The Weekend Where I Slept

No matter how the final hours of this weekend pan out, I will put it to bed with this victory:  Yesterday I picked up our Halloween pumpkin, which the fraternity of squirrels in our neighborhood gathered ’round to feast upon weeks ago, and which has been snowed on twice now and frozen pretty much solid, and I threw it in the dumpster.  I know that I really should have walked it across the street to the green waste dumpster at the park, but whatever.  I didn’t have the stamina to carry my frozen pumpkin with the rotting stem that far, and risk having it just explode and spill its gangrene guts all over my shoes.  And let’s face it… If I haven’t been able to carry my pumpkin one hundred yards to the green waste dumpster in the past month, I figured it wasn’t going to happen yesterday, either.  It is nestled in with the Hefty garbage bags in our family’s dumpster, where it is quietly waiting for the garbage truck to come by in the morning.

I feel like this little victory was very likely the high point of our winter, so far.

Don’t judge us.

While other folks have been out, balancing precariously on ladders and hanging Christmas lights off of their gutters, we’ve been over here, hoping guests don’t realize that YES!  THAT’S STILL A HALLOWEEN PUMPKIN SITTING BESIDE OUR FRONT DOOR.  Everything else that happened over the weekend was just icing on the Pumpkin Pitching Cake.

Yesterday, I got up with Thing 2 at 5:30 in the morning, because our babe has no concept of YOUR PARENTS WOULD LIKE TO SLEEP.  And also, FOR THE LOVE!  By the time Hubs rolled out of bed at 8:00, Thing 2 was basically ready for lunch.  He and I had watched some TV shows together, practiced writing his alphabet, done a few pages in his preschool workbook, made oatmeal, and plowed through a cup of hot tea, because we were out of coffee.  I can’t even tell you the horrors of getting up at 5:30 on a Saturday morning with the four-year-old, only to realize that THE COFFEE WAS WIPED OUT ON FRIDAY.

Clearly, I need to speak to the live-in maid that we don’t have about being more diligent with her grocery-fetching.

At 8:00, when Hubs waltzed out of the bedroom, all refreshed like a college boy sleeping in over Christmas Break at his parents’ house, I announced that I was heading to the bathroom to shower.  Sadly, I didn’t make it to the bathroom.  As I strolled past my bed, I realized that YES, GLADYS!  I’M EXHAUSTED.  I laid down…

… and woke up at 11:10 yesterday morning.

I’ve tried to feel some shame about that, because the last time I slept in until 11:10 in the morning was NEVER, but I can’t.  Thing 2 has been awake in the middle of the night too many times lately, and he never sleeps past 5:30 in the mornings.  I felt like I had done my time in the trenches of Very Little Sleep.

Of course, when you get back out of bed at 11:10 in the morning, and you have to be at ice skating lessons by 12:30, you tend to RUSH, RUSH, RUSH.  Thankfully, we made it.  Thing 2 was adorned in his skates and helmet and ready to take the ice at exactly 12:29.

The weekend victories were many.

Thing 2 has learned to skate.  As in, he now skates with a speed that can rival any Olympic speed skater and break the sound barrier.  This is not really the best thing for his preschool skating lessons, because, while the other three-, four-, and five-year-olds took to the ice to learn how to get themselves up when they fall down and how to take little baby steps in their skates to make forward progress, Thing 2 LEFT his class and took off.  He bent low at the waist, used his power arms, and started skating laps around the rink, exactly like he was on the high school hockey team.

His teacher caught him around the waist, and brought him back to the class.

He took off a second time.

His teacher managed to snag him again, and redirect him to class, where he was to TAKE SOME BABY STEPS and WHAT IS THIS BUSINESS OF ALREADY KNOWING HOW TO SKATE?

By the third time our child left his class, his skating instructor just let him go.  He did his own thing, skating hither and yon like he’d been fired from a rocket launcher, until his teacher lined the class up against one wall of the rink for the weekly skate races.  Thing 2 returned to his class on his own, pushed his back against the wall, waited for the GO signal, and boom!

He was at the opposite side of the rink before anyone else was a quarter way across the width of the ice.

By the time his thirty-minute class was over, Hubs and I decided that we may need to enroll him in a class for the more-advanced skater, thanks to Cousin W showing our kid how to glide on the ice.

