I hope y’all had a fantastic weekend.
We did, which might have something to do with the fact that it was three-and-a-half days long. When parent-teacher conferences roll around, the kids get a break.
And if you teach PE, parents don’t really want to meet with you anyway, because I wouldn’t be able to tell them if their kid is struggling to read. All I can say is, “Your kid needs to learn to tie his shoes, because by the time he changes into his gym shoes, PE is half over. Here at our school, we feel like this falls into the category of THINGS PARENTS NEED TO DO AT HOME, although I have been known to teach shoe-tying 101 before.” I can also say things like, “If you don’t actually WASH your son’s gym shoes when I send them home, I may honestly die of the off-gas they’re producing right now. When I send the shoes home, your job is to put them in your washer with Tide and a full dose of Magic-Smell-Be-Gone. The stench on those Nikes is burning all of my nose hairs to ash.”
Ain’t no parent wants to hear that!
Which means I get three-and-a-half days off with the boy, where we can bond and do fun family things.
Or… I can send him to Enzo’s house and split town, which is what Hubs and I did on Friday.
We. Left. Our. Boys.
And then we drove two hours to Bigger Town, USA, where we proceeded to shell out our life savings on early Christmas shopping. I was on my very best parking behavior in Bigger Town, because I was a guest in their city. I just didn’t have it in me to deal with the Spanish Inquisition on how I am the Piggiest Parking Pig of EVER, when Target was calling my name.
On Friday night, the boy left Enzo’s house to go spend the night with his friend, Gage. It’s because he’s thirteen, and he has a social calendar that has more ink on it than a member of the British royalty.
Since Gage belongs to my darling friend, Christy, I ended up spending Saturday afternoon at her house, sipping coffee and talking, talking, TALK-ING, when I went out to pick the boy up. Thing 2 was powerfully impressed with Christy’s chickens and her husband’s tractor, so everyone was happy, happy, happy.
Also? Well… THIS happened on Saturday.
Thing 2 carries women’s fuzzy slipper socks with him everywhere.
Don’t judge him.
He calls the soft socks his “boys.” When the boys are freshly laundered (which is every day, because let’s face it… spending an entire day in the clutches of Thing 2 means that they will be coated in dirt and slime and every manner of goo by bedtime), I put them into the top drawer of his dresser.
Thing 2 knows that this is the orphanage for all his boys.
And on Saturday, he discovered that HOLY SMOKES, BETTY FORD! HE CAN ADOPT A CLEAN BOY ANY MINUTE HE FEELS LIKE IT!
Our friends, Keith and Carrie, found fuzzy Bronco slipper socks in Denver and mailed them to Thing 2. They decided that if he’s going to carry around women’s socks, he should have a MANLY pair to haul around.
They have an embroidered Bronco head on them. We tell Thing 2 that this is a Denver Bronco. He insists that it’s a horse. He won’t listen to reason.
These aren’t the orange boys. They’re not the Bronco boys. This pair is known around these parts as his HORSE BOYS.
I think it’s pretty safe to say that there isn’t really anything left in this house that Thing 2 CAN’T climb. Hubs and I want to take back all of the times in the past when we made fun of parents who walked around town with their small children on leashes.
Because I’m fairly certain that Thing 2, like Phillip the hyper-hypo kid from the Saturday Night Live skit, could probably tow a car home seven miles, if he just had a chocolate bar and a can of Coke.
Y’all have a happy Sunday night.