So it rained all weekend.
The kind of rain that makes you happy to be indoors, with the lamps on, a hot cup of homemade chai tea (Because, let’s face it. Ain’t nobody goin’ out in the rain for Starbucks take-out.), and a good book. And that, people, is precisely what happened pretty much all weekend long at the Jedi Manor. Hubs said late last night, “You don’t have a blog post up for tonight.” Nope. Because I had no idea how I was going to make the weekend seem exciting, and I was at a fantastically delicious spot in the book, when the mystery was about to be revealed. I threw the blog under the bus without a second thought.
And then, as any good author does, the mystery in my book WAS NOT revealed, and now I have to read further How on earth can I manage to fold laundry and wipe the hairspray fallout that feels like polyurethane off of my bathroom sink when I need to keep reading?
First world problems. Yes.
On Friday night, the boy and I were going to an event. A great speaker had come to Small Town, USA, and we had every intention of buying tickets at the door and joining good friends of ours in the audience, and then two things happened:
1. It was pouring rain.
2. The boy sat down to read his book on the sofa, with the fireplace burning, because he has to finish this book for his advanced composition class.
I was helpless to make a sound decision. Do we shut the fireplace down and put on heavy sweatshirts and go out, with Mama’s hair suffering from all the rain? Or do we skip and text our friends to say, “Yeah… the event just isn’t going to happen for us,” and settle into the sofa permanently for the evening?
We chose option 2. The scale tipper was that the boy wasn’t overly interested in going, because his life had been shut down by his parents until he’d finished reading this book. Procrastination is the boy’s undergraduate degree.
So that was Friday night. Thing 2 was plum beat from running wild and hopping, jumping, bouncing, dancing, and getting into trouble all day long, so he went to bed at 7:00. I made homemade French dip sandwiches, after simmering a roast in the crockpot all day long. The rain poured and poured. It was the perfect evening.
We woke up Saturday to more rain. The boy resumed his spot on the sofa, because he wanted his life and privileges back, which would only come by him reading the final sentence and getting his paper written.
Hubs went to help his dad build a cabinet.
Thing 2 took a three-hour nap, because his bedroom was so dark with the overcast sky.
So I read my book, too.
And then I got the boys dressed and prettied-up, because our fun friend, Alyssa, was in town from Very Far Away, USA. Alyssa is a professional photographer who understands all of the things that her camera is capable of doing. She had traveled nearly a thousand miles to be here in Small Town, visiting family, and we pounced on her. She took the boys’ portraits.
Thing 2 was less than cooperative, because he was not interested in looking at her camera lens and grinning. What he WAS interested in doing was eating rocks out of the dirt.
The clouds broke up for a bit during our photo shoot, so I treated the boys to ice cream afterwards. We went to the park, where Thing 2 attempted to push another family’s stroller. Thing 2, you see, has THIS THING for pushing wheeled vehicles around. Strollers fall into the category of Wheeled Vehicles, so they are fair game. This family’s two children were on the playground equipment, and Thing 2 simply took hold of their stroller and started to push it forward. I grabbed him and said, “Honey, this isn’t ours. Let’s go slide.”
The stroller-owning mother said, “Hey! That’s our stroller!”
“Yes,” I replied. “My son was trying to push it around. He has a thing for wheels! It must be the BOY in him!” I was friendly. I laughed. I added, “Just wait until your little man can walk! I bet he’ll push everyone’s strollers around, too.”
She glared at me and restated, “That is our stroller!”
Okay, then. The boy and I worked very hard to distract Thing 2 from the Wheeled Vehicle sitting so close to him. We did the slides and chased him, and still… he broke free, ran back to the stroller, and gave it another small push forward.
The stroller-owning mother came over to the stroller, and moved it. “Please don’t push our stroller,” she said.
I apologized, and then, when I turned to look at the boy, I made HUGE, FREAK-OUT eyeballs at him, which clearly stated, “WEIRDO ON THE PREMISES!” He and I shared a secret smile.
Maybe she had gold bars stored in the stroller. Maybe she had lottery-style cash beneath the folded blankets. Maybe she’d bought an exotic tropical bird off the black market and was hiding him in the diaper bag at the bottom of the stroller.
The stroller-owning dad had the couple’s little boy, who was slightly younger than Thing 2 by the slide, where he was sitting. He was sitting on the ground, and the dad wouldn’t let him slide down the baby slide. He also had his dog on a leash, who was every bit as old as Methuselah had been.
Very. Old. Dog.
His whiskers were white. His eyes were filming over. He was elderly and looked like the very kindest soul of a dog in the entire free world.
Thing 2 went clamoring over to the dog, intent on waving at him and possibly getting away with a little doggie love-pat to the elderly head. The man pulled back the leash, so that he nearly whip-lashed Methuselah. “Leave our dog alone,” he said.
The boy and I packed up Thing 2, and we went home.
It had started to rain again anyway.
We stopped for take-and-bake pizzas, because I’d already cooked on Friday night, and I wasn’t looking forward to doing it two nights in a row.
It poured rain again on Saturday evening, so we read more books.
I still don’t know WHAT WAS SAID THAT MADE THE GIRL DRIVE SO FAST FROM ANGER, SO THAT SHE ENDED UP WRECKING THE JEEP AND KILLING HERSELF. It’s driving me nuts that I can’t guess this mystery, or put two-and-two together, or use the foreshadowed clues. This author is good.
The boy finished his book. He wrote his paper. He regained all television, cell phone, video game and golfing privileges once again. His twelve-year-old life was restored.
So that was Saturday night.
On Sunday, it continued to rain. We went to church. Hubs and the boy watched some marathon of shows on TV about ancient mysteries. Those mysteries didn’t interest me nearly as much as the one in my 438-page book did. I kept reading.
Thing 2 demolished our house.
Hubs and I went to the grocery store.
We had dinner.
And that was Sunday night.
I told you that I couldn’t make our weekend sound exciting. What it was was laid-back, relaxing and precious. (Except for the old bat who wouldn’t let Thing 2 push her stroller; that part wasn’t all that precious.)
Only I still don’t know how my book is going to turn out, so I’d better get back to it.
Y’all carry on and have a lovely Monday evening.