The Weekend? Well, It Is Over. And Also? It Was Quite Hot.

Our weekend started off a little sluggishly, because Hubs, for some reason, thought that it would be a good idea to work until 3:00 AM on Thursday night. (Or technically, Friday morning. If we’re being technical and all tonight, which probably we actually aren’t, because I’m not sure that I have the brain capacity for technicality at the moment. Hmm. Try rattling that one off five times fast! I am pretty sure it’s not even a sentence that could pass for acceptable in a freshman English class.)

Naturally, I couldn’t sleep while Hubs was slaving away at his new office, moving computers and servers around and chugging copious amounts of Coke, straight from the can, because I have what is commonly referred to as an overactive imagination.

Especially when the dark settles in. And because of it, I do tend to enjoy having Hubs on the premises whenever I am headed to bed. I don’t care if he is downstairs in his recliner, praising Uncle Ted Nugent on the TV for all of his seemingly brilliant ideas when it’s time for me to crawl beneath the sheets. As long as Hubs is in the vicinity, the sleeping can commence.

But when Hubs is across town, moving computer equipment with his buddy, Ryan, and the boy and I are alone at the house, which ultimately means that I am the lone adult responsible for things on our property, I tend to simply stay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling fan.

It also doesn’t help when your resident nine-year-old boy accidentally locks the door before he heads to bed, resulting in Hubs being completely unable to gain access to the house in the usual manner, which was the direct result of him walking across the back deck and beating on the dining room door at 3:00 in the morning.

Good times, people. Good times.

So Friday morning, when I went to work?

I didn’t really have that sense of being well-rested, what with having slept between the hours of 3:30 and 6:00 in the morning. I needed some cold compresses for my eyeballs and some extra mascara (or tar for my eyelashes, as Hubs is fond of saying).

But by Friday night, my second wind was going strong, because Carter’s mom stopped to pick the boy up for Vacation Bible School, and Hubs looked at me and said, “Let’s go to dinner while the boy is at VBS. I just got my first paycheck from my new job!”

Clearly, it was a time for celebrations and confetti throwing, only I don’t usually throw a lot of confetti around here, simply because the maid who comes in to clean up the confetti consequences happens to be named Me.

Hubs and I spontaneously showed up at a swanky little restaurant in our downtown area, without reservations, and we managed to get in fairly quickly. The place is a great little spot to eat, and on Friday night, it was packed. Hubs and I decided that it sounded exactly like great restaurants sound after hometown football games in College Town, so we felt right at home. Plus, the food was spot-on grand. Hubs had a rib eye that was approximately the size of the entire cow, smothered in some sort of blue cheese sauce, and he kept proclaiming, “Mmm. Mmm. I love this. Mmmmmm.” Basically that was a coded language for, “Dang! This steak is fabulous!”

And during dinner, we actually had lots of MC (meaningful conversations) regarding jobs and life and little boys and upcoming birthdays of little boys and the like.

Afterwards, we dashed back out to the church, because we were on for taxiing the small boys home from VBS. And also, our boy had signed Hubs up to help restore the church’s sanctuary to normal, since the VBS staff had cleared all of the chairs out of the sanctuary for fun and games.

I took up vacuuming, with a vacuum cleaner that really looked more like a Zamboni than a Hoover. As I vacuumed by our pastor’s wife, she commented, “You know, I’ve had cars that were smaller than that vacuum cleaner!” Indeed, so had I, as it seemed to be considerably bigger than my 1982 Honda Accord.

The car that I loved, regardless of the small fact that going uphill on the interstate required that the driver shut the A/C and stereo off. Hubs, who happened to drive a Camaro with an engine the size of something you’d see in a 747 when I met him was not actually overly fond of my Accord. I think his dislike for it was made evident when he announced in irritation one day, “The only thing this car is good for is lining a riverbank to stop erosion.”

Although it was sweaty work, we had a ton of fun restoring the church’s sanctuary to its usual luster, because, ohmylands! Fun! People! We laughed. We vacuumed. We giggled and snorted. We moved chairs. We dripped the sweat. And through it all, the few kids who stayed after VBS with parents that were on the clean-up crew ended up running wild.

They looked like shoeless natives, streaking across the Great Plains, as they chased one another in endless games of tag, until everyone was dripping with sweat and covered in rug burns from wiping out in the church’s hallways.

And, as a side note, when the boy came home and showered later on Friday night, I realized that his chest was severely bruised. It looked awful. When I questioned him about it, he said, “Oh, yeah. Well, I actually think those bruises might have been caused by something called a Titty Twister, which I learned all about at VBS. And guess what? I can give out a good one now, too!”

For some reason, this comment made Hubs double over and howl with laughter, although I was quite concerned about this small game a group of boys had been involved in. Hubs, through his tears of laughter, said, “I can actually give a good one, too! It’s what boys do! I had actually forgotten all about giving those out back in the day.”

Well.

Mama emphatically told the boy, “Please do not be twisting any more…um…you know…chests.”

Saturday morning dawned hot. The temperature of Fire. I honestly think that it would have been much cooler to pack up and head to the Equator with our lawn chairs.

And really? I am so over the heat. I am ready for things to cool off a bit. I am ready for soups in the crockpot and Friday night football games at the local high school and trips to College Town to see the big boys throw the ball around. I am ready for sweatshirts and crisp morning air and a thermometer that screams out something a whole lot less than One Hundred.

