Our weekend, people, has been fast.
I think that’s the nature of weekends, though. The turn-around time of getting you home on Friday afternoons to settling you down on Sunday evenings is a little piece of time continuum magic.
Fast magic, that is.
Hubs and his partner in business-related crime, Ryan, have hired the boy to shred some papers for them. This sounds like a couple of nice guys giving a ten-year-old a chance to earn some money and learn that saving for college is a good thing, while buying more Lego sets may not be a wise move, but what it really boils down to is this: Hubs and Ryan have an antique paper shredder which can handle no more than two sheets of paper at a time. When you look at the antique shredder and then look at the three piled-high-with-papers boxes that are sitting at Hubs’ office, you understand that it’s really rather a stroke of genius.
Who has time to sit and grind 400,000 papers, two at a time, through a shredder which is guaranteed to jam on every twenty-second sheet?
Because of this, Hubs and Ryan employed a little of Tom Sawyer’s fence-painting brilliance. They assured the boy that it was TONS OF FUN! JUST TONS AND TONS OF FUN! to cram papers through the shredder and watch them disintegrate into thin strips of confetti. The boy took the bait, and the two Tom Sawyers were off the hook, assuring everyone that paying the boy to do this task was worth every penny (namely, ten dollars per box) that they had to fork over to the 4th grader.
The first time the boy went to “work,” he happily shoved papers, two by two, just like Noah, through the shredder.
On Friday afternoon, Hubs collected the boy from school, so that he could return to work and tackle the shredding.
I have it on good authority, however, that the boy has seen through Hubs and Ryan’s ploy. The boy came home from Hubs’ office on Friday evening and said, “I didn’t feel like shredding papers, so I just watched some Scooby Doo on the iPad while I was at Dad’s office.”
I have offered to shred the papers for the big boys, but my fee is going to be a tiny bit steeper than $10 per box.
It’s because I still have my eye on an incredible little chair that I saw last month at World Market, and $10 per box isn’t going to make that chair a reality in my living room.
On Friday night, with no social life whatsoever, Hubs and I put the boy to bed early, and we did the same thing.
Only we retired to bed to watch six consecutive episodes of Arrested Development on the laptop, which caused us to giggle uncontrollably.
People, the episode in Season 1, where Michael Bluthe dates an apparently blind attorney made me howl until my sides split.
And really? Season 1 was so long ago, any of you who actually DO watch Arrested Development have more than likely long forgotten it.
On Saturday morning, Hubs staggered out of bed and asked me, “Do you want me to take you out to the big antique shop?”
I had to feel his forehead, people, just to see if he was feverish!
Yes! Yes, please! Let’s go to the big antique shop!
Apparently every other person in Small Town, USA had the exact same plan, because TOTALLY OVERRUN WITH PEOPLE! Which, you know, meant that we saw eighty-seven girls that we knew, and we stopped to chat with all of them.
I ended up packing a big, wooden bowl around with me for a while, and I had two women (one, two!) stop me on two different occasions and say, “Hey! I was going to buy that bowl! You’re not really planning on buying it, are you?” I was afraid that they were going to throw their purses to the ground and show me some fly-like-a-butterfly-sting-like-a-bee maneuvers right there in the middle of the crowded antique shop. Hubs whispered words of encouragement into my ear and said, “Take them! You can win, honey!”
Thankfully, I scored the big, wooden bowl and some other trinkets, and we escaped the shop without the sheriff being summoned.
Christmas shopping brings out the crazy in women, and sometimes that crazy business plum scares me!
After the antique shop, Hubs and I spent the day running errands and browsing the Main Street shops, with the boy in tow, and listen, people!
I grew up with a girl named Amanda. We met in the first grade, and we were fast friends, until Amanda skedaddled after high school graduation, and I never saw her again. She moved to Seattle, met a fellow there, and they high-tailed it to Alaska, which is a whole lot of miles away from Small Town, USA. Amanda has never met the boy, although she has seen pictures of him on my blog, because the Internet really narrows the globe down, and even though someone lives in Alaska, where the sun doesn’t even come up until 10:00 in the mornings, she can still stay in touch.
So there Hubs and I were, in a little kitchen shop downtown, and this girl that I somewhat recognize, but somewhat DON’T, comes around the corner, with the boy in tow and says, “JEDI MAMA! I HAVE FOUND YOUR BOY!”
Not that the boy was really lost or anything. He’d been on the other side of a display, looking around.