Thing 2 and the boy, along with a pack of the boy’s friends, all stayed for Open Skate right after the lessons finished, where Thing 2 got to let loose and skate like he wanted to.

By the time we pulled him off the ice, he was starving.  We hit Taco Bell for a quick lunch, and Thing 2 ate FOUR AND A HALF TACOS AND AN ORDER OF TORTILLA CHIPS.  Apparently, appetites are created during intense skating workouts.

After lunch, we all went to a little birthday party for our darling friend, Vivian.  She turned four on Saturday.  The party shook down at the local rec center’s indoor playland, where Thing 2 ran sixty-four miles, before he snarfed a slice of cake right off his plate in three bites, exactly like he was a golden lab scrounging cake at a kid’s party.

We may not be able to afford to feed him any longer.

Thankfully, by the time Saturday night rolled around, everyone was tired.  And by EVERYONE, I mean Thing 2.  We hung out with pizza and our boys at our house, watching our beloved College Town football team play in a championship game, which they lost.  By 9:00, Hubs and I called it a night.  The boy, being sixteen, believes it’s a sin to go to bed before midnight.  He would never have been able to look his peers in the eyes tomorrow morning, if any of them found out he’d gone to bed at 9:00, when his folks did.

And then, after our early-to-bed-like-the-elderly-folks-we-are kind of Saturday night, I woke up at 3:00 this morning.  By the time Thing 2 got up at 6:30 (Praises!  He slept in after wearing himself out yesterday!), I was STILL.  AWAKE.

Yes.

Completely.  Still.  Awake.

So, when Hubs rolled out of bed at 7:45 this morning, exactly like a teenager, I did what I am apparently accustomed to doing these days:  I went straight back to bed and passed out cold.

I slept through Hubs getting himself and the boys ready for church.

I slept through Hubs taking himself and the boys to church.

I slept through Hubs taking himself and the boys to Walmart for necessities, like coffee.

I slept like I’d been gifted with IV anesthesia.

I slept until they all came back home, at 11:00 this morning.

I think this simply shows that Hubs was a lot more responsible than I was today, especially since I never even bothered to shower or get out of my pajamas this afternoon.

But!  Regardless, that rotted Halloween pumpkin IS IN THE DUMPSTER.  It’s almost as good as sticking a water bottle on the flip!

The Young Jedi On Ice

It has been a busy day, that started with me shoveling snow off the patio at 6:30 this morning and pretty much ended with my mom handing us a Tupperware container full of ham and beans and saying, “Here’s a little something, so you don’t have to cook dinner tonight.”

In between those two things, there was recess duty in the 14 DEGREE WINDCHILL.  God bless Small Town, USA in the winter!

Since I don’t have enough mental strength left to write anything tonight, I will show y’all a video of Thing 2 ice skating.  Hubs and I took him to the rink for Open Skate at 2:30 yesterday, when everyone was still at work and school.  He lucked out and had the rink all to himself, with the exception of four kids who are homeschooled and were there to skate.

And yes.

You really CAN hear my four year old shouting HA, HA, HA!  YOU CAN’T CATCH ME! at those four kids.  Clearly, he thinks he’s Wayne Gretsky and can’t be caught on the ice.  He’s done Hubs’ heart proud.

The force is strong with this one.

 

The Thanksgiving Weekend Recap

Well, Monday came, and now we’re all back on a schedule, of some sort.

My schedule today included laundry, more laundry, a trip to the grocery store to pick up everything I forgot at the trip to the grocery store yesterday, scrubbing the dirty hand prints off my bathroom mirror so that I could see myself again tomorrow morning, and more laundry.

Clearly, I lead a glamorous life.  Haters gonna hate.

Like the typical Real Housewives of Small Town, USA, I didn’t devote any of my vacation time to washing clothes.  Apparently, I assumed our live-in maid would take care of that chore, and then this morning, I realized that she must’ve been on a holiday break, too.  That’s the reason I sent Thing 2 to preschool this morning, WITH SNOW PANTS THAT WERE COVERED IN MUD.  I kid you not.  Hubs picked him up on Tuesday from school, and sent me a text that read, “His snow gear is a muddy mess.  Snow melted on playground and they had it dug up to install new swing set.  I left it all in the laundry room sink.”  What you should know about that text is that it consisted of more words than Hubs usually texts in an entire week.

