Adhesive

And so a weird enough semester ends for Davis. He returned from his study abroad experience and had to fit back into the flow of dorm life that had started without him in August: new roommate, new routine. The sister he left when he headed back to Rice seemed as fit and robust as ever,

but by March he found himself headed home more often to get some time in with Erin as she got sicker. Even so, classes fell into place. Will Rice swept Beer/Bike. He took finals in stride and rung the old school year out with good friends and style.

And now what?

Two days at home to unpack, regroup, and pack again. Destinations: DC for five weeks; followed by Rochester until August.

So, as I paid bills today, Davis sorted through some of the laundry baskets where he had tossed everything in an effort to empty his dorm room quickly and efficiently (emphasis on quickly). Of course, he had the requisite sets of dominoes, playing cards, and poker chips. He also stacked up several re-usable, re-sealable plastic containers that I must have shoved in his hands each time he returned back to school this spring with cookies or some other kind of consumable to tide him over until he could make it to the servery. I don't know where he go the bottle of Fe-Breeze, but he claimed that it was indispensable, and I believe him.

Among the detritus was also a dozen packets of epoxy, two bottles of gorilla glue, multiple colors of duct tape, super glue and puzzle glue, foil tape, scotch tape, and masking tape.

Now I know how he kept it together all semester despite it all: a heavy investment in adhesives. And do you know, I can take complete credit for that. Eight (or more) years ago, I personally turned him on to the potential of adhesives.

That summer Davis and Robbie made a substantial investment in driving me mad as a hatter by fussing and bickering about absolutely anything and everything. They refused to played together nicely and refused, even more adamantly, to split up and spend some time apart. One afternoon, out of sheer frustration, I reached for my roll of duct tape and firmly joined them at the forearm and calf (really quite an accomplishment because Davis had started his growth spurt, but Robbie hadn't). Within moments they were best friends, trying to figure out how to run across the backyards, climb up on to the trampoline, and jump without falling into splayed shambles.


For those of you who weighed in on the storytelling poll a few weeks ago, I would like to reveal the outcome:

57% of you thought that Escape from Babysitter Mountain was true.
30% of you thought that Time Stands Still was true.
38% of you thought that The Danger Boys was true.

Do the math. Did 125% of you vote?

No. You're right some of you voted twice (maybe thrice) and you were right to do so, because Babysitter Mountain and The Danger Boys were both true stories. Congratulations to the winners. Next time the truth won't be so obvious.