Back In The Saddle… Back To The Blog… We’re Getting Ready For Real Life Around Here, As School Starts A Week From Today

I know.

There was no new post last night, which makes two people wonder if all is well at my house.  The rest of y’all are like SWEET RELIEF!  WE WON’T HAVE TO WADE THROUGH SENTENCES THAT ARE SO GRAMMATICALLY SLAUGHTERED WE WANT TO WRAP THEM IN YELLOW CRIME TAPE AND INVESTIGATE… GET A PROFILE STARTED ON THE AUTHOR… ORDER IN SANDWICHES FROM A LOCAL DELI, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT THEY DO IN CRIME SHOWS WHERE A DECENT SLAUGHTERING HAS HAPPENED.

Hubs and I had a date last night.  We saw the new Jason Bourne movie, and I can’t even tell you the title of it, because I didn’t pay that much attention to it in the beginning when we went.  I just knew it was NEW and was probably going to flop in my mind, because the real Jason Bourne wasn’t in it, and goodness!  How was I going to deal with THAT?  I probably wasn’t going to like the new guy, and I probably wasn’t going to be able to follow the story line, as I delved into the process of picking popcorn out of a bag of hot, melted butter and wiping my hands on a stack of napkins stolen from the concession stand after every bite.

(Not that I stole the napkins after every bite.  I wiped my hands after every bite.  I thought I should be clear.  I steal the napkins in the beginning.  I like to do it when the teenage employees aren’t looking, because that’s really the definition of being a thief, but it’s also because I feel guilty taking twenty-nine paper napkins out of the metal canister.  It makes me feel like a hoarder who stuffs her purse with pink-paper sugar packets, hot sauce packets from Taco Bell and napkins.  But then I figure for the amount of extra butter that I have asked for, I’m going to need something in the JUST BRING A ROLL OF BOUNTY PAPER TOWELS department.)

(And then, SURPRISE!  When we got to the theater, I told Hubs, “I’m thinking CHOCOLATE COVERED ALMONDS.”  Because why not?  I have ordered them exactly zero-point-zero times from the concession stand, because my love affair with movie theater popcorn runs true and deep.  Hubs was a bit taken aback, because ALMONDS?  Who was this woman he was dating?  I rarely throw a curve ball into anything; I stick with the tried and true.  Boring Betty.)

But I’m here to tell y’all that the new Jason Bourne (who isn’t really named Jason at all, but Aaron Cross) is every bit as good at surviving wolf attacks and cutting his own leg wide open to take out the tracking device that has been implanted there as the old Jason was.  I was relieved.  Plus, Aaron can ride a dirt bike through the crowded streets of an Asian city at break-your-neck-in-half speeds while being chased by an assassin AND keep the girl on the seat behind  him.

I told Hubs, “For the record, I would have fallen off of that bike after the first corner.  And then I would have sat with my broken collar bone in the street and barfed from the motion sickness and the pain.”

And Hubs said, “I know you would have, Honey.  Your survival instincts are non-existent.”

Which isn’t entirely true, because Carrie showed me how to find a nearby Starbucks, no matter WHERE I AM AT ON THE PLANET, with just a couple of touches to my iPhone.  I’m pretty good at it, too.  So really?  SURVIVAL INSTINCTS RIGHT THERE!  And I didn’t have to wrestle a wolf to the ground to stay alive.

So the official movie review from Jedi Mama, Inc. is this:  Go see the JASON-BOURNE-ISN’T-IN-THIS-ONE flick, because yes.  It is pretty decent.  But, as a side note, if the motion sickness is strong in you, you might just go on ahead and slip a Dramamine or eight into your purse, because the motorcycle chase at the end takes a few thousand turns.

Just thinking about it makes me crave a Dramamine right now.

After the movie last night, Hubs and I also ventured into Walmart with no children, which spells EASY!  Thing 2’s carseat wasn’t taking up the entire cart, making a second cart a necessity and not a luxury of having too many American dollars and being able to just shop the store for your month’s worth of food and toilet paper all at once and not return until the first of October.  Plus, the boy wasn’t there to say things like, “Can we get this?  Can we get this?  Can we get THIS?  What about THIS?”

And then we ran into every manner of friends, because apparently it was SHOP YOUR LOCAL SUPER-CENTER SUNDAY EVENING.  And listen, Walmart.  I think it would be relatively dandy if you’d consider installing a little coffee shop dead-center in your store, with a couple of tables, so that when I run into Becki, we can just go on ahead and have a seat and get ourselves no-water chai lattes while we catch up and chat.  Women everywhere consider this idea a golden egg that has gone uncooked.

