Bringing Y’all Up To Speed


The summer is really flying by, because here I’ve gone and blinked, and we’re post-July 4th already.  And everyone knows that once you light your sparklers (or don’t, depending on the restrictions Smokey the Bear has enforced upon you), the summer is mostly over, because the rest of it disappears as quickly as a mocha cheesecake.

(If you’re actually IN to mocha cheesecakes.)

(Which I am.)

(Because of CHEESECAKE.)

I can’t even really remember last week, because of all the busy and all the fun and all the times I said, “Thing 2, please treat your Mama nicely and GO TO SLEEP.”  I’m sure if I tried to tell you everything that happened in words, we’d be here until next Saturday night, because… well… there would be a lot of words.

(More than usual.)

(So I’ll try to be very brief tonight.)

(Which is very similar to a polar bear saying, “I just want to give that seal cub a nice pat on his head and gently set him back in the water.”)


On the 4th of July, I planted geraniums in the morning, because nothing shouts out, “Welcome to summer, Baby!” like deciding to spruce up the great out of doors by planting some flowers halfway through the season.

And then we did some barbecuing with family.  And some barbecuing with friends.  And we seemed to enjoy ourselves thoroughly, while we participated in a little American phenomenon called I ATE ENTIRELY TOO MUCH.

The boy engaged himself in a water fight with his cousin.  I am ashamed to admit that the boy did  not look at R and say, “You know, you’re a GIRL.  And girls are delicate gifts from God, so I will go easy on you.”  People, the boy commits himself to a war exactly like my baby daddy does, which is to say, “It doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or even half his size, he’s going to fight you with everything he has, because HE WANTS TO WIN.”

It’s why Hubs will look at an elderly woman driving a 1971 Caddy who is about to pull out in front of him and prevent him from being FIRST IN LINE ON THE ROAD, and he will shout out, “You don’t want to go there.”  Of course, she can’t hear Hubs, because Hubs is in his own car and not riding shotgun in the Caddy, and because her hearing aides are most likely cranked to OFF, so that she can drive in peace and not take a lot of verbal abuse from Navy SEALs who are driving too fast and passing on corners.

And because of this, I plunged in and fought on R’s side.

And this is where the family has made me promise to publicly admit exactly how I fight:  LIKE A GIRL, apparently.  I played softball my entire life, and prided myself on the small fact that turning a double play was often a piece of cake, and yet… when I was two small feet away from the boy’s back and armed with a water balloon, I missed my target completely.


(*cough, cough*)

Apparently my mad softball skillz do not translate into THROWS WATER BALLOONS WELL.  Y’all would have thought that I’d been nursing the Mike’s Hard Lemonade all day, the way I threw on Wednesday.

This obviously explains why I am not a Navy SEAL.  That and the fact that sitting quietly in the brush for four days straight, waiting for the enemy to walk out of his concrete compound, would have been impossible for me to accomplish.  I would have been all, “When will he come out of his house?”  And, “Who is supposed to shoot him first?”  And, “I have a cramp in my calf from all this sitting.”  And, “What are you thinking, sitting over there so quietly by yourself?”  And, “Could I just sneak off and try to get a chai tea at the nearest Starbucks, if I promise not to be seen by bad guys?”  In retrospect, my inability to aim a water balloon probably has jack-flat NOTHING to do with why I did not choose to be a SEAL.

(Hubs would say, “You didn’t choose not to be a SEAL.  The Navy chose not to LET YOU be a SEAL.”)


At some point during the water fight, my memory card announced that HEY!  FULL!  WE’RE SHUTTING DOWN YOUR ABILITY TO TAKE PICTURES WITH THE CAMERA NOW!  This explains why nothing else resulted in photographic evidence on the 4th of July, which is probably for the best, seeing as how I managed to eat nineteen brownies.

(Or thereabouts.  I quit counting.)

Suffice it to say that there was a lot of eating.  And a lot of playing.  And a lot of talking.  And a lot of fun.  And zero-point-zero additional pictures.

And then on Thursday, guess who officially turned FOUR STINKING MONTHS OLD?

