Yeah. It’s kind of flying by already.
The boy spent the night with Enzo on Thursday night, so by the time he was returned and I had all of my peeps under the same roof on Friday night, the boy was Exhausted. The capital E signifies VERY EXHAUSTED. He didn’t even argue when Hubs and I had him shower and brush his teeth at the unholy hour of 6:45 that evening, and he was out cold, with his arms thrown wide and his wet hair drying in spikes, by 7:15.
Which left Hubs and I with a whole lot of free time on Friday night, so we both downloaded Hanging With Friends onto our phones and played a wild game of Hangman with one another. Hubs and I are kind of rowdy like that. We like to live the dream. I believe that it was me who said at my college graduation, “Gee, in a hundred years I’d like to envision myself staying home on a Friday night, playing a game on my phone — MY PHONE, PEOPLE! MY PHONE WHICH WILL NOT BE JUST FOR CALLING PEOPLE ON ANY LONGER! — and trying not to curse violently when I lose at the game.”
For the record, Hanging With Friends frustrates me, because I cannot win, and my little cartoon girl constantly falls into the volcano of hot lava because I frequently destroy all of her helium-filled balloons, which kept her afloat, by not knowing that ?-?-A-?-E was GLAZE. Although I do adore Words With Friends (which I also lose at on a fairly regular basis, especially to Susan, who keeps kicking me in the rear by 100+ points), I think we can all rest comfortably knowing that I am taking Hanging With Friends PLUM OFF OF my phone. I can cause myself enough stress in my life through fifty-four OTHER avenues of frustration.
I am actually quite good at generating stress in my life; I don’t need a game to do it for me.
Sometime around 9:30 on Friday night, Hubs yelled out, “HONEY!! The first four episodes of The Big Bang Theory for the current season are on Hulu now!”
People, he might just as well have yelled, “Hey! We won a great big check from Publisher’s Clearing House!” I was just as excited. We have been waiting to watch Season 4 of The Big Bang Theory, because my Type A personality wants to watch them IN ORDER! And we didn’t finish watching Season 3, through the wonderment of Netflix, until Season 4 was already halfway finished.
And that meant…WAITING. Waiting and waiting and waiting — OH, SWEET MERCY! BUT MUCH, MUCH WAITING! — for Hulu to cycle through some episodes and re-air the season openers.
So Hubs and I traded Hanging With Friends for nerdy physicists, and we laughed our heads off through four episodes of Dr. Sheldon Cooper and his antics, and then I fell into a dreamless sleep from Sheer Exhaustion, because of all the Insomnia I’d suffered through in the last week.
Insomnia, people, with a capital I.
I woke up at (Are you sitting down for this revelation?) precisely 8:54 on Saturday morning! People, the way I see it, the Insomnia has run its course, and I was making up for lost sleep. The last time I genuinely SLEPT straight through until nearly 9:00 in the morning was the morning after Prom Night.
Which was just — what? — a couple of years ago, I guess.
Naturally I bolted out of bed like I’d been zapped with a cattle prod and yelled, “It’s 9:00! It’s 9:00!” until I’d managed to wake both Hubs AND the boy up. Hubs wanted to know if we had a schedule to keep. No. No, we didn’t. I was just plum shocked that I, Jedi Mama, who is a morning person and an early riser, had KILLED OFF THE INSOMNIA AND SLEPT IN! I felt like a new person, and we got ready to run some errands around town.
Errands which took us to the big ranch supply store, where Hubs had planned to buy wood pellets for his Traeger grill.
It took us exactly a millisecond to look at the line of cars parked all over and realize that low! SOMETHING ENORMOUS was happening at the ranch supply store!
It was the big tent sale in the parking lot. We’d had no idea. But, because Jesus was grinning at us, we managed to snag a parking space FRONT AND CENTER — the type of parking space that is usually reserved for the Queen of England — and we hightailed it into the tent to take part in all the fun.
