My Heart’s On Fire, For Elvira!

So yesterday was my birthday, and that’s kind of like a holiday, so BINGO!  I got a free pass card from writing up a post for the blog last night.

And really?  I wasn’t even going to mention that it was my birthday, because do grown-ups do that?  Aren’t we all just supposed to chat with someone who DOESN’T KNOW what the day is, as if it isn’t our birthday, because do adults really interrupt a conversation with someone to say, “By the way, it’s my birthday today.  That’s why I’m wearing this sparkly silver headband and these fantastic shoes”?

Actually, I didn’t wear a sparkly silver headband, because I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that, even though I love a good headband, all they do is squeeze my head like a vice and leave me looking good… with a nasty headache.  But the Lord did show His favor to me yesterday, and the hot rollers did their magic, so it was a good hair day, minus the glitter accessories.

And all I have to say is that I really do remember a time when people who had crossed the threshold of 40 were known as the parents of my friends.  They certainly weren’t people I hung out with… or had coffee with.  And yet, here I am, walking into my forties, and all I can say is, WOWZER.

And it’s also the reason that I know every! single! word! to the song Elvira.

Oom poppa, oom poppa, mow, mow.

But yes.  Our weekend was a good one, as the weekends around here tend to be.

On Thursday, I had lunch with Becki, and we were most certainly NOT done talking when Thing 2 announced, “My baby ADHD is about to explode with some fireworks in the background, because BORED!”  So we did what any set of good mothers would do.  We strapped Thing 2 into his carseat, and we drove thirty entire miles to Smaller Town, USA, so that we could keep on with all the talking, while Thing 2 napped in the car.  Later, when I told Hubs about our afternoon, he said, “You drove thirty miles?  And got off the exit ramp, and back on the entrance ramp, so that you could drive another thirty miles going in the opposite direction?”

I don’t think he even pretends to understand girls.

But the honest truth is that Becki and I had a lovely time on Thursday, and what’s the price of a little gas to keep the conversation going?

(Except I actually AM old enough to remember when gas was less than $1 a gallon.)

(Which probably explains why I seem to have a couple of squiggly lines around my lips these days.  I like to just refer to them as my LAUGHTER GROOVES.)

On Friday, after putting up with TEETHING!  TEETHING!  SWEET MERCY, WHEN WILL THE TEETHING COMPLICATIONS EVER END?! for several days, I finally LOOKED at Thing 2 with the blinders off of my eyes.  He was sitting on the kitchen floor, fussing like I do when Starbucks announces, “I’m sorry; we’re out of chai tea today,” and he was yanking on his left ear.

Oh, he’d been yanking on that ear all week, but isn’t that what babies do when they bust three teeth in over the course of seven days?

So I called the doctor.  We scheduled an appointment.  And when Dr. B. looked into Thing 2’s left ear, she took a step backwards and said, “Oh… my… That is one VERY UGLY ear infection!”  And then she asked how his RIGHT ear was, and I said, “Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s fine, because he hasn’t even touched that one.”  Dr. B. took a peek anyway, because that’s what doctors do, and then she said, “Well… Don’t be surprised if you see a discharge coming out of this ear today, because that ear drum is about to burst wide open.”

Which just confirms the judges’ ruling that I should be eliminated in JANUARY, of all the months, for the Mother of the Year, ’13 award.

So we came home with a diagnosis of DOUBLE EAR INFECTIONS, and we were loaded down with the antibiotics.  Thing 2 spent the rest of the afternoon moaning and groaning, while I assured him that I was a horrible mother, and that I promised not to excuse ear-pulling as teeth-getting ever again.  Amen.

We were supposed to have dinner with some friends on Friday night, but we threw down our pass card, because DOUBLE EAR INFECTIONS and MUCH MOANING AND WHINING and  THE BABY DOESN’T FEEL WELL, EITHER.  Since it was the boy’s buddy Quinn’s family, Quinn’s mama said, “Oh, goodness!  Kiss that baby for us, and how about we steal the boy for a while?”

So off the boy went for a dinner of shrimp linguine, which he declared to be his ALL-TIME MOST FAVORITE FOOD OF EVER, EVER, EVER.

On Saturday, we had lunch with Hubs’ parents, because Birthday Weekend had started, even though the boy and Hubs kept insisting that it’s called BirthDAY and not Birthday Weekend.  We ate at a smokehouse, where they serve burgers the size of Texas, and the boys were gems at the table.  Thing 2 ate more than his brother did, because Thing 2 is AN EATER.

On Saturday night, we hopped on over to Deb and Tony’s house, because the boy’s buddy, John, was in town, and everyone was eating dinner over there.  We passed the boy off to John and his mama, and a fun-filled overnight adventure was begun.

Hubs and I came back home and went to bed early, because I was on the very brink of being considerably older, and I wanted to behave like an old woman should.

(Except my lap afghan and I missed Murder, She Wrote on rerun, because we were at Deb’s, laughing our heads off.)

(And yes, by Saturday night, the antibiotics had kicked in and done some miraculous things, so Thing 2 was back to his varsity game of orneriness.)

And on Sunday, I was older.  Thing 2 woke me up at 5:30 to celebrate.  Hubs brought me a chai tea from Starbucks at 6:15 yesterday morning.  We sat in our living room, watching Thing 2 play, and sipping our hot beverages with the fireplace on, because MeMaw was a bit chilled.  It was a perfect birthday morning, even though the boy was gone.

After forty-five minutes of this, the hot flash hit me hard, and I told Hubs, “I’m sweating to death!  I’ve got to get that fireplace turned off!  I’ve got to get outside!  I need a cold shower!”

Because apparently older women are also known for their hot flashes.

And their sudden mood changes.

We went to church, and then we came home.  Thing 2 took a nap.  Hubs took a nap.  I sat on the sofa with the fireplace running, because I was cold again, and read a book.

And then we went to dinner last night with my family.  Although it’s always so fun to hang out with everyone, it became apparent right from the get-go that Thing 2’s LONG NAP yesterday afternoon had FULLY RECHARGED him.  It was like having a twenty-two pound baby billy goat at the table.  He ate food off of everyone’s plate.  He was especially fond of my grilled salmon, Mam’s wild rice, Pa’s dinner roll, and the boy’s chocolate pie.  Thing 2 ate and ate and ate.  And then he became an octopus, and began clearing the table with all eight of his arms.  He shouted.  He shouted LOUDLY.  He jumped.  He stood up in his high chair.  He waved at neighboring diners.  He threw his binky across the table.  He threw his sippy cup on the floor.

And Cousin H, who is three months older than Thing 2, sat very politely in her high chair and took it all in.  She barely ate anything.  She snacked a little bit from her daddy’s dinner plate, and then she marveled at Thing 2’s distended gut from all the carbs and salmon he’d ingested.  And then she kept shaking her head, “No, no” at him, because PULL THE REIGNS BACK, HAROLD, and BEHAVE ALREADY!

I cannot even tell you how close I came from taking my fancy scarf off and using it to TIE Thing 2 to his high chair.

Hubs snapped a picture of me and Thing 2 yesterday morning, because I’m NEVER in front of the camera; I’m always BEHIND the camera, taking the pictures.  I wish the boy had been there to jump in with us, but he was off gallivanting with his buddy.

(The boy DID show up later, and he gave me a bag of pretzel M&Ms for my birthday.  Life was perfect!)

Y’all have a terrific Monday night.

I’m just going to take myself to bed, still humming Elvira, which has been stuck in my head since the beginning of this blog post.

Oom poppa, oom poppa, mow, mow…

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