I actually considered skipping tonight’s blog post and just going to bed.
On account of it’s already 8:45 in the PM territory, and who was I kidding? I had absolutely no train of thought for a blog post tonight, which ultimately means one thing: COMPLETE TRAIN WRECK, at least as far as the written word goes.
Since the schools were plum shut down today, in honor of the fact that Columbus was brave enough to sail to the edge of the world and discover America in 1492 (And hey! He didn’t fall off that edge!), Cody and I took our peeps to Bigger Town, USA to shop.
And let me just share this one thought with you.
Sometimes sitting smack in the middle of a den of rattlesnakes that has every granddaddy snake present and accounted for, to the ninth generation, is easier than shopping all day with the peeps.
I was after a new bedspread today, and hauling a ten-year-old boy through the bedding sections of major department stores is about as fun as having a lit sparkler shoved into your eye on the 4th of July.
But I did get a bedspread, after Cody talked me down from the Ledge of Indecision. This one? That one? This one? That one? Should I look at Store B? Can we come back, if I don’t like Store B’s options?
And then we hit the mall, because the boy needs wind pants for winter sports and PE class at school, because this weekend we put a pair on that have been in our drawer all summer, and I wanted to say, “Why don’t you tell your socks to have a party and invite your pants down?”
And one pair after another from our drawer showed that our boy did some growing this summer, and every single pair of size 6/7 wind pants are now ankle-showers.
And what we learned in the dressing room at Gap Kids is this: Wind pants in a size 6/7 are entirely too short. Wind pants in a size 8 look like clown pants and could literally hold two boys in them at the same time. We need a size 7+, but clearly Gap Kids hasn’t come up with that new sizing system yet.
So we scored no wind pants, and this may be the year that we don’t own any, because clown pants were not something that the boy was interested in wearing.
And the other thing that we learned in the dressing room of Gap Kids? Little boys do not like to try clothes on. I’ve been there, done that, had an adult-sized meltdown, and survived it. And then I swore to myself that the boy and I would never venture into another dressing room together again, in order to save both of our sanity, and I broke my rule this afternoon.
This may be the season that the boy has no wind pants because the sizing is all messed up, and because I’m not sure I can endure a fitting room again.
And then Cody took me to Hobby Lobby for the first time ever today. I know! How have I survived this long and not ventured in there? I’ll tell you how. Whenever I heard the words “Hobby Lobby,” I immediately envisioned rows and rows of yarn, hot glue guns, unpainted ceramics shaped like mermaids and dolphins, yards and yards of fabric, and endless aisles filled with spools of lace and thread.
I was ready to hyperventilate just THINKING about all the crafty hobbies that could be taken care of by shopping at a place called Hobby Lobby, but what I learned today is this, people: Hobby Lobby is MUCH MORE than a hot glue gun store. I was, in fact, overwhelmed with my decorating OPTIONS there (ALREADY FINISHED OPTIONS, WITH NO CRAFTING NECESSARY!) and Cody advised me to pace myself.
I was immediately drawn to a display of faux flowers in a beautiful, mustard yellow vase, which retailed for $109.99. Shocking! Who pays such extravagant fees for plastic green stems adorned with silk-like petals, which my cats will completely dismember and destroy in less than three hours? My flower arranging skills are completely nonexistent, and Cody assured me that she could create a custom-made arrangement for me that was considerably cheaper than $109.99.
We found a vase. We began looking at flowers. I suggested a fall arrangement, filled with oranges and yellows and browns and reds. Cody began pulling out stems of colors and combining them. And then I said, “Wait! What about an arrangement which can transition from one season to the other? Something brighter?” And I hauled her to the faux wildflower section. Cody began pulling stems filled with tiny yellow flowers and tiny purple flowers and tiny pink flowers and tiny blue flowers out, and she began putting them together in her hand, rearranging and discarding and adding, and then, blam!
It was all just too much for me, and I said, “You know what? Let’s just scrap the faux flower arrangement altogether. I don’t think I want to spend all this time creating a vase of fake flowers. Can we just stop? I’ll do it some other time.”
I blame my adult-onset ADD. Yes! I want an arrangement of flowers! I want fall colors! No! I want wildflower colors! I want pinks and blues and whites! Wait! I don’t want any after all!
Not at all annoying.
And now, after much shopping, we are home, and Hubs is here, watching The Dukes of Hazard and an OLD hockey game, at the same time. He is flipping back and forth between a hockey game that was played a couple of nights ago and Bo and Luke Duke.
Because apparently if the Colorado Avalanche aren’t playing a live game, an old game will work out just fine for Hubs.
Reruns of Avs games are golden, people. They tend to work out a lot better for Hubs, actually, because he ALREADY KNOWS whether the Avalanche have won it or not. And his blood pressure doesn’t get worked up. And if the other team starts winning, then Hubs knows at which point he needs to just shut the TV down for the night.
Yes, it’s true. I’ve seen Steel Magnolias 182 times, up until the point that Shelby dies. I have seen Steel Magnolias 2 times from the point where Shelby dies to the end, because MUCH SADNESS, so I skip it.
Avalanche hockey games are Hubs’ Steel Magnolias. And he watches them, over and over, up until the point that his boys start to lose the game, because MUCH SADNESS.
Hubs and I are not all that different after all.
And I know. This blog post is sketchy, poorly-written, and it sort of wanders all over the page (computer screen?) like a bull moose with a clothesline stuck in his antlers.
I blame it on all the shopping I did for bedding with the boy in tow.
Please make a note, people: Ten-year-old boys are not fond of shopping for bedding, and forcing them to spend their day off from school doing so will make your eyeballs itch with frustration.
But I love my boy.
Both of them.
Hockey reruns, and tantrums in the dressing rooms, and all.