Visiting The Rugrats

Is there anything more beautiful than driving through hours of Minnesota country side blanketed with snow?

Well, yes. A few things: My husband's giggly smile when his nephews or brothers tickle him, the sweet innocence of two almost-three-year-old boys asleep side by side, the shock of blond that tops our youngest neice's head like whipped cream on pie. Oh, and the warm blue of a day when the sun actually SHINES. Like it's supposed to.

We spent the weekend hanging out with the Terror Twins, who I'm sure will carry that terror right into age three, and their brother -- our brilliant six-year-old nephew who apparently likes homework about as much as I like cold weather.

After two days of awakening to the twins' screams and one Incredibles-themed birthday party, we moved to Husband's other brother's house where we awoke instead to the pounding of Blond Baby, jumping on our heads. Oh, I meant jumping in her bouncy seat. And I read dozens upon dozens of princess stories to The Cutest Creature To Walk The Earth, our three-year-old neice. Sometimes I think it's pointless to anticipate having adorable children when we already know the Cutest Creature is taken.

We were in the hallway, beginning the 11-minute multi-layered dressing procedure necessary before going outside for three seconds to climb in the car and go to the airport, when Cutest Creature peeked around the corner and said, "I love you, Aunt L."

Then my face started dripping and I melted into a puddle.

Husband asked, "What about me?"

She paused a minute, looking thoughtful, and then said, "Yup. I love you, too."

One more point for moving to Minnesota someday.

More People Who Say Stupid Things

We have needed a new roof since we moved into the house in March, but the hurricanes made our need immediate. As in, there is water on the bathroom floor after a rain. (At least it's in the bathroom, right? On tile.)

After Husband finally took my advice and filed an insurance claim, we are now able to mostly afford a new roof. Yay, Charley! Yay, Frances! Yay, Jeanne!

So last night a roofer came over to pound on our roof and tell us how much it would cost us. He was a nice guy, Dan, freckled, a hint of southern drawl. He sat at our kitchen table with Husband dishing about shingle availability and gutter options.

At one point, they discussed payment and Dan tells Husband that we can trust their company because the owner is a "good Christian man." This made me pause, but not halt, my preparation of sauteed honey-sesame chicken. There's nothing wrong with being a good Christian man, after all. I like good Christian men, just not any more than other good men.

And then they discussed plywood costs (I have a point here, I swear). Basically, plywood is a sliding cost because there's no way to know how much plywood we need to replace before the shingles are torn off. Husband said he wanted to cap the cost of plywood. To which softspoken Dan, who was a very good salesman and who we had now established was 22, had a girlfriend and lived in the area (Read: Potential friend) said...

"Don't worry. I won't Jew you."

OH, MY.

Don't worry. I didn't point to the menorah and punt him out of the house. I didn't order Husband to tackle him like a Green Bay Packer. I didn't even make him stand up and kiss the mezuzah. I just said, "We're not signing a contract with you tonight. Dinner is ready. Wrap it up."

I can't wait to tell him we're not going with him because he is an unobservant bigot.

His roof cost $900 extra anyway.