I actually remembered that text this morning, when I couldn’t find Thing 2’s snow pants, and lo!  There they were, hanging over the sink, covered in enough dried mud to make an archeologist busy for a week with his tiny brushes.  In other words, we have become THAT FAMILY at the preschool, as my child lost fourteen pounds of dried mud between his cubby and the playground door, after he got himself dressed for recess.

In other news, our Thanksgiving Break was a good one.  We were basically ice skating or eating the entire time.

On Wednesday, the cousins wanted to teach Thing 2 to skate.  They’re all dedicated skaters and hockey players, which meant I wouldn’t fall on the ice and wind up in a Thanksgiving Hip Replacement Surgery, if I let them be the instructors.

I took my camera to the rink (because of course I did), and then I pretty much forgot my camera everywhere we went for the rest of the weekend.

The girls were so excited to get Thing 2 out on the ice.  I snapped this picture when we first arrived at the rink.

img_3927Thirty seconds later, the girls’ lives looked like this:

img_3928 img_4005Ten minutes after that, they returned to the side of the rink, announcing that their backs had everything in common with a 95 year old woman who had spent her entire life picking cabbages out of fields.  I think they were more than happy to turn the challenge of teaching a preschooler to skate over to seventeen-year-old Cousin W, when he arrived on the ice.

Cousin W took a no-nonsense approach to skating.  He taught Thing 2 how to get up on his skates by himself, rather than begging for help from passing strangers who skated by.  W taught him to take little steps in his skates, which eventually turned into little glides in his skates.

img_3937 img_3944 img_3957 img_4010It took less than thirty minutes for W to have that little fellow of ours whipping around the ice without falling.

And?  Well, when you’ve shown that YES!  YOU CAN SKATE ON YOUR OWN, and your cousin is bigger than Chewbaca, he will treat you to Rocket Skating.  This involves him picking you up and skating faster than a NASCAR running on rocket fuel.

img_3942 img_3943 img_3949 img_3960 img_4019And… just like that… our kid was declared a skater.  The big kids kept him out on the ice for two entire hours on Wednesday.

img_3970 img_3979 img_3977 img_3989 img_4011 img_4025 img_4021 img_4003 img_4042 img_4038 img_4054 img_4045 img_4048 img_4061I had THE BEST TIME watching that pack of children skate together!

img_4026 img_4028Eventually, Cousin M and Cousin B showed up at the rink, too.  They’d played hockey all morning and needed LUNCH before they joined everyone at Open Skate.

This is our tribe of kids.  They all decided that Thing 2 needed to sign up for hockey, so we showed him the penalty box and said, “Little Buddy, here’s where YOU’LL sit when you play!”

img_4057After skating for two hours on Wednesday, the cousins took Thing 2 back to Open Skate on Friday.  By Saturday morning, when Thing 2 showed up for the weekly skating lessons we signed him up for, he was a pro.  His instructor told us, “Wow!  Thing 2 learned to skate this week!”  Yes.  Yes, he did.  He won the skate races his instructor had for them, and took off gliding all over the rink.

Hubs and I have decided that Cousin W should supplement his income by teaching preschoolers to skate himself.  And then I decided that W should probably just move in with us.  We love him.  He’s family.  And I think he’d do a right-fine job of being our MANNY.  Plus, with any luck at all, he might wash Thing 2’s dirty snow pants more often than I do.

On Wednesday, Hubs decided to brine a turkey.

Doesn’t everyone soak their holiday birds this way?  In a bright orange Home Depot bucket?  Please don’t tell me that we’re the only family who brines this way!

img_4066Shelves cam out of our fridge and spent the next couple of days on our kitchen counter, which is exactly where I enjoy seeing refrigerator shelves.  Yogurt and leftover jambalaya and eggs and jams got crammed into any spot they’d fit, because the bird’s brine became the entire focus of the weekend.

And then on Wednesday, guess who turned five?

img_4067Cousin H!  Thing 2 was not at all happy to hear that she had beat him to five.  He kept insisting all day on Wednesday, “It’s not fair that H is five now, and I’m not!  She’s the winner, and that means I’m a loser!  I don’t like losing at being five!”

The honest truth is, Thing 2 doesn’t like to lose at ANYTHING.

