Unleashing My Inner Monet....

An Aunt Cheryl painting

Painters inspire me.  The creativity and talent that it takes to make something out of nothing, whether it is a portrait, landscape or a mishmash of colours swirling around on a canvas..... simply amazing.  Growing-up inspiring painters were not hard to find.  My Grandma Jean and my Aunt Cheryl were constantly working on honing their craft.  

Here are some examples of their work.  See-  hard not to be impressed right?

A Grandma Jean Original

I may have mentioned this in a previous blog-  my mother  is a crafter and artist extraordinaire.  There was and is very little that she can't do- cake decorating, flower arranging, knitting, sewing, candle-wicking, ceramics, quilting, weaving, paper tole, etc.    Even with all this talent during my youth she declined learning to paint.  She would often comment that the closest she would ever come to painting was a paint by number of the Last Supper that hung on our dining room wall.  She was very clear that she was not a painter and she would never be one.

That changed after I left home.  One day Mom decided to learn how to folk-art paint.  She was a success.  Then she decided she wanted to try painting on canvas.  She took a  few Bob Ross classes (yes the dude from the PBS series who's monotonous tone puts you to sleep and when you awake there is a beautiful painting to admire).  Again she knocked it out of the park.  She could add yet two more things to her list of talents. I was awestruck, as I typically am by the seemingly unlimited talents of my mother.

For a number of years now I have wanted to paint.  To be like my mother and just pick-up a brush and start creating.  Fear of failure and a general lack of knowledge has held me back.

Why?

I lack basic art skills.  Sure I can colour and I can draw some pretty kick a$$ stick people but that is where my talent ends.  There was a reason I chose band instead of art in Grade 7... to avoid continually proving that I suck at art.  It is natural to conclude that since I can't draw, painting pictures would be epic fail.

Recently Paint Nite started being offered in town.  A night to get together with others, have drinks and paint a picture.  My friends and colleagues have all been.  They all swore that prior painting knowledge and ability was not needed in order to end up with an amazing painting.  I saw their work. I was impressed by all.  Very talented and creative women, each and everyone.   But I was still skeptical that I could also end up with a similar result if I attended a Paint Nite.

Invites to go to Paint Nite continued to flow in and I continued to turn all of them down.  I could not escape my performance anxiety.  Failing is one thing, failing in front of a crowd where pictures are being taken..... not going to happen!!!

It seems that all I needed was repeated offers and continued encouragement to give it a try.  I found my chutzpah.  Around the same time Autism Ontario was hosting a Paint Nite fund raiser.  All the proceeds were going to support the local chapter.  I figured it did not matter what I ended up with.  It was for a good cause and I would walk out of there with something.    I registered and paid my fee.

Here is the painting that got me off my duff.

Paint Nite- Under the Red Tree

I figured even if my version it did not end up looking like this one.  I was guaranteed to have a canvas full of some of my favourite colours.  

The evening ended up being really fun.  I had cheerleader support in the form of Pam-  A Paint Nite expert.  I abstained from adult beverages as I wanted to have my wits about me to make sure I didn't miss any of the instructions.  2 hours later this was the end result:

My version-  Better than I feared, but room for improvement.

A painting monster has been born.  All I want to do is paint, paint, paint.  The only problem- no supplies.  A quick trip to Michael's today rectified that.  Whoo Hoo!!!!!!  Now to find some time to work on my new hobby.

My siblings are probably cringing.... starting a new hobby before finishing my other hobby projects.  What can I say, my Mom is my inspiration!!!!!!

Fergus and Other F-Words

I am adorable... Why is she complaining?

Maybe the change in weather has made me cranky and a little less tolerant... maybe it is hormones (Fergus's not mine).  But Fergus seems to have turned into a giant pain in the kester lately.  Thoughts like "I want to banish you for all time", "I love you so much it hurts", "Could you be a bigger goof ball?" are constantly swirling around in my head.   Sometimes the cycle between these conflicting ideas and resulting emotions can be days; sometimes nano-seconds.

Take yesterday as an example.  It opened with a Goof-ballesque morning.  Fergus was running full tilt when he caught a whiff of something that was apparently so enticing it caused him to forget the first law of Physics-  objects in motion tend to stay in motion.

He dropped his head to look for what smelled so good.  The only problem- he had not stopped running.  His head was sucked between his front legs.  His hind-end lifted up and flipped over.   Even the Russian judge would have given him a score of 10 for that somersault.
I laughed.

