Do you remember the movie, Kate and Leopold? Because in it, Meg Ryan announces that Sundays are poisoned, and, when asked about it, she explains it this way: “Sunday is the day before the day I work, so it gets poisoned.”
Hmm. Something to think about, as we’re winding up a nice weekend over here at our house, and not really looking forward to the alarm going off tomorrow morning. In fact, Hubs is wishing that he was an independently wealthy man who could sleep in until 9:00 tomorrow morning, saunter off to Starbucks for a venti mocha around 10:00, and come back to sit in his recliner, in front of the big screen TV, so that he can watch every show highlighting the weekend’s sports that is currently known to man.
Except that he announced to me this afternoon that the Denver Broncos are now dead to him. (Don’t be alarmed; Hubs says this every time the Broncos lose, and then he falls in love with them all over again before the next weekend comes along.) Clearly, Josh McDaniels is not listening to Hubs’ ideas for plays, so it’s completely HIS fault that they lost today. If Josh had run some plays that were approved and sanctioned by Hubs, we’re certain that the Broncos’ fate this afternoon would have turned out differently. So, in Hubs’ quest for the perfect Monday, I’m sure that he would turn the channel when the highlights for the weekend Bronco game came on, as he doesn’t want to see the catastrophe that was their game, because Hubs called them a “Bunch of Losers.”
He has no desire whatsoever to see the Broncos until next Sunday.
On Friday night, the youth pastor at our church showed the brand-spanking-new Veggie Tales movie on the big screen in our sanctuary. There were kids and more kids, and popcorn and more popcorn. The boy, at the age of nine, is still quite enthusiastic about Bob and Larry, and I’m glad about that, because Hubs and I are quite enthusiastic about the animated duo. I’m not sure what it is about a talking tomato and cucumber that makes me giggle, but sometimes I can’t contain the eruption of giggles that takes place at their antics. I am definitely a fan of the talking and singing vegetables.
After much texting back and forth, it was decided that we’d meet our friends, Amy and PH and their little girls, at the church Friday for the movie, but there were definite rules about where we’d sit. Hubs and PH went on and on about how they are Navy SEALS, Coast Guard Rescue Swimmers, and Apache Warriors, all rolled up into one package, so they had no desire to sit in the front of the sanctuary. Rather, they were very firm in their decisions to sit at the back of the sanctuary, where they could face the crowd, in case a mission came up which they’d need to (1) participate in, (2) rescue someone from, or (3) ride a horse covered in bright war paint through while swinging a tomahawk.
Do boys ever fully grow up? Will my little boy be like this when he attains the age of a college graduate?!
On Saturday morning, Mam and Pa stopped by at 8:00 and picked the boy up for breakfast. When Mam and Pa collect the boy to take him out for breakfast, they don’t usually bring him back. It’s sort of like an all day, approved-of kidnapping. This left Hubs and I with a completely free day, and we spent our time well.
No, we didn’t put doorknobs on our interior doors with our free time. We didn’t clean the garage. We didn’t balance the checkbook. We didn’t pay the bills, clean the fish aquarium, do the laundry, or paint interior trim.
Instead, we downloaded The Office, Season Three onto the laptop and had our own little marathon-viewing session. We laughed until our sides hurt. We made major decisions. (Do you want me to make some popcorn? Or should we just order a pizza?) We had a goal, people, and we met that goal. We were determined to finish the third season, and we did it, and I can honestly say that no character has ever made me laugh as hard as Dwight Schrute.
Unless it was Dory, the absent-minded fish with no short-term memory in Finding Nemo.
And then Hubs’ parents stopped by, because…land sakes! They had the find of the century!
Months ago, I decided that I needed a nifty bench to use as a coffee table in front of a love seat that we have. I was a bit like Goldilocks, because the bench could not be too long, or too short, or too skinny. It had to be just right. And…it had to be old. Yes, I was on a mission to find the perfect antique bench, which would serve our family as a coffee table, and I’ve been scouting for one for months on end. Hubs’ parents love to browse antique shops and estate sales, so I recruited them to keep an eye out for the perfect bench to put in front of our love seat. We had begun to believe that what I wanted only existed in my mind, until yesterday, when Hubs’ parents called.
Oh, people! The bench is perfect! As Goldilocks would say, “It’s just right.” And truly, it must be, because Hubs and I spent the remainder of the day on the love seat, with our feet up on that new bench and the laptop in front of us, howling at Dwight Schrute until tears streamed down my face.
And we had popcorn.
And later we had pizza.
And that, my friends, sums up our Saturday.
And then, this morning, we went to church, where we heard a great message. A fantastic, message. In fact, it struck home with me, because I realized that I do not share my faith as often as I should. Not at all. And wow! I need to, because, goodness! The alternative to Heaven is not something to be taken lightly, and shouldn’t everyone know about this?
After church, the boy played with his little friend, G, and I hung out with my friend, Susan, who helped me edit some photos of our darling boy to use on our Christmas card, because Susan is a Photo Shop Professional, while I am simply a Photo Shop Wanna-Be.
But…here’s a little secret: Our Christmas card is going to rock!
And then tonight, we went back to the church for our weekly small group Bible study, where we sat around and inhaled chips and cookies. The first half of our small group time is always devoted to just hanging out. We slump in chairs and sofas, we eat good food, and we simply talk with one another. The conversation at our table tonight covered an assortment of things, from preg-testing cows, to branding and castrating, to what it actually feels like to miss the cow when you have the syringe of antibiotics, and instead stab it into your own hand. Hubs and I, along with Nick and Jessie, and Dave and Missi, shrieked and howled and giggled. I can only assume that the conversations at the other table were nowhere near as funny as ours were, because they all kept looking over at us, as we were practically falling out of our chairs with laughter. And then, after we’d given up on discussing ranch life, we all circled up with the other couples for a great small group discussion.
And then, when we got home and I was encouraging the boy to hurry, please just hurry, please don’t play with Legos, please just hurry and get through the shower and ready for bed, he turned to me and asked, “Mom, what are cat noses made out of? Did God just use a little bit of leather when he made their noses, or what?”
He stopped me cold. I’m not even sure that the answer to this is on Wikipedia.
People, what ARE cat noses made out of??!!