So I was all geared up to knock out a play-by-play of our weekend, when I just realized that our alarm went off at 4:55 this morning, and I think the sleep deprivation JUST NOW kicked in. I can take no responsibility for the dullness of this post, nor will I own the grammatical errors, because what part of I HAVE BEEN AWAKE SINCE 4:55 IN THE AM did you not understand?
(I blame Hubs for the wake-up call.)
(Because it’s all his fault. There’s not a judge in the free world who would rule against that. Have I mentioned before that being married to Hubs is a blessing because he’s cute and he works hard and he kisses really well? And yet, being married to Hubs is also exactly like being married to an on-call physician, just without the puffy paycheck. And the BMW convertible. And the beach house on Nantucket. Apparently there were computers to network together and fix, or perhaps it was just monitors to calibrate or a mouse to put new batteries in. It doesn’t matter WHAT it was; it just matters that a collective group of computers were in desperate need of Hubs’ attention this morning, and said group of computers are in Smaller Town, USA, so Hubs got up at 4:55 this morning. And he showered. And he left the house at 5:30 to hit the interstate. He is a Computer Superhero, with a cape and the ability to zap things with electricity.)
So yes. I have been awake since 4:55 as well. I got out of bed and showered, too, but I didn’t leave the house to go fix a computer, because my ability to fix a computer is strictly limited to HEY! I PUT NEW BATTERIES IN THE WIRELESS KEYBOARD AND NOW IT WORKS AGAIN! Instead, I balanced our checkbook and gave away all of our money to the electrical company and the cell phone dealer and the lawn guys who spray my yard with toxic chemicals every few weeks to keep it lush and green and picture-perfect. And then I did a couple loads of laundry. And then I put a roast in the crockpot. And then I had a second cup of coffee. And then I realized that SWEET MERCY! It was ONLY 7:20 in the morning. I felt like the Army, because I had accomplished more before breakfast than most people did all day.
Where was I?
My darling friend, Christy, and I had made enormous plans to take our boys to the local pumpkin patch on Friday afternoon, but Friday morning we woke up to rain. In fact, we woke up to enough rain that the area news reported SMALL TOWN RECEIVED TWO FULL INCHES OF RAIN OVERNIGHT on the radio, but the heavens weren’t done. It rained all day on Friday, and it was cold enough to make me need two trips to Starbucks. Evaluating our afternoon plans was a no-brainer; there was simply no way that Christy and I were going to take a pack of boys to the
biggest mud pit in town the pumpkin patch on such a soggy day.
Instead, Hubs and I drove into the city (which involves passing through about five intersections), and we met Scott and Christy and a tribe of boys at the swanky pizza parlor, where it took all of four minutes for Christy to announce, “I’m just ordering a flask of Jack; what are you having for dinner?”
Because, did I mention? It was Christy’s oldest boy’s birthday. He was moving into the big double digits, and we were there to help Gage ring in THE BIG TEN! It was only fitting, seeing as how Hubs and the boy (who had just turned one) and I were at the hospital while Gage was being born, waiting for the nurses to finish bathing him, so that we could be THE VERY FIRST PEOPLE TO HOLD HIM and THE VERY FIRST PEOPLE TO SMOOCH HIS NEWBORN CHEEKS.
We designated one table at the pizza parlor as the Table For Boys, while another table in a nearby restaurant was dubbed as the Table for Grownups.
(Oh, I jest. The adults stayed in the same restaurant; we simply sat as far away from the NOISE and the HOOPLA and the CRAZY BOY ANTICS as we possibly could.)
Also? Five boys can pretty much eat enough pizza to completely ruin a family’s checking account.
And Jack Daniels isn’t cheap, either.
When the bellies were full of pepperoni and seventy-seven pounds of quarters had been dumped into the video game machines, Christy and I took the boys swimming. Hubs and Scott opted PLUM OUT OF the swimming, because dads have a limit as to how much fun they can handle in one evening. Thankfully, the herd of five boys were all tall enough to swim without an adult in the water with them, so Christy and I sat on a poolside bench and talked about everything from the powers of a good Victoria’s Secret bra to blood clots, farm-raised cattle, and how we simply feel zero remorse whenever we vacuum up tiny Lego pieces these days.
We also got Sergeant Black Pepper as a lifeguard on Friday night, and listen, y’all. Our pack of five boys were the only kids IN the pool. And there was a bin full of beach balls on the side of the pool, which the boys threw into the water. And Sergeant Black Pepper yelled out, “DON’T THROW THE BEACH BALLS!” So the boys stopped throwing the beach balls, and they sat on the beach balls, which is a fun thing to do in the water, because they make you float. And Sergeant Black Pepper hollered, “DON’T SIT ON THE BEACH BALLS IN THE WATER!” So the boys quit using them as personal flotation devices, and they played basketball with them, because there were hoops on the side of the pool. And the sergeant bellowed, “THE BEACH BALLS ARE NOT TO BE USED IN THE BASKETBALL HOOPS!” So the boys tossed the beach balls down the slide. “QUIT PUTTING THE BEACH BALLS IN THE SLIDE!” echoed off the walls. Christy and I simply called the boys over and said, “Listen. We’re pretty sure the beach balls are for DECORATIVE PURPOSES ONLY in this pool, so just don’t use them, because Sergeant Black Pepper is an inch away from having a stroke.”
