Hauling Logs

Tonight’s blog post is going to be a touch different, because we’re going to shock great-grandmothers everywhere, until they have to cover their mouths with their manicured hands and TSK-TSK themselves straight to a cup of heavily-sweetened, herbal tea to calm themselves down with.  It’s because we’re going to discuss a very DELICATE matter.

There will be an accompanying photograph… so please!  Usher your children from the room, unless you want them to shout out, “ISN’T THAT ONE OF THOSE THINGS YOU KEEP IN YOUR PURSE, MOMMY?”

Yes.  We’re going to talk about THOSE THINGS.  And I hate to be all secretive and very Harry Potter-esque, as I call it THAT WHICH MUST NOT BE NAMED, but do you know what?  If I call an orange and orange, and someone uses the Google to search for an orange, bingo!  Here they end up.  And we don’t want to generate traffic away from Procter and Gamble’s own websites, as women across the globe conduct their searches in private.  And I really don’t want gals landing HERE, when where they’re really trying to land is on a website that discusses incredible protection.

The whole incident happened, and it made me laugh until my sides hurt, so OF COURSE I texted the event’s description to a few family members.  And then they laughed.  And then a few close friends immediately texted back and shouted (because they used ALL CAPITAL LETTERS IN THEIR TEXT MESSAGES, WHICH WAS A CLEAR INDICATION OF SHOUTING!  Also, the exclamation points were another clear sign that their volume was up!!!!!!!!!!!!!), “BLOG IT!!!”

And I was all… um, no!  Because THAT WHICH MUST NOT BE NAMED!  And we girls have all learned since 7th grade that these things are not discussed in public forums, where guys might overhear.

(But frankly, if Hubs ever hears any conversation about THAT WHICH MUST NOT BE NAMED, he sprints in the exact opposite direction, before his brain explodes from PLEASE, NO!  DON’T TALK ABOUT THAT WITH ME!)

(Have I confused ANY of you yet?)

(ALL of you?  Well, that might very well be a new record, even for me.)

But, after some encouragement that THE WORLD IS READY FOR A BLOG POST LIKE THIS from a couple of friends who have laughed their heads plum off with me, I’ve decided to be brave and — in the words of Nike — JUST DO IT.

Anyway.

On Friday morning, I didn’t get my shower in before Hubs and the boy left for school and work.  That has everything to do with the fact that at EXACTLY 7:17 on Friday morning, the boy hollered (in all capital letters), “OH, NO!!!!!  I FORGOT TO TELL YOU THAT I HAVE AN HONOR SOCIETY MEETING THIS MORNING AT 7:30!!!!!!”  (You could literally hear all the exclamation points plunking into their single-file places after his shout.)

I was busy making the boy’s lunch… standing right there in the kitchen in my pajamas and one of the best bedhead topknots the free world has ever seen… when this announcement came in.  My plans included putting the finishing touches on a ham sandwich, shoving it into a plastic Walmart sack (which is what you have to take to school when you have flat-out RUINED three lunch boxes and your mama is an inch away from signing herself up for electrical shock therapy at the asylum, because HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO RIP THE LINING OUT OF ONE, TWO, THREE LUNCHBOXES?!), and then I was going to hop into the shower, before everyone left for the day.

Only… everyone ended up leaving at 7:27 that morning… giving themselves a FULL, LUXURIOUS, THREE ENTIRE MINUTES to get to an Honor Society meeting on the third floor… and I was left shower-less.

So… I solved my own problem by locking Thing 2 in the bathroom with me, so that I could get my hair washed, since no other tall person was left in the house to keep an eyeball trained on him.  Thing 2, you see, is fully capable of getting himself up on the top of the refrigerator, if he so desires, so our game plan is always to KEEP HIM UNDER CLOSE WATCH.

And that’s how he came to be locked in the bathroom with his mama and his tractors on Friday morning.  I told him, “Mommy is going to shower, while you play with your John Deere in here.”

And so it was, because there really isn’t anything that Thing 2 appreciates more than a good tractor with a trailer to pull behind it.

I showered.  And I took my sweet time, because I could hear the toddler’s conversation with himself, as he talked to his tractor, so I was pretty sure that all was well.

When I stepped out of the shower, I found that Thing 2 had found an entire box of THAT WHICH MUST NOT BE NAMED.  And he was… ahem!!… using them as cargo in the tractor trailer.

He looked at me and yelled, “He’s hauling LOGS, Mommy!!!”  And then back to the tractor he went, pulling it around the corner of the bathtub and beneath the bench.

When I was dressed, I picked up all the… um… LOGS… off the bathroom floor, and that is when we had the nuclear meltdown that made Chernobyl look like a rather minor flareup.  Thing 2 kept insisting that I was flat-out RUINING HIS DADGUM DAY, because I was packing the logs away for storage in their box.  He pleaded with me, with his brown, puppy dog eyes and said, “Please?  Just one?  Just one log to haul?”

And that is when I caved, y’all.  I gave him JUST ONE LOG to haul in his trailer, and he hauled that thing approximately 72,000 miles on Friday.

I texted this picture to Hubs…

image1… who immediately shot back with, “WHAT IS GOING ON AT THE HOUSE?!!!”

So I typed out, “He is hauling LOGS” on my phone.

And Hubs said, “Good grief!!!!  Tell him his dad will get some tiny wood scraps out of the garage for him to haul for logs!!!”

And then Hubs didn’t want to discuss the situation any more, because THAT WHICH MUST NOT BE NAMED frightens Hubs to death.

So… has anything interesting happened at any of y’all’s houses this week?!

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