Sunday Night. It’s A Wrap.

I think this is where I throw the towel in and say, “Sunday, you have gotten the best of me.”  And then I’d do a dramatic swoon that would have made Scarlet O’Hara step back and exclaim, “Oh, my!  THAT ONE was fantastic!”  And then I’d pour a hot bubble bath and call it a day.

Sadly, it’s not quite time to call it a day, because I still have laundry to fold, and we’re on the very edge of Real Life, as SCHOOL!  IT STARTS TOMORROW!, and we’ve got to haul out a backpack and find a lunchbox and decide what clothes are clean enough to actually wear out in public around here, since the maid apparently took the week off and didn’t wash any whites.  Or darks.  Or sheets.  Or towels.  Or anything else even remotely resembling fabric.  I should really consider firing that woman.

So apparently our lazy, unstructured, just-go-golfing-whenever-you’re-in-the-mood days are about to end, and we’re going to, once again, become slaves to the alarm clock, and then we have to face homework every night, and I think I’m developing hives already just thinking about it!  Hell hath no pain like the boy when he’s not in the mood to do homework; he’ll verbally complain for thirty minutes about a  math worksheet that takes him two minutes to finish.  I usually need two Migraine Excedrin tablets with a wine chaser to cope, and then I just lie down on the sofa and order Jimmy John’s sandwiches for dinner.

Oh.  Wait.

I order Jimmy John’s even when we’re not manually yanking the boy through homework like a plow horse in the field.

So I’ll just leave you with this:  Our weekend was full… and fun… and busy… and Hubs even survived Walmart on a weekend.  I consider that a major Life Victory.

And really?  The blog posts might be a touch sporadic this week; I can’t promise that I’ll be at the computer every night to cough up some words that don’t make sense and string them into sentences that make even less sense.  But then, who knows?  Maybe I’ll get a word or nineteen hundred written every night.  I’m just sort of writing myself a Hall Pass at the moment… giving myself a bit of an excuse… so that if you don’t see something new this week, you won’t be shocked.  We just have a tremendous amount of things written on our calendar for this week, and if I fire the maid, then I’m going to have to be the one who washes all of our clothes.  Plus, lest you think it’s just the boy heading back to school… I am going back into the gym to teach PE.

Think about me this week, as I have twenty-seven pre-kindergarten children.

Twenty.  Plus.  Seven.

I hope that I don’t have to leave them unattended while I sit in the bleachers and breathe into a paper sack.

Before I go, though, I just have to ask… Have y’all seen the Geico commercial with the body builder who directs the traffic?  Hubs showed it to me this weekend, and I laughed until I snorted.  And then I watched it four times in a row on the computer.  I’m sure y’all have senses of humor that are more mature and dignified than mine, so you’ll probably say, “Um… that’s not really all that funny.”

I thought it was.  I’m laughing right now, just thinking about it.

(Of course, that might be from the head wound I suffered earlier this evening, when Thing 2, in a fit of HYSTERICAL, BELLY-SHAKING LAUGHTER, threw his head back and clocked me in the nose.  Yes, I saw stars.  Yes, my nose bled like a faucet.  Yes, I thought I was going to need the help of a 911 call.  Yes, it all turned out to be a little drama, the likes of which Scarlet O’Hara ain’t never seen.)

(I’m better now.)

(Thanks for the concern.)

(But maybe the Geico commercial is funnier tonight BECAUSE OF my head trauma.)

(Who knows?)

But y’all can click RIGHT HERE to watch it.  I hope it brings a gut-busting laugh to your house, like it did to ours.  I just hope that while you’re laughing, you don’t throw your head into someone’s nose.

Happy Sunday night, people.

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