Friday night hit the Jedi House with an enormous sigh of relief. It was time to bring the work week to an end, and we did it in style.
Hubs brought home some pizzas. He and the boy shared the same recliner and watched a mini-marathon session of Monster Quest episodes on TV. I curled up on the sofa upstairs and read a book, because the Monster Questing doesn’t really captivate me.
The only thing we worried about a bit was simply this: Hubs brought home a take-and-bake cheese pizza for the boy, and he promptly ate half of one slice and said, “I’m full. And I don’t feel good. And I may puke.”
And if the boy says the words, “I may puke,” it can be translated into this: “I will puke. It will happen in the middle of the night, in the middle of my bed, and there is nothing that you or anyone blessed with knowledge of modern medicine can do to stop it from coming.”
Puke Watch, July began. I plopped a bucket big enough for a dolphin to swim comfortably in beside the boy’s bed and said, “When it happens, please try to hit the bucket.” He nodded, and I crawled into my own bed, expecting the worse. I checked on him half a dozen times throughout the night, and guess what, people?
We made it. Puke Watch, July ended without an incident, and the boy was up bright and early on Saturday morning, proclaiming that he felt cured.
He wanted all the leftover cheese pizza for breakfast.
So then, with a healthy boy who had an even healthier appetite, Hubs and I faced approximately forty-eight hours’ worth of weekend, so we decided not to waste any of it.
Hubs’ mama bought two enormous antique cubbyhole bookcases on Saturday morning. Each of them weighed 400 pounds, so clearly she was in need of Thunder and Lightning, which are Hubs’ biceps. And also, she recruited Chance-of-Thunder and Little-Strobe-Light, who are Brother’s biceps. Between the big boys and their dad, they managed to manhandle 800 pounds of solid oak bookcases into the truck and out of the truck, and no one popped a hernia, which we are quite thankful for.
Poor Brother has been without his family for a week, because Brother’s Wife took their four punks and drove way up North, where she crossed the Big Border and entered Hockey Nation, because the kids had hockey camp, where they learned to shoot the puck, and block the puck, and pull one another’s jerseys over their heads while shoving each other into the boards. Brother had gone an entire week without any small punks at his house to pester, so he took one look at the boy, who had come with us on the Great Antique Bookcase Buying Expedition and said, “You need a haircut!” And then he grabbed him and got the clippers, and pretended to buzz the boy’s head. Naturally, the boy squealed and hollered and laughed until his side hurt, and Brother felt much better, because he hadn’t picked on a tiny kid for days on end.
After that, Brother needed a little punk to play with, so he looked at our boy and said, “Wanna try the new zip line?” That sentence, as we all know, is the equivalent to asking a child, “Wanna ingest eighteen pounds of pure sugar in the form of a giant chocolate bar?”
The boy was plum thrilled to tackle the zip line. You can see the pre-flight delight in his face.
A little help from a Papa and a ladder, and the boy was ready to go.
And then Brother said to the boy, “Wanna go canoeing?” This question is the equivalent of asking a small child if they’d like to move the date for Christmas up to tomorrow. Of course the boy was in the mood for some canoeing on Brother’s pond, although he did wish that all of Brother’s kids had been done with hockey camp, so that they could have canoed with him.
No matter. Kids who are only children learn to do things on their own at an early age, and canoeing alone didn’t pose much of a problem for the boy.
After a bit, Brother pointed to a forty-nine-foot, man-eating python that was slithering through the grass, and I refrained completely from screeching out, “SNAKE!SNAKE!SNAKE!” because I was on Brother’s deck. His deck which is ten feet in the air. Thanks to the modern convenience of a telephoto lens, I caught the pair of these boys looking at the enormous goat-eating snake, which Brother claimed was a miniature water snake that was barely eighteen inches long. I know that he was just trying to convince me to come off of the deck, and I’m positive that he wanted to use me as python bait. I stayed put. I don’t trust Brother when it comes to gigantic reptiles.
Later, the boy and Brother convinced Hubs to go for a little trip around Brother’s pond.