We quite accidentally ran into Jodi and her kids, and then we discovered that THEY WERE SELLING HOT DOGS, PEOPLE! Hot dogs! Since it was 11:45 in the morning, we all decided to have a cheap lunch. We talked to Cody and Julie and their kiddos, and Adam and Sarah and their kids, and we bought hot dogs for little dollars, and we sat around and gobbled them up.
The boy ate two hot dogs slathered in mustard and ketchup. Hubs drank two Cokes. Straight. Without ice. He said that they were just LITTLE Cokes, and that they were really more of Coke Shots than actual beverages.
And then, after wiping mustard off of our faces, Hubs and I waved good-bye to everyone, and we left, because we had to run more errands.
As we were wrapping up our errands at 12:45, the boy said, “Hey, can we have lunch at McDonald’s today? As a special treat?” Hubs said, “Dude. You already ate lunch.” The boy said, “When? When did I eat lunch?” I said, “Um, those two hot dogs? At the ranch supply store? Yeah. That was lunch, honey.” And the boy cried out, “Those hot dogs were LUNCH?! Are you kidding? I thought that they were a morning SNACK! No one told me that those hot dogs were MY LUNCH! I’m starving!”
Listen, people. I have no idea how Hubs and I are going to afford to feed this child when he’s fifteen. As it is, his leg is completely hollow at the age of ten. He’ll eat a quart of vanilla yogurt, a piece of string cheese and two pears for a snack, and then complain that he’s hungry thirty minutes later. He’ll eat two Ballpark hot dogs for lunch, and then ask why we didn’t feed him anything. I worry that I’m going to have to take a THIRD JOB just to buy groceries for the boy in a couple more years. I look at Brother and his wife, and wonder, “How do they afford to feed THREE GROWING BOYS?!” I look at my friend, Mary, and ask the same question.
And still, the boy complains because hello! SIXTY-NINE-POINT-FIVE POUNDS. He told me the other day, “Do you think I’ll EVER weigh seventy, Mom?” At this, Hubs interjected, “I broke 70 pounds as a 7th grader! I was what you might call a Big Guy!”
Late Saturday afternoon, Hubs suddenly remembered that one of his clients had given him two tickets to THE BIG MONSTER TRUCK SHOW, which was happening that evening. Two tickets. That meant that one of us had to stay home.
I raised my hand and said, “I’ll take one for the team and sit this one out.”
It’s because the show had the words MONSTER and TRUCK in the title.
And no, thanks.
The boy was plum thrilled to go, and Hubs said, “So? What are you going to do tonight?”
And, people, I contemplated all kinds of things. I entertained the thought of calling a friend and getting together for a movie, or for a glass of wine on my deck. I thought it would be fun to gather some troops and tuck ourselves in at Starbucks for a while. And then, in the end, the thought of JUST STAYING HOME ALONE — alone, people! — won my heart over. I really just wanted to be at home, in my house, and THAT is exactly what I did.
And I cleaned house while I was home.
Obviously, that’s some kind of sick that needs some Big Therapy! But after an hour of sweating it out while Lady GaGa and Def Leppard (I know! The combination!) serenaded me in the background, the house was downright clean, and I put on my pink yoga pants and a floppy T-shirt and sat down to read a book.
And I read, and I read, and I read, and it was a fantastic night!
The boys came home with broken eardrums, and they were both grinning from ear to ear, as Hubs said, “That is probably the biggest REDNECK EVENT that I have EVER been to in my entire long life!”
I said, “Um, remember when the boy was three years old? And we went to those Mud Bog Races in the alfalfa field with Brother Joel?” And Hubs said, “Okay, the Monster Truck Rally was the SECOND BIGGEST REDNECK EVENT that I have ever been to!”
We’re just keeping it real over here at the Jedi Manor, people. Keeping it real and living the dream.
On Sunday morning, I DID NOT sleep in until 9:00 in the morning. Not at all. Although my bout with the insomnia seems to be cleared up now (at least for the time being), I was up at the Crack of Horrendous on Sunday morning, because we had a mission to accomplish.
