I saw a little sign the other day that read, “I’m not saying that it’s hot here, but two hobbits just threw a ring into my backyard.”
Deep down in my soul, I knew that this sign was supposed to be funny… but I didn’t get it. That probably has everything to do with the small fact that I just can’t do the hobbits. I can’t watch the hobbits… I can’t read about the hobbits… I can’t have lengthy discussions about the hobbits… or my brain will just cease to function, as it starts to shake like your great-grandmother’s lemon-mold, Jell-O salad, because SNORE. So, I asked the boy and Hubs, who are something of hobbit experts (Which, rest assured, I’m embarrassed to admit in such a public forum, because HOBBITS, Y’ALL! Nerdy! And these guys are MY BELOVED PEOPLE.), why the little saying should be funny.
The short version of what they explained to me is that… apparently… hobbits throw rings into big fire pits after long journeys.
So listen, y’all. I’m not saying that it was hot here today, but two hobbits just threw a ring into my backyard.
(*cue canned laughter*)
Today was the kind of hot that made your legs stick to the leather seat in your Suburban, while you wished that you didn’t have to drive anywhere, seeing as how you were now the proud owner of third-degree burns on the backs of your thighs.
The boy and Enzo opted to get a gang of friends together for lunch at an upscale, classy kind of place that has linen napkins on the tables and stemmed glasses for water, and… air conditioning!
Our little friend, Staci, sent me a group selfie from the restaurant, to let me know that my two big boys were behaving themselves there. The rest of the group didn’t make it into the picture, but there was a small pack of them. I can only hope that the boys used something more glamorous than their Taco Bell Manners at this restaurant.
(Also? Can I just say it? Staci can rock a messy bun like nobody’s business. I have begged her to teach me her ways, but I fear that once you cross the threshold of forty, you’re doomed to a life of old lady buns that aren’t incredibly cute, as evidenced by my utter inability to replicate anything I see demonstrated on You Tube.)
After lunch, that little posse of friends all walked through ALL THE OUTDOOR, SUFFOCATING HEAT to the theater for a matinee, because EVEN MORE A/C and ICE IN THE DRINKS, and did I mention A/C already?
Thing 2 and I came home, where we ran from the Suburban to our front door, so that we didn’t make the nightly news by spontaneously combusting into great balls of fire before we got inside to our own A/C. We decided that we couldn’t possibly go back outside for a park adventure, so I let our toddler watch You Tube videos this afternoon on the tablet as a substitute for playing in the great outdoors.
He was fascinated with a video involving a tractor with some kind of blade on the front of it, where the driver whipped through a pumpkin patch and pretty much chopped pumpkins to puree.
Thing 2 howled with laughter, while he jumped up and down in excitement, and then he watched the video 3,917 more times. At one point, he spun around and told me, “Me and Daddy are gonna get a tractor with a cutter on it, and we’re gonna cut us up some pumpkins!” And then he kind of did a little fist-pump in the air.
I asked, “Why do you want to cut pumpkins?”
Our three-year-old stared at me, like he didn’t even know me. He gave me the look that silently questioned, “How are you possibly my people, if you must ask this?” Slowly, he stuttered out, “Um… because… they’re pumpkins… and… because… it’s SO MUCH FUN TO CHOP PUMPKINS UP WITH TRACTORS!!”
I don’t understand hobbits…
… or how to make a really good messy bun in my hair…
… and I don’t understand boys.
Y’all have a merry Tuesday evening.