright idea to lock our bedroom door. I had been threatening to do it for weeks, but my wife would get a guilty conscience and talk me out of it. I was tired of waking up sore, so one night, I locked it while Jennifer wasn't looking.
Sure enough, about three or four that morning, I woke up to hear a tiny, tentative knock on our bedroom door. A small, plaintive voice whispers in the darkness, "Mom? Dad? It's me, Joshua." After I finished laughing myself silly, I opened the door and let him come in to snuggle with us.
I gave up after that, and tried not to make a big deal about it. He's about grown out of it, although he does relapse on occasion. His younger brother William is another story, however.

In Honor of Veteran's Day

This is King Henry's St. Crispian's Day speech before the Battle of Agincourt in Shakespeare's Henry V. It is perhaps the finest example of comradeship and devotion among veterans. I get chills every time I read it.

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Heading a Humbug Off at the Pass

Christmas starts earlier and earlier every year. It seems as if it starts almost immediately after Labor Day. In an effort to combat my Inner Scrooge, I'm re-reading a blog post I made last year in a different forum. I'm going to share it here:

Every year it gets harder and harder for me to get into the Christmas spirit. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone who loves Christmas more than I do. I love the Nativity story, I love going to church for candlelight Christmas Eve services, I love singing Christmas carols, I love decorating the house, and I even love giving gifts. I do not love, however, the mercenary aspects that seem to have overtaken Christmas- like people rushing about seeing how much money they can spend, getting into fistfights over parking places at Target, and stores putting out Christmas decorations immediately after the 4th of July.
I also find myself distracted by worldly things. Like work. Paying bills. Planning for the coming year. I forget, sometimes, where my emphasis ought to be. That Christmas is not about me and my petty concerns. That Christmas is about a child and children. I forget that, "Unless you become like a child you can never enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
My children, Joshua (6) and William (5) are now old enough that they really are getting into Christmas. They've always liked getting presents, but they're now starting to be aware of some of the symbolism. We didn't decorate very much this year and Joshua was sad because his house, "was plain". In my struggles with my inner Scrooge, I forget my obligation to them. To make Christmas special for them so that they will remember it their entire lives. No Christmas can compete with those you had as a child. Nothing in this life will ever outshine the excitement and joy you felt in rushing downstairs on Christmas morning. I want that for Joshua and William.
When I was little, my mother and I lived in Jefferson in an apartment in a grand old house almost exactly half way between the square and Kesler's grocery store. We lived on the south side of Sycamore Street and my Aunt Willie and her family lived across the street. Mr. Medlin lived across the hall and Mrs. Grace Craig lived upstairs. They were sweet old folks whose kids were long since gone and they probably did more to spoil a little boy than bears repeating.
At Christmastime my mother would pull out all the stops. We decorated, we put up the most elaborate trees, we sang, we did almost everything you could imagine. I remember being distraught because our house was heated with gas and the chimney had long since been sealed up for insulation. How was Santa to get into the house to leave the presents? My mother assured me that she would leave to door unlocked so that he could walk right in! Apparently, that satisfied me.
Looking back with an adult's perspective, I can say without shame that we were poor. I always had a roof over my head and food in my belly, but some months, I'm sure that it was only just. I had a lot of health issues as a baby and growing up. I had problems with my lungs and my immune systems and was hospitalized repeatedly until I was up into double digits.
I never came out and asked my mother, but I don't doubt that I would be horrified to know the amounts of money that this cost her. I do remember her saying offhand one time that she had finally finished paying off my doctor's bills when I was in college. My Aunt Willie helped out some and my Uncle Henry did as well, but mostly it was my mother, working three jobs sometimes, who took care of me.
This being said, there was never a lack of presents on Christmas morning. I would get up as soon as I woke up and there would be presents, presents, presents! Two presents that stand out in my memory are the Little Tykes Airport and Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots. I loved both of them. My mother probably borrowed from Peter and begged from Paul to buy all of this stuff for me, but I always had more presents than any one boy needs.
After we opened my presents at my house, we would go across the street to my Aunt Willie's house for breakfast with our extended family. She would've been in the kitchen for hours and there was food, food, and more food. We would have pancakes, eggs, bacon, grits, and freshly baked biscuits. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. After breakfast, we would open even more presents and my cousins and I would spend the rest of the morning playing with all of our wonderful toys.
Later in the afternoon, my mother and I would get into the car and ride over to Beaverdam Baptist Church between Commerce and Carnesville. There we would place a poinsettia on the graves of Coile and Lula Allen, my grandparents, who died before I was even born. I didn't understand it then, but I do now. It's a tradition I hope to continue.
Nothing in my adult life will ever come close to the warmth and affection I have for these memories of my youth and my family as it was. I can only hope to give my children something similar to what I had as a child. I just have to continually remind myself to keep my head when all around me are losing their's and remember that children are the ones who benefit most from Christmas. Not just from presents but from family, tradition, and love.

