Dirty bubbles

People tend to come and go from our house all weekend, especially when the weather is nice. I think it is because we are always outside and they see us hanging out.

We had several visitors this weekend, including two little girls who wanted to be outside on a beautiful day.

My husband Eric was in the garage rearranging all his prized possessions (the junk in his garage) and had called me outside to show me a thing he built to hold a thing on his boat. Something about bushings (whatever those are) and his trolling motor. While I looked interested and nodded in an expert fashion, I noticed two little girls by the mailbox.

“Hi, Eric,” they yelled.

Little kids love him. Probably because he’s a big kid.

These two particular little girls are cousins who live in Avoca. Their grandpa is one of Eric’s best friends, so they have stopped by on a regular basis since they were babies.

They wandered up the driveway to see what we were up to, and proudly showed off their tongues. Taylor’s tongue was pink and Kiley’s was blue. Freezy pops, they explained.

They told us about recent events in their lives – baby sister stuff, kitten details and family dog issues. They gave Jeffrey (our dog) some attention, then headed out back to play on our old swing set. Eventually they got bored with that and inquired about snacks, so I gave them new freezy pops to change the color of their tongues.

I had to clean up and go cover a story, and as I was leaving they were headed back up the driveway pulling our wagon, which they had loaded with night crawlers on the off-chance grandpa would take them fishing later. Because Eric is Eric, he keeps a variety of bait in his garage fridge.

I came home about two hours later, and neighbor Sid had stopped to borrow some firewood. While there, he took the time to admire the tomato and pepper plants I had brought home from a local green house. During the admiration process, two little girls came heading back up the driveway. They looked bored, and I knew immediately what the situation called for. Bubbles.

I am a huge fan of bubbles and tend to keep a variety of bubble-blowing paraphernalia on hand. While Eric tilled up the garden one last time, the girls and I headed to the front of the house. I parked them and the bubbles on the deck and started planting the flowers I had purchased for my flower boxes.

There is nothing like listening to little kid giggles while you do a chore.

“Watch this, watch this,” they would call out, so I would dutifully look up and watch while they performed bubble antics. Bubbles are cool.

At one point they tried to sucker me into feeding them ice cream, but I reminded them that I had dealt with kids before and was not easily suckered.

Eric wandered up and created a few impressive bubbles with all of the bubble paraphernalia, then we all headed into the back yard. The girls decided they desperately needed to help me plant my veggies, so I put them to work digging holes and setting the bedding plants. My normally tidy rows might be a bit crooked this year, but we all had fun.

My profuse apologies to their mothers, because the girls went home covered in bubble juice and dirt, which probably made for interesting bath water that evening. Dirty bubbles.

Other visitors over the weekend included our 18-year-old neighbor Sean, who wanted to know if Eric had some duct tape he could borrow, my friend Mary, who brought Eric a cool beer sign for his garage, and my parents, who stopped by so I could give my mom her birthday present.

It is always interesting to see what (and who) the weekend will bring. If the garage door is open, feel free to stop on by.
 

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