So yes. My blogging vacation is over, and now it’s time to slaughter my sentence structure on a regular basis again, right here at Jedi Mama, Inc. It’s a free service I offer all y’all: Bad sentences gone even worse.
People, we were gone.
Some of y’all just did a double take and had to sit down for a moment. I understand. It’s because the Jedi Family simply never leaves town, and those closest to us KNOW THIS. The word Homebodies is engraved above our front door, and here we went and split for the border. And I would have told y’all about it much earlier, only it didn’t seem like the wisest hair-brained idea to inform the World Wide Web that yes! The one family member who is brave enough to shoot to kill when masked bandits break into our home to make a stab at stealing my diamond-encrusted tiara is no longer on the premises, as he has loaded up his family and driven them across the world.
Or just across two states. When you’re in the Suburban for that long, sometimes actual Mileage Driven becomes a gray line of misunderstanding.
Hubs (our resident marksman, who has been known to miss at least once in his life and shoot his own eye out) left Cat 1 in charge of things around here, with Cat 2 running backup, and off we went to a family reunion in an entirely different state. I had to laugh because the cute neighbor boy supplied our pride with fresh cat food and water each day, and he left a full-sized, red-and-white-striped beach towel by our front door, so that he could smack Cat 1 back when he came in. Apparently she took the job Hubs entrusted her with quite seriously, and she was completely focused on disemboweling the cute neighbor boy and using his carcass as an example to other would-be trespassers. And then Cat 2, following suit, decided that FINE ALREADY! I’LL HISS AND GROWL AT HIM WHEN HE COMES OVER EVERY MORNING AND PUT THE FEAR OF HOUSE CATS RIGHT INTO HIS HEART’S BIGGEST VALVE!
We are so ashamed of the pride’s behavior, and yet they accomplish as partners what it would take an entire herd of Dobermans to get done.
And if anyone wants to know what it’s like to travel with Thing 2, I have this suggestion: Go into the wild and catch a fourteen-pound raccoon. Restrain it in the five-point harness of an infant carseat. Drive 640 miles in one direction. Take the raccoon out a couple of times. Clean up the poop he has left behind. Let three teenage girl cousins entertain him for three consecutive days with FUN, FUN, FUN, to the point of Baby Exhaustion. Let him sleep in a strange bassinet in a motel room for five nights in a row. Strap the raccoon back into the carseat. Drive 640 miles back home.
If your messy bun is no longer stylishly messy, because your hair has simply fallen to shreds, and if you look like you might live in a van, down by the river, then you know how I felt.
And then to compound things, the boy slammed his foot into that strange bassinet and stubbed his littlest toe right good and proper. He did it SO WELL, in fact, we contemplated whether the bone was still actually in one piece, and LOOK! Some of the skin has been split wide open and is hanging off of his little pinky, and there’s enough blood to make it look like a botched amputation! There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth and rendering of the sackcloth, and the boy insisted that MAYBE WE SHOULD PULL THE INSURANCE CARD OUT OF THE PURSE AND GO TO THE NEAREST EMERGENCY ROOM BEFORE DEATH OVERTOOK HIM, BECAUSE HIS TOE! IT MIGHT BE BROKEN IN HALF AND RUIN HIS GOLF GAME FOR LIFE, AND HE MIGHT ACTUALLY PASS OUT FROM SHEER BLOOD LOSS!
And I said, “They can do nothing at the ER for your toe that we can’t do here in the motel with ice from the ice machine down the hall.” And then I added the words, “For free.”
And the boy said, “They can give me morphine!”
And I said, “If anyone is getting morphine on this trip, it’s gonna be Mama!”
(Mother of the Year, ’12… right here! Go ahead and cast your votes.)
We did not go to the ER, even though the boy kept insisting that his life depended upon seeing a real doctor with a real license to practice medicine. Hubs and I played medics with cold packs and hotel towels that smelled gloriously like bleach, and the boy is still alive. Hubs and I would like to thank episodes of M*A*S*H and Gray’s Anatomy for giving us the skills we needed in an emergency situation.
And then you need to consider the fact that poor Hubs, who likes to BE FIRST ON THE ROAD! FIRST IN THE PACK OF CARS! FIRST IN THE LONG LINE OF VEHICLES, EVEN IF HE HAS TO DRIVE FAST AND PASS ON CORNERS TO GET THERE!, got behind a string of adventurers while driving through a major national park who had stopped their vehicles so that they could get out and take pictures of buffalo.
We see them on a daily basis in Small Town, USA, because we drive right by a pasture where some are kept when we take the boy to school. We take the buffalo for granted here in Small Town, USA. If you’re going to impress Small Town residents, it won’t be with wild buffalo, because snapping pictures of them for us is equivalent to snapping pictures of grass.
Hubs was busy mumbling behind his steering wheel, “There had better be a dead wolf on this highway to cause everyone to stop like this,” because Hubs is anti-wolf. He claims that they eat cows, and if anyone is going to be eating cows, it’s HIM. He doesn’t like the wolves taking his prime rib away. And then Hubs shouted, “A buffalo? You’ve got to be kidding me! If you’ve seen one buffalo, you’ve seen ALL THE BUFFALO! Get back in your cars, people!” And then, “I hope that big fellow over there drops his horns and gores himself a stopped Jetta. I hope he gets that parked Mazda, too, and smacks the mini van for dessert!” And then, “Are you serious? We’re stopping AGAIN to take MORE PICTURES OF A BUFFALO?!”
Hubs was moved to the top of the list for morphine recipients.
And then we passed a buffalo who was standing in the river, cooling his legs off, and Hubs shouted out, “Honey, grab your camera! It’s a WATER BUFFALO!!! You don’t see THOSE every day around here!”
Hubs is so hilarious.
And the family reunion?
Oh, people! We had THE! VERY! BEST! TIME! We stayed up late. We laughed until we cried. We hugged and hugged again. We ate. And we ate. And then we ate some more, because the food? Well, picture a backyard buffet that had the potential to feed every person in every single remote village and every single thriving city in ALL OF CHINA, and that is what we were dealing with. It was a FOODPALOOZA all weekend long, until I finally told Hubs, “I am sick of eating. I am sick of food. I will never eat again. I need to lay down and die like a beached whale.”
But there wasn’t time for dying on the sandy beaches, because we had to get back to all the talking, and all the giggling, and all the throw-your-head-back-and-howl-with-the-laughter kind of laughing.
I’ll show y’all pictures of our little trip later this week, but for now, suffice it to say that OH MY WORD: HAPPY-BUT-CLEAR-TO-THE-BONE EXHAUSTED, which translates into MAMA IS HEADING TO BED.
But Jedi Mama, Inc.? Well, it is indeed back up and running, and we’ll see y’all here tomorrow evening, the good Lord willing.