I was just sitting here this afternoon, doing much of nothing, carousing about the internet, when I decided to send the #1 son an email. I've been busy all week, and it was his first week of classes, so we've been out of touch since around Tuesday.
The phone rang. It was #1.
Sometimes, a mom just KNOWS. #1 is coming home this afternoon to gather his gladrags for a fete of engineering next Saturday. He'd rather spend gas money than buy a new wardrobe. Plus, he is in desperate need of his Calculus notes so he can float down Calc II Creek WITH a paddle. Farmer H was supposed to take him that blue composition book right after he moved, when he delivered #1's desk chair. Instead, he took the empty blue folder that sat under the blue composition book. Tomato, tomahto. Composition book, folder. Farmer H marches to his own drummer.
#1 plans to pop in and surprise his grandma, who is right now making Chex Mix for my favorite niece and her favorite granddaughter. I think she will be delighted to see him. I had to call and surreptitiously ascertain whether she would be home. Now I know she will be a captive audience for at least two hours, what with tending the Chex Mix. That will give #1 time to arrive on her doorstep. I wish we had the Publisher's Clearing House photographers to capture the moment when she opens her door.
Farmer H is also being kept in the dark. Unfortunately, not literally. He's got his head in the master Mansion shower, patching one of the "seats" in that enclosure. A crack was what caused the leak in my basement lair ceiling. Yes. Farmer H sits down when he showers. Not this ol' gal. Get in, do your business, get out. I find showers tedious. But not so tiring that I want to sit a spell. You'd think Farmer H would have felt the pinch from that crack and fixed it before the basement water torture.
Anyhoo...that old goat will kick up his heels when he sees the #1 son is back. We were expecting him next weekend. He's not staying, because he has schoolwork to do, and 2/3 of the Mansion residents have succumbed to a vicious respiratory virus. No need infecting him with Captain Trips, and sending him off to contaminate his college dormitory. Laws, no! M-O-O-N. That spells, Mother Abigail doesn't want to fight the weasels in the hen house in this heat, just to fry up a meal for the handful of survivors.
I love a good surprise. Don't you?