Shellfish and dodge ball
Aug. 10th, 2003 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
slipjig3I think we can consider this diem thoroughly carpe'd.
Today I accompanied the in-laws and the kids on an hour's trek north for a big ol' shellfish extravaganza: a half-bushel of mussels, a few bushels of steamer clams, corn on the cob out our unintentionally-punning ears, 492 different kinds of pasta salad, burgers and hot dogs for the young'uns, and (please forgive us) huge live lobsters for all. Oy, am I in pain. As Dad-in-Law described the schedule, "we'll start eating at 10, and then continue until we leave." (Kristi's out of town for the weekend. Her loss.)
The kids had a grand old time, with assorted second-cousins to mingle with. I got roped into a lot of the youth activities, because, well, I have no regard for personal safety. Just a little tip for you all: if you're in an empty enclosed porch with a half-dozen kids aged 5 to 11 and about 12 dodge balls, and you feel inclined to pick up one of said dodge balls menacingly and snarl, "All right, you kids are going down," don't. Just...don't.
After we got home with 847 pounds of leftovers (which is albeit a lot less than we'd anticipated), Abbey insisted on appropriating one clam shell and one mussel shell for her collection. They haven't made it that far yet, because she discovered that they have a hinge, which means you can open and close them like they're talking. Long and short of it, after scraping the half-inch of mud off both the kids in the tub, I got talked into a game of Beach Attack; she played Princess Clam, while I got assigned the role of Evil Emperor Mussel. (I quote: "You know why he's evil? Black is always evil.")
Well, he didn't stay evil for long, because Princess Clam saved him from drowning, which changed his whole outlook to one of helpfulness. Soon, Princess Clam was sobbing.
Emperor Mussel: What's wrong?
Princess Clam: I don't have a father.
Emperor Mussel: I could be your father.
Princess Clam: You're not good enough.
Took me a while to pick myself up off the floor after that.
Today I accompanied the in-laws and the kids on an hour's trek north for a big ol' shellfish extravaganza: a half-bushel of mussels, a few bushels of steamer clams, corn on the cob out our unintentionally-punning ears, 492 different kinds of pasta salad, burgers and hot dogs for the young'uns, and (please forgive us) huge live lobsters for all. Oy, am I in pain. As Dad-in-Law described the schedule, "we'll start eating at 10, and then continue until we leave." (Kristi's out of town for the weekend. Her loss.)
The kids had a grand old time, with assorted second-cousins to mingle with. I got roped into a lot of the youth activities, because, well, I have no regard for personal safety. Just a little tip for you all: if you're in an empty enclosed porch with a half-dozen kids aged 5 to 11 and about 12 dodge balls, and you feel inclined to pick up one of said dodge balls menacingly and snarl, "All right, you kids are going down," don't. Just...don't.
After we got home with 847 pounds of leftovers (which is albeit a lot less than we'd anticipated), Abbey insisted on appropriating one clam shell and one mussel shell for her collection. They haven't made it that far yet, because she discovered that they have a hinge, which means you can open and close them like they're talking. Long and short of it, after scraping the half-inch of mud off both the kids in the tub, I got talked into a game of Beach Attack; she played Princess Clam, while I got assigned the role of Evil Emperor Mussel. (I quote: "You know why he's evil? Black is always evil.")
Well, he didn't stay evil for long, because Princess Clam saved him from drowning, which changed his whole outlook to one of helpfulness. Soon, Princess Clam was sobbing.
Emperor Mussel: What's wrong?
Princess Clam: I don't have a father.
Emperor Mussel: I could be your father.
Princess Clam: You're not good enough.
Took me a while to pick myself up off the floor after that.
