Is the weekend finished already? Because, honestly? I think that’s pretty much what a Sunday evening and a Bronco loss seem to indicate. Tomorrow, the life of quiet luxury will be over, and we’ll be back to beating the snooze buttons and trading time to spritz up our personal appearances with sleeping for just fifteen more minutes.
(I do that all the time. I think to myself before I go to bed, “Tomorrow I will use the hot rollers and the iron, and I will look put together, wrinkle-free and assembled.” And then the morning actually comes, and I have no idea what I was really thinking, because who was the crazy woman the night before who had those big plans? And then I end up laying in my bed, playing mental mind tricks with the clock to JUST STICK AT THAT TIME FOR A BIT LONGER, and then I run around the house like a pheasant being chased down by the neighbor’s Labrador because of RUNNING BEHIND! RUNNING BEHIND!, and I end up with the wash-and-go look, which is not so much a look, as it is a way of life.)
(And something else? We haven’t had an alarm clock go off in this house since Thing 2 arrived. Thing 2 makes the alarm clock obsolete.)
We started our weekend with some soccer, because do you know what I like to do on a Friday night? I like to dig through the dirty clothes hamper to produce the boy’s soccer jersey, because WHO HAD TIME FOR LAUNDRY THIS WEEK?, and then try to remember if I am the mother on duty for snacks or not, and then I like to just head on out to a soccer game. Because do you know what else I could be doing at 5:30 on a Friday night? Sitting on my sofa, wearing my yoga pants and wondering why Small Town, USA doesn’t have an entire string of decent restaurants that have a delivery service.
(For the record, my old college self just died a little at the realization of my present-day self.)
The soccer game turned out to be quite fun, even though the boy’s team lost, 0 to 6. I say that like the other team was full of Olympic, David Beckham athletes who kicked the snot out of our boys, but listen. The opponents on Friday night had TOMMY. Tommy is all they needed, and Tommy scored all six of those goals BY! HIM! SELF! Basically, it was The Boy’s Team, 0; Tommy, 6. And if Tommy wasn’t such a great kid, we might have hired a hitman to rough him up a bit after the game, but the honest truth is that we actually LIKE Tommy. We like him a lot.
We just like him better when he doesn’t score six goals against us.
After the soccer game, we came home and listened to Small Town High’s football game on the radio, as they were on the road this week.
They won. We cheered.
On Saturday, the boy’s good buddy, Ben, was playing football at home in Small Ranching Community, seventy miles down the interstate, and we decided to go watch his game. It was the most perfect afternoon for football of ever. The air was warm and crisp, all at the same time, and there isn’t anything like a small-town football game and the smell of burgers cooking at the concession stand to thrill my heart. Oh, Fall! Let me count the ways that I love you!
Naturally, I brought my camera, and Ben knew that I would!
My word, but we do love this punk!
We spent the entire game yelling out, “Go, Six-Six!” Ben had his very own cheering section, as Hubs and our boys sat on the bleachers with Ben’s parents and both sets of his grandparents. Ben didn’t disappoint us, either, because Ben enjoys knocking players down on the field, and he did a whole lot of it.
The boy and Thing 2 had a ton of fun watching the game.
The only problem is that Thing 2 threw some attitude down on Saturday, and told Isaac, “Are you crowding me? Don’t crowd me on the bleachers! You’ve got plenty of room over there.” Poor Isaac. All he was doing was trying to watch the game and eat his granola bar.
(Hubs and I are working on Thing 2’s fiery spirit.)
(And also? Well, Isaac is so stinking cute, I want to steal him.)
Well, when the boy was born, he was a preemie who couldn’t breathe, so he was life-flighted out of Small Town, USA to a bigger and better hospital in Bigger Town. When we were there, we met a family whose baby boy, Noah, had been born the day before, and he was also a preemie. He and the boy had side-by-side incubators for the entire time that the boy was there.
And, twelve years later, GUESS WHO WE RAN INTO AT THE FOOTBALL GAME IN SMALL RANCHING COMMUNITY?!
Noah and his sweet mama! It was an ENORMOUS surprise.
We talked enough to lose our voices, and the boy and Noah watched the game together, and they swapped cell phone numbers and discussed everything, from Legos to football plays and favorite pizza toppings.
When we finally hugged everyone good-bye and hit the open road, Thing 2 was exhausted. Hubs and I were convinced he’d fall asleep before we pulled out of the parking lot at the football field.
He talked and kept on cheering for the game for the next seventy miles of interstate driving.
We also listened to the College Town football game on the radio on our way home, and WE WON IN OVERTIME! Hubs and I whooped as loudly as Thing 2 was doing.
When we were back home, we stopped in to see Hubs’ grandma, because yesterday she turned 92. She celebrated with chicken cordon blue for dinner and Lawrence Welk on the TV.
That’s exactly how I want to ring in 92.
Thing 2 stayed awake until 8:30 last night. It will always be remembered as the day that the baby NEVER TOOK AN AFTERNOON NAP.
This morning, we went to church, and our 18-pound squirrel fidgeted up a storm during the sermon, but he did use his indoor voice. Sometimes life with a baby is all about compromise.
(“Yes, dear, you can squirm like a bug in a bathtub with a hairdryer, as long as you talk quietly with your indoor voice.”)
Today will be the day that will always be remembered as the day that the baby never took a morning nap.
The answer is YES. I have some serious concerns about this I KNOW I’M ONLY SIX MONTHS OLD, BUT LOOK, MA! I CAN GO MANY CONSECUTIVE HOURS WITHOUT A NAP, SO I MAY JUST GIVE THEM UP ENTIRELY routine. The boy was three years old when he stopped napping; Thing 2 seems to be leaning in that direction a bit earlier.
After church, with a perfect Football Trifecta behind us, Hubs hoped that the Broncos would do as well as Small Town High and Ben’s team and College Town had all done.
The real problem started at 2:00, when the Broncos were supposed to be on TV, and Hubs found Miami and New York on their channel. This went on for the entire first quarter of Denver’s game, and Hubs pretty much needed a paper sack to breathe in and out of. He rolled around on the sofa in our family room, moaning “I. Am. Missing. My game.”
I don’t know WHY, because when the game finally did start, already in progress, the Broncos lost. I told Hubs exactly what changes I would make, if I could be their head coach. I’d share those changes with you, but I’d better keep them to myself, because I hate to name names on the World Wide Web.
I’d be giving the shepherd’s hook to some players, though.
And then I’d draft other players.
And MY Bronco team would win.
I have no idea why the head coaching staff in Denver hasn’t asked me for my roster ideas and my game plan yet. They’re brilliant. And I know that it would work, because Hubs’ mood is dependent upon the Bronco game outcome each week, so I know who needs to play in order to keep the man happy.
And then Thing 2 went to bed in his crib at 6:30 tonight. When you go all weekend without napping, Sunday night will bring about a grenade explosion, as far as your mood goes. When the grenade explodes, your parents throw their hands up in the air and holler out, “Fine! You are going straight to bed!”
Which is where you wanted to be in the first place.
Oh, to be six months old again.
And that, people, was our weekend.
We’ll see y’all back here tomorrow night for the same level of dysfunctional, poorly-written sentences that you’ve come to expect at Jedi Mama, Inc.