Gone In 60 Ducklings!

 

MrsDuck left on Friday to fly to Singapore, out on company business. She won't be back until Thursday.  What does that mean?

Daddy Duck and the Ducklings party on all weekend!

Party on, Duckling1!
Party on,
Daddy!
Party on, Duckling2!
PAWTY COW!

Friday night was uneventful, we were all just resting in anticipation to a busy Saturday. That, and we had my mother-in-law’s dog, Sh*thead, staying with us (never a dull mo
ment).

Saturday morning starts off (at 5-freaking-AM!) with Sh*thead nudging
me in the back with her cold nose, causing yours truly to fly out of bed: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! WHA THA HECK!!! Oh, it's you.

After taking Sh*thead out to do her business, I crawl back into bed, only to be awakened less than one hour later with a banana in my face! Duckling2 is up, hungry, and wants
Daddy to peel a banana. Sometimes he CAN peel the banana all by himself, sometimes not.

D2: PEE-YO BANANA?
Duck: Oh, okay...
D2: TANK OOO!  COW!

I get up, mostly because D2 will still be hungry and will be finding other things to peel and eat, like apples, potato chip bags, and Sh*thead's bag of dogfood.

Later, Duckling1 wakes up, at least having the good sense of waiting until after sunrise to wake up. We eat, play around the house, and chase Spot, The Evil Wonder Cat under all the furniture. This continues until it's ti
me to take D1 to her ballet class.

A ballet class for five-year-olds is nothing more than having two skinny teenagers lead a dozen little girls, all wearing pink synthetic outfits that require crowbars and Vaseline to put on, into running, leaping, and kicking feet high up in the air, with all the gracefulness of a bull moose tap-dancing in a puddle of axle-grease. Or at least the bull moose had a better chance of receiving an invitation to an audition with the Bolshoi than these little girls. This continues on for forty-five minutes, in which I've already chased Duckling2 up and down the hallway outside the dance studio about 1,378 ti
mes, with D2 yelling "COW! COW! DANCE! COW!"

We leave the dance studio, drive by a McDonalds, pick up a couple Happy Meals, then head ho
me to the Duck house for lunch. The results are predictable. D1 eats half her french-fries, takes ONE bite out of her cheeseburger and complains that she's full, then in the same breath asks for a half dozen Oreo cookies. Uh no. D2 simply sits, eats all his french-fries and inserts two McNuggets in his ears and one down his pants. (Ewwwww!)

The Ducklings resu
me playing, running, and chasing each other in the house, to which I figure now would be a good time to have them play OUTSIDE the house as Spot is no longer responding to verbal commands and is hiding underneath the hood of the Aztek...for safety.

We head outside to the back yard, along with Sh*thead, and it beco
mes an exercise in physical and mental agility, trying to keep track of both Ducklings and Sh*thead and make sure all three are safe, or at least not killing each other.

D1 wants
me to play a game with her, something called "Booger Tag", in which you have to throw a frisbee, catch it, touch the nearest tree, spit on your shoe, recite the ABC's, then carry the frisbee in your mouth across the yard, and SPIT IT AT your opponent. Or at least that's the short version. Meanwhile, Sh*thead is pooping in the neighbor's yard and D1 is throwing rocks at a hornet's nest. Not good. I manage to keep them all in the same acre and within smelling distance of each other (Sh*thead proceeds to redecorate the lawn using all available orifices and I frequently check D2 for a full diaper, which is just as offensive.) We head inside the house, I was losing at "Booger Tag" by a score of 42,983 to Zero, anyway.

We have supper, Spam and Eggs (D1 likes Spam and D2 likes eggs), but D2 crawls away from the kitchen and falls asleep on the couch. It's only
6PM. Hmmm... Maybe I oughta put him in bed! So I put him in bed and hope that he sleeps all night. There's a Scooby-Doo marathon on TV, so D1 is camped out in front of the kitchen TV for the evening.

Ahhh...I can rest. About half a year ago, I bought the Nicholas Cage movie, Gone In 60 Seconds, with the assumption that I'd watch it so
meday, when the Ducklings manage to go to sleep on a weekend night before midnight. Yeah, right. Well, I start watching it tonight, finally, on the big TV in the living room. But after about an hour, I'm disappointed, mostly for two reasons: (1) The only good chase scenes are in the last 30 minutes of the movie and (2) Angelina Jolie is fully clothed! Phooey. BUT, in the last 30 minutes of the movie, I hear:

COW?

Duckling2 is now wide awake, and it's about 9PM. Shoot. He won't be tired for a good long ti
me. But he decides to sit and watch the rest of Gone In 60 Seconds with me.

Duck: Look! Car goes VROOM!
D2: VROOM! VROOM! COW?
<Police car gets hit by a bus.>
Duck: Look! CRASH!
D2: CAR KWASH! COW?

D2 and I sit glassy-eyed, watching the most violent and destructive part of the whole movie....and enjoying every minute of it!

<Three cars explode simultaneously...>
Duck: Look! Cars go BOOM!
D2: BOOM! BOOM! COW! BOOM! MO CARS GO BOOM!  KWASH!!  MO CARS GO BOOM!  COW! COW! COW!

D2 is jumping up and down on the couch in glee. If that ain't male bonding, I don't know what is.

Sh*thead nudges my arm with her cold nose: WAAAAA! Oh, you want to go outside?

I take Sh*thead out walking her on a leash. She does nothing. We go back in.

She nudges her nose in my arm again. I take her out again. Again, she does nothing.

WTF? She nudges
me a third time.

Duck: WAZZA matter with you, Dog? Go away!

Sh*thead poops on the dining room floor. ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Turns out that the dog didn't want to poop in front of
me while outside on a leash. Fine.

I shove the dining room rug into the washer and head back to see what the Ducklings are doing. D1 is still watching Scooby-Doo, glassy-eyed and in a half-conscience trance. In the living room, D2 had fallen asleep as the local news ca
me on.

I carry both Ducklings up to bed, and they're out like a light. But it's
11:30PM. Well, at least I have the big TV all to myself now.

I fall asleep in my La-Z-Boy 5 minutes later.


Good night.

 

Copyright 2003, www.misterduck.net