Mr. Husband has a very big family. It's in part because his parents are divorced and remarried, in part because the whole lot of them breeds like crazy, and in part because his Grandparents are all still living. The man has four sets of Grandparents, and three of them live in or near Indianapolis. We, of course, make an effort to spend as much time as we can with all of them when we are in Indiana, and that includes the ones that live on a farm a little ways out of town.

The farm was "home base" for us today as about 15 or so of us as we mixed a little shopping with Chuck E. Cheese and Pacers basketball. We started the day at the farm, and we needed to stop there in between our stages of running to drop off the non-basketball lovers. During the drive out to the farm, Alexis FINALLY succumbed to the Power of the Nap and was sound asleep in the back of our SUV as we pulled into the driveway. As I am a wise coward, I dared not risk waking the sleeping Toddler, so we left the SUV running and I stood playing with some of the other kids in the yard near the driveway while keeping a close eye on the sleeping beauty.

Meanwhile, Mr. Husband set out to take care of the dogs. They, of course, are with us on the trip because OMG don't ever show up to a family function without the Bulldog because she IS who people want to see. We figured we would leave them at the farm during the game, so Mr. Husband wandered off to take them out for a good romp around the back yard, in hopes of getting Cody (the Havanese puppy) to go to the bathroom. Somewhere along the line I gained an unwanted Bulldog, so I figured I would try ditching her by walking out to where Mr. Husband was walking with Cody. I looked around and finally spotted them out back by the pond.

As Meg and I trudged our way back there, Mr. Husband suddenly started yelling at Cody. It wasn't a, "You little jerk, stop rolling in the cow poop" sort of yell either (and, yes, I do know that yell, but Jasmine was the one who was on the receiving end of that), it was more of a frantic, desperate yell. It didn't take long to figure out that the facts that Mr. Husband was looking directly at the pond and that I couldn't see Cody anywhere were not a good thing.

Mr. Cody, heretofore to be known as The Little Sh@t, decided to run up and over the bank on the side of the pond and check out all the ice. In his quest to fully earn his new name (which will not be spoken aloud because Alexis doesn't need to call him that), he then decided to check to see just how thick the ice was on this cold November day. Cody weighs in at a whopping five pounds right now, and I can confirm with absolute certainly that while the ice was frozen pretty thick, it wasn't frozen thick enough to support those five pounds.

Yeah.

So.

The Little Sh@t went for a swim in the icy, cold pond.

That's not the best part, though. The best part is that while The Little Sh@t is an excellent swimmer, he was not so skilled as to figure out how to get his little paws on a sheet of ice and fight his own way out of the murky water. Nope. Mr. Husband had to jump in and save his little behind.

I grabbed the soggy Havanese from Mr. Husband's arms as he emerged from the pond and ran inside to get towels for my two wet boys. It's too bad that I was in such a hurry as I passed by my father-in-law, because I'm quite certain that I missed a FANTASTIC facial expression as I breezed past him. He had noticed that Cody was soaked and I had said, "Wait 'til you see my husband."

Who was soaked.

Really soaked.

Everybody is fine, including the Toddler who slept through all of the commotion.

I'm just really glad a good portion of that big family was at the house at the time, because THAT is a story which will need to be retold several times.