So the boys used the pool noodles.
And Black Pepper shouted, “STOP SLAPPING THE POOL NOODLES AGAINST THE WATER!”
Y’all think that I’m making this up, but I’m not. Christy eventually leaned over to me and whispered, “I think it would be best if we asked him what the boys ARE ALLOWED TO DO in this pool!”
And honestly? They were five well-behaved boys alone in a swimming pool. We didn’t think they were doing anything wrong at all, and we were just glad that Sergeant Black Pepper didn’t have to attempt to keep them quiet in church.
He’d be in the hospital right now if he had to attempt THAT!
When the sergeant told us, “THE POOL CLOSES IN FIFTEEN MINUTES! GET YOUR KIDS OUT NOW!”, we didn’t argue. Who are we to say, “Well, can’t they swim for fifteen minutes more then?” to the Marines? We hauled them out of the pool, and then I squeezed Christy tightly in a Hug of Good Luck, because she was taking boys home with her for an overnighter!
I told her, “No drinking in the car; wait until you get home.”
On Saturday morning, Hubs set the alarm for 4:55, because listen. He had some computers to fix in Smaller Town, and he was on the road by 5:30.
(Deja vu? Yes. He did this on Saturday AND today!)
I gathered up my courage and made the Big Haul at Walmart on Saturday, seeing as how we were OUT OF EVERYTHING, and I’d been meaning to get to the store to secure food staples for my family for more than a week now.
(Since I didn’t have any more Stoffer’s Frozen Lasagnas in my freezer, it was time.)
Have y’all ever been to the super center on a rainy Saturday? Well, I began to wish that Sergeant Black Pepper had been there, to yell at everyone.
“DON’T STOP IN THE AISLES! DON’T CLOG UP THE REFRIGERATOR DOORS IN FRONT OF THE COFFEE MATE! KEEP MOVING! KEEP MOVING! MOVE FASTER!”
After my checkbook was a bajillion dollars lighter and my cupboards and refrigerator were full, I drove the Suburban back over to Christy’s house for HOMEMADE BIRTHDAY CAKE, because Christy doesn’t mess around with Betty Crocker’s box mixes.
(She leaves those for mothers who serve Stoffer’s, because she prefers to use things like FLOUR and SUGAR and SHORTENING to make cakes with.)
We sat on her sofa and drank copious amounts of hot apple cider with our cake, while the boys built enormous structures out of Lego bricks.
And then the boy and I came home, because Hubs had FINALLY returned from Smaller Town, because it was OPENING NIGHT FOR THE COLORADO AVALANCHE, and THAT, people, is synonymous with CHRISTMAS for him.
I did my ever-loving best to keep my attention on the fog machine that blew smoke everywhere as they retired Peter Forsberg’s jersey, and then I tried to stay focused on the game itself, but Words With Friends was far more interesting. When it was evident that the Avs weren’t going to be able to beat the Red Wings in the first game of the season, I went to bed.
Of course, Hubs watched the game through the bitter end, and then he watched the reports from the locker room, and then he watched the highlights on Sports Center, and then he read the highlights online. When he’d exhausted every avenue of Avalanche news, he, too, went to bed.
On Sunday, we went to church, where Pastor Adam rocked the stage for Jesus.
And then we had lunch with my parents downtown, and listen. Rainy Weekend + Air Conditioning in the Restaurant does not equal A Good Time. I was frozen solid when we left.
We dropped the boy off at Patrick’s house, where they did a little fishing, and where the boy managed to snag a fish.
And then Hubs blew out our sprinklers because it’s officially the END OF SUMMER, while he ran back and forth between the yard and the family room. The Broncos were playing, and Hubs didn’t waste any words, as he vocalized his thoughts on quarterback starters.
I did a couple loads of laundry.
(This is riveting, I know.)
And then the boy came back home and cleaned up his bedroom, because the boy’s bedroom is in a habitual state of uncleanliness.
And then the boy went to Enzo’s house for a sleepover, because our boy has a social life with a full dance card. He packed a bag, and he was off.
Since we were alone, Hubs and I went on another date, and we saw the new Brad Pitt movie, Moneyball. I liked it, people, although I really wanted a different ending when it was all said and done.
And then… today there was no school for the boy. Or for his friends. This is what my deck looked like at THIRTEEN HUNDRED HOURS. (See? I picked up a couple of things from Sergeant Black Pepper this weekend!)
The boy and Enzo fell into the EXHAUSTED phylum today, what with it being a weekend of VERY LITTLE SLEEPING, but they pushed through and kept on smiling, and those four boys played ALL STINKING DAY LONG outside together.
The cats, however, were not smiling at THIRTEEN HUNDRED HOURS, because the cute neighbor boy’s dog was on the deck. Terror and Mayhem actually sat side-by-side and kept an eye on the dog during lunch. I had to take their picture, because Cat 1 (Terror) and Cat 2 (Mayhem) NEVER sit beside one another, because they DO! NOT! like one another.
Because 4:55 came pretty early this morning. And Hubs just announced that it’s happening again tomorrow, because the Smaller Town’s computers are still in cardiac arrest, and he’ll be getting up before the rooster does once more.