Well. The weekend of love is over, as Valentine’s Day has slipped into the has-beens of 2015 already. I’m not sure what it is, but the further I get away from The Breakfast Club and Debbie Gibson and acid-washed jeans and a good, side ponytail, the FASTER the years fling by my face.
We had a lovely weekend, even though it started out with some stress.
That would be the funeral photo of my cloves, sesame seeds and dried basil, as Thing 2 helped himself to my spice rack first thing on Friday morning, because “He was hauling grain in his tractor trailers.”
If you were around Jedi Mama, Inc. on Thursday, you may remember that the housekeeper I cannot really afford came over and scrubbed our house into something that usually only happens when a fairy godmother twirls her wand around. Try to understand why I needed to use the Google on Friday morning to look up the phrase AM I HAVING A GENUINE HEART ATTACK, OR IS THIS STRESS BECAUSE I HAVE TWENTY-FOUR POUNDS OF DRIED HERBS AND SEEDS FLUNG FAR AND WIDE IN MY LIVING ROOM RIGHT NOW?
On a scale of one to ten in the Mess Factor, we were encroaching upon a solid eighty-six, which is why I texted Hubs and said, “I’m online looking for military preschools that encourage a lot of marching and pushups.”
While I was cleaning up the apparent explosion of three hundred grain trucks in the living room, I sat Thing 2 down on my bed, in front of a recorded episode of Wallykazam. With the noise of the vacuum cleaner going at Mach 3, I missed hearing the toddler waltz himself downstairs, which is why I suffered some mild panic when I couldn’t find him after the mess was cleaned up. I called his name, and he popped up at the bottom of the stairs.
He hollered up to me, as he walked up the stairs, “He’s going to sit on his bed now.”
People, I’m here to tell you that if your son ever self-regulates enough that he puts himself in TIME OUT on his bed, there’s going to be a mess downstairs that you don’t have enough nerve pills to cover.
He had found the cats’ water bowl in the laundry room. It’s a rather large bowl, and he’d managed to pour half of it onto the laundry room floor, while he filled the remaining half with dry cat food and cat litter. He had used a spoon to stir it all around, too, in some sort of witch’s brew, as he simply stated, “He was cooking supper. He’s going to sit on his bed.”
I hate to admit it, but some very bad words bounced off the inside of my skull.
Both of the cats were staring at me like I was a convicted felon on the witness stand. Cat 1 told me, “I don’t know what you intend to do with that two-legged beast, but nobody messes with my water dish and keeps their own liver intact. We have PARTS OF OUR TOILET floating in the water!”
Cat 1 has always been good with the drama.
So there was that mess.
By 10:15 on Friday morning, I had already rocked Thing 2 to sleep for his nap, because Mama just didn’t have it in her any longer to be on the cleanup crew.
Our Friday afternoon, after three solid hours of napping, went rather well, even though Thing 2 questioned me about DID I THROW HIS GRAIN IN THE GARBAGE?! Because HE WAS HAULING THAT!!
On Saturday morning, there were a couple of small gifts for the boys, because it was Valentine’s Day. Thing 2 immediately yelled, “It’s my birthday! He open his birthday present now!”
Yes, I know that my son was a fashion icon in his green Gap shirt and his red-striped Elmo pajama bottoms, but it’s what he wanted to sleep in on Friday night. I had no intention of fighting a battle over pajamas, because that’s a hill I don’t want to die on. I’ll save my battles for OH, YES! YOU REALLY ARE GOING TO EAT THIS GRILLED CHICKEN FOR DINNER!
As luck would have it, Thing 2 got a BIGGER tractor for his Valentine’s Day gift, with an EVEN BIGGER trailer. Ultimately, this means that he can haul an entire ten-pound bag of flour or sugar around, instead of just small jars of sesame seeds.
The boy got some kind of electronic gadget that will put Netflix on our TV upstairs, so that no one needs to sit in the meat locker that is our basement family room during the winter months to watch a marathon of The Middle.
Also, if it appears that there’s an abundance of photos on the blog these days of our two-year-old, in comparison to those of our fourteen-year-old, it’s because teenage boys are not really excited about having their pictures taken. They tend to hide from the camera and make horrible faces that make zombies look cute when you put the Canon anywhere near them.
I kept the deck doors from our dining room flung wide open, so that I could hear everything that was happening outside, and rest assured… I wasn’t fully prepared to hear, “Don’t worry! It was a accident! It was a accident! Just a accident!”
The accident was that someone had pulled the big bucket of potting soil off the table… and it hit the deck… and opened up so many more farming possibilities, as the big John Deere got right to work…
And then I had to haul out the vacuum cleaner again, because forty-seven pounds of potting soil came into my dining room, via those deck doors, when the fieldwork and planting was finished, which is why we decided to just GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.
Mama was OVER the weekend messes.
So we met our friend Jeremy, and his daughter Hanna, at the playground.
The weather was great… the kids had a ball… and Hanna showed Thing 2 that she was plenty big enough to tackle the monkey bars ALONE! Because when you get to be a kindergartner, you don’t need an adult to help you with something as mundane and EASY-PEASY as the monkey bars!
We’re going to need some more practice with the monkey bars, but we’ve got the MINDSET to pull this task off. We just need some LONGER ARMS, that can actually span the distance between the bars on their own.
The youth group at our church was hosting a Sweetheart’s Dinner, so that they could raise money for an upcoming missions trip. They’d bedazzled the church’s youth room with tables and white Christmas lights and candles, candles, candles. The lights were dim, the appetizers were fantastic, and the jazz band was going strong in the corner. Tons of our friends went, and we had THE! BEST! TIME! We laughed our heads off with Scott and Christy, and Paul and Katie, and Sam and Robin, and then we sat with Gabe and Jodi and laughed some more, over a dinner of spaghetti and salad, which the youth served to everyone exactly like they’d do things in a swanky, upscale, New York City restaurant.
When we got home, I told Hubs, “My face actually HURTS from laughing so hard tonight!”
Best Valentine’s date ever!
The boy stayed home for Valentine’s Day, because he’s fourteen and his parents won’t let him actually… you know… TAKE A GIRL OUT quite yet. So he had Kellen over, and the two of them ordered pizza and did manly things, like shoot enemy airplanes out of the sky in video games.
Thing 2 went with us on Saturday night, because the youth group had arranged for babysitters to watch the little kiddos in the church nursery. He had a total blast, because he was put with the eleven-year-old boys, who were helping out, and they all played trucks and trains and basketball with him. When Hubs and I picked that toddler up from the nursery after dinner, he was HONESTLY SWEATING, he’d had so much fun with those 5th and 6th grade boys!
Our Sunday was a lot quieter.
We went to church. Hubs grilled the best chicken that has ever been grilled in the history of mankind’s relationship with fire. We went to Walmart for actual groceries. And that was about it.
So see? Y’all are totally caught up on our weekend.
And then, because life usually comes around full circle, our Monday morning started out JUST GREAT, as Thing 2 told me, “He’s going to go sit on his bed now!”
In a full-fledged panic, I searched for the mess. It didn’t take me long to discover that he’d been hauling milky coffee in his tractor trailer.
Please pray for me and my relationship with these John Deere tractor trailers, however the Holy Spirit leads you.
And y’all have a happy Monday night.