I had some good intentions of getting some things accomplished today, because listen: LAST DAY OF ELEMENTARY SCHOOL TOMORROW, and I am devoting the entire day to one eleven-year-old boy who melts my heart and makes me feel old enough to be Margaret Thatcher, because he has decided to JUST GROW UP ALREADY and put his young years plum behind him.
So yes. I was all about the I WILL GET THE VACUUMING DONE and the I WILL DO AT LEAST ONE OF THE SIXTEEN LOADS OF LAUNDRY THAT NEED FINISHED and also the I WILL BUY SOME GROCERIES FOR MY FAMILY SO THAT WE DO NOT HAVE TO EAT SALTINE CRACKERS SMEARED WITH MUSTARD FOR DINNER.
Have y’all ever had a baby with a belly ache? Because I can sum that up in one powerful statement of NOT FUN. So instead of making sure that Hubs had clean jeans and that our floors looked like they could be featured in a four-page, glorious, full-color layout in Better Homes and Gardens, Thing 2 and I rocked.
And we rocked.
And we rocked some more, until we had pretty much rocked enough miles that we could have gotten ourselves all the way to Alabama for some decent barbecue.
And yes. Things still pretty much look like the seven dwarfs live here, but our house isn’t quite as clean as theirs was.
Since we already had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon with our pediatrician for shots and a twelve-week checkup, we just went ahead and said, “Um, yeah. We’ve had the belly ache from Hades today, and there has been much screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth at our house, and the baby has cried for a bit, too.”
And our doctor did all the things she learned to do in med school, which is to say that she ruled out constipation and took a urine sample in a bag. The end proclamation was ACID REFLUX OF THE WORST VARIETY, because we might as well get the baby started on Zantac now, before his daddy introduces him to bottles of hot sauce called Devil’s Spit and Kick You In Your Back Pockets Tabasco.
So really, I’m just going to throw some bullet points at y’all tonight, because that’s ever-so-very-much easier than typing actual paragraphs that follow the Freshman English rules of FLOWS TOGETHER NICELY and HAS COHERENT SENTENCES WITH NO RUN-ON STRUCTURE OR DANGLING PARTICIPLES.
1. Hubs and I took the boy and his friend Bek to see The Avengers last night, and listen. Apparently we were the last family on the planet to actually see the new superhero movie, because Mama was dragging her heels, because if there is ONE THING I don’t like (other than hot sauce, raw tomatoes, cottage cheese, and children who cuss) it’s superhero movies. And also science fiction movies. And horror movies, too. And independent films, for the most part. And also movies filled with Woody Allen. But, because The Avengers was getting all of these fantastic reviews, especially from PEOPLE I KNEW AND RESPECTED FOR THEIR CINEMATIC OPINIONS, I decided that I could go and endure two-plus hours in an air-conditioned theater with a bag of butter and corn in front of me.
I always judge a movie by the previews, because I can usually determine how good the feature film is, based on the quality of the films previewed beforehand. I have this down to a science, and I am never wrong. Hubs looked at me in Preview Number Four, and I simply shook my head back and forth violently and said, “This movie is going to be crap.” Because really? Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter before he became president of the United States? People, I have no words for a movie based on that. I can’t even offer you a statement on it, because who was smoking dope and decided that this would be a good movie plot? And also? The new Snow White film coming out on the big screen looks dark and morbid, and it has Isabella Swan (because I can never remember her real name), and apparently she not only doesn’t smile as Isabella in the Twilight series, but she also doesn’t smile as Miss White.
Those are a lot of words to simply say that my movie expectations last night were at an all-time low, and then!
THEN THE AVENGERS ROCKED MY BOAT! Oh, people! I loved it! Loved it with a love that’s usually reserved for baby ducks and kittens and rainy days curled up on the sofa with a good, thick book. I had no idea that Ironman was so stinking funny, but HELLO, ROBERT DOWNEY, JR! I have always been a fan. And Captain America’s morals were rock solid, and Mark Ruffalo was just as cute as the Hulk as he was in 13 Going on 30, and Thor simply needed a haircut and some voice lessons. Halfway through the movie, I whispered to Hubs, “I want to see the Ironman movies now. And Captain America, too.” And Hubs just shook his head and said, “The boy and I have tried to tell you that they’re quality films, but you never listen to us.”
This review came from a man who thinks Hunting Big Foot, Moonshiners, and Hillbilly Hand Fishing are Extremely Good TV Shows.
