Rabid Child

With a predicted high of 85º today, we set up the pool and began the fill last night. In morning light, our sea monkey couldn't resist the slowly rising, crystal, arctic waters.

Is he having fun yet?

I'm not all about science, but I think
that water can't be a degree above 55º.

Once Charles wasn't quite so busy and noticed Son4 splashing around, he said, "Shouldn't we get him out of there? He's going to get hydrophobi *halt* ...No wait. That's not the word!"

Sometimes finishing one-another's sentences takes on a new meaning for long-married people. "Hypothermia," I finished for him, but not until I'd scrunched my face and scrambled all over my brain to find the word. Charles loves it when I get "that look" on my face after I've said something ridiculous. We really need each other.

Never ones to allow an opportunity for extended humor to pass, the slip of the tongue was fodder for levity throughout the remainder of the day, as Son3, Uncle Kemtrail, and I hatched new maladies for the sea urchin, who was in and out of the pool as the day wore on, and the frigid waters rose.

"He done got the hydrophobie."
"We'll have to get him to the hospital if he becomes hydroponic."
"He's liable to be hypoallergenic."
"Is he hydraulic yet?"

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things. ~Philippians 4:8