He lay there with his feet up in the air.... stunned.

This is the type of hi-jinx that started our day.  Sadly it all went downhill from there.

This week, marks the week that Fergus discovered counter-tops and the bounty they behold.  He celebrated his discovery with downing a banana.  He was in the midst of eating his second banana when I found him.  Let me tell you he was not giving it up without a fight.  He clamped down on the banana with such tenacity, pit-bulls would have been envious.  I eventually wrestled it out of his mouth and tossed the slimy, slithery mess in the garbage.   Since that moment it has been game on.  Nothing is safe.

Yesterday's grand tally was:

Fergus:

• 1 Ikea wooden spoon... texturized beyond usability
• 2 spoons- slobbered on, hidden, but not destroyed
• 2 pots sniffed, 1 licked
• 1 glass knocked into the sink.... you know.... just helping me out!



Insert words that rhyme with Chuck-it here!

• 1 knife, taken off of the counter via blade in mouth.  I am sure he was planning on hiding it to use as a shiv should I try to take any more banana's away from him.  

Me:  

• "Fergus!" repeated in varying degrees of exasperation and sometimes followed by other F-words
• Religiously doing dishes as they are used.... which could explain some of my crankiness (I detest doing dishes).
• Trying to find strategic placement for food items that are typically housed on the counter.
• Many, many sighs and grrr Arrrgh's..... to numerous to count.

Add to that 3 urine accidents and you get a picture of how my day was going yesterday.

A dramatic re-enactment of the Chuckit demise

Yesterday afternoon while working on a project I heard gnawing.  I glanced over and there was Fergus on the couch with an antler.  I went back to working.  The gnawing sound continued.  

My spidey senses must have been tingling, as  it was not long before I was compelled to go to the living room to really look a what Fergus was doing.  As it turns out the antler was a decoy.  He was really chewing on was the newly purchased Chuckit (a contraption that was invented to allow dog owners to throw balls farther and eliminate the need to handle said goobered balls).    I could feel my ire rising.  I started counting to 100.  As we were walking over to Fergus's crate, to start his time-out, I found his strategically placed booby-trap...

Surprise!  Urine accident #4!

AHHHHHHHH!!!!  

Fergus started his time-out.  I went for a nap.  

Side note about the Chuck-it.  This is the second Chuck-it.  The first Chuck-it was lost at the dog park last week when the Dogs decided to be arsehole-lee-o's before entering into the park.  As I was trying to get them under control, the Chuckit slipped out of my bag.  I did not realize until latter, but it was too late.  The Chuckit was gone.  Chuckit 2 lasted exactly one day before Fergus got his jaws on it..... see Exhibit A.

The Chuckit the day before....

The Chuckit post Ferg-i-fying

I decided to test out the Fergus's version of the Chuckit last night to see if was still usable.   It is... but it no longer picks-up the ball.   I will have remember to bring hand sanitizer the next time I use it.

Some pics from our Chuckit session last night:

"I don't know why we are running.  I am just following  you."

"Oh I get it... you have a ball!  

WHAT!!!!!

I must have the ball!!!!!!!!!"

"Are you dead??????? Blink once if you are still alive."

"Ha ha!  My plan worked.  I have the ball.

You can't have it!"

The day had turned around.  I was content.  The dogs were happy and tired which in turn relaxed me more..... sleeping dogs don't need supervision.

Then it happened.

I headed to bed and found out that the cat had jumped on the puddle-making band wagon.  

Yup!!!!!  

She peed the bed.

You know what I call that.......  synchronicity.  Start the day with pee.... end the day with pee.  

To think yesterday morning I was having a hard time coming up with a concept for my next blog.  Be careful what you put out in the universe.....  as it works in mysterious  and sometimes wet ways.

As for me.... I am focusing on the blessings that came out of yesterday.... dishes done; clean floors, dog love, chuckles and clean sheets!

Do you know what this is?

An F-Bomb in photo format!

How To Improve Your Odds At Underwear Roulette

A Wo- Man that is!!!!
Picture from www.shelteringsuburanmom.com

My brother and I found ourselves having a conversation about my underwear issues.  (Yes I agree, my brother is truly patient and suffers a lot from being related to me.)  Bro could not fathom the concept of underwear creepage, as his apparently stays put.   I could not believe my ears....

"Seriously!  You have never had a wedgie or an almost wedgie?????  I don't believe it."

