A Favourite Joke
Granddaughters (aged 4, aged 6) in my hammock, reading a joke book.
“Why did the chicken cross the road, roll in the dirt and cross back again?
Because it was a dirty double crosser!”
Grandchild 5 (aged 1) has a hot-tired-left-out grump going on so I scoop her up, the whole squishy chunk of her, and she snuggles her head to my shoulder.
Plan: put blanket in the other hammock, to cover the bump of the knot work, to make a cozy nest.
Problem with plan: forgetting this sling of string has been left out all winter and is likely to be perilously frayed.
We fell through it.
I hit the metal frame, G5 bounced unharmed off my ribcage, runs off wailing. The six year old retrieves her as Granma is caught in the net.
(Soft tissue soreness, wrenched, crunched, dignity obliterated, nothing serious.)
Granddaughters (aged 4, aged 6) have found their favourite joke of the afternoon:
“You fell through the hammock, Granma! You were stuck!”
Granma rather likes the one about the chicken.