Guns hurt people...

Last week, the Mogrunt and I hit the road without Mr. Happy aka Daddy, for the first time. We went to New Brunswick to visit my family. Why so soon after our previous visit? Well, rumour had it that my cousins would all be around for the weekend, all of them except my cousin who lives in China. It would be the first time in many years that we were all together. And the real attraction was that my grandmother's seven great-grandchildren would all be together for the first time ever.

I broke up the 5 hour drive by staying at Becca's house on the way there and at my cousin's house on the way home. They both live in the same city which sits at the approximate halfway point of the drive.

We had a lovely visit, spending some time at the lake, lunching with friends at the new restaurant in town (yummy), and hitting the local thrift store for tiny boy clothes.

At the thrift store we made out like bandits: three pairs of overalls, a shirt that matches a pair of the overalls, a pair of brand new Car*ter's pj's AND a bag to put them in for $10. I guess that goes with my "theme" of a $10 bit of happy. The next time, we're looking for stuff for Becca's wee girl too.

On Sunday, we headed to my aunt's house for my cousin's little boy's 1st birthday party. We arrived at 3pm. The party was in full swing only moments later with around 40 people, young and old, running around inside and outside. The birthday boy was passed around, when he wasn't scooting along the floor and playing with his friends, both big and small.

At one point I was outside on the back lawn with my cousins and their children. The kids were alternately playing "Robot" (dressing in boxes decorated by the birthday boy's dad, a brilliant man and a brilliant idea) and running around with water pistols.

This is when things got a bit dicey. Let me give you some background.

There is a tradition in our family, one that is probably more common than families will let on. It's a tradition of cousin abuse. It's not nearly as bad as it sounds, or maybe it is.

It all started when I was just an infant. My dear cousin, Jennifer was carrying me when I was just wee and it seems she got tired of carrying me.

So she dropped me.

Fast forward 6 years or so. My cousin Leah was just wee. I was holding her. My arms got tired. I went to put her down. The next part of the story is up for debate.

The "adults" in the family say that I dropped her. I distinctly recall lowering her to the ground and then Leah squirming a bit so that she fell out of my arms.

Regardless, there was a short distance between my arms and the ground and she fell that distance.

Hence, I carried on the tradition.

I had hoped the "tradition" had come to an end with Leah and I, but alas, the torch was picked up by my elder cousin's youngest boy, we'll call him Nate.

Nate is only 2. Nate had a water gun. I was sitting on a blanket with The Mogrunt and my cousins when Nate went running by. As he ran, he threw his water gun.

Guess who it hit?

Of course, the tiny, sleeping Mogrunt... right on the head.

He started to wail and I quickly checked him to see that he was ok. Once I determined that he would live, and would only require me to wipe the water off his head and the tears from his eyes, I started to laugh. I know, I'm a horrible mother. It may have been relief that made me laugh.

My cousin's wife caught Nate by the hand and made him apologize. He did, after crying a little himself.

Nate, I understand your tears, little man. I've been there.


And just b/c no post is finished without a photo...

I call this one, "Grammy Rides Again"


(Grammy said to me as we were walking back to the house after this photo was taken, "Gee, that was harder than I thought. My leg doesn't bend nearly as well as it used to." Ahem. She'll be 91 in December.)