Well, Friday evening was momentous indeed: It marked the arrival of GRAMMY AND GRANDDAD here at the House of Peevish. Oh sure, they were happy to see us after, what, 9 months or so? But really? They were here to see The Girl.
And she did not disappoint. Well, perhaps a little bit — she was up past her bedtime Friday night when they arrived, and so was possibly not in the BEST form she has ever been in. So with the frowny, smunchy-faced baby greeting her instead of the perpetually smiling and laughing one she had come to expect… well, I think Grammy was a little disappointed.
But our Stinkerbelle woke up all smiles the next morning, and by noon she and her Grammy were fast friends. And she smiled and flirted with Granddad, and pulled out all the stops of baby charm and wit. And things went from good to better, as she soon began the endless snugglefest that has marked her time with Grammy.
And then there was what has come to be known as The Hat Incident.
Grammy has been known, on occasion (okay, regularly) to adjourn to the porch with a glass of wine to what has euphemistically come to be known as “check the weather”. Now, she was concerned that the fact that there was a strange woman on our porch drinking and smoking might cause some gossip among the neighbours in our little corner of Subdivisionland. We assured her — NOT TO WORRY! In fact, anything she could do to get the neighbours gossiping and up-in-arms… well, we STRONGLY encourage. Especially when that neighbour is The Mayor. Or The Mayor’s Wife, even.
We suggested she step it up a notch. Perhaps put on a big old hat and a hula skirt and go out there and dance.
And then we got the idea.
I have a couple of clown costumes I got for Halloween a few years back. Both came with fuzzy wigs and a couple of really FAB hats. Two are kind of “mad hatter” hats, but one is this giant, velvet, feather-festooned, Huggy Bear pimpin’ hat. I mean, this hat is HAPPENIN’. I LOVE this hat. So BDH ran upstairs and grabbed it from the closet and brought it down.
Grammy put on the hat, and we all fell about laughing.
Well, all of us except Stinkerbelle.
Her Babyness burst into tears at the sight of Grammy in the Huggy Bear hat. Wails of sorrow emitted from her little self, big tears began to roll. “THAT HAT ATE MY GRAMMY!!!”
She would not be consoled until the hat was off and her Grammy was safe.
So, other than The Hat Incident — and an appalling lack of seating due to our apparent inability to move from the kitchen/playroom to the more comfortable places in the house where there are, you know, SOFAS and CHAIRS and stuff — it has been a good visit so far.
Just don’t mention The Hat.