Daddy Sang Base… Mama Sang Tenor… And The Boy Picked That Stinking Banjo

Our weekend here at the Jedi Manor was simply the stuff that dreams are made of, if your dreams involve owning a toddler who gets up in the middle of the night and refuses to go back to sleep.

Twice.

On Friday night, we went to the local high school game, where we met up with our friends, Scott and Christy.  The stands were packed, because it was a picturesque, postcard-type, fall evening, and the entire town turned up in the bleachers to watch some football.  We squished in tightly, and we cheered in all of the right places.

Hubs and I are so different at football games.  He actually goes to WATCH football.  I actually go to TALK TO people.  Christy and I chattered on like a couple of Southern women on a front porch, who haven’t seen one another in a decade and had some catching up to do.  We covered every topic we could think of, from wondering if we should buy our teenage boys pairs of khaki, American Eagle corduroy pants for dressier occasions, to high quality mascara, to anointing folks with oil and praying over them.

We like to throw the casual in with the spiritual.

At one point in the game, I looked up and saw that the scoreboard had moved from 14 points to 21 points, and realized that we had been so deep in conversation, I’d actually missed an opportunity to stand up and cheer for a touchdown and try to catch a T-shirt fired out of a cannon.  When I commented to Hubs that I’d missed a touchdown completely, he just shook his head at me, in what I can only assume was delayed pride.  When Hubs watches the game, he sees things like plays and numbers on jerseys and routes that teenage boys are planning to run when the ball is snapped.  When I watch the game, I see a lot of blurred color out there on the field, right before I notice that HOLD ON!  THERE’S JANE DOE THREE SEATS UP FROM US, AND WE SHOULD SAY HELLO TO HER, and HEY!  OUR BAG OF POPCORN IS EMPTY!  SHOULD WE MAKE ANOTHER CONCESSION STAND RUN?

I’m the person y’all want on your fantasy football teams…

… except probably the exact opposite of that.

(Unless you have guacamole at your fantasy football parties; then I’ll make every effort to appear like I know the difference between a pitch and a reverse and that I genuinely CARE about those differences.)

On Saturday, I actually had the forethought to put a roast in the crockpot first thing in the morning.  I won’t lie; the crockpot makes me feel like I’m on top of my Housewife Game and starting on Varsity.  After we’d knocked out a little laundry and pulled off a few chores and accomplished some errands, dinner was ready.  I fed my people real food and patted myself on the back for being organized.

On Saturday night, Thing 2 went to sleep at 8:00.

At precisely 8:45… after a nice, forty-five minute NAP… he got back out of bed.

At 3:00 on Saturday morning, when the bags beneath my eyes were bigger than monster truck tires and I’d mentally envisioned myself cussing a blue streak like a Tourettes Grand Champion, Thing 2 finally fell back asleep.  I know some mothers would have been all, “Put him in his bedroom and go back to bed, Woman!”  The only issue there is that having Thing 2 loose in the house is quite often reminiscent of having three, adult male raccoons in your home.  I can’t imagine saying, “You know, we’ve got some ‘coons running loose indoors, but… what the heck?  I’m gonna go on to bed now, and just hope for the best… that our kitchen garbage is untouched come morning.”

On Sunday morning, Thing 2 was up at 7:00, searching online for any nearby marathons to enter and run that day.

My outfit of the day pretty much resembled THIS LADY LIVES IN A CARDBOARD BOX IN THE ALLEY and SHE DIDN’T EVEN BRUSH HER TEETH.

Somewhere about mid-morning, when I’d officially admitted to my NO-LONGER-TWENTY-TWO self that I was completely unable to stay awake until 3 AM any longer, I showered and put on some mascara, and yes, I even used the Colgate.  And then Hubs and I left the I-JUST-PARTIED-LIKE-A-COLLEGE-BOY-AND-STAYED-UP-ALL-NIGHT toddler with his grandmother, so that we could go see the new movie, War Room.

I loved it.

I may have even loved it ENORMOUSLY HUGELY.  I also wanted to stand up in the theater and clap outrageously for Priscilla Shirer and Beth Moore, my two favorite Bible study teachers, and holler that they needed to be in the running for the next Oscar.  Even Hubs knew exactly what to say, as he commented, “I thought Beth Moore’s ninety seconds on the big screen was some of the finest acting I’ve seen in my entire life.”

It’s why I love him.

And then…

… THIS happened this weekend:

image3There are two types of people in this world:  People who make moonshine, and those who don’t.  People who fry squirrels in vats of peanut oil and eat them for dinner, and folks who don’t.  People who can catch a full-sized catfish out of the swamp with their bare hands, and individuals who just can’t.  People who cheer for NASCAR, and those who skip that channel altogether on the TV.  People who pick banjos, and people who think their money is better spent in the home furnishings aisle at Target.

In conjunction with the fact that Hubs and the boy enjoy every television show on backwoods people who live in the swamps and eat rodents and believe in UFOs touching down in Ricky Bobby’s cornfield, they bought a banjo online.

And yes.  The banjo went outside this weekend to the deck, because apparently it’s only as good as the amount of people who have to be subjected to all the picking going on.

I cringe a little when I say this, but the boy is rather musical, and that kid watched enough You Tube videos this weekend, that he was playing REAL, RECOGNIZABLE SONGS on the banjo by late Saturday night.  I felt an enormous streak of pride, because he taught himself how to play that instrument in a single day, and then I remembered… BANJO.  And I shuddered just a bit.

After the sun said goodbye to the day, the cute neighbor boy brought his guitar over to our deck, for a little impromptu jam session.

Overalls without shirts, and dirty, bare feet were optional attire for this spontaneous, music festival.

image2 image1I thought about bringing a couple of spoons outside to bang together, as I contributed some background noise to the medleys, but then I remembered that I’m more of a higher class person than that.

On Sunday night, I started rocking Thing 2 for bed at precisely 7:19.  At 7:20, he was snoring.  I walked out of his bedroom and told Hubs, “And THAT, my friend, is how you put a baby to bed!”

At 12:30 this morning, that kid was back up, and I fought to keep the racoon on his bed until he finally fell back to sleep at 4:00 this morning.  I have no idea how he’s able to pull this off, but Hubs and I know in the deepest recesses of our hearts that he’s already prepared for college.

And today… I’ve been moving around rather slowly, with a bit of brain fog that is only eclipsed by the small fact that the song Watch Me (Whip / Nae Nae) has been stuck in my head all day.

Clearly, I should probably iron up my overalls and contemplate a couple of front teeth that I could afford to get rid of, because humming this song to yourself for hours on end is on par with banjo picking, I’m sure.

Y’all have a happy Monday.  And may your Monday night be filled with the sleep of baby angels.

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