It’s a Wrap!

Our weekend panned out to be a good one, and that’s probably because it actually started on Thursday night. And weekends that start on Thursdays? Well, that’s just some kind of wonderful.

Yes, we kicked off on Thursday with a Girls’ Night Out at the theater. Heather and Susan and Katie and Cody and I all caught the new Sandra Bullock movie, All About Steve. To say that I laughed would be an understatement. I sort of snorted and gasped and wheezed at all the funny in that movie. And, although Mary Horowitz (Sandra Bullock’s character) had so many great lines that made my side split and ache with laughter, the best line of all was simply this:

“I wear these boots because they make my toes feel like ten friends on a camping trip together.”

Well then.

I couldn’t have said it better myself, and any pair of boots that makes your toes feel that terrific had better be front and center in your closet for everyday items.

I spent most of Friday cleaning. You know the routine: vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing toothpaste splatters off bathroom sinks, and mopping acres of hardwood floors. And really? As crazy as it sounds, I don’t mind the cleaning; in fact, it’s sort of my secret hobby. (The laundry, though, is an entirely different story. If Hubs would get a second job so that I could afford a full-time maid, I would really only ask that she do the laundry, so that I simply wouldn’t have to.)

After school let out on Friday, I picked the boy up, and we met at his friend Kellen’s house, with some other mamas, and the kids ran wild outside, while we sat inside, sipping piping hot chai tea (sigh!) and planning their classroom Halloween party. And honestly, the party this year may very well put Martha Stewart over the top with excitement, and I’m sure she’ll want to get a staff of reporters and photographers over to our neck of the woods to document it for her montly magazine.

Friday night found the boy in bed rather early, because he said he was tired, and that has happened…well…NEVER in our lifetime! I was, understandably, quite concerned. Was this Swine Flu ’09, Phase II? Another viral bug? Thankfully, it was genuine tiredness. I think he’d worn himself plum out playing hard at Kellen’s house. So, with the boy in bed early, Hubs and I sat down to watch The Office, Season One through the miraculous joy that is the Internet. I’ve never gotten into The Office before, and I was tired of people telling me, “OH! You MUST watch it. You simply must!” So Hubs and I sat down to a marathon viewing session of the first season, and low! I giggled like crazy. I’ve always sworn that my adult-onset ADD cannot handle more than one TV show per season, and since I have already pledged my alliance to Lost, I cannot add another show. It’ll be sensory overload for me. The DVR will become clogged with recorded shows that I simply don’t have time to watch. But now…well…now I may have to make an exception. I may have to include the fine folks at Dunder Mifflin Paper Company in my TV viewing list, because…hello! FUNNY!

So…Saturday. The boy and Hubs and I met my sister and her two cherubs at the local Starbucks, because nothing spells out “Good Saturday” like a grande, no water, skinny chai latte, add whip, please, and thank you. We sat at The Bucks until the three small children were completely beside themselves with boredom, and then, in the rain, we just moved the party to my house. By 1:00, my head was starting to pound, and my sister decided that a nap was in order for her four-year-old, so out the door they went.

And by 2:00, I had a migraine. You know…the type of headache that renders you flat, makes you gasp for air and ask yourself what day of the week it even is. Yep. THAT kind of migraine. So I crawled into bed, while the sun was still burning bright, and it was lights out for me, until about 9:00 that evening, when I woke up feeling much better. Refreshed. Almost headache-free.

And then…well…I couldn’t sleep. Because everyone knows when you’ve spent the better part of the afternoon and evening sleeping, by 9:00 PM you’re wide awake and ready to do morning things, but of course you can’t because it’s not actually morning at all.

So I did get up and check my email and all, but by 10:30, I was back in bed. Hubs had decided to stay up and watch not one, but two! Two hockey games at once. Hubs is actually quite good at watching two hockey games simultaneously. It’s raw talent, people. For a little while, I did try to watch some hockey with Hubs, but I simply couldn’t keep up with the channel switching. And what made things worse is that both games were Avalanche games — one was a recorded game on the DVR, while the other one was live, so I was never sure which game I was having the current pleasure of viewing. So we listened to the music that is blared over the gigantic arena speakers whenever hockey play is stopped, and I told Hubs, “You know, all of these songs are YOUR old songs. We’ve heard some old AC/DC, some old Motley Crue, some old John Cougar Mellencamp, some old Quiet Riot, and some old Ratt. Why don’t they ever play MY old songs at hockey games?”

Without even bothering to look at me, Hubs said, “Because Rick Springfield can’t get anyone fired up enough to play hockey. MY music gets people fired up. YOUR music makes everyone want to claw their ears off their heads.”

Well then. I gave up on Hubs and hockey, and I went back to bed. And, just as I was officially dozing off for good somewhere around 11:00 last night, I was jolted awake by Ozzy Osbourne screaming out the lyrics to “Crazy Train.” Ohmylands, people! Hubs had found the song on iTunes, and was cranking it up on his laptop, while the recorded hockey game was still going strong. I’m not sure if any of y’all have actually been yanked out of sleep by Ozzy’s wailing, but it’s enough to put you in a right-fine, horrendously BAD mood. I simply got out of bed, and wanted to let Hubs know how much I didn’t really approve of hearing Ozzy at 11 PM, so I shut our bedroom door.

And I may have shut it a tiny bit hard.

And when Hubs woke up this morning, I smiled at him and said, “There will be no more Ozzy screaming out of your laptop’s speakers late at night.” And Hubs replied, “Yeah, well they played ‘Crazy Train’ at the hockey game, because it’s one of those fantastic songs that actually gets people fired up, unlike that sissy Rick Springfield, so all of a sudden I wanted to hear the entire song, so I did. And, by the way, that was a great door slam on your part last night.”

Humph.

So we went to church, and then my friend, Susan, and I went out to take pictures of the boy, because Susan is a fabulous photographer, and I am not, so she was kind enough to show me a few of the bells and whistles on my fancy camera, which I never even realized I had. And when the pictures were done, we came home, and the boy hauled out his four-wheeler, while the neighbor boy hauled out his motorcycle, and they rode. They rode and they rode and they rode, like they were in the old movie Easy Rider. Or Wild Hogs. Or Orange County Choppers. Watching the boys ride their four-wheeler and motorcycle tends to make me nervous, because small boys crashing into trees and the like at rapid rates of speed can cause more than a bloody nose, but boys live a bit on the wild side, I guess. They rode until dark-thirty, and then we hopped inside for dinner.

And, it’s a wrap, as that, people, was our entire weekend.

Whether you wanted to hear about it or not.

Because some people’s lives are so dang exciting, they should be documented on reality TV!

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