We bought Little H a Barbie, who came with fairy wings AND a mermaid tail.  With easy wardrobe changes, she could go from dancing at the ball to swimming with Ariel or flying with Tinkerbell.  Thing 2 handed her the gift when we got to her house and announced, “This is your birthday present, but it’s not a very good one.”

Thankfully, H thought otherwise.  She was actually quite impressed!

On Thanksgiving, Thing 2 slept in until 7:00 in the morning, because ICE SKATING WORE HIM OUT.  This was something of a Thanksgiving Miracle, but here’s what else happened that day:  Hubs set the alarm for 5 AM, so he could put that properly-brined turkey on his Traeger.

In other words, there was no rest for the weary mothers.

We had dinner with my family at lunch time.  I can’t even begin to list all the carbohydrates that were involved, but suffice it to say that I cherished every last one of them.

Thing 2 managed to eat two bites of turkey, five olives (enough for each finger on one hand) and half of a dinner roll.  The end.  He was done eating.

img_4076Hubs and the boys and I left my sister’s house to drive to Hubs’ brother’s house.  It was our second wave of holiday eating.  I told Hubs on the way out there, “I can’t do it!  I can’t eat anything else!  I hate food!  I never want to see food again!”

Which is why Hubs and I had nothing to eat there.  We simply enjoyed the family time with everyone, as I sipped a glass of punch and washed Thing 2 up, after the wrestling match with Cousin M knocked out his front tooth.

img_4084Thing 2 couldn’t be bothered to have anything except a glass of juice at his aunt and uncle’s house.  Oh, to be a preschooler on Thanksgiving, when all the food doesn’t interest you at all, because you’d rather be off, playing!

Thankfully, the boy announced, with his sixteen year old appetite, “Well… I plan on eating!”  And so he did.  He filled another plate high, and blasted right through it.

By 9:30 Thursday night, after we had been home for a while and Thing 2 was sleeping, I looked at Hubs and said, “So… do you think we could call your brother and see if we could drive out for a plate of leftovers now?  Because I’m hungry.”

Oh, Thanksgiving!  I have such a love / hate relationship with you!

The rest of our weekend was dedicated to waking up at 4:45 on Friday morning, to see if the Tooth Fairy had come overnight, ice skating, seeing Santa Claus (Thing 2 asked for a toy train, because he only has three hundred of them right now, an airplane, and a gun that shoots real fire), hanging out downtown one night with friends, where the boys got to ride a train, and venturing off to the theater to see the new movie Moana.

image1 image2

Halfway through Moana, Thing 2, who had been sitting on his knees, fell through the back of his seat, got stuck (!!!), and let the entire audience know that his light-up cowboy boots had fallen off and he didn’t want his legs cut off to get him out.  Meanwhile, I had to invest every arm muscle I had to pull him OUT of the seat, as his legs were on the floor in the row behind us, while his upper body was sticking out of the chair in our row.  Good times.

God bless the energetic four year olds everywhere.

And now… here it is… Monday already.

We hope your Thanksgiving vacations were as family-filled as ours was.

 

Just A Sunday Evening Hello

I really had big hopes of doing a Thanksgiving Weekend Recap post here tonight, because obviously that would be what the CEO wanted… you know… given that this is the very tail end of the blessed holiday weekend, and that blog posts should be TIMELY.

Sadly, this is the time when the CEO wants one thing…

… and ends up cleaning out someone’s week-old tuna salad sandwich out of the mini fridge in the break room instead.

Here’s to hoping that someone from the staff at Jedi Mama, Inc. shows up to work tomorrow night.  In the meantime, I will leave you with this Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, which EXACTLY sums up my life right now.

f2c4ef8a813fc2ff10ecf50d242d799aHappy Sunday night, y’all.  May your coffee be hot and filled with plenty of creamer first thing tomorrow morning, and may all of your preschoolers sleep through the night, like they’re supposed to do.

 

The Thanksgiving Tooth Fairy

And now… after more turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, bacon-wrapped jalapenos, stuffing, hot rolls, deviled eggs, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, and apple pie than we can possibly hold in our bellies, we are gathered back in our own home, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Thanksgiving Tooth Fairy.

She flutters in and makes an appearance on Thanksgiving Night, after you’ve wrestled your thirteen-year-old cousin like a barbarian (in some effort to burn off all the carbohydrate calories you ingested), and smacked your mouth against his ankle bone.

img_4083God bless all the boy moms.

