Whack a Mole

My husband and I blessed my sister-in-law with the presence of our family of five at her annual summer outdoor party yesterday.  We definitely upheld our end of the entertainment value with two children falling off of her swingset slide (and screaming bloody murder), our youngest scattering sand from the sandbox throughout the yard for hours on end, and my husband and I engaging in a hot dog eating contest in our tent seats, all the while pretending we didn’t know who’s kids were screaming. 

But everything my family did yesterday pales in comparison to the showstopping abilities my brother-in-law showcased just past dinner time in the front yard. 

After dinner time a dozen kids were playing in the front yard – football, volleyball, bikes, chalk, you name it – it was pulled out of the garage and being used. 

Five girls (age range 3-13) were bumping the volleyball back and forth to each other in a circle.  A few moments into the game one of the girls missed the ball altogether and it landed right in the flower bed.  She leaned over to pick it up and noticed something moving in the mulch.  Oddly, she didn’t scream, but instead told the other girls to come over because there was a “cute little mole” that they just had to see.

Within minutes, the mole was named “Joey”.  I will call the “naming” girl Angelina Jolie from this point on, as she apparently had intentions to adopt the mole, move it to a third-world country for its own safety from the paparazzi, and fly back to the States to update us on his conditions regularly.

In the meantime, my five-year-old niece had raced to the backyard to tell my sister-in-law the news.  A few moments later she rounded the corner, her facial expressions telling that she wasn’t sure whether her daughter’s story was legit or not. 

A few leg kicks from the mulch pile confirmed her disgust.  She called to my brother-in-law as she quickly announced the fate of Joey to the girls – bye bye.

Angelina Jolie looked heartbroken.

My brother-in-law quickly rounded the corner of the house, half-listened to the mole story, went straight to the garage, picked up a metal shovel and squared himself to Joey. 

I thought this may have been a good time to tell children under the age of 12 to back up or at least turn their heads.  Apparently I was off on this one or didn’t account for my brother-in-law’s Bud Light intake, because instead he instantly whacked the mole on the head.

Angelina Jolie gasped.

The younger kids giggled. 

The first whack didn’t get the job done and was followed by a second smack/thud.  No one questioned whether or not the second whack took care of business.

My brother-in-law lifted the mole onto the shovel, and walked him across the driveway.  Everyone paid their last respects by fake-gagging at the sight of him just before he was tossed into the trashcan.

What I’ve taken away from this experience is the following:  Who needs pet fish and a toilet to learn about the circle of life?  Whack-a-Mole on the front lawn takes care of that life lesson all on it’s own – just be sure to invite the neighborhood kids over before you start the game.