She’s still too young for picking a nickname, but since she squeaks a lot I’m going with squeakie in the interim. The proud parents go with Cilla or Cilly, but that’s not quite right. Have been drafted into babysitting duty for a couple weeks while Dad’s in Guam and Mom’s being dragged back to work, maybe there’s a maslow somewhere around Baltimore?
Due to the deleterious consequences of gravity (don’t lean over too far backwards when applying construction adhesive while on a ladder to the new beams in the mooseshop ceiling) some spare time has made itself available. No worries, the 5 stitches in my right forearm will be out next week, and the swamprats should have stopped laughing by then. Will need to scrape off the adhesive and put up the rest of the beam (24’ span, 3 laminated 2x8s held up with a couple hand-hewn 48’ long logs about 7x9 8’ from each wall. Took a 6T jack under them to get the new beam straight, level ain’t gonna happen in a hundred year old barn.
Here’s squeakie’s reaction to the news. She’s a week or so past 6 months old.
Paramedics aren’t supposed to need paramedics and your not supposed to work on yourself but it’s never stopped me from running into a market tearing superglue off the peg closing a would and taking the bloody package up to pay for it.
Letting the would bleed inline would be much more rude. I have gotten some pretty srange looks over the years. I still have 10 fingers and toes.