We are on Spring Break here in Small Town, USA. This means that we don’t have to set the alarm clock, which really doesn’t matter, because Thing 2 is going to get up between 6:00 and 6:15 EVERY. SINGLE. MORNING. He has a fifteen minute window, and he hits it seven days out of seven.
So I guess the fact that we don’t have to set the alarm clock really means nothing.
We haven’t set an alarm clock since last March.
Being on Spring Break also means that I don’t have to sit in the gym and tie sneakers for small children. Oh, I’ll miss them… I do love my classes. But let me assure you that when your entire class keeps all of their PE shoes in a Rubbermaid tub that is left in the gym, things start to get a little rank.
And by a little rank, I mean that sometimes when we have a lost shoe, and I have to lift a tub’s lid to go on a reconnaissance mission, I want to die a little and shove my nose into a bottle of Vicks VapoRub, just to make the stench GO AWAY ALREADY.
A tub of PE shoes is a breeding ground for foul smells.
And then, months ago, Sister and Sister’s Husband, along with some mutual friends of ours, got the brilliant idea to take the kids to Disneyland over Spring Break. They invited us to join them. They had travel packages… hotel accommodations… lunch with the princesses… and a beach day completely scheduled out.
And then we said, “Um… we can’t.”
Because why? Because we are going to invest our Disneyland fund into a bunch of metal that will go into the boy’s mouth. We told him, “Disney lasts for a week, sweetheart; straight teeth will last you a lifetime, especially since you don’t play hockey.”
Hubs and I are taking the boy to the orthodontist tomorrow, and we suspect that braces are about to happen. We’ve been waiting for three years for his eye teeth to move into place and for his bottom jaw to do some growing. We have diligently gone to the orthodontist every six months for jaw measurements and X-rays to see where the eye teeth are hiding. The orthodontist has made some guesses that THIS APPOINTMENT will be the one where the white flag drops and the light turns green. We’re pretty sure we’re going to get the go-ahead to alert our insurance company and drain our savings account, until said savings account echos with all the emptiness.
Our orthodontist has been looking at ski condos in Aspen on his computer. The boy’s mouth is going to single-handedly pay for his second home anywhere. It’s what happens when your bottom jaw is extraordinarily small, and your teeth are great big.
Sister and our friends texted me this evening from the heart of Disneyland and said, “Wish you were here! WE SAW A MOVIE STAR! WE HAD OUR PICTURES TAKEN WITH HER! WE ARE BEING VERY TOURISTY!”
And yes. Apparently that was true. They named the movie star, and listen. I’m pathetic, because I didn’t even know who she was. She wasn’t Sandra Bullock. She wasn’t Jennifer Garner. She wasn’t Reese Witherspoon or Julia Roberts or Sally Field. I had no idea who she was, and I can’t even recall her name now, and it just qualifies me as being rather sad and elderly.
I know this for a fact, because when I was in high school, my own dear mama didn’t know the names of everyone in Duran Duran, and I couldn’t figure out how she carried on with life.
I texted Sister and our friend back and said, “Listen. Don’t be jealous, but I’m actually at the laundromat right this very second, washing six loads of laundry, because our hill of dirty clothes has gotten away from me. It turned into something as unshakeable as Mount Zion.”
And then I added, “There are two rednecks here who keep talking to me and calling me ‘Sis,’ which is all very endearing. If I wasn’t already married to Hubs, and if I could get them both in to see a good dentist, I might consider dating one of them.”
Oh, I kid, people. I have Hubs. And Hubs said JUST THIS VERY MORNING, “You saved me from a life of solitude. If I hadn’t married you, I’m pretty sure I could be a character on Swamp People. I’d sit in my cabin on the bayou and play my banjo on the porch. And sometimes I’d probably hunt alligators and spit tobacco juice out of the gap that my missing teeth left behind.”
I’m sorry, girls, but Hubs is taken.
And so are his brothers.
The good news is that I accomplished SIX ENTIRE LOADS of laundry in an hour and a half tonight. I feel like an organized woman once again. I feel like an Olympic gold medalist. And then I came home with everything folded and smelling of Downy, and I wondered if my family wouldn’t mind just going naked for a week or so. I’d like to enjoy the feeling of HEY! ALL THE LAUNDRY IS CAUGHT UP! for more than ten minutes.
Because that’s exactly how long it lasted. When I came home and the boy discovered that I had finally washed the Abercrombie sweatshirt I peeled off of his body after he’d worn it for six straight days to school, he immediately shed the Under Armour sweatshirt he’d been wearing… tossed it into the dirty clothes… and put his beloved A&F sweatshirt with the bleach stains on the sleeve on his person.
And that, people, is how a big hill of laundry starts.
Y’all have a fantastic Sunday evening. If you need me, I’ll be Googling the phrase “MOVIE STARS I DON’T KNOW,” so that I can bring myself into the world of current pop culture.