I woke up this morning, determined to get us back into a routine of some kind, which didn’t involve wearing our pajamas until 3:00 in the afternoon and watching video clips on You Tube that made us laugh until we cried. Christmas Vacation has caught us loafing. I had goals today. I figured it would be easier to transition into the whole MAKE A SANDWICH FOR THE LUNCHBOX AND GET THE BOY OUT THE DOOR WITH ALL HIS BOOKS AND GYM CLOTHES next Monday, if we practiced a little this morning.
Which is why I took a shower at 6:30 this morning, and then smiled at Hubs and said, “I have an 8:00 manicure appointment, so have fun with the boys for an hour.”
Because sitting in the early-morning salon, getting your nails done by a professional and drinking a hot beverage totally spells out WELCOME BACK TO THE REAL WORLD.
We’re trying to cope over here at the Jedi Manor. We’ve spent too much time loafing around… too much time laughing hysterically… too much time watching Duck Dynasty… and too much time gorging on all manner of food products that the good Lord probably never intended for the world to eat.
Think, Cheetos. Somehow, I don’t think bright-orange dust on a manufactured chip that’s shaped like a worn-down pencil was part of God’s original plan.
But man shall not live by bread alone, and that is why we had Cheetos. And pizza. And hot dogs. And S’Mores.
Hubs and I did get the boy back from his ski vacation. We felt like we had a teenager who was suited for a private school, complete with a navy blazer and maroon tie, seeing as how we sent him off on a ski vacation. He skied and skied, and happily announced that this was his new sport, which he would do in the winter when he couldn’t golf.
Which, come to think of it, is probably wise, because who skis in the summer anyway?
Hubs and I left Thing 2 behind with my parents, and we drove to Bigger Town to meet the boy. We left early, because we were determined to have a lunch date at a posh restaurant that didn’t serve French fries in a cardboard box or offer you a four-pack of Crayons at the table.
I had a grilled chicken sandwich with avocado that changed my life forever. I didn’t want that sandwich to end.
I may have even licked the plate a little bit there at the end.
And then Hubs and I spent ninety entire minutes in Barnes and Noble, walking around, looking at books. When grown-ups do this without children involved, it is an absolute luxury, because no one says, “Is this ALL we’re going to do today? Oh, my gosh! I’m bored, Mom! Bored! Can we go? Can I have money for a cookie from the cafe? Can I have money for a drink from the cafe? Can I get anything at all from the cafe?”
The boy was quite happy to see us, and he had not had a shower THE ENTIRE TIME HE WAS GONE. Apparently showers on ski vacations are overrated. When I asked the boy why, he simply replied, “Mom, I didn’t even know the condo HAD a shower until the last day we were there.”
Sometimes I wonder what has happened to that Y chromosome, because a girl would have investigated the shower situation before she even unrolled her sleeping bag. There ain’t no way a girl is going to ski all day, every day, for nearly a week without having heated, running water available to her with the twist of a dial.
I hauled my filthy boy into Gap Kids, because listen… We don’t have a Gap Kids in Small Town, because small towns are not notorious for chain shopping. The boy has been PLUM, DADGUM OUT OF jeans that fit. He had himself a growth spurt, and all of his jeans were above his ankles, but he refused to go shopping with me for new jeans. He insisted that THE SHORTS! I CAN WEAR SHORTS ALL YEAR! THEY STILL FIT! But, what with us having access to Gap Kids and all on Sunday, I yanked him in and hissed, “I have spent good money for you to go skiing for days on end, and now you WILL try some jeans on.” And do you know what? That boy didn’t even complain. We scored jeans, too, so WINNER, WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER! I left the mall feeling triumphant and happy and at peace with the world.
We came back to Small Town, picked Thing 2 up, and I was overwhelmed to have all of my people HOME… together. Thing 2 literally and truly and really kissed the boy about 52 times. Apparently that baby had plum missed his big brother, and, whereas he’s usually QUITE STINGY with his kisses, he decided to press 52 of them to the boy’s lips, because BUBBIE IS HOME! BUBBIE IS HOME!
The following day was New Year’s Eve, and the boy’s good friend, Ben, came up from Small Ranching Community to stay with us. Hubs’ parents had a campfire in their driveway, and had all of the cousins, plus Ben, out to roast hot dogs and marshmallows. I took my camera, and the battery was dead. I guess someone was a little trigger-happy over Christmas and drained the juice plum out of it. As a result of my battery-charging negligence, I have no pictures to document ten kids and a baby hanging out around a roaring fire in the driveway.
Also? The boy came up to me and announced, “I’m not even joking, Mom! I have SIX marshmallows in this S’More!” And Ben, who is never one to lose at anything, yelled, “And I have SEVEN marshmallows in mine!” Their S’Mores looked like skyscrapers, and Mother of the Year here let them eat it all.
The boys came back home and made their base camp in front of the TV in our family room; Hubs and I flopped on the bed to watch TV on the big screen that you can see from Mars. At 11:00, I could take it no more, because YES! We really ARE that lame! I told the boys that they should consider going to bed. Apparently the ski exhaustion was still present, because the boy didn’t argue. By 11:15, they were both sound asleep, and so was I.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned as an adult, it’s simply this: If you go to sleep at 11:30 on New Year’s Eve, the new year will still be there in the morning, when you wake up.
Specifically at 5:45, when Thing 2 woke up to celebrate 2013 with a bottle of warm milk.
Our New Year’s Day was spent cleaning all the 9-month size baby clothes out of Thing 2’s closet and dresser, and loading in all the 12-month clothes that we’ve received as hand-me-downs. Thing 2 offered up ALL of his help, so this was a process that literally took the majority of the day. Every time I folded something, Thing 2 unfolded it. Precious times.
And THAT, people, is exactly how we rang in the new year.
Riveting, wasn’t it?
But, Jedi Mama, Inc. is back up and running. You can continue to check in here and find all manner of run-on sentences and outlandish thoughts.
Y’all have a happy Wednesday night, and WELCOME TO 2013! Go on ahead and raise your hand… RAISE IT HIGH!… if you gave up and went to sleep before midnight like we did. My 21-year-old self would have died to hear that YES! And INDEED! One day you will be old… old with children… and you’ll slam back your Metamucil cocktail, turn the lights out at 11:15, and give it up on New Year’s Eve.
And then you’ll have to make one trip out of bed for a Tums, because THE PIZZA! IT’S NOT SITTING WELL!
Being an adult is a ton of fun.