He replied with a succinct "Nope!"  (He is a dude of few words.)

His theory was that men's underwear, gotch to be exact, was made to stay in place, where as woman's underwear was made to torture.  I decided to test out his theory and went a week wearing men's tighty whities.  

Guess what?????????    He was freakin' right.

Not once did the gotch even consider moving a millimeter out of place.  I instantly started thinking of all the advantages of making the permanent switch to men's briefs....

a.   It stays where you left it and does not develop a mind or mission of it's own as the day progresses.
b.  There is that handy little pouch in the front where I could keep my change and valuables.
c.  The extra fabric in front provides extra insulation in the winter time.
d.  Less thinking about which pair to wear in the morning; as it is designed to be a grab and wear vs a fashion statement.

The advantages go on and on.

But I am not one to abandon what I know on a whim.  I wanted to do more recon before making such a dramatic life change.

The first thing to test-  the front pocket.  I could foresee a future devoid of the need for money belts and purses.

No pockets?  No problem!

What's the point in having a pouch panel if you are not going to use it to it's fullest potential.  I was prepared to be thrilled.

Alas, it did not take long for my excitement over the underwear pocket to be extinguished.  What I failed to realize was the pouch runs the full length of the underwear.  That means stored cash, coins in particular, slides down toward the buttocks and results in your underpants jingling when you walk.

Hmm, maybe that is how Bo Jangles got his name.

The other obvious con to wearing men's briefs is the VGL (visible gotch line).  My brother laughed when I told him this.  He said.... "Well, maybe don't wear such tight pants."

I swear I don't wear tight pants.  Woman's pants are made from thin, stretch like material, it is meant to hug the hip and flare out from there.  Gotch, unlike ladies unmentionables, has a very thick edge around the leg holes-  probably the feature that keeps it in place.  The leg gripper region is perfectly hidden when wearing jeans, but very visible when wearing dress pants.

Unfortunately these two flaws outweigh all the advantages.   So until improvements are made I will continue to be a full-fledged wedgie picking pantie wearer.  

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls.....

'Cuz I can just make you one.  Especially if you take your little 'ole time closing the door!

Fergus Falls

See I just saved you a whole bunch of time.  

Meanwhile back at the ranch:

I am sooooo exhausted.... I need a nap to recover from my nap!

In Honor of Shark Week.

I am breaking my own rules.  I said I was not going to blog today. Instead I would concentrate on finishing house work and catching up on my LEAN course work.  But an opportunity presented itself and I had to write it down while it was fresh in my mind and my a$$.

On Friday I decided to take the dogs, all 120 pounds of them, for a walk.  Fergus was being an a$$, oops I mean a puppy.  There were many corrections and ++ sighs of discontent on my behalf.  We were two blocks from home when we encountered a grizzled cigar smoking dude.  Fergus did what Fergus does... he made a B-line for the dude.  The dude looked panicked.  I grabbed Fergus and sat him down in the grass to the far right of the man, in an attempt to give the man ample room to pass the whirling dervish of fur and excitement.

Did the dude walk on by?????

A GRAND BLEEPING NOPE!

I don't know what Dude was thinking or doing, as my back was to him, but whatever he did made Gimli decide that he had to say hello.  I felt one the leashes pulling me back.  I stepped to pull Gimli in, while maintaining a hand hold on Fergus.  Fergus saw an opportunity to make a break for it and he set off like he had a rocket in his pants.  I remember a leash tangling around my leg, my slow listing to the right and then my right knee striking the pavement followed by a slow and incremental slide along the pavement.

Picture from www.pinterest.com

To say I was miffed would be an understatement.  Rage fuelled by embarrassment bubbled in my belly.  Counting to 10 was not working.  Breathing... well lets just say the exhale scorched a path 100 feet wide in front of me.  I managed to control my emotions and make it home where I put some distance between the dogs and myself.  That is when I vowed that Fergus's puppyhood was over.  Intense training would start the next day.

As of Saturday morning Fergus must work for his food.  There are no freebies.  The plan is working.

As of this morning he has mastered-

• Come- almost too well, as he does not stop until he reaches me.  50 feet recalls have become a game of chicken.... I am usually the one to move out of the way, as 50 lbs moving at a fair clip packs a wallop when it hits you; not enough to send me catapulting through the air, but enough to make me fear for my safety.  
• Sit
• Sit and stay for 12 seconds at a 6 foot distance
• Heel- about 60% of the time
• Leave it
• Stand-  about 40% of the time

Editor's proviso:  The above is true as long as there are no dogs and people around.  If these elements enter into the equation the stats drop dramatically.  

