The Post Where We Talk About Prayers, Toilet Handles, Tractors and Figure Skating

Well, hello there!

You really didn’t think I’d make it into work this evening, to pound the potatoes out of the keyboard and get a blog post up, did you?  Oh, ye of little faith.  I’m here, and I have things to write, but I’ll warn you right now:  I woke up at 3:50 AM this morning from a wicked awful dream, and I never went back to sleep, so what you read here tonight might be a mixture of run-on sentences and words that don’t make sense.

In other words, just a normal post at Jedi Mama, Inc.

To help things along, I think I’ll just do bullet points tonight, because my OCD, exhausted self loves some decent bullet points.

Or rather, NUMBERED points.

It’s all good.

1.  Yes.  I woke up at 3:50 this morning from a nightmare.  I even realized that I woke up hollering a little bit.  It wasn’t your SCREAMING IN THE SHOWER IN A HORROR  MOVIE sort of holler, but still… it was an elevated voice that would make it hard to hear the TV, if you were watching it in the same room.

What you need to know is that Hubs slept through it.

And the boy slept through it.

And Thing 2 slept through it.

So basically, I feel very safe in my house, knowing that my hollering alarm system is stellar, and the menfolk will jump out of bed to lend their help, if we had a burglar in the house at 3:50 in the morning.

2.  Yesterday morning, after I had dropped Thing 2 off at his preschool, I drove myself to work.  When I parked in front of my school, I started to let myself out of my seatbelt.  The belt wouldn’t release.  I had managed to catch my shirt hem on the set belt hook, which I then shoved right into the little receptacle unit, and lo!  The result was a seatbelt that wasn’t going to release its occupant for all the tea in China.

The beauty of the situation was that I had shoved my cell phone into my backpack, which was in the backseat.

After pushing that seatbelt button and pulling the strap, and trying to loosen the part around my waist, I finally came to the conclusion that I was going to have to drive the two blocks over to the fire station and literally LEAN ON MY HORN to get the attention of the firemen.

The conversation would have gone like this:

“Hi!  I’m stuck in my seatbelt, because my shirt hem got caught in it, and I couldn’t CALL YOU, because my phone is in the backseat.  Can you use that little seatbelt-cutting tool you have… or even the Jaws of Life… and get me out of my Suburban?”

Thankfully, after a few minutes, the Lord’s favor shone upon me, and the seatbelt came loose, without the need to get the firemen involved.

3.  Thing 2 and I like to pray together while we drive to preschool every morning.  Basically, this involves me praying some phrases out loud, for him and over him, while he repeats them.

img_3368This morning, I prayed, “I am a mighty warrior for Jesus.  I will be a blessing to my teacher today, and I will be a blessing to my friends today.”

Thing 2 was busy, repeating the words from his spot in the backseat.  It went exactly like this:

“I am a mighty warrior for Jesus.  I will be a blessing to FORD MUSTANG!!!  FORD!!!!  MUSTAAAAAAANG!!!!  Mom!!  We just passed a Ford Mustang!  Did you see it, Mom?  DID YOU SEE IT???”

img_33714.  I think we’ve talked about our backyard here at the office of Jedi Mama, Incorporated before.

Or rather, we’ve talked about our family’s total LACK of a backyard.

Oh, we have THE SPACE where the backyard should GO, but what we had was a giant pile of dirt and tall weeds where the pheasants and the woodchucks felt safe.  When we built our house, we landscaped the front yard, which is lush and lovely and a genuine blessing to our neighbors.

And then we ran out of money, as everyone who pays for a new construction loan tends to do.

And then we adopted a baby.

And that baby never slept.

And we became tired people who had no money.

Now, we are still tired people who have no money, but it’s time that we show the neighbors that we can be a blessing to — FORD MUSTANG!! FORD MUSTANG!! — them, by giving them something other than despair to stare at, when they gaze out the windows of their homes.

Hubs borrowed his friend Greg’s tractor, and we no longer have a dirt pile back there.

We no longer have tall, tall weeds back there.

What we have is a whole heap of FLATLAND OF FRESH DIRT, which means BRING ON SPRINGTIME!  Because when next Spring arrives, we’re going to put in sprinklers and lay sod and show the cul de sac that WE MEAN SOME LANDSCAPING BUSINESS around here.

I should note that Thing 2 believes, from the bottom of his heart, that Greg GAVE HIM THE KUBOTA TRACTOR FOR HIS BIRTHDAY.

His birthday, which is in March.

No matter.  Our preschooler is utterly convinced that this tractor is HIS to keep, forever and ever, amen.  Hubs and I are not looking forward to ALL THE EMOTIONS that are going to come charging straight out, when that orange tractor has to be loaded up on a trailer and returned to Greg’s shop.

img_3154 img_3147Thing 2 was put in charge of gathering all the rocks that got turned over and exposed.

He took his job very seriously.

img_3122 img_3328He also got to use his Tonka truck to haul dirt and fill in the low spots around the new concrete patio edges.

img_3308 img_3292He also saved fourteen thousand, nine hundred and four earthworms from being run over by the tractor.

