Woody and Harry. My buffers between the chilly floor and my feet. Without them the countless trips up and down all the stairs in my house would be boring. The little frogs’ arms wave wildly as I run up and down all those flights to check temperatures, administer medicine, clean up the vomit in my six and eight year olds’ room (that my two year old stepped in), search and locate countless stuffed friends who are crucial to recovery, and, best of all, to remind me not to take life too seriously. This too shall pass.
It’s snowing out – nothing massive, just messy and annoying. In the backyard, our pool stands lonely, abandoned, a bit of the cover still visible through the white stuff. Ghost laughter from the memories of the summers we spent around that pool seem to echo in my ears. Barbecues, parties, hiking trips through the “enchanted forest” behind our house – so many fantastic memories. Woody and Harry and Bob and I had another private grown-up moment while the girls continue to recuperate and there’s a lull in their insistent demands…er… polite requests. Time for another pep talk from Randi on skype.
“You’re not sentimental, it’s sinus pressure, you’re probably getting sick too,” she counseled when I told her how much I was going to miss our home, “See? Another sign it’s time for you to move!”
“I’ll still get sick there.”
“But you can recoup on the beach.”
Woody and Harry bobbed in agreement as I padded across the kitchen for another cup (ok, more like bowl) of coffee – number four for today. The snow outside made me huddle in my my forest green, Victoria’s Secret robe (the really thick, squishy terry cloth kind) and apparently the involuntary shiver wasn’t missed, “I saw that!” Randi laughed, “It’s going to be close to 70 here today. Maybe I’ll take Cliff for a run at the beach and collect some shells to send you.”
Poor Woody and Harry. I had to run to my car – they needed to be replaced by my boots for a bit. I could just imagine their conversation as I went outside, making sure I was clearly out of ear shot (they are very cultured).
“Yo, Woody. You like walking around on cold floors?”
“Oh my goodness, NO! What’s worse is when she puts us on when her feet are freezing. She may be saying “Ahh….” but, I tell you, Harry, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“I do appreciate her pedicure though.”
“Yes indeed. This Myrtle Beach place…they’ve got sand, right?”
“Yes, but Woody, we’re not going to be allowed to walk on it.”
“Oh,” Harry would probably say.
“But the floors will be super warm.”
“Sshhhhhh!!” Bob warns them – “she’s coming back!”