Merry Christmas! But for Heaven's sake, enjoy Halloween and Thanksgiving first!

MantisMania

About a month ago now, Joshua and his second grade class at Barnett Shoals Elementary started a series of lessons on insects. Mrs. Ayoob (she's from Maine. That's all I know. I wondered about the origin of that name myself, but didn't get around to asking her about it.) made the mistake of asking the class to bring in a praying mantis. I don't know why she did this, but she did. And Joshua, being the Joshua that we know and love, treated it as if it were a holy commission.
He pestered the life out of me for three solid weeks about finding a praying mantis for his class. "Where do praying mantises live? Do they live on the ground? Or in trees?" These are questions we had to look up on the internet. After wikipedia and repeated trips to the library, I think I now know more about your everyday praying mantis than anyone else in the world. Like the fact that there are about 2,500 mantis species worldwide and that only about 20 live in the United States. They're exclusively opportunistic ambush predators and also practice cannibalism.
With this information in hand, Joshua and I set off one afternoon to our local park. Two knights perilous on a quest. I had no idea where to find a praying mantis but I wasn't really fond of the idea of letting Joshua know that I didn't know. He still thinks I'm the smartest guy in the world and I want to keep that up until he's at least thirty.
If you can imagine a grown man and a seven year old looking high and low for an insect that didn't want to be found. I've lived in Georgia my entire life and I think I may have stumbled across two or three of these bugs, and those were complete accidents.
Needless to say, we came home disappointed. Joshua went to school for the duration of his insect studies dragging his coat and mumbling his words because he couldn't find a praying mantis. The fact that no one else found one either was only a small comfort.
Today, however, was his lucky day. I walked out of the house this morning and what do I see on the hood of my car? You guessed it. A common Carolina Mantis (Stagmomantis carolina), a brown little critter with wings that is about four inches long.
I caught the little bugger, put it into a jar with holes in the lid, and waited for Joshua to get home. You would've thought that I bought him a car or something. He danced around and sang songs for the whole evening about how he had finally found a praying mantis. The fact that it was a total coincidence was totally forgotten.
Mandy the Mantis (named so because the girl mantises eat the boy mantises.) was taken to Mrs. Ayoob's class and was declared to be a class pet. Hopefully she'll last for a few months. After all, who's going to catch all the crickets for her to eat? Not me.