And God bless all the moms of little girls, too, who never have to deal with Hulk Hogan and Triple H, rolling around on their family room floors.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.

And… We Are On Thanksgiving Break!

Well… hey there, y’all.

This has been one of those days, where I’m just a-crazy-kind-of-happy to see the end.  I’m not sure when you were last in an elementary school, on the day before Thanksgiving Break, following the Super Moon and Halloween and all the candy that went with it, but suffice it to say that the small children were LOUD CHILDREN today at our little school.  It wasn’t exactly the onset of Christmas Vacation, but visions of NO SCHOOL were dancing in everyone’s head today, and, THANKS BE TO THE LORD, we are now on our holiday.

There will be no learning of the multiplication facts, or distinguishing between a hard-C and a soft-C, or finding any quotient properties of radicals for the next few days.  At our house, we have every intention of wearing our pajamas a lot during the daytime hours, with cups of coffee in hand and You Tube videos playing in the background.  Thing 2 is currently obsessed with videos on the iPad of trains with plows on the fronts of them, which bust through enormous snow drifts on the railroad tracks, and videos on giant log splitters.  I cannot adequately explain in words how UTTERLY BORING I find these short videos, filmed by amateur directors, but Thing 2 whoops and hollers every time a man successfully cuts an entire tree into a stack of firewood for the winter.

We also have plans to smoke a turkey and whip up some stuffing, because guess who volunteered to bring the Stove Top?  Yes, that would be the same person who exhausted all of her kitchen skills on sliding homemade pies in and out of the oven all night on Sunday.  And Hubs is smoking the turkey, so I really don’t have any part in that.  Hubs’ goal in life is to SMOKE ALL THE ANIMALS on his Traeger.  All I have to do is sit back, prop my feet up, and exclaim, “Marvelous!” every time he shows me a picture on his phone of how a chunk of raw something or other is being slowly transformed into a PERFECTLY-SEASONED, PERFECTLY-SEARED, PERFECTLY-TASTY HUNK OF MEAT.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to sit mindlessly in front of a show with more dialogue and drama than a man in a plaid, flannel shirt has when he cuts a pine tree up into foot-long sections of firewood.

Enjoy your Tuesday evening, y’all.  Three cheers to that very precious bit of time, when your entire, five-day holiday break is stretched out in front of you, with nary a moment used up yet.

 

 

Pies And Ice

The boy has a good friend who took it upon herself to bake pies this month, which she has been selling to teachers and people around the community, so that she could raise money to give to families in need this Christmas.

I know, right?  It feels like her mom and dad have experienced total Parental Victory, because here are my boys over here, asking, “So what’s the very biggest maximum you’re willing to spend on MY Christmas gift?  If I know how high you’re willing to go, I can write out my list accordingly and save a lot of heartache for the both of us.”

The boy volunteered to help with the pies.  Apparently, helping a friend bake pies in her time of need to raise money for a family’s Christmas dinner is more in line with what he’s willing to do than anything I can think of.  The whole, “Your bedroom is a disaster and is in desperate need of fumigation and a garbage truck backing up to it” was met with a blank stare, which seemed to say, “And?  You expect me to do this room cleaning?  I’m terribly busy right now.  Can’t you see that my earbuds are in and I’m throwing this golf ball into the air and catching it, over and over and over, while I lie on the sofa?”

The baking of the pies shook down exactly like this:

The boy announced at 5:00 last night that he needed three pies to contribute to the fundraiser.  The boy mixed and stirred, and mixed and stirred, and created an enormous bowl of red slop that was called STRAWBERRY PIE GUTS.  And then we had to fit pie crusts into pie tins, which involved trimming the excess dough off, and then… at 6:10 last night, the boy announced, “I am ten minutes late for youth group.  I have these three pies made, Mom.  Can you bake them all now?”

Because clearly what I wanted to do on my Sunday evening was bake three pies.

But, because I knew that his friend’s sweet mother was helping to bake IN EXCESS OF TWENTY-FIVE PIES, I thought that it would look dreadfully horrible if I shook my head NO and refused to push pies in and out of the oven all night.

01710_neverforgetYou should be happy to know that I only broke the edges off one pie crust, as I pulled it out of a 425 degree oven without enough oven mitt between us.  All the cuss words exploded like a stick of dynamite inside my head, as I pitched that pie two full feet, and hoped beyond hope that it would land safely on the cooling rack.

