Do you know what I DON’T like?
I don’t like big, raw tomatoes. I don’t like science fiction books. I don’t like mud, porta-potties, Rival Town’s high school football team, cottage cheese, dirty dishes in my kitchen sink or JUMPING MY CLOCKS FORWARD AN ENTIRE HOUR, to accommodate Daylight Savings Time.
People, this time change has dealt horribly with me, even though I made good mental stabs at pretending it’s no big deal. Apparently my subconscious mind is even smarter than I had thought, because IT KNOWS that I’m trying to trick it.
Well. Thing 2 is not on a friendly level with this time change, either. I suppose part of that is our fault, since Hubs and I joined our good friends, Scott and Christy, on their new deck, at their new house, for a barbecue last night, along with Sister and Sister’s nutty husband.
(Yes. We had dinner on the deck. Which is outside. In March. In Small Town, USA.)
(That’s basically unheard of, but apparently Small Town thinks it’s in Florida these days, because SIXTY DEGREES, PEOPLE!)
(And Small Town isn’t in Florida, but we’ll take all the pretending it wants to give to us.)
(Except we quit pretending about spring today, because of SNOW! SNOW! SNOW! Go figure.)
What with all the fun conversations, and the hysterical laughter, and the red wine, and the delicious, grilled burgers, and the homemade sugar cookies with FOUR ENTIRE STICKS OF BUTTER, and the big boys all jumping on the trampoline and building medieval maces in Scott’s shop out of lumber scraps so that they could smash soda cans flat as pancakes, we had no desire to tromp through the pretend-spring mud and slop and go back home.
So Thing 2 managed to stay up an hour later than normal last night. And then he got up an hour earlier than normal this morning. Those two things became a deadly combination, which means that Thing 2 spent the morning standing around, with his head thrown back, bawling. His sobs told me, “I’m just a one-year-old, and I’m exhausted, but I refuse to take a nap, and I don’t want anything to eat, and I don’t want to play, because… did you hear? I am exhausted! What can you do for a guy in my shoes?”
Military school was my first thought.
Finding a good photo of him to spruce up the auction listing when I put him on eBay was my second thought.
Taking Hubs up on the fact that he’s always said he wishes he could be a stay-at-home dad was my third thought.
(But then I remembered that if Hubs stays home, I have to rejoin the full-time work force, because we enjoy having things like electricity and running water and Pop Tarts. I’m not sure if there are any jobs available to me that pay an attorney’s salary without me actually having to step foot in law school first, so I pretty much scrapped the third idea, and spent the morning pondering the first two thoughts.)
Even though he was about as happy as a bear who has just stepped out of hibernation to realize that someone has SHAVED ALL HIS HAIR OFF, and the nearby river is fresh out of salmon, Thing 2 and I managed to knock out some chores this morning.
And? Look at him! He wore his handed-down-to-me-from-Oliver-and-Kellan Crocs today. Now, I won’t argue the fact that Crocs on an adult look a little weird sometimes. Usually, I think grown-ups should just save Crocs for their gardening, running outside to water the potted plants, and sitting on the deck, sipping Lime-a-Ritas. But? On a one-year-old? Well, Crocs are flat out ADORABLE! In fact, they’re so cute, they make me smile all day long.
(Even more partying than sitting on Christy’s deck with Sister, and talking about full-out dyeing your hair verses just getting the highlights, the love affair we all have with a good pair of jeans that required a substantial monetary investment, and the fact that some people are going to Disneyland and / or Hawaii for Spring Break, while some people are putting braces on their twelve-year-old for Spring Break.)
(Sadly, I didn’t have my camera last night, so there are no snapshots of the boys with mud up to their calves, swinging their homemade Viking weapons.)
Thing 2 grew up and turned one last Tuesday. As our horrid luck would have it, the boy was off at the state science fair that day, so we waited for him to come home at 5:30 that evening, so we could begin the party.
Mam and Pa came over to drop off some gifts for Thing 2, before poor Mam went down with the stomach flu in a wicked, awful way.
(We’re sorry that Thing 2 gave you all his puking, Mam! That strain of the stomach flu makes you wish someone would just smack you in the head with a good brick.)
Later that evening, after we’d FINALLY gotten to pick the boy up from the returning bus, Grammy and Papa and Aunt R and Cousin B stopped by to deliver birthday presents.
The boy’s gift to Thing 2 was a set of toddler golf clubs. Go figure. The boy decided that it’s never too early to take up golfing. Cousin B, who is a hockey player, encouraged Thing 2 to use his golf clubs like HOCKEY STICKS. Thing 2 was a bit confused as to HOW to use those golf clubs, but I think he’s combined both skills, as he runs around the house playing GOLKEY. Golkey is a game of his own invention, where he hits the little white balls with the clubs like his brother taught him to do, and then slams his stick against the wall like Cousin B encouraged him to do.
(And that snapshot right above this sentence? Well. If your birthday happens to fall on a day when the Colorado Avalanche are playing, you can bet that the entire team will join you while you open presents.)
Grammy hired a gal she knows to bake a birthday cake for Thing 2. It was so incredibly pretty, I hated to let him attack it, but that’s protocol for a one-year-old’s big day.
On Saturday afternoon, we had a birthday party for Thing 2 with his little buddies. We had everyone get together in the youth room at our church, and we let the toddlers toddle and run and run and RUN.
My little girlfriend, Miss Leah, joined all the fun on Saturday. (I have the very hardest time not pinching that little gal’s cheeks CONSTANTLY. She’s so stinking cute, I want to pinch her and pinch her and pinch her!)
(Gently, of course.)
(And is there anything CUTER than a Kool-Aide moustache? No. No, there’s not.)
Ciara was there, too. Ciara was a giant help, as she chased toddlers out of the garbage can, brought toddlers back to the youth room who managed to escape into the hallway, and refilled the water pitchers twice.
Thank you, Ciara!
There was more cake at Saturday’s party. When we sang Happy Birthday to Thing 2, he laid his head down on the table and grinned and grinned! It was so stinking cute… one of those moments which will forever be written on my memory.
(I take NO CREDIT for encouraging A SELECT FEW OF THE PARTY GUESTS to suck helium out of the balloons right before they sang some of the Chimpunks’ best hits.)
We had the very best, laid-back time of EVER. The kids played. The kids ran. The kids hurdled the youth room sofas. The kids jumped on the trampolines, raced with balloons, and sang songs under the influence of helium ingestion.
The grown-ups did a lot of talking.
And then we did even more talking.
And then, just when we thought that maybe we’d talked too much, we decided that NO! NO, WE HADN’T, so we talked some more.
And then we had to act like grown-ups and wipe blue cake frosting off of the tables and pick up chunks of pizza that had fallen off of little plates, onto the floor.
Except it was 2013, and we all had some non-negotiable bedtimes, because we knew that Daylight Savings was going to sneak up behind us and KICK. US. DOWN.
Welcome to ONE, Thing 2. I’m so glad that God picked you out for us. You’re such a blessing to our family, and we were absolutely tickled to help you celebrate your very first year of life. The miracle of YOU is a joy to our hearts, Little Man. I’m not sure you’ll ever understand just HOW MUCH and HOW WIDE everyone’s love for you is.
Y’all have a good Monday evening.