Let me just quickly tell you about our weekend.
On Friday, Sister came over and sat on Thing 2’s bedroom floor, where she folded all of the size 2T clothes that I threw out of his closet, with as much enthusiasm as a cat in a new box of litter. Then I unpacked our giant boxes of hand-me-downs, exactly like it was Christmas morning, and I hung new… and bigger… stuff up in his closet, exactly like a boss.
While Sister and I were busy hanging and folding, Thing 2 and Cousin H watched a few minutes of a movie on the iPad in complete and utter harmony.
After those few peaceful moments were up, we were treated to a multiple-act play, entitled, “That’s My Dump Truck, Now Give It Back.” That was followed by the play’s sequel, which was called, “Don’t Throw Matchbox Cars At Me.”
Later on Friday, I may or may not have made thirty-six trips into Thing 2’s room, just to throw open the closet doors and gaze upon Organized Perfection. Where once there was chaos and jumbled T-shirts and Pampers boxes full of 3T stuff that needed to be hung up, there was now just total sweetness, that begged to be pinned, so that other mothers across the globe could say, “Look at how tidy this mama has made her son’s closet!”
On Friday night, I avoided going to the grocery store, and our family ate take-and-bake pizza for dinner, while we listened to the Small Town High School football game on the radio.
By a lot.
And by a lot, I mean that our sophomores and freshman played most of the second half.
On Saturday, we basically did nothing. Go ahead and be jealous, because it was GLORIOUS.
Thing 2 got up at 5:00, and Hubs announced, “I’ll take this one for the team.” Hubs was up with the toddler. They watched Peppa Pig on TV together and ate leftover pizza and trashed the living room like a frat party had been held there, while I went back to sleep until the unholy hour of 8:15.
I pretty much slept the sleep that’s usually reserved for comatose patients in an ICU bed.
And then I read a book, while I was still in my pajamas, until after lunchtime, which also consisted of leftover pizza, because no one had any real desire to lay on the grenade called THE GROCERY STORE.
On Saturday evening, the little private school where I teach PE had a giant chili dinner and carnival outside, even though it was only 50 degrees. I don’t think our school has ever sold more bowls of piping hot chili before, because LET’S EAT SOMETHING WARM ON THIS DARK AND CLOUDY AND VERY COLD EVENING.
The boy helped pick up rings at the ring toss game, and he’s decided that maybe he should really focus on his grades, so that he can attend college on a scholarship, instead of working for a circus in the ring toss booth. He mentioned something about, “My back is killing me.”
Later last night, we all ended up at Mam and Pa’s house, where my WE JUST ATE AT THE SCHOOL CARNIVAL boys proceeded to devour every single piece of fruit that Mam had in her kitchen, along with every single container of yogurt she had in her refrigerator.
And then the boy helped himself to a giant slab of homemade meatloaf, because he’s fourteen, and he thought the full bowl of chili, the accompanying bag of chips, the cinnamon roll, and the apple, two bananas, bowl of ice cream and tub of yogurt were all just appetizers, served before the main course of meatloaf was brought out.
Thing 2 also decided that whatever he had eaten at the school carnival was also the primer for the real meal at Mam’s house, as he had an apple, two containers of yogurt and a couple bowls of Cheerios.
The reason that I loathe going to the grocery store so much is because I have to fight the crowds to get to the Hamburger Helper, and then I spend entirely too many dollars at the cash register. After that, I have to pack it all into my Suburban, and then haul it all inside my house, and put it away in the fridge and the pantry, and then… six minutes later… the boys have eaten everything I bought.
We also heard our College Town boys get creamed in their football game.
And by creamed, I mean they were beat down by the HERE, LET US MAKE FORTY-TWO MORE TOUCHDOWNS, TIMES SIX POINTS EACH, AND LET’S THROW IN SOME PAT KICKS AND NINETY-FOUR FIELD GOALS ON TOP OF THAT kind of score. I think the game ended at 972 to 14. BUT… we put fourteen points on that great big college’s scoreboard, which no one expected us to do, because BIG UNIVERSITY hosting LITTLE UNIVERSITY.
This morning, we woke up to a cold, misty rain. The rain cancelled our plans for going to the pumpkin patch with the boys and some family friends of ours. It cancelled the boy’s afternoon tennis lesson. We took it as a sign that we were just to stay at home and read books by the fireplace.
And…. I did have to go to the grocery store this afternoon, because the people in my house all looked at my like half-crazed, fully-starved jungle animals, as they said, “The. Leftover pizza. Is Gone!!!” I was like the lioness, who had to go kill a gazelle and drag home for them, as I navigated the weekend crowd at Walmart.
And then Hubs and I saw a public display of affection between a couple, right smack in front of — ahem! — the feminine hygiene aisle at the super center, as I was looping through there to come in at the end of the toothpaste aisle to secure some Colgate for my family, that made me need to wash my eyeballs. I even said that exact sentence to Hubs: “I need to wash my eyes now.” The couple was probably in their early twenties. He had on a pair of jeans that sagged to his knees and let us all know what pair of boxers he’d chosen for the day. She was wearing a sweatshirt that was eighteen sizes too big for her, along with her hot pink pajama bottoms and her house slippers, with the pom-poms on the tops of them.
Hubs just shook his head and said, “You are so lucky to have ME!”
Hubs would never make out with me while I had my pajamas on, in front of the feminine unmentionables. Maybe in front of the motor oil and the antifreeze, but NEVER in front of the girl stuff.
Y’all have a merry Sunday.