I’m not going to lie to y’all.
I have nothing to write about.
It may be due to the small fact that my brain has transformed itself into a puddle of something mushy enough to resemble oatmeal, because of SUMMER VACATION.
Which is exactly the reason that I hand a pre-printed math worksheet to the boy every single morning and say, “Do these multiplication problems; they’ll keep your brain functioning and sharp.”
And when I say every single morning, I really mean just twice.
Two times. In one month. They say that the brain is a great thing to waste, and the Jedi Family is apparently on a mission to get a grant and attempt to disprove this, but, at this point, I think we should have just handed our grant money over to Myth Busters and let them take over for us, regardless of the small fact that I am continually telling the boy, “The book is ALWAYS better than the movie.”
I don’t really know how that statement relates or even FITS into this blog post, other than the fact that I seem to be a hypocrite, as I’m not wanting to put the actual work into the study, but would be content to lay motionless on the sofa and simply watch Jamie and Adam use a simulated, rubber pig’s brain and possibly a few zaps with some electrical current from a tractor battery to conclude the theory that summer vacation rots the brain.
But I still have my cowgirl boots planted firmly on the side of the line that states that books are almost always better than the movie, and that the boy should invest the time and effort it takes to READ before he WATCHES.
Because let me tell you! I never would have picked up Nicholas Sparks’ The Last Song and read it, had I seen the grave disappointment that was disguised as the movie first.
But that was months ago, and I’m completely over the fact that Touchstone Pictures made $8 off of my movie ticket for THAT one.
The boy is attending a science camp this week, which is geared toward learning to use a hand-held GPS unit and being instructed on the SAFE AND PROPER WAY to start campfires. Hubs and I figured that it would be a Very Good Thing if the boy learned the safe way to do this, which involves creating a teepee structure out of logs with dry pine needles nestled inside, which goes against what Hubs has taught him: Use a big enough accelerant and you can probably get this concrete block to burn itself down to ash.
Which is always followed by Hubs’ other theory that hand-held, propane-powered blow torches are acceptable forms of wasp control.
I’d say that EVERY FAMILY uses this method to eliminate the wasps off the deck, IN MID-FLIGHT so that they drop to the ground as barbecued bee nuggets, while the turkey burgers are grilling, but, sadly, I don’t think it’s true. I just think that Hubs’ Y chromosome is a bit STRONGER than every other man’s, and that he always thinks of the words GAS and FIRE and GUN POWDER before the words OSHA-APPROVED and SAFE and EFFECTIVE come to his mind.
To say that the boy enjoyed his first day of camp would be an understatement, because what’s not to like about learning to navigate the woods with gadgets of technology operated by 3.7 volts of raw battery power? Especially when the camp counselors promise that yes! Yes, indeed! We WILL make S’Mores on the day that we fire up our caveman skills and burn things properly.
The boy even announced, “Mom, at science camp, I don’t think anyone’s concerned about the sugar content in S’Mores, because they said we could all make two of them to eat.” This was followed by a grin which clearly said, without words, “And I dare you to pick up the gauntlet that was thrown down there, because you won’t BE in the woods to say otherwise when I put the ‘mallows on the grahams and devour TWO ENTIRE S’MORES.”
After a full day of camp and an afternoon spent at Kellen’s house yesterday, where they used the iMovie feature on Kellen’s mom’s laptop to make a movie together, and then an entire baseball game and a bedtime of 10:30 last night, the boy was a little slow off the starting lines this morning, and Hubs and I simply drew straws to see which one of us had to venture into his darkened room and AWAKEN IT.
It was me who got the short straw.
And I simply whispered, “Get up, honey. I think today’s the day you build a campfire.”
Words were mumbled which sounded a lot like, “We’re not burning things ’til Thursday,” and then the volatile, sleep-deprived creature simply rolled over and went back to sleep.
I think it’s because his mama hasn’t been making him do enough math problems over the summer, and he’s lost some brainwave capabilities.
Especially the capability which propels him out of bed in a pleasant mood.