Coffee at the Rickards
Let me set the scene. Reed and I are lounging on the two love seats... curtains drawn... because the glare of the sun is way too much to handle at 10:45 in the morning. Neither one of us are 'morning people'... I am now simply because I have no choice. We are watching some random Taylor Swift story on 'E'... but we prefer to add our own commentary, so it's on mute.
The front door has been quite testy for the past few weeks... so it only opens from the inside. However, my mom and Evangeline are in the front yard weeding... which means that every time Doodle decides she needs a 'new bucket of food' or a baby doll, they must come to the front door and tap a few times, loud enough for us to hear, but soft enough so the dogs don't bark and wake up the baby.
In the middle of our intense discussion of 'magic nets' (as seen on t.v.'s solution to slamming doors)... "That seems like a catastrophe just waiting to happen" says Reed. "I know!" I reply, "Heaven forbid someone with braces run into this 'magic net' and wind up tangled up in a jumble of metal mesh." "Not fabulous"... we both agree... we hear three taps on the door. Reed jumps up and peers through the faded curtain like we're in hiding during the Nazi occupation. He cracks the door open so the dogs can't get out and Doodle pushes her way through in a hot tempered frenzy. "SHISHY HONGRY! SHISHY HONGRY!"... my mom chases her inside, trying to explain that she can feed the fish later... but with little success. Evangeline was already halfway around the house, shrieking and dancing around in true 'holy ghost' fashion when I finally catch up with her and escort her outside quickly, hoping that Elliot didn't catch on to the fun he was missing out on and wake up. Of coarse, amiss the chaos, the dogs (Millie Precious and Maggie Darling) brush past my legs and out into the front yard.
My mom calms Evangeline down by wafting a bucket of pretzels under her nose like smelling salts... 'ahh... much better.'
They continue weeding the front flower beds as Reed and I plop back down on our individual couches, take a sip of coffee and try to get back to the important topics at hand... 'our hidden talents', 'new games we can play next time we people watch' and, of coarse, magic nets. But before we can decide which of us could hide out in an attic longer in case of an apocalyptic emergency... there's another tap at the door.
"You need to call the dogs in." my mom says.
Reed rolls his eyes and walks halfheartedly to the front door. At the Rickards' house, calling the dogs in can be quite the humiliating event... especially if you're somewhat perturbed or moody. The dogs will come in for nothing less than a 10 minute round of applause... along with the high pitched promise of 'TREATSIES!'
Once Reed finished his 'encore'... we decide that the mood is over and our previous witty discussion is best left in the past.
As I go to take another sip of my, now lukewarm, coffee... I pause as I question the aroma of seared beef. "Why does our house smell like a Thanksgiving feast?" I wonder aloud.
"Mom's making food for Maggie." Reed informs me... "Her condition isn't improving." He says in dismay.
"Mom's or Maggie's" I joke... but I take it back. Maggie has been battling systematic candida and must be fed a very strict diet... and this is no laughing matter. Just the fact that their house could easily be confused with the nearby golden corral at all hours of the day is a little humorous. Not to mention that my mom gets a bit distracted these days... which means that a liver or pan of ground beef could sizzle on the stove top for quite a while before it's noticed.
Anyway, we got the dogs in and fed. I am happy to announce that Elliot slept through it all... and Doodle even got to feed the 'shishies'. Definitely, not the luxurious morning cup of coffee I was envisioning as I traipsed to my moms that morning, but what did I expect?
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