It is amazing what a motivator food can be.  Thank goodness he overcame his picky eating syndrome.

This morning we headed out into the sunshine, to complete Fergus's training walk around the sniffy block.  I decided it would be fun to run the last .25 km home.  

Picture it......  It was like the opening scene for Baywatch- but with way more coverage and way, way more wobbly bits.

Fergus was confused-  Why are we running?  Why is she not stopping?  Why am I soooooooooo exciiiiiiiteddddd?

The only logical conclusion- we are under attack....... 

We are UNDER ATTACK..... 

                           

                           WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!!!!!!!!!!....... 

                            of course this got shortened into just plain ATTACK!!!!!!!!!! in his dog brain.

That is when his prey drive kicked in and he leaped up and bite me in my right butt cheek.  Not hard enough to puncture my pants or my skin but enough for me to say..... "AAACKK!!!!!!!  That's my butt!"

My story-  

I stopped and turned.  There was Fergus looking around  trying to see if he could pin the deed on someone else.  But he was the only one around.  Obviously the culprit.  

Fergus's story-  

"We were set upon by a Ninja land shark.  You obviously sensed it.... that is why you started running.  The shark sailed by me and launched itself at you, biting your buttocks.  I fended it off and scared it away.  It moved so fast you didn't see it."

Whew! 

"That was close, that shark would have taken your leg off if I didn't save you!"

"Your welcome!!!!"

"Now lets discuss my reward.... Lets say another bowl of food?  Maybe a handful of the good treats? Huh...... Huh??????????

Photo from "Wheredosharkslive.com".... on land obviously!!!!

The morale of this story....... Exercise caution when there are Ninja Land Sharks on the loose.

Creatively Hulking Out!

This was a gift..... Just sayin'

One of the things that I loved doing when I was younger was to make up bedtime stories for my younger siblings (it did not happen often but  the few that were told were epic).  This does not happen often anymore because my siblings are grown and the furry herd is not an appreciative audience.  Last year when visiting my brother's family I had an opportunity to dust off ye 'ole storytelling skills and made up a story about the woes of putting Grandma to bed.  What I enjoyed about the experience was the improv.  Other then the main concept of Grandma going to bed, I did not know where the story was going to go.  It was fun watching Mr C's reaction to the story.  Sitting on the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest, slowly eating pretzel sticks.  Mesmerized by the ins and outs of the unfolding story. (Editor's note- Mr. H was a little too young to fully appreciate my story telling genius, but he was also present for the story)

Well imagine my glee when one of the challenges for the change project that I am doing (yup, still at it) was to tell Mr C and Mr. H a bedtime story.  This task was all the more challenging because they live a province away and Mr. C has an aversion to the phone.  

Thank goodness for Skype.

I decided to expand on the Grandma bedtime theme and included Nanny (the maternal grandmother) into the mix.  It was a Grandma and Nanny Sleepover.  This story was a hit (as measured by the fact that Mr. C actually remained in the room and eventually removed his hands from his ears to listen to it). 

A couple of days later I asked Mr. C to tell me a story that included a Grandma, a tent and a Hulk.  He graciously declined with a resounding-  NO!!!!!!  This little fellow does not mince words.

It didn't matter, as my brother and I ran with it.  A grandmother that was transformed by "Granma rays" vs.  "Gamma rays".  We laughed and laughed as we each came up with a new thought as to what  Grandma Hulk would look like; what she would say; what she would do.

Well a week later when I pulled- "Write a story" as one of the challenges, I decided to write about Grandma Hulk.  Here is the result:

The Tale of the Not So Sleepy-Time Grandma Hulk

Prologue

Image from marvel-movies.wiki.com

Have you heard of the Hulk?  Dr. Bruce Banner’s cranky pants alter ego. You know the big green beastie that fights evil with the Avengers. Well if you haven’t, I strongly suggest you Google him.  His crime fighting ways are as impressive as his sheer size and his ability to communicate using a limited number of words.  A gift I wish I had.

What would you say if I told you that the Hulk is not the only Hulk out there? 

When I told Mr. C and Mr. H that I knew of another Hulk, Mr. C said- “Actually, there is only one Hulk.”  Mr. H just silently shook his head from left to right to indicate that I was truly mistaken.