The girl who had recognized my son turned out to be Amanda, and WOW! We had a little life reunion right there, smack in the middle of the kitchen shop. We talked and we talked and we talked; we hugged and hugged and hugged. Hubs said that the reunion of friendly estrogen was almost too overwhelming for him to endure!
But really? What are the odds of such a chance meeting?
And then, Hubs and I bought some knives, people.
Specifically, we bought two knives, because after buying some trinkets at the antique shop, two knives was all we could afford.
In buying those knives, Hubs and I had a revelation.
People, we have not really been cutting our food before last night. No, sir. I believe we were simply sawing our food, but we knew no better, because we had nothing to compare it to. Now, however, we have come to the full glorious revelation that we CAN SERIOUSLY CUT THINGS! The angels sang an extra round of hallelujahs last night.
Hubs, you see, smoked a brisket all afternoon in his Traeger grill, and it turned out to be nothing short of sweet perfection, because HELLO! NO THROWN BREAKERS! We understand the power of the Traeger now, and we respect it, and it, in turn, respects us now, too. When the brisket was done last night, we used the new knives to cut it, and it was like cuttin’ butter, y’all!
Small Town High School did not fair well in the State Championship Game, which Hubs and I listened to on the radio. Our poor boys did not fair well at all, people. I could barely stand to listen to it, what with all the wailing and gnashing of teeth, so I called Theresa in Rival Town, USA and spent ninety minutes chatting her up on the telephone. We laughed until we wept, as we spent half of our time talking about old boyfriends who we were CONVINCED we could never live without back in the ’90s, and how God sometimes heroically saves us from those high school and college crushes who are entirely wrong for us. By the time Theresa and I hung up, I was still grinning from ear to ear, and Small Town High’s second place finish wasn’t even all that difficult for me to take.
This morning, Hubs got out of bed and said, “Small Town High lost the State Championship Game yesterday. And so did Gymnastics Land. And so did Really Close Tiny Town. And College Town lost their game. And then the Colorado Avalanche lost last night, too. By 2:00 this afternoon, when my Broncos play, it should be a weekend of perfect losses.”
Hubs’ hopes for Bronco glory were not very high this morning, as we shuffled off to church.
And church! Land sakes, but I could write an entire post on this morning’s sermon, on account of TOUCHED ME DEEPLY and MADE ME THINK and SUMMED UP MY LIFE. So maybe when I’ve had time to process everything and wrap my pathetic little brain around it all, I’ll share my learnings with y’all. Right now, though, I’m just going to treasure them to myself for a bit.
This afternoon, while the Broncos battled out a major VICTORY! VICTORY, PEOPLE! we bopped back and forth between watching them and picking up our deck furniture to store it for the winter, so that the elements do not ruin the metal chairs and table, because if there’s one thing I won’t tolerate during the summer months, it’s UGLY WEATHER RUIN on my outdoor table set.
Hubs, naturally, was plum overwhelmed with happy hyperactivity because the Broncos have ditched their losing streak, people.
Way to go, Denver. You’ve made Hubs plum proud, and you’ve brought him back from his Avalanche and Small Town High-induced grief.
So now, things are really shaking down quickly tonight, because Hubs is catching a plane in the morning and flying far away. That’s sad in itself, because Hubs, you know, is certainly fun to have around the house, and I’ll miss him greatly, but the worst of it is that Hubs must be at the airport at five bells in the morning.
As in, pre-dawn.
Almost pre-Starbucks, but not quite.
So now I’m off to make sure that Hubs has packed the right things, because guys always UNDER pack, and I’m sure he’ll fly to Far, Far Away missing half of what he really needed, because he was shooting for a three-pound weigh-in on his suitcase.
Always overshoot. That’s my motto. If the suitcase will zip up when filled with fifty-two pounds of stuff, then, by all means, you can easily cram sixty pounds of essentials in there and still get it zipped, somewhat comfortably.
And also? The boy is not with us tonight, because we weren’t sure he could function in polite society tomorrow if we woke him up in time to get Hubs to the airport, so he’s off with Mam and Pa, getting himself spoiled rotten and eating Mam’s homemade stew. Because we are childless tonight, Hubs just asked, “Hey! Want to catch a movie?” And listen, people, I think I do, so after the wife-approved packing of the suitcase, I think we’re off to the cinema for a little date.
Happy Sunday night, people. Raise your hand if you want a wake-up call in the morning. Goodness knows, I’ll be up.