So THAT is a whole lot of words to say, “No new post last night.”

But our weekend was a good one, even though the boy is now officially registered, signed-up, checked-in, and orientated for the local junior high school.  I have no idea how this happened, because I just gave birth to him yesterday, and here he is, twelve years old and comparing the merits of Hurley shorts over Quicksilver shorts with his buddies.

(That coming from a boy who has always considered a black cape tied around his neck to be the ultimate height of fashion.)

(Apparently that changed on Friday.)

On Friday morning, we picked up Quinn and met Enzo at the junior high school for orientation.  I wore my Brave Girl Game Face and tried not to bawl over the fact that elementary school was finished.  I also took my camera, because WHY WOULDN’T I?  I told the boys to scootch together outside for a 6th GRADE ORIENTATION PHOTO OPP, and then I promised them that if they smiled nicely, I wouldn’t take the camera inside the school and embarrass them by saying things like, “Now could you all pose by your lockers?  And by the door to your first period classroom?  And with the principal?”

We also ran into McKinley and her family in the parking lot.  I want to adopt McKinley and her sisters.  I love them to bits, so of course I’d take a picture.  But the REAL REASON for THIS PARTICULAR PHOTO is this:  Just go on ahead and look at McKinley’s sneakers.

I covet them, because of LOVE, LOVE, HOLY COW! LOVE!

Hubs seemed to mumble words about not dating me any longer if I buy myself a pair of Nikes that look like they’ve been plugged into an electrical outlet.

After we had toured the school and found the classrooms and introduced ourselves to the 6th grade counselor and chatted with thirty-nine different families, Enzo’s mama, Evelyn, and I took the boys to the golf course for lunch on the patio.

They all had cheeseburgers that were bigger than their heads, and they each ate the entire thing, because a 6th grade boy can do some damage to some lunch.

And then we turned them loose and sent them off to golf nine holes for the rest of the afternoon.

Evelyn and I sat on the patio for a while longer, after the boys had set off to smack golf balls into little flagged holes, and we contemplated whether it was too early or not to order wine to drink our WE’RE HEADED TO THE JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL IN A WEEK sorrows in.

We opted out of the wine and had lemon water instead.

And then I went home, and listen.  Thing 2 and I had some SERIOUS PLAY TIME together, and his little jeans kept falling off of him.  While I wrestled him around on our living room sofa and made him laugh ridiculously loud, I kept thinking to myself, “These jeans are weird today; they won’t stay on your body!”

And then we decided to meet a friend for coffee, so I put Thing 2 in his carseat.

And I think I discovered the issue with the jeans on Friday.

His mama is college educated.  I’d like to go on the record and state that.  It helps to know that, because obviously she couldn’t see that her son was having some mermaid tail issues!

After coffee a good no-water chai, I met up with Hubs, which was nice.  Hubs had been out of town all week last week, and WELCOME HOME!  And then we went out and collected the boys from the golf course.  They were happy, and sweaty, and thirsty.

The boys all played with Thing 2 while Hubs and I sat and talked with Enzo’s dad.  Thing 2 thinks he’s one of the big boys.  He’s five months old, going on twelve.  I flat-out LOVE how much the boy’s friends adore Thing 2, and how they include him in everything they do, as much as they can.

Thing 2 also decided that Quinn’s knee was worth chewing on for a while.  Quinn wasn’t even startled by the amount of baby drool that ran down his leg.

The rest of our weekend was kind of low-key.

Hubs and the boy built his remote-controlled car, which involved assembling six million pieces and getting wires fused together and welding the flux capacitor into the right spot.

My family room spent a lot of time looking like this:

That’s a monster car garage, right there, people.

The car was finished enough to test-drive it later on Saturday morning…

…in the pajama bottoms.

(Because apparently Hurley shorts rock the world and put Quicksilver to shame, but streaking through the neighborhood in nothing but jammies is still acceptable.)

Also?

Well, that car is fast.  I had no idea that it was going to be able to outrun my Suburban in speed.  Jason Bourne and Aaron Cross would have been proud.

As was Hubs.

And the dirt?  Well, that’s our backyard.

You’re welcome for that, Neighborhood!  We give everyone a prime opportunity to win the Best Yard In The Cul De Sac contest.

Y’all have a good Monday night.  This time next week, the boy will be telling me all about his first day at the junior high.

I feel sick to my stomach about that.  It’s a lot like staying alive on the back of a dirt bike when it’s dodging buses and SUVs at top speed.

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