It did, with the exception of the fact that an edge broke off.  No matter.  The scalding strawberry goop was oozing out the side, so I just used that as my glue base and stuck bits of crust back on.

In other words, one-third of the boys’ pies look like preschoolers participated in the baking, while two-thirds of the pies could very possibly win a blue ribbon at the fair for PRESENTATION.

You’re welcome.

While all of this was going on, Thing 2 used the dough scraps from the trimmed pie crusts to form his own pie.

He smashed it and rolled it.  He dusted it with flour, and then smashed it and rolled it some more.  He squished it all into a pie tin and announced that he needed to bake it in the oven.  It was at that moment that I crushed his dreams of becoming a famous baker by reminding him that real ovens are for folks over four feet tall.

So, he did what any intelligent four-year-old would do.

He baked his pie in the refrigerator.

In it went.

And out it came.

And in it went.

And out it came.

Over and over and over, until Thing 2 had baked his pie thirty-nine times in the luxuriously cold LG refrigerator before he had to go to bed.

This morning, he remembered that he had a pie baking in the fridge.

While Hubs was showering… and while I was brushing my teeth… Thing 2 went to grab his pie tin with the dried out bit of pie dough in it.

He returned to the bathroom a couple of minutes later, with a HOT PIE…

… because Thing 2 baked his pie, IN THE METAL PIE TIN, in our microwave.

Do you know the shocked look that crosses a mom’s face when her four-year-old hands her a very warm pie tin, when she THOUGHT he was baking it in the REFRIGERATOR???

de2480c11daacba8ef3893db26ea6789Somehow, we had the favor of the Lord today and the blessings of Heaven, because, although the pie tin and the dough were extremely warm to the touch, nothing exploded, the house didn’t catch fire, and the microwave still works.

For THAT, we offer our Thanksgiving praises.

In other news, Thing 2 is learning to ice skate.  We signed him up last month for ice skating lessons, which threw him into endless waves of dramatic tears and swoons, which made Scarlett O’Hara look like an amateur.  He told us that he would refuse to skate, and that there was no bribe great enough to get him out on the ice.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a four-year-old plant his feet firmly in the ground and take a stance, but it’s never pretty.

In the end, after a couple of weeks of crying and bawling, Thing 2 announced, “I don’t want to twirl on the ice!”

And that, y’all, was the exact moment Hubs and I realized that he believed we had signed him up for figure skating, and that he was going to have to do leaps and lifts on the ice in a sequined outfit.

We all breathed a sigh of relief, because ice skating lessons are not the cheapest lessons a child can take in Small Town, USA, and the ice rink already had my debit card numbers.

But, last Saturday, Thing 2 took to the ice, and it’s safe to say that it was one of the best days of his life.  He completed his entire thirty minute lesson, and then stayed on the ice for Open Skate right afterward for an hour.  He simply glued himself to anyone and everyone who skated by — strangers… friends… kids he barely knew… adults he’d never met.  He held their hands, and around and around the rink he went.

In the end, he could get up on his feet and shuffle along like a bulldog with fierce determination.

img_3831 img_3830 img_3832He was extremely confident before he took to the ice, because running on the skate blades, on the squishy floor outside the ice, was a piece of cake.

img_3835The boy came to watch his little brother’s first skating lesson, too.

(And yes.  That’s a huge blue button I slapped onto this picture.  Sorry, but the boy’s recognizable high school letter doesn’t get to be a featured item on the World Wide Web.)

img_3839Thing 2’s BFF, Vivi, is in his skating class, too.  Vivi moved with grace and a girl-like gentleness on the ice, while Thing 2 looked more like a giant salmon that had been ripped from the river and thrown onto an Alaskan bank.  He flopped and rolled.  He slid and flipped and wiped out.  He was the EXACT OPPOSITE of graceful and gentle on the ice.

img_3842 img_3844 img_3847 img_3855 img_3849 img_3852 img_3857 img_3860 img_3862 img_3869 img_3863 img_3868 img_3877 img_3878 img_3879 img_3870 img_3880After skating for ninety entire minutes last Saturday, Thing 2 declared the day to be the best one of his life.  He could hardly wait for his next lesson, which was unfortunate, because he woke up this past Saturday morning, coughing like a seal.  He coughed and barked, barked and coughed, and ASKED FOR A NAP AT 8:15 IN THE MORNING, which he ended up taking.