My official movie review is two thumbs and one big toe held UP. If there is actually one of you left who hasn’t seen America’s top film right now, run like the wind and go.
Also, the best piece of funny in the film is this: The characters speak Russian in the beginning of the film, and the translation is written at the bottom of the screen, so that those of us who are not fluent in anything except English can know what is being said. Well. We had Bek with us, and Bek is from Kazakhstan. Bek, you see, SPEAKS PERFECT RUSSIAN, AS IT IS HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE! So Hubs and I immediately asked him, “Could you understand what they were saying?” And Bek said, “Yep. I understood everything they said, and their words didn’t match the translation at all. All they were saying were random Russian words that made no sense when they were put together. The filmmakers tricked you.”
Well, then. Since Bek’s mama had also seen the movie earlier, and since she is from Kazakhstan, too, seeing as how Bek couldn’t be from there all alone, I asked her the same question, and she said, “Oh my goodness! It was all random Russian words that made no sense. It would be like you saying the words CHEESEBURGER, CHEVY, HOLIDAY, SNOWFLAKE, WHITE WINE, and PENCIL all together, while the written translation at the bottom of the screen reads: ‘We have had a security breach, and the intruders must be stopped.'”
I feel plum cheated, people, but even being cheated isn’t enough to ruin my love for The Avengers.
2. The boy has had a book report that was due at school on Wednesday of this week. I assumed that he was… you know… working on it, because he loves to stay after school three nights a week for Homework Club, because his teacher passes out fun candies and he gets his homework done before bedtime without me yelling at him. So, imagine my surprise when he declared at 7:10 last night that he “just had 120 pages left to read in the book he was actually writing a report on, but that’s okay — he could still write the report because he read the last chapter, and Kellen told him everything that happened in the middle of the book, and he’d best get started, because he didn’t want to wait until 8:00 to do it, which would have been the last minute.”
I don’t think y’all have ever seen a head spin around on a neck in ANY horror movie quite like mine spun around last night. I think I even used my Parental Voice of Authority and orange fire-lights may have shot out of my eye sockets, as I put the smack down with more emphasis than Thor’s hammer can cause. I am not a fan of the “just do enough to get by” school of thought, even though this is how Hubs managed to graduate from high school. I declared that the boy would have to pick one of the four books he has actually read in his life from cover to cover, and write a report on it, and SO HELP ME, MOTHER THERESA! He was going to bed at 8:15, as usual, and I didn’t care if his four-page report was written or not, because IF HE FLUNKS THE 5TH GRADE, HE CAN STAY IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL ONE MORE YEAR AND NOT BREAK MY HEART BY GROWING UP TOO QUICKLY.
The boy wrote his report, and he was done (DONE! FINISHED! HAD IT WRAPPED UP COMPLETELY!) by 7:45. I simply shrugged and said, “We’ll see how you like a big, fat F on the top of that paper, because how can anyone write a massive book report that YOU HAVE SUPPOSEDLY BEEN WORKING ON FOR THE LAST THREE ENTIRE CRAZY WEEKS in half of an hour?!”
And then my head spun around again.
When the boy came home from school today, he simply said, “So. I got an A on my book report.”
3. We had Bek over for a dinner of grilled steak and even better grilled vegetables tonight, because he is leaving tomorrow to spend the summer in Kazakhstan with his grandparents.
We are going to miss that boy like the dickens, because he has become like our third son around here. We love him as much as we love Christmas, and that’s a whole big lot. Bek is one of our favorite people, so we had to send him off with a steak on his plate and big hugs.
I had a baby with a belly ache today because of WICKED AWFUL ACID REFLUX and we have the doctor’s orders to prove it, and THAT is why my kitchen looks a little on the OUT OF CONTROL and THE SEVEN DWARFS LIVE HERE side.
Don’t judge me.
4. And how can I not post cute baby pictures? Once Thing 2 had some Approved By the FDA medication in his gut to calm the acid down tonight, he settled down and smiled like the class clown Hubs and I are convinced he is going to grow up to be.
And we love our big boy, too.
Even though he is graduating from elementary school tomorrow, because he can write enormous book reports in twenty-eight minutes and still pull an A. The end of the 5th grade is going to be a new page in the book of our lives. I can’t say that we’re overjoyed to turn that page and experience owning a junior high school son, but we can’t help it.
Wish me luck tomorrow, people, so that I don’t just sit down in the janitor’s closet at the school and have a good cry.
Have a great weekend.