And then, when I shouted out from the safety of the deck (which is ten feet up in the air, where pythons cannot reach people), “Hey! Y’all need to smile for the camera,” Brother decided to strike a pose. I am so happy to smack this snapshot onto the World Wide Web, and I would be delighted if y’all told your friends about it, so that they’d click on the blawg and giggle at Brother and his antics.
Clearly, he’s America’s next top model…
When Brother finally quit posing for the camera, we went back to our own house. We had been there approximately six seconds before our doorbell rang. It was the cute neighbor boy, and he and his dad were filling up their gigantic swimming pool, and he wanted to know if the boy was interested in helping.
Hmm. Water. Hot day. Yeah, I think the boy was interested.
And also, the cute neighbor boy in his sunglasses was entirely too darling for words. Hubs and I adore this neighbor kid of ours.
The boys played around in the pool, while the hose did its job and filled it.
And they may have fought a bit over the hose.
And the cute neighbor boy, who has two older, teenage brothers, may have overpowered our child, taken the hose away from him, and enthusiastically squirted the tarnation plum out of him. Hubs and I were convinced that this was just the cute neighbor boy getting back at the world for every time his older brothers have squirted him with the hose, since he’s so much younger than they are.
After some time in the pool, we ended up at a pond just outside of Small Town, USA, where we ran into G and her family. What are the odds that we’d all be there, at the same time, armed with fishing poles?
G abandoned her fishing pole for a few minutes and snagged the cutest toad ever. We tried to talk her into kissing him, but she flat-out refused. She had seen The Princess and the Frog at the theater, and she was well aware of the fact that sometimes the kiss doesn’t go as planned.
The little toad was darling, but he was a bit moody looking, so we decided to leave him at the pond.
The boy did some fishing.
And then the boy did some shrieking as he reeled in the very! first! fish! that he’s ever caught, all by himself! I think Pa was quite pleased with the boy’s accomplishment, too.
After the boy had managed to tease two more fish into thinking that his lure was a tasty dinner, G managed to do the same thing. She also did some shrieking and some hopping up and down.
And listen, people…all of that was just on Saturday!
This is what the boy looked like at 9:45 on Saturday night. (He may or may not need a haircut.)
After church this morning, Hubs and the boy and I headed up to Big Mountain Pond with Mam and Pa, where the boy indulged himself in another afternoon of fishing. He also announced that he would like to fish every! single! day of his life! We are hoping that he really does become a millionaire, so that he can live this leisurely lifestyle as a grown-up boy.
Hubs and I sat on the side of the pond, discussing very important things. Primarily, we talked about What Would You Do If You Saw Sasquatch Walking Through The Trees, Right Here, Right Now? My answer was quite firm. I would immediately evacuate the premises, after grabbing my boy. Hubs emphatically declared that, since I was holding a rather pricey camera, I should really attempt to get a picture of Big Foot, and he hoped that it would be a non-blurry image that we could submit to the local media. I told Hubs that I’d just leave the camera behind and hope that Big Foot could manage a self-portrait with the thing, which we could pick up later. Much later. When Big Foot had gone back home.
Sometimes, Hubs and I have very deep and meaningful conversations with one another.
After striking out at Big Mountain Pond and not even getting a single bite in three hours, we headed back home. As we pulled into our cul de sac, the boy saw the cute neighbor boy in his pool with his teenage brothers. The boy looked at me and said, “Mom, on a scale of one to ten, how rude would it be for me to go invite myself to go swimming?” Seeing as how it was just the cute neighbor boy, I gave the rudeness factor a solid three, which was apparently low enough for the boy, because he grabbed his trunks and fled out the back door exactly fourteen seconds after he disembarked from the Suburban and tossed his fishing pole on our family room floor.
The cute neighbor boy has an inflatable dolphin, which no one (not even the big teenage boys!) can ride. They had a little bit of a Dolphin Rodeo tonight, as everyone tried to stay on it for eight seconds, before it rolled and tried to drown them.
Four seconds was the record tonight.
And then (AND THEN!) Hubs and I dried the boy off and we took him to the theater tonight, where we fed him a dinner of buttery popcorn and Airheads, as we watched The Sorcerer’s Apprentice on the big screen.