Our house is draped in black shrouds tonight.
Hubs can barely articulate the words to express his sorrows, as the USA’s men’s Olympic hockey team lost to Canada tonight.
Hubs was so excited when the USA scored to tie the game, and the shouts that erupted from him practically lifted the shingles plum off our roof. And then, when the game went into sudden-death overtime, Hubs sat on the very edge of the sofa, cheering his heart out for the US.
And then he nearly cried with sadness when Canada scored.
If you see Hubs in the next day or so, pat him on the shoulder and tell him, “Hang in there, Man,” because he looks like a boy who has just lost his favorite dog.
And also? Hubs has a Man Cold. It’s called the Big Bad Man Cold, and he has done nothing except migrate from the bed to the bathtub to the sofa since Thursday morning. He hasn’t been to work. He hasn’t gotten out of his sweats. He’s drank enough orange juice to provide the daily allowance of Vitamin C to twelve men. He has drank enough cans of Sprite to make a pyramid with. Tonight, he’s moved on to white grape juice and Coke.
And he has eaten nothing since Thursday.
So basically, Hubs is a thinned-down version of his old self, although he’s well hydrated, and his sorrows are evident on his face.
Hubs is in a bad, bad place, people.
In other news, the boy went to a slumber party on Friday night, since his good friend, Eli, was turning nine.
They went to sleep at 4 AM.
Let that sink in.
My nine-year-old, who cannot function in polite society with anything less than nine hours of sleep, went to bed at 4:00 in the morning, and he got up two and a half hours later, at 6:30. (Well, obviously it was 6:30. Everyone can add two and a half hours to 4:00 and come up with that answer, but I do enjoy being redundant.)
Eli’s mama had no idea that the boys were still awake (there were only three of them). She thought that they had gone to bed at 11:00, and she was quite surprised to wake up at 3:30 in the morning to voices in her basement. It was the three boys, who had pretended to go to sleep at 11:00, but who had really plotted out an intricate plan for faking out the parents and getting back up.
Clearly, their plan worked very, very well, and they pulled one over on Eli’s mama, bless her heart. The boy and Eli and Ben were so stinking proud of themselves, and they are sporting the best story to tell in school tomorrow morning — the story entitled We Stayed Awake Until Four O’Clock in the Morning and Lived to Tell About It. The boys sort of think that this little late night adventure initiated them into manhood. I’m surprised that the boy didn’t come home and ask Hubs to teach him how to shave.
What with the Big Bad Man Cold going on in our house, in which Hubs went to bed early last night, and the fact that the boy was conked out cold in his own bed at precisely 6:45 last night, I had the entire very quiet house to myself.
And I was bored stiff.
In fact, I’m not sure my boredom has ever reached such epic proportions. I wandered aimlessly, from room to room, wondering how to keep myself entertained.
I ended up making a detailed grocery list. I was living on the edge, luring Fun right in the front door.
Today, after running Hubs to the walk-in clinic for prescription nasal spray for the Big Bad Man Cold and taking the boy to church, I ended up venturing into Wal-Mart to take care of the monstrously huge grocery list that I made last night.
And I think every person in Small Town, USA (except for Hubs and the boy, who were both at home) was in the super center with me.
It was like shopping there two days before Christmas, just without hearing “Jingle Bells” over the speakers.
Clearly, it was no fun.
And, Wal-Mart, why don’t you carry lemon curd? Why? Granted, three months ago I had no idea what lemon curd even was, but I found a delicious sounding lemon chicken recipe that called for it. After texting my friend, Cody (Cooking Lady Extraordinaire) to find out exactly what I would be searching for if I went looking for lemon curd in the grocery store, I bought some at a grocery store which is not Wal-Mart. And now, as I want to repeat the recipe, since Hubs raved about it and insisted that Lemon Chicken (complete with lemon-curdy sauce) is one of his favorite meals, I still must venture to a second grocery store to secure a jar of the stuff. Why, Wal-Mart, why?
So after one hour and twenty minutes, and after handing a cashier as many dollars as a car used to cost in the olden days, I emerged, hot and sweaty and exhausted and without any lemon curd. I felt like I needed a secure area to debrief in. It was that bad.
So our weekend was simply riveting. The boy would claim otherwise, as he’s now a man, what with having stayed up until the wee hours of dawn.
I bought him some shaving cream while I was in Wal-Mart.
My boy isn’t ever going to grow up enough to need shaving cream. I won’t let him.