When did we leave off?
When I was telling you about my week. My week of DRIVING. My week of being a taxi cab driver who had no union benefits. We spent a lot of time in the Suburban last week, running from one event to another, but we were happy.
And ultimately, when I take the Suburban in and the shop guys tells me, “Wow, you need four new tires; these ones are about bald from all the driving,” I will simply grin and say, “Oh, but we were happy.”
We ended last week going here:
Like how you should never shoot yourself in one while you’re out hunting prairie dogs. Hubs has promised Sam never to do this again.
Sam fiddled with all the gadgets that only he knew how to use in the room, and then he said, “The lens in the boy’s eye is not flexing exactly as it should, but things aren’t bad. Oh, they’re not bad at all, especially when you compare his lens to AN OLD WOMAN’S LENS, which has REALLY lost its ability to flex.”
This is where I told Sam that we’d like to take our files and find a new eye doctor.
So the lens in my eye doesn’t flex well. So it’s age related. I’ve started to grow a mustache like Burt Reynolds, too. Teachers and life coaches don’t tell you that things like this will eventually happen when you’re in college. When you’re in college, you think you’re invincible, and you think that you’re neon green Izod polo will always be in style.
But, I’ll wear my super-thick glasses that help my inflexible eyeball lens focus, and I’m going to spell ENORMOUS WORDS, worth ENORMOUS POINTS in my Words With Friends game against Sam.
We left Sam’s office with the knowledge that the boy could probably benefit from some reading glasses. Or maybe he won’t benefit from them. The boy was sitting right smack on the ranch’s tallest fence post, teetering in both directions on the Vision Issue, so Sam gave us some loaner glasses to try when the boy dives into a Harry Potter book.
So far, the boy’s report involves two thumbs up on the reading glasses.
On Friday night, we wrapped up a fun-filled week of VBS, and we were INCREDIBLY SAD to see it come to a close.
Primarily because I had spent the majority of the evenings chatting with Kim and Christy and Mika and Sister and Amy and Cathy and Susan and Stephanie V. and Jodi and Heidi and Abbey and Jen and Missi and Robin and Gretchen and Laurie and…whew! Did I miss anyone?! I’d drop the boy and Carter and Enzo off at 6:00, and I’d come back home around 7:00, to tell Hubs, “Sorry; I was busy talking.”
And Hubs would say, “Really? YOU? YOU were TALKING?”
Yes. Yes, I was. It’s just that there were SO! MANY! fun girls gathered all in one spot. All the conditions were absolutely PRIMO for chatting.
And one night, Christy and Mika and I even plopped ourselves down in the church bathroom and styled each other’s hair.
VBS. It’s not just for the kids.
On Friday night, Hubs and I were crazy enough to sign up for the Clean Up Crew after VBS. More specifically, we signed up to be the Vacuuming People. The air conditioning had been out all week in the church, and sweet mercy! Atlanta, Georgia has never before felt that kind of heat and mugginess that we had in the sanctuary right here in Small Town, USA. I vacuumed the sanctuary with a rather small vacuum cleaner. I sopped my shirt with sweat, and all of my hair stuck to my neck. I drank four bottles of water, and never had to visit the little girl’s room.
There are approximately nineteen square acres of carpet in our church’s sanctuary, which makes me ever-so-very-much grateful for a significantly smaller living room at our house.
I’m just sayin’.
While I was sweating to the VBS songs that were jacked up loud on the church’s sound system (sweating like Richard Simmons NEVER DID to the Oldies!), Hubs had the Zamboni vacuum cleaner in the hallways.
Leah, the super cute two-year-old, bummed a ride!
By 10:00 there wasn’t a single stray piece of glitter or tinsel or Israelite robe fuzz left anywhere in our church building. Hubs and I had made sure of that, while our pack of children joined all the other kids whose parents were on the Clean Up Crew for a night of running.
And also more running.
I think that the boy, Enzo, Carter and their VBS friends ran a half-marathon between 8:15 and 10:00 on Friday night. They were…ahem!…chasing girls. And arresting girls. And throwing girls into jail.