Take Back the Sabbath

When I was little, on Sundays, we got up early and went to church. We attended a small Southern Baptist Church on the north side of town called Faith Baptist. The church is still there, but I haven't attended there in decades.
After church was over, most of the time we came home to eat dinner. After dinner we went out to play, or read books, or took a nap. Sometimes, we were fortunate to receive out of town family. Aunts, uncles, and cousins from up yonder somewhere who had all piled in their family car to come visitin'. Once in a great while, we would be the ones to go wandering. We would visit sisters and brothers of my grandmother who lived in Gainesville, or Athens, or the thriving metropolis of Homer.
The point being that we did all of these things as a family because there was absolutely NOTHING else to do on a Sunday afternoon between the morning and evening services at your local church. Everything else was CLOSED.
Nowadays, its nothing to go out to eat after church, to go grocery shopping, or to head out to the Mall or to Target to wander around aimlessly passing the time. No one is closed on Sundays anymore except for a few stubborn holdouts like Chick-fil-a and Hobby Lobby. (In S. Truett Cathy's biography, he stated emphatically that, "If my business had to be open on Sunday to succeed, we'd fail." A fine fellow, Mr. Cathy.)
I will tell you that the thing about my job at Kroger that I hate the most is having to work on Sundays. I absolutely despise it. And its our busiest day of the week! Most people have no qualms about doing their shopping on Sunday and Kroger obliges them by being open.
It doesn't have to be, and shouldn't be, this way. The executives at Kroger think that they would lose their shirts by being closed on Sundays. Wal-Mart isn't going to close on Sunday, so why should we? First off, the vast majority of people shop at Kroger because its NOT Wal-Mart. Not because its so very much cheaper. Secondly, this attitude shows very little faith in your product. I've always been of the opinion that if you have four things, you'll be successful and people will find you when you're open. If you have a good product, a good price, a good location, and good service, you'll do well, no matter when you're open.
Even if you take the faith out of the equation, the 24/7/365 lifestyle we've cultivated in this country is taking its toll. I've tried to explain to people before that if you go into a store during traditionally non-business hours, you're only causing the prices on the products you're buying to be higher than they need to be. (If you go to Wal-Mart at 3 AM to buy a hammer and there's someone working in the store to complete the transaction, that hammer is more expensive than it would be if Wal-Mart was only open during traditional business hours.) When I tell people this, their eyes glaze over and they look at me like I'm speaking in tongues.
You cannot depend on the Wal-Marts, Targets, and Krogers of this world to do the right thing and close on Sundays. You can only give them the message with your wallet. Just remember that the next time you run into the grocery to get a few things after church, some poor soul is missing time with their family. Take back the Sabbath, and either go on Saturday or wait until Monday.

Duncan Gaines Cameron

If you didn't know already, I am a genealogy fanatic! I love nothing more than a lazy afternoon spent at the library or in a courthouse sifting through old records trying to flush out the branches of my family tree. This is most often a relaxing activity, although it can be interesting dealing with some of the area's older courthouses. Mold and mildew are a constant hazard.
Today. I spent several hours trying to research a particular interest of mine. He is my 3rd great-grandfather, Duncan Gaines Cameron. (That would make him my great-great-great grandfather, a gentleman five generations back.)
Old Duncan was born in Scotland in about 1785. The first definitive record I have of the man was the marriage banns (announcement of formal intent to marry) of his marriage in Orange County, N.C. on 5 May 1822. Before that, nothing.
A tailor by trade, Duncan received land in Franklin County, GA in the Cherokee Gold & Land Lotteries of 1827 and 1832. He is present on the 1830, 1840, and 1850 Censuses in the Carnesville District of Franklin County. The 1850 Census is of particular interest because it was the first one taken that required the enumerator to list the names of wives, children, slaves, or other family members.
One of the reasons I find Duncan to be so fascinating is that I have no idea what happened to him. The last incontrovertible record that I have been able to find was in 1864 where he was listed as next of kin on his daughter Theresa's commitment papers at the State Hospital in Milledgeville. She had been listed on the 1850 Census as being an idiot, probably either retarded or insane.
Otherwise, he and his surviving family just drops off the radar. He had lost all but one of his sons in the War Between the States. What money or property he and his family had possessed had been destroyed or taken from them. His daughter, my 2nd great-grandmother Sarah Elizabeth Cameron, was found as a servant in the household of Moses Keeling in 1860. Where did her family go? I wish I knew. I've looked.
I've recently come across records that state that Old Duncan was a soldier. If he had indeed been in the military, it must have been while he was still across the pond, because I have not been able to find any records of him serving in the War of 1812. The British Army was at the time embroiled in the Peninsula Campaign against Napoleon Bonaparte. Yet another reason I find my Cameron ancestor so fascinating.
I'm at a standstill when it comes to researching this man and his family. I've exhausted every avenue I can think of exploring. I suppose I'll either have to wait for new inspiration or just dumb fool luck. I think I'll hope for the latter.