And then he packed those worms around in his hand, and in his dump truck, for so long, they probably slipped quietly away to be with Jesus before the afternoon was over.

img_3313Thing 2 also got to dig to his heart’s content, which turned out to be a substantial amount of digging.

Dirt is one of Thing 2’s favorite mediums to work in.

img_3180 img_3219 img_3222The boy logged several work hours onto the Kubota, too.

He was as happy doing this as Thing 2 was about playing in the dirt.  I think Mary Poppins was exactly right, when she said, “In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun… you find the fun, and SNAP!  The job’s a game!”  Our boys would have been content to work outside like this for the entire week, which is why Hubs and I actually had a little space of time where we sat on the deck and simply WATCHED all the construction work unfolding before our eyes.

And Hubs saw all that construction work, and he called it good.  The children were the arrows in our quiver, and they were doing a powerfully fine job of earning their keep.

img_3282 img_3280 img_3242 img_32445.  Thing 2’s curls are still growing.

And growing.

And growing.

The amount of dirt from the landscaping project that came into our house, via the curls last weekend, was enough to plant a fiddle leaf fig in a big pot with.

img_3345

6.  Hubs and I signed Thing 2 up for ice skating lessons this winter.  He will start lessons next month.  I was so excited to tell him, because he is always PLUM DADGUM THRILLED to play “hockey” at home.

His version of hockey is taking anything that is stick-like (golf clubs, long wooden spoons from the kitchen, cardboard tubes from empty paper towel rolls) and smacking anything that is puck-like (Matchbox cars, golf balls, Legos, rocks).  He has no real desire to shoot for nets and score goals at home; instead, he shoots for distance, to see how far he can smack something.

If a Matchbox car becomes the victim of a slapshot and chips the Sheetrock, then he gives himself a couple extra points for good measure.

Hubs and I assumed that he might like ice skating lessons, because ice skating lessons eventually lead to HEY!  YOU’RE OLD ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY PLAY HOCKEY IN SMALL TOWN, USA NOW.

When I told him that he was all signed up for lessons, he bawled his head off.

Bawled and bawled and bawled.

And then he bawled some more.

Hubs and I couldn’t figure out why, because all he would do is sob, “I’m NOT doing ice skating lessons EVER!  IT’S FOR GIRLS!!!!”  No amount of talking to him could convince him that HELLO, MEN WHO PLAY IN THE NHL.  We told him about all the boys who play on the Avalanche team, and all of them ice skate, but it was a no-go.

Because of course it was.

Ice skating lessons are wicked expensive.

Finally, when I was trying to warm him up to the idea of skating YET AGAIN yesterday morning, he finally said, “It’s for girls!  I’m not doing it!  I’m not going to jump and twirl on the ice!!  I WON’T DO IT!!!”

Which is the exact moment that Hubs and I realized that Thing 2 believed he had been signed up for FIGURE SKATING LESSONS, and that his parents were pinning their hopes and dreams of seeing him skate across the ice, doing double axles, Beillmann spins, and Russian split jumps, while he was dressed in sequins.

img_31757.   A friend of mine posted THIS on Instagram earlier this week:

14680869_1810489775876449_866485969363676756_o-e1476802449556Um… WHAT??!!

How can anyone from Beverly Hills 90210 BE FIFTY YEARS OLD and on the cover of AARP?

I felt like my entire day had been flushed straight down the toilet when I saw this.  Because seriously… Dylan and Kelly and Brandon and the gang are still just eighteen and meeting up at The Peach Pit after school.  I may need some therapy to get through the fact that the teenagers from my college days are now gracing the cover of AARP.

I saw a sign the other day that said, “DON’T YOU HATE IT WHEN YOU RUN INTO AN OLD PERSON DOWNTOWN… AND THEN REALIZE YOU GRADUATED FROM  HIGH SCHOOL WITH HIM?”

8.  Speaking of flushing things down the toilet…

… the handle on our toilet broke off eight days ago.  This would have been all fine and dandy, and been the cause for a trip to Home Depot for a quick replacement, EXCEPT…

… this was the second handle from Home Depot that has fallen off our toilet in brokenness.

Which is why Hubs ordered our third toilet handle online.

Which is why we had to wait FIVE DAYS for him to find the exact handle he wanted, and then THREE DAYS for Amazon to ship it to us, because PRIME LIED THIS TIME, and it wasn’t TWO-DAY SHIPPING!

Oh, Amazon Prime!  You broke our hearts with your OOPS!  THIS-WILL-TAKE-THREE-DAYS-OF-SHIPPING.  What is this?  The 1800s?

And THAT, people, is why we have been taking the lid off the tank of the toilet and pulling up on the little, metal bar-thingy in there to FLUSH.

I have felt like Wilma Flintstone for the past eight days.

And THAT, people, is all I have for this evening.  You can exhale your sighs of relief and get back to binge-watching Friday Night Lights on Netflix, which is exactly what I intend to do.

Of course, it won’t be long before Matt Saracen graduates from high school and debuts his modeling career on the cover of AARP, because that’s just how life goes.

Y’all have a great weekend.

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