The Post Where Topics Bounce Around Like They’re In A Pinball Machine

I’m not going to lie to you.  I honestly have no idea how our family is going to reemerge into society and schedules and deadlines, come Monday morning when school starts back up.  I love having the boy home from school.  I love having Hubs around more, while he has closed his office for the holidays.  I love not doing the laundry.  I love piddling around the house with my boys, reading books… watching them have races with their remote-controlled helicopters in our house… hearing the laughter of the boy and his friends who have been in and out  over here… marveling over how Thing 2 is growing up so fast… how he now calls me, “Mum-mum-mum” like he’s a British boy…

We’ve simply had no schedule for the past two weeks… no activities outside of the house that we didn’t want to do… no meetings… no nothing.  I could honestly do this forever, except then we’d eventually run out of dollar bills, what with all the NOT WORKING, and we’d all be living in our Suburban, down by the river.  And if that happens, you can bet your sweet, last dollar that I won’t have an outlet for my hairdryer, so my days of Utter Hair Glory will be over.

(And when I say days of Utter Hair Glory, I’m really referring to that time my senior year, when the Aqua Net and the spiral curling iron and the Rave home permanent all worked together as a trifecta of perfection, and then blam!  I went to the library to study.  And also that time last year, when I walked out our front door looking like Cindy Crawford, and then Hubs took me for a ride in his truck.  His truck that has no air conditioning, unless you count WINDOWS DOWN, which he does.  And then I came home looking like Courtney Love, after she’d been baking and got her hair caught in the Kitchen Aide mixer.)

In our quest to just keep everything low-key and all, I offered to stop at McDonald’s this afternoon and pick up a McRib sandwich for Hubs, because Hubs and the McRib are like a boy and his dog.  Or like Bert and Ernie.  Or Hardcastle and McCormick.  Or whatever.  Hubs has a THING for the McRib, even though I assure him a dozen times, “FAKE MEAT PRESSED BENEATH AN IRON THAT’S SHAPED LIKE A RIBCAGE AND SMEARED IN VINEGAR SAUCE!”

That’s the difference between Hubs and me — MEAT.  I have horrible meat issues, and Hubs… does not.

For Christmas, we were given a giant beefalo roast, that was roughly the size of a Volkswagen bus.  We thawed it out… it bled all over my refrigerator… I had to inform Hubs that he was in charge with dealing with the mess, because bleeding meat is right next to bones in my book, which means I DON’T DO IT.  And then yesterday afternoon, I slapped that giant part-cow, part-buffalo into my Dutch oven, only to learn BONE!  BONE!  GIANT BONE IN THE ROAST!  SWEET MOTHER OF JACOB AND ESAU!  THERE’S AN ENORMOUS BONE IN THE MEAT!

I almost gave up and made Ramen noodles.  I consider it a genuine miracle that the thing even got cooked.  When I gasped in the kitchen, the boy immediately looked into the Dutch oven and saw the problem.  He so sweetly asked, “Mom?  Do you want me to cut that bone out for you, while you go sit down for a bit?”

What would I do without that kid?

Hubs and the boy have also become involved in a Duck Dynasty marathon over Christmas break, because Hubs bought the entire first season’s episodes on DVD for our twelve-year-old.  They usually slump in front of the TV every night, laughing until they can’t breathe, over the antics of the Robertson family and their duck calls.  A couple of nights ago, they were watching an episode where Phil and Si went into the school for career day, and showed the children how to chop up a duck and skin a frog for dinner.

I pretty much needed therapy when the show was over, and Hubs and the boy were howling with merriment.

And then the boy announced, “We should go duck hunting, Dad.”

And then both Hubs and the boy assured me that YES!  And INDEED!  They really WOULD try frog legs once.

People, I could never be a vegetarian, but I live in a happy place where meat is sold, completely skinless and boneless, in a Styrofoam package.  After accidentally watching Phil Robertson rip the skin off of a giant frog, I’m pretty sure my retinas were fried and I needed a Valium to calm down.

Anyway, I have no idea where on earth I was even going with this post, because how can a girl start out by saying I LOVE HAVING MY KIDS AND HUSBAND HOME SO MUCH OVER THE HOLIDAYS to WE WATCHED A SHOW WHERE FROGS WERE SKINNED AND A DUCK’S HEAD WAS SEPARATED FROM THE REST OF HIM.

(That was an accident on my part; I never saw the meal preparation coming.)

(Probably because I was playing Words With Friends during the episode, and happened to glance up at exactly the wrong time.)

No matter.  Whether this post makes sense or not (and we’re leaning heavily toward the word NOT tonight), it is what it is.  It’s late (And by late, I mean that it’s 8:00, and goodness!  MeMaw had better start thinking about parking her walker and getting into bed!), and I’m going to hit the PUBLISH button and call it a night.

Y’all have a fantastic weekend, and may all your slow-cooked roasts be completely bone-free.

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