Yes, Thing 2 is four months old.  He grabs things.  He is THISCLOSE to rolling over.  He scoots on his back.  He giggles nonstop.  He giggles hysterically.  He giggles when I tell him, “No.”  He giggles when I tickle him.  And he still is very possibly the worst sleeping baby in the history of babies since Moses was born and floated in a basket down the big river.

Hubs and I are in a sleep-deprivation study, where effects of ALL THE NOT SLEEPING are studied to see how the brain is affected.

The results are that I park the Suburban even worse than I did before.

But even with all the PRECIOUS AWAKE TIME that we have at our house, Hubs and the boy and I love and adore Thing 2.  He’s a honey and a keeper, and I’m really just exaggerating every time I tell him that I’m going to trade him to the gypsies for snake oil and glass beads.

At least, I THINK I’m exaggerating.

And then this weekend, the boy’s buddy, Ben, came up from Small Ranching Community, some 70 miles or so down the interstate, to spend some time with us.

It was so good to have this nutty dude back in our house, because he is one of our favorites around here.

(But don’t tell him that.)

(It just makes him puff his chest out bigger and say, “Of course I’m your favorite, Mama!  How could I not be your very most favorite?”)

(For the record, Ben is not shy.)

(Or even humble.)

(But we love him to the moon and back, regardless.)

The boys spent some quality time building a train track out of Legos, because the boy has a motorized Lego train, which he hasn’t played with in years.  These days, he’s all about building pirate ships and castles with secret rooms in the dungeon.

Trains are so yesterday.

Something sparked the boys’ enthusiasm, though, and out the train came.  And then they built a small tunnel for the track, that was just barely big enough for the train to pass beneath.  And then they put Lego mini-figure guys on top of the train, and ran the train through the tunnel.  And, JUST LIKE IN THE MOVIES, the guy standing on top of the train didn’t make it, and his body had to be shipped home to the other mini-figures in a body bag, so that a funeral could be held.

And this, people?  Well, I have never heard laughter like what I heard this weekend before!  The boys laughed until they gasped and had no breath left to laugh with.  Even Hubs got in on it, and he laughed, too.  (Which is obviously a sign of what sleep-deprivation does to HIS brain.)  And Thing 2 watched the action and giggled like a baby hyena as well.

Apparently smashing Lego mini-figures with a train is something the Y chromosome delights in doing.

Sixteen million and eleven times.

We have the videos to prove it, because yes!  Ben and the boy took videos of all the action until they killed my iPhone’s battery as dead as they killed the little mini-figures.

The rest of my blogging vacation was filled with coffee dates with girlfriends, which was a blessing, because of all the laughing over things completely unrelated to train wrecks.  (Unless you count our lives as possible train wrecks, which yes!  Sometimes I do!)

And I helped Thing 2 work on his flipping over, like a good mama should.

And Hubs and I took the boy out for ICE CREAM FOR DINNER one night, because LAND SAKES, PEOPLE!  He finished reading the John Grisham book, from cover to cover, and he declared it WONDERFUL, and he asked (HE!  ASKED!) if we could please buy the next two books in the series, because of CLIFF HANGER and MISTRIAL, and he cannot wait to see how the murder mystery pans out.  I nearly tripped over my credit card in our quest to get those books ordered from Amazon IMMEDIATELY.  So yes.  We skipped the protein and the vegetables, and we went straight for a dinner of ice cream cones, which thrilled the boy beyond words.

And I spray painted a table, because I’m suddenly in the mood to change the color palette in my house.  If it turns out to be something I fall in love with, I’ll post pictures later this week.  If not, we’ll chop it up for firewood.

And I fried chicken.  BONELESS chicken, because I haven’t had a lobotomy and changed my personality enough to say yes to touching bones.

And I shoveled dirt.  And shoveled dirt.  And shoveled still more dirt, because we have a retaining wall that obviously isn’t going to build itself if I just keep staring at it.  So I took off my Queen’s Tiara this weekend, and I shoveled with the commoners around here.  I would like to go on record and say that shoveling dirt is one of my least-loved jobs.

And Hubs and I sat on the deck.  A lot.

And I did laundry, because people at this house seem to appreciate clean clothes, and no one else knows how to work the washing machine.  Or the dryer.

And there you have it.

Y’all are fully and completely caught up on the life and times of the Jedi Family.

The end, and y’all have a good Monday night.

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