Because of the heat, the boy and Enzo decided to spend the majority of their day in the theater, doing a double-feature. Enzo’s mom took them to see Despicable Me, and then she and I swapped positions, and I took them to see Ramona and Beezus immediately afterwards. I asked Hubs if he wanted to hit the cinema with me, and he said (and I quote), “I would rather pull my eyebrows out with tweezers than see Ramona and Beezus.”

I have to tell you that the boy read a book about Ramona Quimby in one of his reading groups at school, and he liked it, so when he saw the previews for the new movie, he decided that he’d actually enjoy seeing it, but he told me, “Mom, I don’t want to take any of my friends when we go, because I don’t want anyone knowing that I went to that movie, because it might be a little more for girls than for boys.” Apparently, Enzo said pretty much the same thing to his mom, so I decided to dress them in wigs and trenchcoats and sneak them in.

And they loved it.

And they spent the entire afternoon sitting in a theater with the A/C blasting until snowflakes formed, and they ate bags of buttery corn, and they announced that their afternoon was absolutely perfect.

By the time the boy and I made it home, Hubs was leaving for a Man Night at his friend Gabe’s house. They were watching Terminator 4 on the big screen, with the surround sound jacked to unbearable levels. And do you know what? I would rather have pulled my eyebrows out with tweezers than have participated in that!

So the boy and I stayed home, and we had our own date, in front of our own big screen TV, where we channel surfed. We watched a little Curb Appeal and decided that even though our backyard, with the new home construction, is still unfinished and looks significantly Low Class, it is actually better than the yard featured on Curb Appeal on Saturday night. After the big reveal, where the boy and I decided that we didn’t like the yard make-over much more than we had liked the BEFORE film footage, I found Grease on TV.

Oh, people! It was Grease! I told the boy, “Look! Baby, it’s Grease! It’s one of mama’s very favorites, and that’s Danny and Sandy, and my! Just look at them dance!”

After sixty seconds of soaking it all in, the boy quietly said, “This movie has too much dancing in it for me, and that guy is wearing a pink shirt, and he doesn’t look tough enough to wear a pink shirt, and I think this show is really for girls, Mom. I hate it.”

In other words, he would rather have ripped his eyebrows out with tweezers than watch Grease with me.

He’s up for adoption.

Because I’m the mother and because mothers tend to give up their dreams for the dreams of their children, we ended up watching The Sandlot together. Or rather, what was left of The Sandlot, as it was almost over, and then we watched Myth Busters, which bored me horrifically.

Boys and girls should never attempt to watch films together. End of story.

And today, we went to church, where the kids who had attended VBS all week got up on the stage and sang a couple of songs for the congregation, and, oh my! I got a little teary over it, because they were just too stinking cute for words! The boy’s buddy, Carter, joined us at church this morning with his mom, because he wanted to sing in the group, and I video-taped the entire thing. Only I’m not sure if video-taped is actually the correct verbiage now, because there was no tape involved, as it’s all just digitally done now, so I guess I should simply say, “I recorded it.”

I wanted to post the video here on the old blog tonight, but that would have involved more technological experience than I currently have, because…hello! I would have had to use a cable, download it from my phone (on which the recording took place), and somehow import it into the blog, and…well…whew!

So maybe tomorrow, after my IT guy gives me a lesson in retrieving footage from my phone, you’ll see a video of my kid singing some praise songs. But don’t hold your breath.

After church, we hit the park, because our friends, Abe and Arian, were visiting from Nebraska, and all I have to say is this: People, Abe and Arian moved to Nebraska from Small Town (which is most definitely NOT in Nebraska), and they are now content being Husker fans.

Please continue to life them up in your prayers, as people who attended College Town don’t tend to mix well with those who proudly wear the bright red on game day.

But, ohmylands! It was so good to see the two of them, and we howled with laughter in the park, and Arian tried to spill some of her Typing Maniac secrets, because her score is on a level with the scores commonly seen in Heaven.

And then we spent some quality time visiting my parents.

And then we had dinner with our friends, Brian and Sarah, who have three-year-old twins, and I had the very best time listening to three-year-old Sam tell me all about how sticking your finger into an electrical outlet will feel exactly like getting smacked by lightning, and it will knock you plum down, until it starts to snow on your head.

That boy delighted me tonight, people!

And when Henry (Sam’s twin) got into the bathtub at 7:30 and loudly yelled, “Oh, no! Now what am I going to do???” everyone jumped like we’d shoved both thumbs into the socket, expecting to see a flood that could have rivaled Noah’s. The good news is that all was well in the bathroom, and Henry was simply playing with a couple of action figures and making voices for them. Very LOUD voices for them.

And now?

Well, Hubs has declared that the VBS video is now off of my phone and onto his laptop, because he tends to be an overachiever like that. But really, Blogger and I do not see eye-to-eye most of the time, and Blogger despises it when I try to import snapshots after I’ve written my text, so I’m guessing that Blogger’s attitude about late video imports aren’t much better.

So maybe you’ll see my kid singing tomorrow night.

And I have a new DVD from Netflix filled with episodes of Glee sitting on my kitchen counter, and I can hardly wait to go watch it. And really? Neither can Hubs. Hubs and I have been on a Glee kick, since we’ve seen every single episode that The Office has to offer us. But Glee? Oh, people! It took me a couple of episodes to get into it, and now it brings me enormous amounts of untold joy.

The weekend is — officially! — over.

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