Our weather was a bit aggressive today. I was afraid to hit my brakes on the Suburban at stoplights, because I wasn’t fully convinced that my tires wouldn’t just MELT OFF while we were sitting motionless on hot asphalt.
So there was that bit of wicked heat to deal with. I’m trying to remember winter, when I actually complained about being cold. I’d like to try it out again for a day.
This morning, the boy had to be at work at 8 AM at the golf course, so I encouraged him to GET OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE! HOW WILL YOU EVER MAKE MORNING CLASSES IN COLLEGE WITHOUT ME? OH! THAT’S RIGHT! YOU WON’T! THAT’S WHY I’M HOMESCHOOLING YOU FOR COLLEGE!!
Except that’s just my public excuse. The real reason that I’m going to homeschool the boy for college is because my heart is not going to stand up successfully to having him fly our little nest in three short years.
After much encouragement to just HURRY, HURRY, HURRY, I did get the boy to the golf course at precisely 7:56 this morning. We are referring to that as a little Work Victory, considering that he didn’t even get out of the shower until 7:35, and we needed eleven minutes for driving. I’m trying not to be jealous of the time that boys DON’T NEED to blow dry and curl their hair, apply mascara and change out of six different outfits before they settle on one to actually wear.
It was hard, but I managed to get a quick snapshot of my big boy before he grabbed his golf clubs out of the back of the Suburban and left. He’s helping teach lessons in a junior golf program this week, for little kiddos.
After we left him at the golf course, Thing 2 and I drove back home, where we made a grocery list that was longer than Santa’s list, because we were out of everything, except a package of green onions in the refrigerator that had turned to black slime.
Apparently, someone forgot those.
I’m not pointing any fingers as to who forgot them, though.
Right before we left for the grocery store, a work crew arrived to do some yard work for us. Mainly, they’re going to do a quick cleanup of our rock beds, which I haven’t had time to do. Thing 2 raced outside to visit with them, because his life goal is to speak to every person on this planet at least once before Jesus returns. Seriously, that smaller kid of ours knows no strangers; he talks to ALL OF THE PEOPLE, ALL OF THE TIME.
Or really, he just TALKS ALL OF THE TIME. As in, nonstop.
While he was asking fourteen thousand questions on what the crew would be doing today, I looked down in the grass, and behold! There, forty-six miles away from any water source was an itty bitty frog. I pointed him out to Thing 2, who pounced on him like a rat on a bag of forgotten Cheetos. There was much ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the little amphibian, and a proclamation that I WILL KEEP HIM FOREVER, MOM!
Except, no. No, you wont. We have had frogs and toads in tanks at our house before, and the end result is that Mama always ends up cleaning those things at the sink in the laundry room, by her lonesome self, even though the little people make promises to do it.
Thing 2 ended up setting the frog down in one of the work crew’s buckets, as I mouthed the words from behind him, “SET. IT. LOOSE!!!!” Because I’m paying these people, they were forced to listen to me, over the preschooler yammering on and on about, “Keep my frog safe!”
We loaded up into the Suburban then, and off we went…
… for six hundred and nineteen thousand pounds of goodies from Walmart.
The boy was supposed to be done teaching lessons in the junior golf program at 12:00, so it was very refreshing when he texted me at 11:07, just as I was transferring bags of groceries from the shopping cart to the back of our vehicle, to say, “I’m actually gonna be done at 11:30.”
It was not enough time to successfully run home and unload the poundage that I had in plastic Walmart bags… yet it was too much time to drive out to the golf course to wait for him, with cartons of milk and half and half and containers of ham lunch meat baking in the makeshift oven that the Suburban would become, as we sat in the intense heat.
So… I texted my child and told him, “We will be there as soon as we can. You may have to wait a bit on us.”
And that’s when we drove like bandits in a stolen car, back to our house, where we quickly, quickly, oh-so-very-quickly hauled in all of those bags and threw the refrigerated things into the refrigerator like they were balls being pitched in the Major League.
As we were running back outside to our Suburban, Thing 2 raced off to the work crew and hollered, “How’s my frog doing?” This was met by the devastating news that the frog had “escaped” (ESCAPED! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!) from the bucket. So, you know… TEARS while we drove back out to the golf course.
I took the boy’s work shirt with him, because he had to leave that golf course to immediately go to the other golf course in town, to work the clubhouse desk. Do you know where Small Town’s two golf courses are? Well… they are on TOTALLY OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE COUNTY.
I just want to know who had the strike of brilliance that it would be a good idea for the boy to work at BOTH golf courses.
In between the two courses, I did stop and buy my boy a sub sandwich, because he was dying of heat exhaustion, hunger and thirst. I air conditioned him, I fed him, and I bought him the biggest bottle of water we could find, and then I dropped him off at the other golf course in town.
While we were still driving in the car, Grammy called to announce that the bike she and Papa had ordered for Thing 2 had just been delivered by the Fed Ex man.
So we made a stop.
My armpits began to melt and what little makeup I had on dripped right off my face.
In other words, I had never looked better.
And then we ended up hitting another grocery store in town, because Walmart had been out of some items I needed.
And then we came home and unloaded.
And then Thing 2 had soccer practice, which was the equivalent of getting inside a full-body sweatsuit made out of plastic and rubber and the hair of twenty camels, and then marching across the desert, because ONE HUNDRED AND TWO FULL DEGREES, PEOPLE.
After we had sweat ourselves down six clothing sizes at soccer practice, we had to pick the boy back up from the golf course, because we weren’t smart enough parents to decide that our child should apply for a hardship driver’s license, so that he could start driving alone at the age of FIFTEEN, instead of sixteen.
But this kid?
Yeah, he only has six more weeks between himself and that sweet sixteenth birthday, so I’m actually going to cherish these last few, precious moments of driving him all over town, all of the time. I’m afraid I’m going to blink, and then he’ll be driving himself, in his own car, and gone will be our Car Chats. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to that.
Y’all have a happy Tuesday night. May your air conditioners and your ice makers be in prime, working order tonight.