But on chilly July 1^st night Mr. C and Mr. H became believers when they witnessed a transformation so phenomenal they both…..Dun, dun Duuuunnnnnnn! 

(Please feel free to make up and insert your own form of creepy dramatic music, if you don’t like my choice for the cliffhanger.)

Chapter 1 

(This is the only chapter, because it is a short story… .but I had to find a way to separate Chapter 1 from the Prologue to minimize confusion.  If you are confused, my plan didn’t work.  Don’t panic….. proceed to the next paragraph in a calm and orderly fashion.  Whew!  That was close)

It was July 1^st -Canada Day.  Mr. C and Mr. H decided that they wanted to celebrate by inviting Grandma to a sleep over in their tent.  It felt like an eternity while they waited for Grandma to arrive.  Dad explained there was a reason for that- waiting for Grandma can take an eternity. Her morning routines, take longer than the average Grandma-  first Grandma has to wash, dry and curl her hair.  Next comes the mascara and make-up.  Last but not least Grandma always needs to look for something before she can leave the house- keys, sunglasses, her purse, or all of the above.  (See Grandma doesn’t like to be bored, so she plays hide and seek with her things.   Unfortunately for Grandma her “things” are better at hiding than she is at finding them.)  It did not take Mr. C and Mr. H long to realize that when waiting for Grandma-  patience is a MUST!

Grandma was finally ready and started the drive to Mr. C and Mr. H’s house.  She was four blocks away from her house when she started wondering if she turned off her curling iron.  She had to go and check as she did not want to risk burning down the house.  The curling iron was off.  PHEW!

Grandma was off again, moving infinitely slower than the Flash but dramatically faster than a turtle.  

Hokey Dinah!  The story is almost halfway finished and Grandma hasn’t even arrived yet!!!!!

Will she get there in time for the fireworks????  Flip the page to find out. (Editor's note-  in the Word version of this story this part of the story ends at the bottom of page 1.)

Finally, at long last, Grandma arrived at Mr. C and Mr. H’s house.  Mr. H was the first to spot her and communicated his find using a series of grunts and dramatic hand gestures.  Mr. C ran to the window and started yelling “Ohh Yeah! OH OH YEAHHHHHH!” while doing his signature booty shaking celebratory dance.  The fun was about to begin.  

Grandma, Mr. C and Mr. H played Tim Horton’s Drive Thru- a fan favorite game for the 5+ crowd.  Then they ate the gourmet meal Dad had prepared for them-  chicken, but not just any old chicken, it was Mr. C’s fav-  She-can  nuggets (chicken but pronounced with a French accent.  Why?  Because they are gourmet).  Before everyone knew it, it was time to get ready to go pick a spot for the fire works.  

BOOM!

BAM!

FRIZZLE… POP…. POP!

FRIZZLE, BOOM, BOOM, KAPOW, FRIZZLE, FRIZZLE, BOOM, POP, POP, POP!!!

No silly! That was the sound of the fireworks… not Grandma and Dad getting up from the table.  

On the ride home, Grandma and Mr. C oohed and ahhhed about the colors and the spectacular shapes and patterns the fireworks made.  Every now and then Mr. H would chime in with a “Ahhh, oooooo,  Ahhh”.  Grandma and Mr. C knew that Mr. H was as pleased as they were with the fireworks.  

As the car pulled into the driveway Dad turned in his seat and said- “I know you are all excited about the fireworks and sleeping in the tent, but it is bed time.  Last time Grandma slept over, there was TOO much talking and WAY TOO much laughing.  Mr. C and Mr. H I know it was Grandma who was keeping you up, because I have taught you how to go to sleep as soon as you get under your covers.  Your mission tonight is to teach Grandma how to go to sleep just as fast as you.   Can you do it?”

Mr. C replied “Oh YEAHHHHHH!”

Mr. H sagely nodded his head in the affirmative.

Grandma said nothing.  She just harrumphed under her breath.  

Mr. C and Mr. H ran into the house and quickly changed into their pajamas.  They ran outside toward the tent and that is when they noticed Grandma was still in the car.  “Grandma, what are you doing?” Mr. C asked.  

Grandma replied, “ I can’t find my sunglasses.  I had them when we went to the fireworks but now I can’t find them.”  

“Aaah  ummm ahh” said Mr. H while pointing to Grandma’s head.

