I had very serious plans to accomplish some yard work this weekend, but then the heat happened. I’m not talking about a little bit of heat, but the full-summer-thermometer-showtime-spectacular-extravaganza, where the mercury just exploded the glass and everyone crawled into their freezers to sit a spell and die in comfort. I can guarantee you that I felt no yearning to get outside and confront the weed issue at our house on Friday… or on Saturday, either.
I’m pretty much allergic to the heat, and I appreciate the fact that God saw fit to put me into a day and age where air conditioning exists and runs cold.
(I would be a baked mess of haywire hormones if I lived in Africa right now.)
(Oh, forty-something… you have flat-out ruined summer for me.)
So… on Friday… while the boy was busy doing THIS…
… Sister and I hauled the rest of our brood to the local park and fountains to cool off.
Sister brought those miniature, powdered sugar donuts, which are exactly like crack, because JUST TRY TO STOP EATING THEM. We decided that it was in our best interest to share the bag with the children, and our hips thank us for that. Sister and I were both at a point on Friday where we could have sat all alone, beneath the shade of a tree, and ripped into that package of little donuts with a frenzy usually only see on a made-for-TV documentary entitled WHEN LIONS HUNT.
I know that Cousin H and our little friend, Addy, look forlorn and sad in those snapshots, but I can assure you that it wasn’t the case. I’m pretty sure they were both chilled to the bone, because that’s what happens when you’re little and you play in the sprinklers. They were both plum, dadgum thrilled to be hopping through the fountains and devouring sugar.
(I can’t bake a souffle, and I burn omelets, but Stain Removal is my spiritual gift.)
Also? Did you notice the socks that Thing 2 was clutching? Well, some babies have special blankets that they’re attached to. Some babies have teddy bears that they drag around, day in and day out. Some babies have a stuffed lamb, who is their very best friend, and whose white wool turns beige with all the months of devoted loving.
Thing 2 has none of those things.
What Thing 2 has is a pair of MY FLEECE SLIPPER SOCKS. We call them Green Boy and Pink Boy… Thing 2 just calls them his BOYS. (We’re practicing our colors with M&Ms, people, but Thing 2 still needs a little time to name the rainbow.) He hauls his boys everywhere; he presses those little fuzzy socks to his forehead every night and naptime, before he falls asleep. They are filthy most of the time. They are covered in oatmeal and yogurt and backyard dirt. They have been baptized in the toilet, rolled in the bowl of cat food, and smeared with cheese pizza. I have to steal them away to slip them into the washing machine, and then we usually have some tears.
On Saturday, the boys played on the deck together.
(The van used to be the boy’s. The boy put a hundred thousand miles on that van before he started preschool.)
There was a point when the boy declared himself stuck for life, and we were a bit concerned that he would be wearing the blue van to the 7th grade. I’m happy to report that he is free now, and the van is sitting alone on our deck, once again.
On Saturday night, we had dinner with some close friends of ours. They grilled hamburgers, and we ate the fresh-from-their-neighbors’-garden corn, which was SO INCREDIBLY DELICIOUS, I had two full ears!
And then Thing 2 discovered little Sam and Henry’s dump trucks and tractor. He was in heaven, because our small boy may very well need a twelve-step program for his tractor addiction.
(“Hi. My name is Thing 2, and I am slightly obsessed with John Deeres. And Kubotas. And any brand-X tractor that I happen to see. I love them all.”)
(And also? My photography skills with my iPhone are limited and not at all grand. I apologize.)
Sam and Henry wore trails through their parents’ living room carpet pushing Thing 2 around in the back of their dump truck. And then Thing 2 declared the twins’ outdoor tractor to be the Greatest Toy On Earth.
This morning, there was church. I even managed to snag a few photos of Thing 2, while he was spit-shined. His CLEAN BOY status never seems to last very long.
So, with the heat, that was our weekend. I did completely gut our bathroom medicine cabinet and vanity, though, so I felt slightly productive. It also became quite evident that Hubs and I hoard expired cold medication, seeing as how I threw away some Sudafed from 2008, and some NyQuil from 2009, and some Mucinex from 2011.
I also pulled out all the stops and threw away two curling irons that were perfectly good, but which I haven’t used in two years. I threw away make-up that I’ve had for a sweet forever, thinking that someday the neon-pink lipstick would come back into style.
I also backed away from my emotions and threw away my Caboodle make-up case that I bought in…
… very possibly…
… and more than likely…
I’m sure tomorrow morning, vintage Caboodle cases from the late ’80s will become a hot ticket item on eBay and American Pickers, and I’ll regret my choice of just tossing it into the dumpster after a little loving pat good-bye, but that’s exactly what I did.
I do feel some relief, because HEY! MORE ROOM IN THE VANITY’S CUPBOARD NOW!
But I did smear on a little neon-pink lipstick before the purging.
My forty-something hormones thanked me for the trip down Memory Lane.
Y’all have a happy Sunday evening.