I know that the little cartoon last night was a lame cop-out, but Monday ambushed me from behind, and it took me out at the knees with something a little heavier hitting than a paintball gun.
Which probably explains why I was in bed at 7:50 last night. It was one of those days that I was just ready to give up on, and my bed seemed like a safe haven to escape all the Mondayness.
Plus? The boy LOVED the cartoon last night, so WIN.
The strep throat lingered at our house until 5:00 last night. The boy stayed in bed for the entire day, alternating between sleeping in front of the portable DVD player and hollering in his whispery, I’m-so-dadgum-sick voice, “Can I have a Capri Sun? Can you fill my water bottle up? I think I could try some pizza rolls, if you could bake some for me. Do we have any 7-Up left? Can I have some chicken noodle soup? And not the cans of soup YOU bought, but the cans DAD bought, because I like that flavor better.”
Apparently, not all cans of chicken noodle soup are created equally, and Hubs has pulled off a parenting victory in this arena.
Of course, every time that I opened up the refrigerator to fill the boy’s order, Thing 2 announced, “I would like to try that!” He’s only eight months old, and he hasn’t learned the socially acceptable way of politely asking to try a new dish; he simply stands up, holds on to something and SCREAMS LIKE HE HAS A STICK IN HIS EYE AND IS ON FIRE that YES! He’d like a sip of that Capri Sun that’s about to exit the kitchen! We learned that Thing 2 ADORES Capri Suns yesterday, and he drank an entire one out of his sippy cup. He also loves pizza rolls. He also loves chicken noodle soup. He also loves maple and brown sugar oatmeal. THAT meal bloated his stomach up like an upside down camel, let me tell you. He insisted that he was definitely man enough to eat the entire bowl, even though the entire bowl is how much Hubs would eat for breakfast, if Hubs actually ate breakfast. And when it was over, Thing 2 looked like a whale that had been washed up on the beach, and he sat and smiled at us through his food coma. And then he slept for twelve hours and fifteen minutes last night, so I may be feeding him a big bowl of Quaker Oats EVERY night for his dinner.
Hubs took my Suburban yesterday, since I was trapped at home with my sick patient, because he wanted to drop it off and have the tires rotated. Who thinks of doing things like that? It’s why I have Hubs. It’s all I can do to remember to feed the cats on a regular basis. I’m here to tell you that I think about moving the tires around on my vehicle about as often as I think about parallel universes.
We’ve had what Hubs likes to call “a slow leak” in one of the Suburban’s tires, so zipping in to the gas station and airing up has become a weekly task. When Hubs came home last night, he announced that the “slow leak” was due to a giant nail impaled in our tire, and that he had to buy a new one.
I don’t know about y’all, but buying new tires is not a shopping trip that I relish. In fact, it’s right up there with having my upper lip waxed and buying shingles for the roof. Yesterday morning I had four round, black tires. Last night I had four round, black tires. The only difference between those four tires was that I was $200 poorer at dinnertime. I was thoroughly disappointed with this expenditure, and asked Hubs, “Why couldn’t they just patch the tire?” Hubs assured me that it was unpatchable. I said, “But Jesus saves! Jesus redeems! Surely we could have nursed that tire along and saved it somehow!” Hubs’ philosophy is that sometimes Jesus calls a tire home and asks that you bury it on a hillside in Bethlehem.
And sometimes He calls your goldfish home, too, because DEAD FISH IN THE TANK THIS MORNING. I wish that FISH was used in the singular form there, but it was the pluralized version of FISH, because YES! Two fish were floating this morning. It must’ve been something in the water. (Pun not intended.) (Actually, I think it was something NOT in the water, because I think there was a blockage in the bubble maker, and I think that the oxygen level in the water went to zilch. Thankfully, SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST! The boy still has one swimming friend left.) (And is it acceptable in the world of good English professors to use back-to-back parentheses? Because I just did. Three times.) I think those fish had strokes this morning when they heard that we were shelling out two hundred, backed-with-the-gold, American dollars on A TIRE, and their gills quit all the working.
A tire, people! I’m not sure there’s a more boring purchase in existence, regardless of the fact that Hubs would disagree. When Hubs was single, the four tires and rims on his truck cost more than my ENTIRE CAR did. And he was flat-out stinking proud of those big tires! They had a brand name and everything, which wasn’t the only tire name I know: Goodyear. They were called Mickey Thompsons, and apparently you can have four of those or put in a cash offer on Graceland.
Hubs assured me that the $200 spent yesterday was for a generic tire, and not a precious Mickey Mouse tire, even though I think tires should cost more along the lines of $25. Are we in a black rubber crisis as a nation? Because I’m thinking that $200 would buy a fantastic gray rug for my living room. And also? If I spend $200 on a tire, of all the crazy things, then I expect to get FOUR of them, and I expect them to come with a lobster dinner for two and some property with water rights. Because MY WORD at all the EXPENSIVE!
Thankfully, the perk of yesterday (beyond the five loads of laundry that I did and all the Clorox I used to disinfect this house from the strep throat germs) is that the boy rolled out of bed last night at 5:00 with the single worst bedhead I’ve ever seen him wear. His hair was sticking up in thirty-nine different directions, but he announced, “I’m back to normal now, Mom.” And THAT sentence was music to my ears. He joined us at the table for dinner, and laughed along with us while Thing 2 devoured his oatmeal and made appreciative humming noises while he was scarfing it down. And then the boy did a little bit of science homework, before moving himself and his thick, fuzzy blanket to the family room, where he and Hubs watched a DVR’ed episode of folks who stuff expensive gear into a big duffel bag and set out at night with their cameras, hoping to catch a giant gorilla and shush the naysayers.
Because I love a good television episode on Big Foot as much as I love a new tire, I just went to bed last night.
And I accidentally left a load of towels in the washing machine, which had to be rewashed today, but listen: I think about laundry only slightly more than I think about rotating my tires.
Y’all have a great Tuesday…