Well, Mother Nature finally got it right. The weather over the weekend was glorious and 72 degrees and helped to restore my faith that winter is really behind us now, and then our Monday morning dawned cold and gray. It was filled with the threat of rain, wind and plenty of people exclaiming, “I think I’ll take a jacket.” It’s because Small Town isn’t Miami, and we’re accustomed to sweating one day and needing the fireplace on the following morning.
That makes us more like John Wayne out here and a little less like the Kardashians.
But the weekend sunshine was incredible, and guess what happened?
The boy wasted exactly zero time calling and setting up a couple of tee times for the weekend, because he’s crazy-nuts about hitting a little white ball with a club. Honestly, I think golfing is the only activity that distracts him from eating, so… BY ALL MEANS… I’m completely in favor of getting him onto that first green, so that he stays out of my pantry for longer than eight minutes.
The boy and his buddy, Eli, put in nine holes together on Sunday afternoon. They weren’t incredibly excited about me having my camera at the driving range, because they’re fourteen year old boys. I’m learning that the junior high boy is a more difficult species to photograph than the wild Big Foot is, but since I had just written a check for THE SEASON GOLF PASS at the clubhouse, the boy cut me a little slack and didn’t grumble too badly.
The boys returned two hours later, starving to death, because it had been more than one hundred and twenty minutes since their last meal. The boy declared, “It is SO GOOD to be back on the golf course again! I might move to Arizona, where I can golf all year long.”
Except… no. You have to live with your mama until you’re thirty, and then you can buy your own house and live next door, honey. And we all know that as much as Mama loves the spring sunshine, the Lord’s blessing does not shine upon her in the Arizona dessert, where the temperature reaches a brutal 118 degrees.
We had lunch at a little Mexican hotspot in town on Saturday, because nothing says I LOVE YOU, SON, like buying your teenager a burrito that’s the exact size of a Volkswagen bus. Since I was about to feed him the twenty-six pound beef burrito, I encouraged him to SMILE FOR YOUR LUNCH! JUST SMILE RIGHT THERE WITH YOUR BROTHER!
The toddler did not eat the giant burrito. He had the kids’ cheese quesadilla and ate approximately six-cents’ worth of it, so that he’d still be able to whine about being hungry when we went back home.
Thing 2 had a fantastic little weekend outdoors, soaking up his Vitamin D this weekend, too. He put in THREE ENTIRE HOURS of playing at the park on Saturday. He dug in the sand and slid down the slides. He squealed in the swings and chased his little friend, Leah, everywhere. By the time we were ready to go home, half of the playground was in Thing 2’s curls, in the form of dried leaves and sand and pebbles.
(I’m here to tell you that park debris will hide like little fugitives in the manes of curly-headed children.)
(It’ll necessitate a nightly bath that will leave a ring around your tub, every evening.)
(Also, the bottle of pricey conditioner will become your best friend.)
We also pulled the toddler’s water table out of storage this weekend, because the sunshine convinced us that it was time. It was 72 degrees outside. Thing 2 dressed in his swim trunks, and he had a ball on our deck.
And then Hubs and I introduced him to the delicacy of a red fruit roll-up. He’d never had one before, which seemed like borderline child abuse, so we set about changing that. Our toddler couldn’t possibly have been happier with the snack choice that his parents made for him. He smacked his lips and expressed his appreciation over the artificially-dyed, uber-sticky, red mess of rolled up waxy-by-product, and then BEGGED for a second one.
Which we gave him.
And then we made the very adult decision that red fruit roll-ups are not a snack that our younger child can actually eat indoors. No, ma’am. He needs to enjoy the fruit roll-up outside, with a garden hose or other clean water source readily available to him. After Fake Fruit Snack, Round Two, that boy of ours needed another shower to rinse off the red slime.
Somewhere throughout the weekend, Hubs and I even grilled steaks for dinner outside. We sat on our deck together and marveled over the Weather Perfection. We hung out at the park for a sweet forever with our friends, Gabe and Jodi, where we had real, adult conversations while the kids ran and played and exhausted themselves.
It was pretty much a great weekend.
And then Monday came.
There was work for Hubs, and school for the boy, and plenty o’ laundry for me. Even Thing 2 had his preschool class this morning, because Mondays affect EVERYONE. Since the park dirt was washed out of his hair and the fruit roll-up was washed off of his face, and since he looked dreadfully cute…
Welcome back to the work week, y’all.