Tag Archives: hors-opoly

Don’t Know What You Got Until It’s Gone

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As per usual, Cinderella (the band, not the princess) had it right. It was just last Wednesday that we had our last summer Wednesday at Oma and Opa’s. It happened to be a rainy day and past Labor Day, so we didn’t go to the pool (or wear white). I told my mom we’d have to come up with a Plan B and she reminded me about her brilliant parenting philosophy, “you don’t always have to do something.” [Editor’s note: that could also be a great Cinderella song.] So we just hung out, and you know what? It was great.

The kids played Hors-opoly with Oma. (It’s dumb. You try learning to say “Go to stable. Do not pass Giddy Up” instead of “Go to jail. Do not pass Go.” without sounding like an idiot.)

Horsopoly They also enhanced the enjoyment of Hors-opoly with their new discovery: arm farts.

Hors-opoly and arm farts
Arm farts are a million times funner than Percheron, which is the Boardwalk of Hors-opoly.

We completed this puzzle:

Star Wars puzzle
And by “we”, I mean me, with the littlest bit of help from Hazy (20%), George (5%), and Oma (1%, and that’s generous).

Rosie and Teddy established a truce (i.e. she stopped bullying him for a short time).

dog relatives sharing bed
Rosie’s pissed she has to share the bed she stole from Teddy with him.

We had one more epic dinner by Opa: wontons and bok choy. Even though I use my dad’s exact same recipe when I make wontons, they’re never as good.

homemade wontons
Hazy and George asked Opa why he doesn’t open a restaurant. “Because I don’t like cooking for people I don’t like.” Fair enough.

Not to be outdone, Oma made her famous Peach Roll, which is very much like her famous Strawberry Roll, except you can probably figure out the difference.

IMG_7426
Ask my friend Beth what happened to the strawberry roll my mom brought to our college dorm with instructions to “make sure I share it.” (Spoiler alert: I didn’t. Other spoiler alert: I gained more than the Freshman 15.)

It appears George has inherited his father’s flatulence problem. The emissions are frequent and smelly, enough that Oma had to institute a “No Farting At The Dinner Table” rule. So, George would frequently say, “Excuse me” and then we’d hear a big fart and an “Ahhhh” from the bathroom down the hall.

fart run
The Fart Run in action

I know I say this every “one summer at home,” but we are so fortunate to have Oma and Opa in our lives. I love that my kids have inside jokes with them, that we have lame games that we only play at their house, and that they’re stricter about certain things than I am. And I love love love all the incredible food we were spoiled with every week. I’m definitely gonna miss our weekly time together, but there’s always the weekends…

I’ll leave you with these words from Cinderella:

I count the falling tears
They fall before my eyes
Seems like a thousand years
Since we broke the ties

Also, I’m sorry that Rosie peed on your rug (again), mom.