The wind blew here today in something of a dry hurricane. We had the gusts that blew all of our deck furniture over, tossed our enormous outdoor garbage can down the driveway, and made us gasp for breath when we turned just right while we were outside so that we got a full blast of wind right up our noses, and we prepared to be evacuated for the oncoming hurricane.
But then we remembered that we are a landlocked area, and that our state has never experienced a hurricane.
So by the end of the day, with no torrential rain nor blackened skies, I simply wanted to push my fingers deep inside of my ears, squeeze my eyes tightly closed, and rock back and forth while I whispered, “Make the wind stop. Make the wind stop.”
Because really? I am OVER the wind, and that may simply be because my contact lenses have dried out enough to feel like I’ve pushed pennies onto my irises. I don’t know if any of y’all have tried to blink with pennies in your eyes, but the word UNCOMFORTABLE comes to mind.
Hubs and the boy and I spent our entire weekend diligently focused on one lone project.
We cleaned the garage.
The boy’s cousin, W, was spending the night with the cute neighbor boy on Friday night, and the two of them came over to ask if the boy could join them for a sleepover. Hubs and I shot that down with a smile, because the boy was already scheduled for slave labor, and we weren’t going to let something like TOTAL LACK OF SLEEP distract our weekend mission and cause us to be a man short. Nope. Our family was uniting to tackle the biggest project since the first hole for the first concrete basement was dug by hand with shovels.
(And that, people, would have been a job that I played my PASS card on. I was never a pirate because I do not like digging holes. And also because I am passionately in love with toothpaste.)
Few people have actually seen our garage, but rest assured that when I say the TV show Hoarders had nothing on us, I spoke the truth. Our garage was filled with construction debris from building the Jedi Manor. It was also filled with boxes and boxes and boxes. Those boxes were filled with size 3T clothes that the boy outgrew a hundred and six years ago and things like a full Mr. Potato Head set, which he last played with when he was five.
And also all of my bank statements from 1993, that were tucked together with a stack of checks that I’d clearly put in order and used to reconcile my checking account, back in a time when Guess overalls and side ponytails were still considered trendy.
Obviously, I felt the need to hang onto that packet of paper in case I was ever audited, so that the bank could tell that I really HAD spent numerous dollars that year on stonewashed jeans and fluorescent pink hair scrunchies.
With great pleasure, I would like to assure you that I didn’t even need the Hoarders-provided psychologist to convince me that it was time to let go of the pink checks covered with cartoon kittens and ducklings and my bold signature. Without a backward glance, I pitched the entire bag that represented my banking history in 1993.
And, because I’m coated in a fine layer of windblown dust and because my hair currently feels like I could shake enough dirt out of it to plant a sizable garden, I’m going to throw y’all under the bus tonight, because I need to get a shower in.
I have great news!
If no one will object to me taking a big step up on the Mom Bragging Box and grabbing the megaphone to shout my announcement through, I’ll let y’all know what our little family found out on Saturday.
The boy, you see, wrote a short story for a young author’s contest a while back, and we were pleasantly surprised to hear that his story had won in the 4th grade fiction section of Small Town, USA. The story then went on to represent our school district at the state level, and…well…
…the boy sort of swept up the First Place prize and took State with his story!
When the mailman handed us the letter on Saturday, we sort of all hopped up and down in our grungy, garage-cleaning attire, as we read about how the boy’s story will be on display in the state capitol building for a week in October, and how he has been invited to travel there to read his story out loud for people who wear ties and power suits to work.
Naturally, the boy was blessed with some celebratory ice cream this weekend, because Hubs and I are kind of proud of him.
At least someone in this family can write well, without a lot of grammatical errors.
Happy Sunday night. I hear a shower calling my name.