Father’s Day, 2013

Every morning, I reach around the shower curtain and turn the water on.  We have one of those tankless hot water heaters, which is great, because YAY!  HOT WATER FOREVER!  But the downside to it is that it takes a really long time to actually flush out all the cold water that has been sitting in the pipes overnight, warm up the water you’ll start with, and get it pouring into the shower.

And by a really long time, I mean at least 90 seconds.

Hi.  I suffer from some serious first-world problems.

Also?  The reason that I pull the shower curtain aside, is because we had glass shower doors in our old house, and I quickly realized that they were a fresh hell I had no desire to deal with ever again.  I’m not good at battling soap scum, and I don’t like to look at it on the shower doors when I’m in there curling my hair.

(Not that I curl my hair in the shower, because my mama drilled the dangers of that into my head a long time ago.  No, I don’t like looking at dirty shower doors while I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror, using the curling iron and asking the Good Lord why He didn’t see fit to give me naturally curly hair every morning.  I mean, really.  He gave Amy naturally curly hair, and she doesn’t even like it, so she invests enormous sums of money into straightening products, both professional and I JUST BOUGHT IT AT WAL-MART.)

When we built this house, I told Hubs that installing glass shower doors would be grounds for a dirty divorce.  I was quite vocal about the fact that I just wanted to buy $7 shower curtains and throw them away every couple of months.

Seven American dollars is worth my sanity.


This morning was no different than a hundred other mornings.  I shoved my hand behind the shower curtain, cranked the water on, and went about the business of finding a clean towel to use.  And then, when I pulled the shower curtain back and actually tried to step inside, there he was!

A spider who was roughly the size of a softball, reared up on his back four legs, baring fangs at me, while he tried to tread water and keep his evil head up.

The subsequent scream was how we got Father’s Day started around here.

But, other than the fact that Hubs had to execute one of Aragog’s first cousins this morning, our day has been a rather good one.

Hubs was ceremonially excused from Dirty Diaper Duty all day.  I labored over cooking homemade pizzas for lunch.

(*Snort, snort*)

(They may have been take-and-bake pizzas, but I’ll never tell.  If it’s cooked in my oven at home, it qualifies as homemade, so help me, Betty Crocker.)

Hubs also got a new book for a Father’s Day gift, which is one that he’d mentioned wanting.  After church, he flopped down and read it, all afternoon, because it was Father’s Day, and he was also excused from keeping an eyeball trained on Thing 2.  It’s rather necessary to watch Thing 2 like a hawk in a barn full of field mice, so that we have plenty of advanced warning when he climbs to the back of the sofa and says, “It isn’t THAT high!  I’m pretty certain I can stick the landing just fine!”

This evening, we went to my sister’s house, where we joined my parents.  Sister’s Husband smoked chicken breasts that were stuffed with cream cheese and green chilies and wrapped in seventeen layers of bacon.

Sister’s Husband’s motto is, “Either you like bacon, or you’re wrong.”

Sister made a salad that could be featured on the Food Network, because OH, MY WORD!  Strawberries and onions and avocados, and I pretty much sighed with contentment on every single bite.

The kids played, because that’s what kids do.  Except Thing 2 and Little Cousin H engaged in a battle called LET ME TAKE THAT TOY AWAY FROM YOU, EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO REAL DESIRE TO PLAY WITH IT MYSELF.

At one point, Little H paused while driving Rodeo Drive in her pink car and said, “Hush, Thing 2.  I’m praying for the strength to endure your visit at our house tonight… Amen!”

IMG_5217_resizedThing 2 found a stuffed dog who needed some love and attention.

IMG_5249_resizedThe kids really did have a fantastic time together, even though Cousin L ambushed Cousin K with a squirt gun.  He didn’t see it coming.  He was soaked before he even realized he’d been hit.

There’s Cousin L…

IMG_5256_resizedAnd here’s her little brother, Cousin K, who eventually recovered, but who lobbied for stricter gun control laws in their backyard.

IMG_5255_resizedIMG_5226_resized IMG_5223_resized IMG_5230_resized IMG_5253_resizedI did make Hubs and the boys head outside to the newly-installed porch swing, so that I could take their picture together.  They’re pretty adorable, aren’t they?  There’s enough testosterone on that swing to attack a distant planet and take over.

IMG_5261_resizedI also made my dad sit on the sofa with our boys.  After all, it IS Father’s Day.

IMG_5289_resizedI won’t lie.  I’m suddenly finding it very difficult to take a picture of three people without two of them being blurry.  It’s not your contact lenses, people.  It’s my inability to make ends meet and pay the bills as a professional photographer.

IMG_5291_resizedAnd the answer is a loud, YES!

Hubs and I DID pick the boy up from summer camp on Saturday afternoon.  He had been up there for an entire week.  He smelled like campfire smoke, bug spray and Eau De Dirty Lad.  I tried to act all cool when I saw him, but really?  I wanted to grab him for the biggest bear hug of EVER, because I’d MISSED the punk.

And then?  Do you know what happened?  The boy actually turned to me, and on his very own, he threw his arms around me and said, “Mom, I loved camp!  But I’m so glad you’re here to get me now.”

Melt.  Mama’s.  Heart.

Of course, I made the boy and Enzo and their buddy, Elliott, squeeze together.  It’s what I do, folks.

IMG_1427_resized IMG_1429_resizedDuring the hour it took for us to drive down the mountain, the boy carried on a nonstop conversation about how he caught two fish, and how he ate them for dinner one night, and how they tried to camp out in tents, but it poured rain, and they had to go back to their cabins, and how one night none of the boys in their cabin went to sleep until 4:00 in the morning, and how he won every sword fight battle he signed up for, and how he could very possibly be the best sword fighter since the English knights fought in suits of armor, and how they played dodgeball, and how they learned that reading their Bibles for twenty minutes a day is a way for them to give some time back to God, and how he made two new friends, from two different towns, and how, NO!  THERE WERE NO CUTE GIRLS AT CAMP, but there was a girl who followed him around, and NO, SHE WAS NOT CUTE, and YES, HE TRIED TO LOSE HER BY RUNNING THROUGH THE TREES, and how he was never hungry at camp, and he even tried a real, live baked potato.

This was huge.

Monumental, even.

The boy doesn’t eat potatoes.  He has NEVER eaten potatoes.  He used to gag as a one-year-old in his high chair and throw up everywhere, if I put a bite of potatoes into his mouth.  The boy eats NO potatoes, other than Lay’s Potato Chips (because they are thin, and not overly potato-y) and McDonald’s French fries (for the same reason).  He will not eat French fries anywhere else.  He will not eat tater tots, hash browns, baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, twice-baked potatoes, or any chips that aren’t Lay’s.

He has always been ANTI-potato.

And he ate a baked potato at camp to be polite.

And he lived.

Can I get an AMEN here?

After we got home with the boy, he actually ASKED US if he could take a nap, and then he slept for two hours on our living room sofa.

And then he went to bed at 7:30 last night, and slept for fourteen hours.

It’s good to have him back.

Y’all have a happy Father’s Day evening.

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