If a picture is worth a thousand words, then buckle your seatbelts, on account of THIRTY! THOUSAND! WORDS! OR MORE!
That’s like a hefty college thesis.
We have a new camera at our house, and I may or may not have played with it a lot this weekend, because, people! We were busy! Places to go! Hills to conquer! Friends to hang out with!
The boy didn’t have school on Friday, because the teachers had an in-service day. The boy didn’t care WHY he didn’t have school; he was simply singing praises because he DIDN’T have school. The why part was not a question he needed answered.
With no school, the boy’s buddy, Quinn, came over and spent the day with us, and I took the boys snowboarding. The boy just recently acquired his own snowboard, and Quinn has one of his very own, so we loaded up the winter toys in the Suburban, and we went to some hills in town.
After the boys had snowboarded for over an hour and a half, they hauled out the sleds and took part in some extreme sledding. Kids who had visited the sledding hill before us had created some jumps, and the boy and Quinn migrated toward them like magnets to metal. They were enthralled with going faster and jumping higher on the sleds.
Unfortunately, my mad camera skillz blurred every snapshot that I took of the boys on the jumps, because I still don’t understand shutter speed.
Which, I think, is like not understanding capital letters when you write something.
Or like not understanding garlic when you make Italian food.
So clearly, I don’t have it inside of me to be a grand photographer, even though I wished I could achieve such a status.
And then! I didn’t count, but I’m pretty sure that the boy and Quinn climbed the big hill about four hundred and sixteen times before we called it a day. As a mother, that translated into the phrase EARLY BEDTIME DUE TO PHYSICAL EXHAUSTION!
(That’s one of my favorite phrases, actually. My other favorite phrases are LOOK! I CLEANED MY ROOM WITHOUT BEING ASKED! and I THINK I’LL PASS ON THE FROSTED POP TART AND JUST HAVE A BANANA AND SUGARLESS OATMEAL FOR BREAKFAST.)
The boy and Quinn met up with a couple of girls at the hill. They obviously knew one of them from school, although neither one of them could remember her name. She was there with her younger brother and her older sister. When the boys had exhausted the fun plum out of sledding and snowboarding (which only took two solid hours), they decided to use Quinn’s snowball makers and toss snowballs around. The two girls hid behind a cluster of trees, and when the boys walked by, they jumped out and shoved snow in their faces. Normally, Hubs and I have taught the boy that GIRLS! YOU BE VERY NICE TO THEM! but on Friday, when the boy and Quinn unleashed the snowball cannons on the girls, I practically cheered myself. Naturally, this turned into an all-out snowball fight, which several other kids joined. The boys got to practice their military skills, as they ran through the brush and the trees and established ambushes at strategic points.
I’m not sure WHICH TEAM actually won the massive snowball fight, but I know that these two punks will whole-heartedly claim the victory, and they spent a substantial amount of time raising their arms above their heads, shouting out their victorious war cry.
Clearly, they are both very humble.
On Friday night, Sister called and asked if the boy could spend the night at her house, with her kids. I warned her that physical exhaustion might overtake the kid early. Sister called at 8:00 and said, “Um, your boy is sound asleep!”
Throwing snowballs at girls will wear a guy out.
On Saturday, Small Town, USA experienced a raging-mad blizzard. We had white-out conditions, with zero visibility and massive drift accumulations. When I collected the well-rested boy from Sister’s house, he and I picked up his friend, Kellen, and we hit the local fitness center for some swimming, just to get out of the house.
I may be a smidgen prejudiced, but I think these two scrawny boys are incredibly handsome.
The boy is on a mission to grow his hair as long as Kellen’s. Unfortunately, Kellen’s hair grows at a rate of eight times what the boy’s hair grows at, so we’ll always be behind in the category of Hippie Hair, but it won’t be from a lack of trying.
Apparently, the answer is EVERYONE YOU KNOW.
No one called anyone. No one scheduled a time to get together and swim. And yet, everyone we know was at the fitness center swimming. Amy was there, with her two kids. Stephanie V. and her husband were there with their little ones. Andy and Abbey and their gang were there. Dave and Missi were there. Sister and Sister’s Husband were there, too, although they stayed in the playland, away from the pool. Regs was there with her kids, who also just did the playland. It was seriously a full-on church reunion at the pool, and we all laughed because COINCIDENCE! TOTAL COINCIDENCE! And then we joked that great minds surely think exactly alike, and that great families always venture out in the middle of horrid blizzards to swim.
I big puffy-heart LOVE Jenna’s missing front teeth in this shot! I’m not sure that there’s anything cuter than a little punk with no front teeth. And look at Danika. Isn’t she adorable? I could adopt them both, but then I’d probably go hog-wild in the little girl section of Gymboree, so adoption might not be a good move, financially speaking, for me.
(And also? There was just a TINY AMOUNT of eight-year-old spit on the top of the cake, and just a TINY AMOUNT of five-year-old spit, as K was all about helping to blow the candle out.)
Hubs and the boy and I, along with Mam and Pa, joined Sister and her family at their house for dinner and cake and presents. Sister’s Husband smoked a beef brisket all day long, which the guys raved about. And me? Well, Sister had a green salad that was full of red onions and mandarin oranges and RASPBERRIES, and sweet mercy! It was divine!
The boy also lost YET ANOTHER TOOTH on Saturday. That makes three missing teeth in exactly one week. The tooth fairy has declared bankruptcy. Of course, Hubs and I are going to have to declare bankruptcy here in a bit, too, because the boy’s orthodontist is waiting for him to lose those three teeth and TWO MORE, and then! Then Hubs and I will start paying for our orthodontist’s ski cabin in Aspen and beach house in Miami, because he has assured us that the boy will have every metal apparatus that has ever been invented for teeth. Cha-ching. Times ten million. The boy’s mouth is entirely too little for the teeth he has in there, and they are piling up on top of one another.
(Insert gasp here.)
I love going to church, and we hardly ever miss because my week doesn’t FEEL RIGHT if I don’t go, but my stomach was a whole lot gurgly and queasy this morning, and I was positively convinced that I was catching Hubs’ stomach flu from last week, so I showered, put on a fresh pair of flannel pajamas, and I spent the entire day loafing around on our living room sofa, reading a book.
While I was doing that, Hubs and I heard the 45-gallon tub of Legos hit the floor. It was a DELIBERATE DUMP. I don’t know if y’all know what 45 gallons worth of Lego bricks looks like, so I have a visual for you.
The boy spent the entire morning building with Legos and watching the clock, because his buddy from Bigger Town, USA was destined to arrive in Small Town after lunch. The boy was counting the hours and the minutes down. When John FINALLY arrived (the boy thought he’d NEVER get here!), we were shocked to see that he is now almost THREE FULL INCHES TALLER THAN THE BOY IS! The boy and John have always been the same height, since they first met at the age of four. Our poor boy — he is destined to be short.
The afternoon has been spent much like the morning was. I have read my book. Hubs has watched some football. And the little boys have built with Legos and screeched with laughter as they played video games.
And, thankfully, I think my stomach is feeling better now. Fingers crossed, but I think that Hubs’ stomach bug might steer around me this time. Hopefully. Just in case, I spent the day eating rather lightly. I considered every small bite of food I consumed today, as I asked myself, “How will I be if I see this bite partially-digested, if it is thrown right out of me?” Because seeing that can ruin a food for you for life. Take Hubs. We had lasagna on Tuesday night, right before he got the flu, and he assured me today that lasagna is now dead to him. FOREVER.
Happy Sunday night, y’all.