So this post is going to be quick tonight, because I’ve already typed a lot of words this week. And because I’ve already slammed a lot of snapshots into the blog this week. And because I’m reading a book that I want to finish, because I have another book waiting in the wings; it’s the next one up for my reading pleasure, and I think it’s going to be better than the one I’m reading now.
I wish that my OCD would let me just stop reading a book and give it away without finding out how it ends, when I don’t like it, but no. I always push through bad writing, poor character development, and BIG HEAP OF BAD BORING, just so I can find out if it ends well.
(Yes, it’s hard being me.)
Anyway, we wrapped up the boy’s birthday last weekend with dinner at his grandparents’ house, in Small Mountain Town, last Saturday night.
(And really? Does anyone even still care what we did last weekend? Because COME ON, ALREADY! That was an entire week ago, and we’re on to new things.)
Hubs’ mama made one of the boy’s favorite dinners, which is grilled steak, watermelon and corn on the cob. His other favorite dinner is cheese pizza. And his other favorite dinner is a double quarter pounder from McDonald’s, even though… when I was pregnant with him… I vowed to NEVER, EVER feed my baby fast food. Like… ever.
Life gets lived, and sometimes dinners just have to be quick and dirty.
The boy got to open his presents right away at Grammy and Papa’s house, because his gift was huge. And it was sitting beneath a sheet in the front yard. And that’s a lot of PATIENCE and ENDURANCE for a fourteen-year-old boy to take, when he has to look across the grass all night at his gift, wondering what is hiding beneath the sheet, because there wasn’t actually enough wrapping paper at Walmart to get ‘er wrapped up.
Plus, we have Thing 2. We knew that the green bed sheet wrapping paper was going to be coming off sooner, rather than later, with THAT toddler.
(And? Have I ever mentioned how much Thing 2 LOVES presents? Oh, sweet mercy! That baby lives for wrapped gifts. He thinks every present he ever sees belongs to him, and he wants to OPEN IT, OPEN IT, OPEN IT! So… he pretty much unwrapped all of his Bubbie’s birthday gifts this year himself.)
Last month, we went to see Sam (our good friend and Eye Doctor Extraordinaire), because the boy wanted contacts. He had been talking about contacts for a while, saying that HE’D SURE LIKE TO TRY THEM SOMETIME, and DID HE REALLY NEED TO TOUCH HIS EYEBALL TO PUT CONTACTS IN?
After the contacts were in place and Sam was asking the boy if he could JUST READ THE BOTTOM LINE THERE (which is as common a phrase as an IT guy’s one of “Did you try rebooting your computer?”), the eye doctor and the thirteen-year-old patient entered into a lively discussion on remote-controlled airplanes, computerized flight simulators, ultralights, and broken helicopters.
As much as I’ve always enjoyed Sam and his adorable wife and daughters and their family’s friendship, I don’t think it should come as any surprise that we’re now switching eye doctors. My teenager has been running around our house for weeks now, hollering out that YOU DON’T EVEN NEED A PILOT’S LICENSE FOR AN ULTRALIGHT, BECAUSE SAM SAID SO! What Sam seemed to forget is that he has four DAUGHTERS, and daughters, when they hear long-winded stories of HOW I FLEW AN ULTRALIGHT ALL OVER SMALL TOWN COUNTY AND FILMED THE ENTIRE THING FROM MY CAMERA, WHICH WAS DANGLING ON A CORD UNDER THE PLANE, tend to say, “That’s nice, Dad.” And then they’re done. They’re done, because there are cute shoes to buy, and WHO CARES IF DAD IS ACTING LIKE ORVILLE AND WILBUR WRIGHT AGAIN? But… when Sam mentions “just 5 gallons of fuel” and “no formal pilot training whatsoever” and “you can take off from an alfalfa field” to a thirteen-year-old boy, he is suddenly all ears. The thought of flying alone in the big, open sky will consume him all day long, because he doesn’t give a green pickle about cute new shoes, and he will remind you three hundred and fourteen more times that his BIRTHDAY IS IN FOUR WEEKS, MOM!! JUST FOUR. MORE. WEEKS!!!
And MY VERY OWN ULTRALIGHT was added to the all-important Wish List of Gifts, thanks to that crazy eye doctor of ours, especially after Sam dropped off a computerized flight simulator for the boy to JUST GO AHEAD AND PRACTICE WITH AT HOME.
So. There was an enormous desire for a birthday airplane after we got contacts from Sam, and Grammy and Papa came through with a remote-controlled one, because Mama was voting a solid NO on an ultralight.
Grammy and Papa, along with some help from Hubs and Hubs’ sister, Aunt Pink, built the boy a fantastic, industrial-style desk and lamp!
Go ahead and pin THAT on the Pinterest, because it just happened!
The desk and lamp are both made out of plumbing pipes, and the boy ADORES them! Plus, he scored a real desk chair with rolling wheels, which totally trumped his THIS CHAIR USED TO BE PART OF MY PARENTS’ DINING ROOM SET, BUT NOW IT’S MY DESK CHAIR IN MY BEDROOM chair.
We are incredibly fancy at our house when it comes to desk seating.
Seriously, though… the desk and lamp are amazing, but I’m going to need a Valium prescription, to get me through all the times that Thing 2 swipes the rolling chair out of Bubbie’s room and pushes it all over our house.
(Because the deer in Small Mountain Town? Yeah… there are more deer there than people in China. It’s why all of Grammy’s flowerbeds are surrounded by giant cages of wire.)
There were also tractor rides, because Thing 2’s love language is the “tractor mower.” I think Enzo put another hundred thousand miles on Papa’s riding lawn mower on Saturday evening, just driving our toddler around the yard at his bossy demand of TRACTOR RIDE! TRACTOR RIDE NOW!
Here’s that cute guy who once had a mullet. I’m still crazy about him, even though he has decided to grow a beard, Duck Dynasty style. Please feel free to text Hubs’ cell phone, and use the hashtag of #BeardShouldGoByeBye.
I’ve never really been a fan of the mountain man look, but I’m a fan of Hubs, and so I shall grit my teeth and get through this fashion trend of his, exactly like our parents had to get through the parachute pants that we all wore in the ’80s.
Hubs’ sister had a big, purple balloon on Saturday night, which Thing 2 was enamored with. She’d blow it up… and then let the air squeal out of it, over and over and OV-AH, and Thing 2 howled with hysterical laughter every. single. time.
It never got old.
(Also? Well… those are Oreo cookies on his face, because MCDONALD’S QUARTER POUNDERS… OREOS… Mother of the Year!)
Grammy and Papa do it the old fashioned way. There are none of those new-age, high-tech ELECTRIC ice cream makers for them. Nope. They make ice cream the way God and folks from the 1800s intended for it to be made…
… with the old hand-turned crank.
Y’all have a very merry weekend.