So the batteries in my Big Mac’s mouse are about to die. I keep getting a little message box on my computer screen which quietly whispers to me, “Your mouse batteries are low.” And, people, THIS is a technology issue that I can plum solve on my own, but here’s the problem: Every battery we
have had in this house has been ripped out of the kitchen junk drawer (The drawer which is home to rubberbands, paperclips, loose screwdrivers, dried-out magic markers, bread bag ties and batteries.) and put into a Christmas present.
The boy got a game camera from Santa Claus this year, which will help him gather photographic evidence that Sasquatch exists and announce to the world that his mama was a lying, non-believing skeptic, and it is basically an enormous battery pack with a camera lens attached to it, because of TEN DOUBLE A BATTERIES, PEOPLE!
I think my Suburban is powered by less stored energy than the Big Foot Cam.
So if the mouse blacks out tonight in a dead faint, then that will be the end of this blog post, so be prepared.
(Except if the mouse passes out, y’all will have no idea, and you’ll just think, “Whatever. Mama didn’t throw a post at the World Wide Web tonight, which means she’s watching a Moonshiners marathon on TV.)
(Which could be true, because the Jedi Family knows them some quality TV shows.)
(And then Hubs announced to me today that although he thinks he’d be powerfully good at moonshining, his heart is drawn more toward the bootlegging aspect of the entire operation. Or the rum-running. Or whatever you want to call it. Basically, Hubs just wants to drive the get-away car, which he claims will be a 1968 Camaro with a Corvette engine in it, outrunning the local sheriff and getting the grain alcohol to where it needs to be.)
(Don’t ask me WHY a man would put a Corvette engine in a Camaro. It makes no sense. Apparently Camaros don’t come with good enough engines to start with. I know that I like to live on the edge of danger and put a Honda Civic engine in an Accord.)
Well, I’ve managed to waste a lot of precious time tonight, rambling on and on about batteries and backwoods still operations, while the mouse is slowly dying out on me.
And if y’all want to know a GENUINE time-waster, let me assure you that it’s the new cowboy game that Hubs downloaded onto his iPad 2 the other day. It’s all FANTASTIC WESTERN GRAPHICS and HORSE RIDING and WALKING IN YOUR POINTY-TOED COWBOY BOOTS THROUGH THE GHOST TOWNS. I sat with Hubs last night on the sofa and watched him play for a few minutes.
Hubs’ cowboy rode that horse of his (I think his name was Silver Bullet) like a galloping professional, through the ravines and o’er the sagebrush-covered fields. And then Hubs jumped off his horse, and his character twirled his six-shooter around on his finger, and then Hubs got JUST SO EXCITED TO SHOOT SOMETHING, so he quickly fired off a round of bullets…
…and shot his horse dead by mistake.
I laughed until there was wheezing involved, because if ever there was an explanation for WHY Hubs isn’t living his dream job of being a Navy Seal, THAT would be it.
He rode into the ghost town, probably hopped up on too much Christmas rum cake, and he twirled his Colt revolver, and then, in his excitement to JUST SHOOT SOMETHING ALREADY!, he popped an accidental cap in Silver Bullet, who went down.
And that left Hubs afoot in the game, so you can imagine how things turned out when the black wolf showed up, sniffing around.
I can hear the Navy SEAL team, now, whispering that Hubs might not be the best choice, because when they jump from the helicopters into the frigid ocean waters and float into shore on their inflatable raft, Hubs will probably get so BLASTED EXCITED TO FIRE HIS MACHINE GUN, he’ll shoot the boat.
And inflatable boats with gunshot wounds usually sink.
And the gunshots usually alert the bad guys that HEY! THE SEALS AND THE FBI AND POSSIBLY EVEN WAL-MART SECURITY ARE COMING!
And then they gather up all their illegal contraband and their homemade hooch, and they evacuate the premises in a big hurry.
Where was I, people? Before the tangent?
I know that I should be putting up Christmas pictures tonight, but listen! Last week, I should have been putting up pictures of the boy’s Christmas concert at school, and I didn’t get that done in a timely manner. If I don’t show y’all how adorable he was in tonight’s blog post, then it’ll soon be Easter, and everyone will say, “Why are we celebrating our risen Savior with blurry, yellowy snapshots of the boy’s Christmas concert from December?!”
Last Tuesday (AS IN ONE FULL WEEK AGO ALREADY, because the time! It flies when you’re on Christmas vacation!), the boy had his concert at school, and of course the audience was filled with Hubs and myself, along with grandmas and grandpas and aunts and newborn baby cousins.
The boy played “Carol of the Bells” in a piano solo, and I know that he’s MY BABY and all, which makes me a bit prejudiced toward him, but, people! The kid ABSOLUTELY ROCKED the baby grand and stunned the audience! The gentleman behind me kept whispering to his wife, “Who is this kid? How long do you think he’s been playing that piano? He’s magnificent!” And yes. He WAS magnificent. Last Tuesday afternoon, Hubs and I fielded close to twenty text messages and phone calls that said, “Your kid was awesome on the ivories this morning.”
The boy can play a mean bit of piano.
But trust me. That’s the boy.
And when he was done playing, the audience whooped and hollered like they were all at a Neil Diamond concert.
Eventually, the 5th grade took the stage to sing their Christmas carols for everyone, and I actually had to MOVE and SIT ON THE STAGE STEPS to get some photos of our short-legged darling, who was hidden behind some tall kids.
The Tall Genes Train sped on down the tracks without the boy. The NBA is not in our future.
In a red-and-white-striped SHIRT WITH A COLLAR! This is photographic evidence that Kellen has worn a shirt with a collar TWICE in the year of our Lord, 2011. Remember the boy’s birthday party back in August?
And that thought will bring on an emotionally-charged ugly cry that none of y’all want to see happen.
But look! Enzo was in the Christmas concert too, looking dashing and very GQ-ish.
Santa Claus was there.
Last Tuesday’s Christmas concert at the boy’s elementary school (Where he will not go next year, because next year he will be a GREAT BIG JUNIOR HIGH CHILD, AND NOTHING I CAN DO WILL STOP THAT FROM HAPPENING!) was magical and charming, and it made me cry from all the pure sweetness of those kids’ singing voices, and all the outstanding piano playing on the boy’s part, and all the emotional heartache because this was our last program of our elementary years.
I treasured the day, people.