The Post In Which You Wish Our Weekend Was a Bit More Exciting

The Broncos are OFFICIALLY officially dead to Hubs now. Two officiallys. He wants to recruit boys from our hometown high school team to play for them, to see if they can’t turn the NFL team around, and he said to me tonight, “You know, I’ve always liked the Colts.”


I just wanted to get that out there.

But other than the Broncos having the nerve to lose…again!…we had a great weekend.

As it turned out, this was the “Weekend of the Movies.” Hubs and I dashed off, quite spontaneously, to the theater on Friday night to see 2012 with our friends, John and Peggy, since the boy had been invited to spend the night with the cute neighbor boy. Other than the fact that the writers of that show left out a couple of major events (like, you know, Jesus coming back before the world is completely ruined, and the fact that God did point out several years ago that the earth would never be completely flooded again), it was a pretty good flick. So yes, if you can get past those two major issues, it was a good movie, although I did have to lean over and tell John, “I do hate your type of movies, because this is stressing my blood pressure out.” It’s a movie aimed at guys — explosions, fires, major catastrophes, falling ash, plane wrecks, tsunamis, leg amputations, sports cars racing through blizzards, and big disasters everywhere. Girls, there are very few heart-felt kisses in this one, so spend your money on movie tickets wisely this week.

When Hubs and I climbed back into the Suburban, I looked at the clock and said, “Are you kidding? That was three hours long?! I had NO IDEA!!” And I called Peggy to ask, “Did YOU know that we just sat for three hours?” And indeed, Peggy did not. She said that it had felt like she’d been holding her breath forever, in anticipation of John Cusack driving the RV out of Yellowstone Park in time (things weren’t good for old Yellowstone, by the way), but she didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath for 180 consecutive minutes.

When we got back home, our telephone immediately rang, and I was a bit panicked, as I had no idea who would be calling at 10:45 PM. That’s considered to be the MIDDLE OF THE STINKING NIGHT at our house, as I’m never up that late. (Unless, of course, Hubs has talked me into watching another episode of The Office on the laptop. THEN I might still be awake.) As it turned out, it was the cute neighbor boy’s mama, and she was calling to say, “Your boy just ate some Chex Mix at our house. The kind with peanuts.”

Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!

The boy, you see, is horrendously allergic to peanuts. They tend to make him puff up like a big blow fish, and it’s not a funny thing at all. It is, in fact, a rather dangerous thing for him to ingest a peanut. The cute neighbor boy’s mom assured me that he hadn’t actually eaten a peanut, but that he’d eaten three pretzels out of the bag, before she realized what he was doing, and the pretzels had been in definite contact with the peanuts that were residing in the snack mix. So, at 10:46 PM, Hubs and I zipped next door with our bottle of liquid Benadryl, and we loaded the boy up, and we sat and visited with the cute neighbor boy’s mama for long while, as I kept my vigilant eyeball trained right on him. And the result was…he got very, very sleepy with the Benadryl. And the other result was…that he was fine.

So you know…a bit of a scare there, but it all turned out okay in the end, and the boys actually got a bit more sleep than we’d expected, what with a full dose of Benadryl shortly before 11 PM.

Saturday was devoted to chores, and a trip out to dinner in Gymnastics Land. I know! We didn’t even have gymnastics, and we still drove over there with our friends, Andrew and Susan, and we ate at a rather classy steak house. We’re not used to eating in establishments where the food isn’t wrapped in paper and where everything isn’t served up, with a toy, on a big plastic tray. So, you know…total treat! The glasses were made out of glass, and the napkins were made out of linen, and we had steak knives and everything. No plastic silverware. No wax-coated cups sporting soft drinks. No germ-infested Play Land for the boy to venture into. We were a bit confused on how to behave!

This morning (Sunday), we went to church, and then I went back to the movie theater with a couple of friends to see New Moon. My hard-earned American dollars became a weekend statistic on that one.

And then, we had our small group at the church tonight, and it was pizza night, so…you know! Mama didn’t have to cook, and that is a fantastic turn of events, because Mama is a far, far cry from Julia Childs.

Oh, and while I was at New Moon, watching the werewolves fight the vampires, Hubs and the boy cleaned the fish tank, which was so horrendously dirty, it was no longer sanctioned by OSHA. In fact, we were sporting a horrendous safety code violation over here at our house, in regards to the water quality there. At one point this week, I even asked Hubs, “Can the goldfish breathe in that?” Hubs assured me that they’re goldfish, and that it takes a nuclear disaster to actually kill one. So…imagine my surprise tonight when I got home from the movie, took one look at the clean tank, and saw Moses on his side on the bottom. Apparently, Moses is allergic to sterilized water, and he must’ve preferred the cloudy film of a contaminated swimming hole.

Moses is now swimming with Jesus.

Bless his heart.

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