Sweet mercy, but we were going to meet the boy’s buddy, Ben, who up and moved to Small Ranch Community last summer, in Gymnastics Land, which is halfway between Small Town and Small Ranch Community. And then, we were bringing Ben home to hang out with us for a couple of days. The boy’s excitement level was on equal footing with Christmas and his birthday.
So, before most people had even poured Coffee Mate into their first cups of coffee on Sunday morning, Hubs and the boy and I had already driven sixty miles (round trip) to collect Benjamin.
And oh! How we have missed having Ben around our house. Honestly, he is like my second child.
And then we went to church, and OH MY WORD! Pastor John rocked the stage for Jesus, and it was SUCH! A GREAT! SERMON!
It was so good, in fact, that when we took the boy and tag-a-long Ben to baseball practice later Sunday afternoon, Mika and I sat and talked about the sermon together for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, while the boy and Ben and Teegan were out on the field, throwing the ball around. It was all on how we often don’t expect Jesus to do BIG THINGS in our lives. It was on how the disciples didn’t expect Jesus to do big things when he had to feed 5,000 with a few loaves of bread and a couple of small fish.
I think Mika and I solved all of our problems by deciding that we’d simply buy a ranch and live on it together, homeschool our kids, and spend some time talking to Jesus and KNOWING HOW CAPABLE HE IS of doing great big things.
So yes. Mika and I talked during baseball practice.
And we talked and talked and talked and talked some more.
The boy and Ben wanted their friend, Eli, to come stay with them, so we called Eli’s mama (who is my own sweet friend, Mary), and she said, “YES! TAKE ELI! TAKE HIM! TAKE HIM!” So we did. We scooped him up in the Suburban, and the boys broke the sound barrier with all of their hysterical laughter exactly nine seconds after that.
They did not shower. Only Eli brushed his teeth while he was here. They ate me out of house and home. They scared themselves PLUM, RIDICULOUSLY SILLY by watching a documentary on searching for Big Foot, which caused them to sleep with the lights on in the family room, and they pretty much stayed up ALL NIGHT LONG.
Or at least until sometime after the clock struck 2 AM.
And then they got up at 6:30 this morning, and they terrorized our cul de sac by staging their own Big Foot Hunt outdoors before 8:00.
Naturally, I had to tell them that THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS BIG FOOT one hundred and sixty-four times, until Ben looked me in the eye and said, “You know, Mama, you’re going to regret those words when the three of us grow up and ACTUALLY FIND Big Foot someday, and we bring the big ape in for a bounty. The world will find out that a Big Foot existed, the boy and Eli and I will be famous — We’ll be all over the news! — and then you’ll start whining that you wished you’d believed us when we were just kids and talked about how real that creature is!”
No. No, I won’t.
Bridget (Ben’s mom) and Mary and I don’t expect that any girls will ever marry our boys. They’re all three adorable, but their passion for hunting Sasquatch and bringing him in is going to be a bit of a TURN OFF for most adorable girls.
(That is why I have my back-up plan firmly in place and have already encouraged some friends of ours to gather their sheep and their donkeys and their oxen and get their dowry together, because we’re going to take their oldest girl in an arranged marriage. I feel badly that she’ll eventually wind up being married to a Sasquatch Hunter, but she’ll just have to learn to adjust in that little 5th-wheel trailer in the woods that the boy will provide for her.)
And that, people, is exactly how the weekend panned out for us.
The weekend, which continued on into Monday, with a park-trip for a picnic lunch with Jodi and her kids.
The boys have worn me out, and I have LOVED having them hang out at our house.
And I had to tell Hubs, “No; no, you MUSTN’T DO IT, because it would be eighteen kinds of wrong,” at 11:00 last night, when he wanted to sneak out the backdoor, circle the house, and scratch the front windows, where they were tucked into their sleeping bags, watching Yeti documentaries on The History Channel.
Happy Monday night, people.