Grandma reached up and sure enough there were her sunglasses perched on the top of her head.   “Thank-you Mr. H” said Grandma.

With the mystery of the missing glasses solved Grandma went and changed into her nightie and headed to the tent.  

Mr. C said “Grandma, it is our job to make sure that you go to sleep right away. Get into your sleeping bag and close your eyes.”

“I don’t wanna!” said Grandma.

Mr. H pointed at Grandma and then at the sleeping bag “Sissp, Siiispp” was the sound coming from his soother.

“I DON’T wanna!!!!” said Grandma.  “I’ve got an idea how about we play?”

“No Grandma.” said Mr. C “Dad said we had to go to right to sleep.”

NOOOOOOOOOOO! Said Grandma

“Yes Grandma.” said Mr. C

And that is when it happened.

Grandma’s legs and arms began to shake, her hands balled up into giant meaty fists, her face and limbs started turning red, her head wobbled to and fro and her glasses popped off her face and landed at Mr. H’s feet.

Mr. H started to giggle.  Then he started to laugh.  He laughed so hard his whole body was shaking.  Oh what fun to see Grandma acting silly.  

Mr. C wasn’t laughing, though.  He knew he had seen this before in one of his books.  But in that picture, the person was turning green not red.  Could it be?  Was Grandma hulking out?

RRRRRRIIIIIPPPPPP!  The billowy sleeves of Grandma’s nightie fell away to expose her bulging biceps and triceps.    The seams of the tent started to give way as Grandma grew to 4 times her size (some might say that she was topping the scales at 1200 lbs… she was that big).  

“GRANDMA HULK NO WANT SLEEP.  GRANDMA HULK SMASH TENT!!!!”

Mr. C replied “Grandma Hulk think of your choices.  If you smash the tent we will not be able to use it.  That will make Mr. H and I sad.”  Mr. H nodded in agreement.

“Grandma Hulk here’s my deal.  You de-hulk and go to bed and Mr. H and I will sing you a song.” said Mr. C.

“GRANDMA HULK ANGRY….. NO DEAL”

“Grandma Hulk I think you need a time out.  I have an idea!  How about you breathe and count to 10.  I will help you.  Take a big breath in through your nose and blow it out through your mouth, like this.” said Mr. C as he demonstrated what to do.

Grandma Hulk drew in a deep breath, as she did so the sides of the tent sucked in toward the trio.  She exhaled through her mouth.  The force of her breath propelled Mr. C and Mr. H across the tent floor.  Only the walls of the tent stopped them from sailing through the fence and into the neighbor’s yard.  Mr. H thought it was fun. Mr. C was not too sure.   

Grandma Hulk inhaled again-  in went the sides of the tent and Mr. C and Mr. H slide toward Grandma Hulk’s hulking tummy.    Mr. H giggled with glee and signed “More!  More!” repeatedly.  Mr. C looked for something to hold on to.

Grandma Hulk let out her breath.  Off Mr. H and Mr. C went across the tent floor.  Mr. C turned to Grandma and said “Grandma when did you have pizza?  I can smell the pepperoni.”  As he was asking the question he saw that the deep breathing was working.  Grandma was getting smaller and she was now a bright pink vs. scarlet red.  

“Ohh Yeah!  Oh oh Yeah!!!!”  said Mr. C.  “Keep it up Grandma.  It’s working!” 

8 breaths later Grandma had returned to her regular size.  She blinked her eyes and looked down at her torn and tattered nightie.  “What happened?” she asked.

“You hulked out Grandma!”  replied Mr. C. 

“Oh my!” said Grandma.  

Mr. C looked at Grandma and said “Grandma, I know you did not brush your teeth.  Here’s my deal.  You go inside and brush your teeth then when you come out you will get in your sleeping bag, you will close your eyes and you will go to sleep.  Okay guys?”.

“Deal!” said Grandma.

With that she brushed her teeth, got into bed and went to sleep to the soft dulcet tones of Mr. H sucking on his soother, but not before quietly gazing at the stars through the hole in the roof of the tent.

THE END

Editor's Note:  A hulking thank-you to marvel-movies.wiki.com for posting Hulk pictures on the Internet.  Without your contribution to this blog it would have been a whole bunch of blah, blah, blah.  Or I would have had to resort to drawing a stick figure Hulk. Which come to think about it, what would that really look like? A stick figure drawn with 72 pnt lines????  

Thank-you.  Eternally grateful!