Well, we had ourselves some powerfully glorious weather for the past couple of days. Spring fell on a Tuesday and Wednesday this year, which was nice that we had it for so long (TWO!! ENTIRE!! DAYS!! OF SPRING!!), seeing as how Small Town, USA is under a winter weather advisory again, starting tomorrow, in which the cuss word SNOW was used.
Normally, I enjoy snow. I do. But I’ve had so much of it to enjoy this winter, that all of my enjoyment has been sucked straight out. Mother Nay Nay is currently standing on my last nerve, because I have a backyard that is nothing but dirt, and dirt turns to mud when it rains and slops and snows, and I have a six-year-old who wants to be outside. I told Hubs the other day, “I think I’m going to buy him some muck boots and coveralls at the local ranch supply center, and then I’m turning Thing 2 out to pasture.”
I realize that normal, civilized folks actually have this novelty known as GRASS in their backyards, which cuts down on their children turning into mudballs when they play, but Hubs and I have never been normal, and Hubs is barely civilized. We like to live our lives dangerously, on the edge of an insanity cliff I like to call ALL THIS MUD COMING INTO THE HOUSE OFF THAT BOY’S SHOES IS GOING TO MAKE ME CRAZIER THAN A SQUIRREL, DRUNK ON CRANBERRY WINE. So yes. It would be okay if winter just quit now, like it’s supposed to do by the middle of April.
After Thing 2 had played outside for a couple of hours after school yesterday, I brought him inside and scrubbed him clean again. We got the mud scraped off of him and made him look relatively presentable, because we were off to the boy’s band concert at Small Town High School.
The boy cleans up pretty well, even if he didn’t shave.
And let’s talk about THAT, for a moment. Shaving. WHEN did my BABY grow up enough that all I can see is a mustache when I look at him? Oh, don’t think he’s turning into a Burt Reynolds quite yet, but yesterday I did encourage him to maybe trim the upper lip a bit. Naturally, having half of Hubs’ sarcastic DNA caused him to say, “No, thanks. I wish I could grow a Duck Dynasty beard. In fact, I think I’ll start trying right this second.”
So apparently we are on a mission to make our mother sob, because THIS WAS YOU JUST YESTERDAY, AND YOU DIDN’T HAVE A BEARD THEN!
For you beginning parents, this whole nonsense of children growing up is really not something you’re going to enjoy. Oh, you’ll clap at all the milestones that fly by, but then you’re going to be staring at chin hair and remembering the soft cheeks your boy had when he was eight, and then that’s all your nerves will be able to take for the week.
The boy’s band concert was a smashing success last night. He played well… the entire band played well… and Thing 2 sat so quietly and lovely in his seat, I began to question whether I had actually brought the right child with me. Who was this child beside me, and why wasn’t he fidgeting and flopping around in his seat and causing an unholy ruckus, like we always do?! It was a divine miracle. Thing 2 sat like a gentleman through the entire concert, and the ushers never had to shoot us the stink eye that said, “WE’RE WATCHING YOU, AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO GET KICKED OUT OF A HIGH SCHOOL BAND PERFORMANCE, IN FRONT OF GOOD PEOPLE IN THIS COMMUNITY WHO WILL STILL MENTION IT TO ALL THEIR FRIENDS.”
The boy may have gotten his sense of humor and his sparse beard-growing abilities from his dad, but he got none of his musical talent from either of his parents. He’s an amazing clarinet player, and all Hubs and I can do is sit back and clap, while we take zero of the credit.
Anyway. Y’all have a good Wednesday evening. Stock your pantries for the blizzard that’s coming. Hunker down and stay warm.