We had to stay home from his skating lesson this weekend.

And then he missed seeing his high school cousins play hockey Saturday night, because I didn’t want to take that cough of his out of the house.

But, today is Monday, and he’s all recovered.  He’s more than ready for his next trip to the ice rink.  The glorious thing about our family is this:  THE COUSINS PLAY HOCKEY!  THE COUSINS CAN SKATE LIKE PROFESSIONALS!  THE COUSINS HAVE ALL OFFERED TO TAKE HIM SKATING!  I just sat back and clapped and blew my party horn over this news, because falling on the ice at my age involves a hip replacement surgery.

Happy Monday!

 

The Struggle Is Real

THING 2 (right after his shower this morning, while I was helping him dry off and get dressed):  “I’m freezing!  I’m FREEZING!!”  (*use the whiny voice now*)  “I’m so cold, I can’t stand it!  Hurry up and get my clothes on me!”

ME (trying to avoid the childish reaction of showing him how I could really kick things into SLOOOOOW… MOOOOO… TIONNNNNN):  “I AM hurrying!  Hold still and get these jeans on!”

THING 2:  “I AM FREEZING!!!!”  (*inserts one arm into his shirt*)  “Wait!  What kind of shirt is this?”

ME:  “It’s a shirt!  Just a shirt!”

THING 2:  “Well, what KIND of shirt is it?”

ME:  “It’s just a long-sleeved, maroon T-shirt!”

THING 2:  (*insert Academy Award-worthy whining voice*)  “Oooh!!!  I don’t like long-sleeved shirts!  They make me too hot!!!”

I believe this is why God gave us GRAPES.

img_3923

Just A Quick Note

This week has been one of those weeks when ALL THE PLACES have needed to be gotten to, and ALL THE THINGS have needed to be gotten done.

(Somewhere, a retired, elderly English professor just fell over backwards in her rocking chair after reading that first sentence.  She fell over, with the tips of her good leather shoes, which she bought at Montgomery Wards in 1962 because THEY DON’T MAKE DEPENDABLE SHOES LIKE THEY USED TO, pointed straight to the ceiling.  She probably clutched her heart a little and wheezed, “Red!  Pen!  Someone!  Get me!  A red pen!”  Because clearly she needed to mark my introductory sentence all to pieces before she breathed her last.)

We have had a week full of everything, from ice skating lessons to laundry loads… from staff meetings to meatloaf-making… from doctor appointments to post office trips.  I’m pretty sure that my life is exactly like Princess Kate’s, with the exception that I made my own meatloaf tonight and I sat in a podiatrist’s waiting room, reading the newest issue of People magazine, while the boy displayed his broken toenail to the doctor.

Princess Kate and I are both very glamorous.

I’m sure she lets her cat lick the tuna fish can, too, and then deals with the fallout of a cat barfing up her guts on the palace floor at 3:00 in the morning, as well.

So that’s been OUR week.

And, the grand finale of our week is that my beloved dad is going to have YET ANOTHER surgery on his bladder to take out STILL MORE cancerous spots.

This is how I feel about cancer:

(Please hide the eyes of those under the age of thirteen.)

CANCER, YOU SUCK.

My dad has already had three surgeries to take out spots of cancer in his bladder, and tomorrow will be Round Four.  His surgery isn’t scheduled until mid-afternoon tomorrow, so clearly we will be dealing with a patient who hasn’t gotten to eat breakfast OR lunch.

In other words, he’ll probably be as friendly as a bear who has just been woken up prematurely from his hibernation and realizes that… SWEET MOTHER OF YOGI, SMOKEY AND PADDINGTON… BUT AM I EVER HUNGRY!

So, if y’all are inclined to do so tonight, we would treasure your prayers for my dad.  We are begging Jesus for a quick and easy surgery… a quick and easy recovery… and that these little spots of cancer will JUST STOP IT ALREADY!

Also?  Well, Thing 2 will be in the waiting room tomorrow, so perhaps some prayers that the hospital’s furnishings are still in one piece by the end of surgery are also in order.  BUSY has no definition finer than a bored four-year-old boy, who has been waiting on something entirely too long.

Happy Wednesday, people.