God-given Talents

Joshua, William, and I walked down to the pond and playground in our subdivision for some exercise this evening. Its not very far but there are hills that make it more than just a stroll. We leashed our miniature dachshund Annabelle and off we went.
Now Annabelle is not the smartest dog in the world. To say the least. She's about four years old and weighs probably ten to twelve pounds and is a red, wire-haired dog that we think has some terrier in her. Think of what Toto from the Wizard of Oz would have looked like if he had been a wiener dog.
Before we got her, she was a therapy dog at an old folk's home. Apparently too quick on the uptake, she swallowed a few dropped blood-thinner pills and was in doggie intensive care for a good while. All of this has left poor Annabelle a bit brain-damaged. She barks at things that aren't there, she runs into walls, and loves to stalk flies around our house. She hardly ever catches them, but they task her-- and she will have them!
We got down to the playground this evening and Josh and Will immediately started swinging. Both of these guys are swinging fools and will swing as long as you allow them to. Only recently have they discovered how to self-propel themselves on the swing, previously they glorifyed in being lazy swingers-- begging anyone and everyone for a, "little help."
After about thirty minutes of this, we decided to walk down to the pond to see if we could find any frogs or tadpoles. Joshua is on a science kick and loves this kind of stuff. We didn't find any aquatic life this time on the dock, but NOTE TO SELF--
Dogs DO NOT have the inborn, innate ability to swim as I had previously thought. Annabelle slipped off of the dock while trying to avoid being stepped on by William. She bobbed up and down for a moment before I finally figured out that she wasn't going to dog-paddle. If she hadn't been on a leash, I would've had to jump in after her!
I wonder if this is just our dim-witted dachshund, or if this is a phenomenon others have encountered with other breeds?

Things that make you go, "Hmmmmmm."

David's Day Off

I have the day off tomorrow. What shall I do? I certainly know what I should do. Since we've moved into our new house, my honey-do list has grown exponentially. Its not Jennifer that's adding to it, however, its me.
We want to paint the kitchen, our bedroom, and the two bathrooms. That should be number one on my list, but I think its probably towards the bottom. Mostly because Jennifer can't decide what colors to go with. She's leaning towards the green side of the spectrum this time around, which is surprising to me because she's always preferred yellow in the past.
There are still a ton of empty, broken-down cardboard boxes on our porch that needs to be taken to the recycling center, and at least a full load of random stuff that needs to go to either the Salvation Army or to Goodwill. There is also a corner in our garage where there are a few full boxes still waiting to be unpacked. I'm hoping that we can leave those intact and perhaps they'll find their way to Goodwill as well.
I still want to install storage shelving in the garage. I'm at an impasse there because I can't find my drill and its driving me crazy! This along with installing insulation around our front door, putting up the shelving and hooks for the boy's coats, shoes, and knapsacks.
I haven't even mentioned my office. My man-room. My Fortress of Solitude. It needs to be painted, a daybed needs to be situated, the computer needs to be moved to a better location, and my aquarium needs to be running again! I haven't had the motivation to get started on it again, but I stopped by our LFS (Local Fish Store) this evening and I've caught the bug again. Maybe discus or African Rift Lake Cichlids this time.
I almost forgot the curtains that need to be hung, the laundry that needs doing, the clean clothes that need to be folded and put away. (Somehow, they always seem to get clean and folded, but never actually put away)
Last, but certainly not least, I want to get our birdfeeders up and situated. Jen got her hummingbird stations up on our kitchen window soon after we moved in and the hummers are swarming. The ground has been too hard for me to sink the shepherd's hooks that hold our feeders, but with the seven days of rain we've gotten lately-- I should have no problem now.

Man, that's a long list. I should be able to accomplish at least some of it tomorrow. Or I could just take it easy. Who's to say?

Sixth Day of Forty

If memory serves, this will be our sixth day of rain. Not just rain, but RAIN. We have had rain and thunderstorms every day for a week. The news tonight spoke of major flooding in the Atlanta area, but thankfully we have been spared that.
Everything outside is waterlogged, moldy, and covered with mildew. The wire screens on our porch are covered with slugs crawling desperately heavenwards trying to escape the puddles. Even the armadillo that lives in our backyard has sensibly headed towards higher ground. All he would have to do is to step out into the torrent that covers our front street and he would be rushed quickly down towards the pond between our subdivision and the old Pinecrest Lodge.

If it keeps up, we'll have to follow Noah's example. And build an Ark. Or Joshua's. And put on our raincoats and scooter gleefully up and down the sidewalk in front of the house, soaked to the bone and singing. William, apparently, has more sense. He's staying inside with Dad watching Phinneas and Ferb.