How Is It The Middle Of July Already?

Y’all, I have just been the absolute worst blogger.  It might have something to do with the fact that I am officially stuck on a level of Candy Crush that I actually believe is uncrushable.  This is the level where I will throw my phone against the wall and declare that Candy Crush is dead to me forever and ever, amen.  Of course this means that I sat in a chair a couple of evenings last week and tried to push forward where no man has gone before, as I diligently tried to beat that level, so I was too preoccupied to blog.  And then I was just too mad to blog, because STUCK FOR LIFE, RIGHT SMACK THERE, PEOPLE!

And also?  It’s just been too hot to blog.  Please prepare yourselves for the season where all I do is complain about the intense heat, which is basically equal to sitting on the sun’s equator at high noon, which comes just a few short months after I went on and on, complaining about how cold and snowy it was.  Apparently, I am never happy with the weather in Small Town, USA, unless it’s June or October.  Hubs told me that I seem to be better suited to the climate in San Francisco, and I said, “YES!”  Who doesn’t love a balmy 67 degrees in mid-July?  Hubs waved at me and said, “Have a good life there.  I’ll miss you!”  And so that’s where we stand.  I am married to a man who thinks California is not the place he wants to be, so he has zero plans to load up the truck and move to Beverly.  Hubs is old and set in his ways now, so I guess we’ll stay here in Small Town and drip sweat.

At any rate… do y’all remember when the library declared that I was very possibly the town’s worst book borrower, as they claimed I had a lost book?  They stapled a hefty overdue fine to my account and… GASP!… suspended my library privileges.  This is what my fellow nerds fear the worst:  being banned from the library!  Hubs assured me that this wasn’t really a big deal, because couldn’t I just walk in, pluck a book off the shelves, and walk out?  You know… if I returned it later?  He wanted to know if I couldn’t just borrow a book without anyone actually knowing.  This caused me to worry, because HAS HUBS BEEN BORROWING ANYTHING… LIKE MONEY… WITHOUT ANYONE KNOWING?!  I prepared myself to pay for a book that I was certain I didn’t lose, because Thing 2 and I read books every single evening together, and listen:  I can’t keep reading the same books from our bookcase over and over, without losing my sanity and going to a home, where they serve fish sticks every Thursday.  And then, the favor of the Lord shone down upon me, because the library emailed me to say, “We found the book on our shelves and have reactivated your account, clearing all fines off of it.  We apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused you.”

So… just like that… I am a member of the public library again, who is in VERY GOOD STANDING.

I thought y’all should know.

Because apparently I don’t have anything interesting to blog about today.

Except…

… we did have a busy weekend.  Small Town held its annual parade on Friday morning, which was to celebrate the fact that our town was full of cowboys and cowgirls, riding bulls and roping calves, in a heated competition.  However, I think the parade was less about celebrating the rodeo, and more about rubbing it into our faces that HEY!  YOUR SUMMER VACATION IS EXACTLY HALF OVER!

The parade is kind of a big deal in Small Town, because everyone heads to town to watch it.  And by everyone, I mean ALL.  OF.  THE.  PEOPLE.  And then all of the people from neighboring towns.  Hubs always says that the best time to rob a bank is while the parade is going, because no one is ANYWHERE, except on the main thoroughfare, clapping for marching bands, beauty pageant winners, antique cars, cartwheeling clowns and folks who can ride a unicycle.

Hubs and I opted not to rob a bank on Friday morning.  Instead, we made the more honorable decision to watch the parade, which is why our bank account still holds nothing but an echo and six tears.

The gang was all there, armed with their plastic bags, because their mothers have gotten tired of holding all the melting and sticky candy they catch, when it’s thrown from a float, in our bare hands.

After the parade, we had a hamburger lunch, because it’s a tradition to find a hot spot selling a good burger, and then we came home to our air conditioning, to complain about how hot it was outside to one another.  A friend of mine had mentioned that it was “hotter than a hooker’s doorknob on nickel night,” and I laughed so hard, it’s a good thing my own mama didn’t hear me.  She would have kicked me and shot me the stink eye, because DIDN’T SHE RAISE ME A LOT BETTER THAN THAT?

So yes.  It was hot this weekend.

On Saturday, we worked to fight the heat by hanging a pair of triangular-shaped tarps over our deck.  Our deck has sat in the sun for the entire ten years that we’ve lived here, because we failed to become folks who studied the daytime sky and the sun’s placement, in relationship to the giant trees, when we built this house.  Had we done that, we would have learned that our deck is shaded by those trees from 11:03 AM to 11:36 AM during the summer, and the rest of the time, the trees fail to do what they were planted for a hundred years ago, as the sun completely bypasses them, leaving our deck to fry.  In an effort to reclaim real estate that we’d like to be able to use in the summer months, the giant tarps were ordered off Amazon and hung… and listen!

GLORY, GLORY AND ALSO HALLELUJAH AND YES, LORD!!

Hubs’ parents came over on Saturday.  We fed them take-and-bake pizzas for lunch, because we are fancy and not afraid to fire up the oven to 425 degrees, when it’s 572 degrees outside, because AIR CONDITIONING, and they helped rig up a system to attach those shade tarps to our house.  And really?  I only had a LITTLE anxiety when Hubs drilled FOREVER holes into our siding for bolts.

On Saturday night, we sat on our deck as the sun went down, and we said, “Look at us!  We are on the deck, and we cannot hear our own skin sizzling as it fries!”

On Sunday, we had coffee on the deck, and the sunrise didn’t blind us and make us regret the traditional hot morning drink, because we weren’t sweating already at 7 AM.

On Sunday afternoon, we sat on the deck and texted Hubs’ parents:  LOOK AT US, ON THE DECK AND STILL ALIVE!  WE HAVEN’T BEEN COOKED TO OUR DEATHS!

On Sunday night, we ate dinner on the deck and said, “This is how middle-class America is supposed to live!  LOOK AT ALL THIS SHADE!”

So now we feel pretty smug, because we have a deck that is no longer just for decoration on the side of our house.  It’s actually functional, and if you walk out there barefoot, there’s no longer a need for a 911 call and the burn unit of a major hospital.

In between the Friday morning’s parade and the Sunday deck sitting, there was laundry, a quick visit with two of my dearest friends from my childhood, who were in town for a bit, and a trip to the grocery store.  I know in my heart, it’s exactly how Prince Harry and Meghan spent their weekend, too, because we are equally as classy as they are.

Happy Monday, y’all.  May your library cards be clear of shame and may your decks be full of shade!

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