Naturally the ill-behaved girlie creatures kept escaping.
Which created reasons for more chasing.
And more running.
And still more running.
And let me tell you this one thing: My boy, who is a morning person, and who plum refuses to sleep in EVER, went to bed at 10:30 on Friday night, and he got up at 10:30 on Saturday morning.
That has happened exactly NEVER TIMES at our house.
On Saturday, we cleaned a little house. And then we dropped the boy off at Kellen’s house, so that Hubs and I could do the stupidest thing we’ve done in a long, long time.
We willingly and on purpose ventured into Wal-Mart at 1:00 on a Saturday afternoon with an enormous shopping list, and low! That super center was crazy-mad busy.
While we were pushing our cart along and marveling at the audacity of others to stop their carts right smack in the dead-center of an aisle while they chit-chat with someone they haven’t seen in MONTHS, the boy was participating in extremely dangerous scientific experiments with Kellen.
They had half of a milk carton that had a section of garden hose attached to it. The carton was full of all-purpose baking flour. And when you blew on the hose and held a lighter to the puff of flour that rose up, you could produce a full-fledged fireball.
Please do not try this at home. The boy and Kellen are trained professionals, and this is a closed-circuit course.
Plus…MUCH ADULT SUPERVISION.
When the groceries were put away and the boys were covered in flour, we scooped our kid up, and we drove out to Small Mountain Town for dinner with Hubs’ parents. Hubs’ mama made the VERY! BEST! kabobs of all time, and we ate and we ate and we ate.
We ate until we all moaned with bulging bellies.
And then the boy grabbed Papa’s BB gun and did some target practice.
And he promised not to shoot his eye out, because Sam would have lectured him about that.
(And yes. The Jedi Family is all about fireballs and fire power. If it shoots or explodes, it makes our list of favorite things.)
(And by our, I mean Hubs’ list and the boy’s list. My list of favorite things does not include mushroom clouds and black powder.)
(My list of favorite things includes a good book. And my slippers. And cheesecake. And any Words With Friends game that I am winning.)
(But I very, very rarely win at WWF.)
We came home on Saturday night, and Hubs and I watched the movie RED, which was okay. Had I been less tired, I may have enjoyed it more. As it was, I really just wanted the show to finish, so that I could get down to the business of ALL THE SLEEPING.
(And also? Hubs and I rented Country Strong last week, and that one rocked. Because I was much more alert when I watched that one. And much less tired. Hubs, though, said that Country Strong made him want to throw a fork into his eye. The eye he DIDN’T shoot himself in years ago.)
And is anyone still hanging on and reading this blog post? Because GOODNESS! I think I’ve managed to take BORING to a whole new level and frontier tonight!
This morning, we went to church, and all the VBS kids performed their songs for the congregation.
And when I say all the VBS kids, I really mean all the VBS kids minus MINE.
The boy, you see, doesn’t sing. In fact, he threw the parent memo about joining the school choir away before he came home from school one day last year, because he didn’t want me to see it, because he had already purposed in his heart that low! He is not a singer! And he didn’t want his mama signing him up for choir!
The boy was a little beneath the ENTHUSIASTIC LEVEL when it came to singing this morning. Hubs and I simply told him, “Go stand with Teegan and sing your heart out for Jesus!”
Guess who else looked thrilled?
I love this snapshot, because I absolutely adore Garrett’s excitement next to Josh’s expression!
Naturally, I recorded the little VBS songs, because that’s what a good mama does. We make hot breakfasts (or even room-temperatures Pop Tarts). We drill the math flash cards. We make them read, read, READ! And we video tape their performances on the iPhone.
The boy is the one in the back, who never participates in the song’s hand movements.
And then this afternoon, I scrubbed our showers. And by scrubbed, I mean SCRU-UH-BBED! I had the Comet and the scrub brushes and the foaming toxic spray, and rest assured, I’d rather vacuum in an 85-degree church sanctuary for 90 minutes than get myself all involved in scrubbing a shower out.
And then my parents came over for dinner, because Hubs grilled a roast on his Traeger.
And THAT, people, was our weekend.