It never fails.
We’ll be sitting at a baseball game,
like an All American family,
and my hubby will embarrass me.
He never yells,
He has to yell,
After 26 years of marriage,
I am still madly in love with this guy,
but still don’t think this is funny.
Nor is the fact that he only has about three jokes,
and none of them make me laugh.
Good thing he’s so stinkin’ cute.
The Ingalls girls were so hard up for toys,
they were thrilled to play with a blown up pig’s bladder
after helping their Ma and Pa butcher.
THAT IS TOTALLY GROSS!
That’s what this generation would say.
Was anybody else totally disgusted by this?
My daughter, Beka, and I tried to talk through this.
We discussed how they had almost NO toys.
They had almost no friends.
Work was a daily part of their life.
Surely, if we were in their shoes,
we’d be thrilled with a bladder balloon, too?
Maybe Laura didn’t understand anatomy at her age,
and that her toy used to have urine in it.
No matter how much I love Little House,
I wasn’t going to buy a pig’s bladder.
Instead of visiting the butcher, we went to a party store.
I pondered for awhile,
then asked Beka what color looked the most like a pig’s bladder,
silk white, silk ivory or milky white.
With slight pre-teen annoyance she answered,
”I don’t know, Mom, I’ve never seen a pig’s bladder before.”
Yea, DUH, I knew that.
We opted for Silk Ivory.
My adorable granddaughter, Brookelyn, joined us for this educational activity.
It makes it extra fun to come to Gwamma’s house AND
have a best friend across the street.
We popped a few and lost a few over the fence.
Volleyball didn’t quite work out and neither did catch.
It wasn’t a long-lasting thrill.
Maybe our kids have too many toys to be thrilled by a balloon.
Maybe a balloon isn’t that fun.
Maybe Laura made it seem so fun so butchers for the next 100 years
would be selling bladders.
Maybe if you’d never owned a ball in your life,
it would have been a blast.
It’s really, really hard to walk a mile in Laura’s shoes,
and be thankful for the bladder entertainment,
so it makes her writings even more special.
But maybe our activity wasn’t that special because we didn’t have Dad yelling,