Guess Who?

When my Kids were little, a friend with two children would send them to my house and tell them, "Just keep moving.  She'll never know you're there."  There is understandable confusion about how many are in the group.  I have four Kids; six, counting my two "after-market" sons.  Pete, my middle son (third child), doesn't appear often in this journal because he lives nearly five hundred miles away.  Like Nessie, he does surface periodically, and this photo arrived yesterday.  I'm posting it to prove he isn't a figment of my imagination.  The handsome young dude with Pete (also a good-looking guy) is his son, Jake.  The occasion was a Varsity Football Dinner, and I'm going to claim a grandma's boasting right and announce that Jake was recognized as a Scholar-Athlete, which means that not only did he play on the varsity defense team, he maintains a 3.9 GPA.  No wonder Pete has that proud papa grin.  (I think these "Men In Black" must go to the same haberdasher.)

On another note, Joel called and asked, in a very hurt voice, why his name wasn't included in the Poop Lottery.  It's funny, because I'd just been wondering about that during Think Time down in the barn.  Joel has been tending the pile with his tractor and claiming poop for years.  I'm going to have to develop a spread sheet to keep track of who gets what when.

Tree Guy and sons One and Two came out of the mists yesterday and set up down in the pen, ready to do some more cutting on the fallen oak.  No sooner had they taken the chainsaws out of the truck than a few raindrops fell.  They packed up again and drove off.  The rain stopped falling.  Drat.

By nightfall, the clouds had crept down the hill and enveloped us in mist and damping all sound.  Goats, chickens, cats and dog were all eager to get inside their various shelters with doors shut.  Me too.