Let me give you the abbreviated version of today.
104 degrees. Or thereabouts.
I mowed the yard.
I felt like I was breathing the air of a full-on heatstroke in through my nose. Yes, there was some sweat.
I took a shower, where the temperature dial was turned clear over to the cold side.
I decided that I’d survive my attempted heatstroke.
Hubs got called into work from his stay-cation to attend a meeting. Hubs was not overly excited about this, but his presence was actually needed at said meeting, because Hubs’ head is filled with pertinent information.
The boy and I were home alone, and the boy decided that it was too hot to play outside, and I agreed with him fully. He took advantage of our A/C (and we gave thanks that we are a house served by A/C), and he laid sideways on the sofa, playing his Nintendo DSi.
I was all set to clean the house. You know, the deep-down overhaul of all the rooms, where dusting and mopping is involved? Yeah. My friend, Cody, loaned me a book by Jodi Picoult, and I cannot. Put. It. Down.
So I sat sideways on the other sofa, and I read.
But I did do a load of laundry, and I did scrub down the kitchen, and I already told you that I mowed the yard, so the day wasn’t a total definition of lazy.
And then we took the boy to his swimming lessons.
Which, I might have mentioned, are indoors.
And if it’s 104 degrees outside, the temperature inside at the pool is something close to the temperature needed to melt rock. So Hubs and I got really wise this time, and we watched swimming lessons through the window. And we did not sweat. And we could still see the boy, even though we weren’t sitting on a bench right smack-dab next to the pool.
High five, Hubs! Sometimes we are really brilliant people, you and me.
And then we had dinner with Amy and PH. We introduced PH to the 89-cent, five-layer burrito at Taco Bell, and I’m pretty sure that he loved it as much as Hubs does. And for 89 pennies, you really can’t go wrong.
And then we went to the boy’s baseball game.
It was the game that went on and on.
And on and on.
And on and on.
It was the game that never ended.
And then, when the game really did end, and everyone was so relieved, and we stretched our cramped bodies out of the bleachers, the boy’s coach came up to a handful of parents and announced that he’d just had a six-boy brawl in the dug-out.
And he had six boys crying.
Crying because of the brawl, and because they’d lost the game by the hair on their chinny-chin-chins, and because it was so late, and because they were all quite tired.
And yes, apparently, the boy was involved on the edges of the brawl, and he stood up for a boy who was being pushed around by the brawl-starter, and another boy stood up for our boy, when he got pushed around for standing up for the first boy shoved by the brawl-starter.
Confusing, isn’t it?
Let me clarify. The brawl-starter thought our boy’s hat was his. Our boy showed him his initials in the hat, and let him know that, indeed, it was not the brawl-starter’s hat. The brawl-starter stole the hat off of another boy and tried to push this other boy around. Our boy stood up for that boy, so the brawl-starter tried to shove our boy. One of the boy’s good friends stepped in then and stood up for our boy, and he got shoved by the brawl-starter. So, five boys jumped the brawl-starter. Our coach said that he looked over at the end of the game, and he had a pile of six boys, duking it out and crying.
And then we came home.
And the boy was an emotional wreck.
And Hubs and I talked to him.
And we told him that he’d absolutely done the right thing to stand up for a teammate who was getting picked on.
And now it’s almost 11:00, and Mama is ready for bed.
So while the younger generations set out to see the midnight showing of Eclipse tonight at the theater, I will be snoozing.
Because I am old, and because I know that I will not be able to function in polite society tomorrow if I went to a movie that started at 12:01 in the morning.
And because it was 104 degrees today.
And because I almost died from heatstroke.
And because I did nothing substantial, unless you count a load of laundry and a good kitchen scrub-down to be substantial.
And now I’m rambling, which is a clear indication that this post is over with.