“I think my favorite part of parenting is the getting up early…”
…said no one, ever.
Thing 2 decided at 4:45 this morning that we should all just get up and DO SOME THINGS! And by do some things, he thought that bouncing in his new Johnny Jump-Up might be fun, but he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to do that first, or use the flashlights that he considers to be a gift from God Himself and just walk across the street to the park to SWING!SWING!SWING!
Hubs and I let Thing 2 know that if he continues to get up while the chickens are still sleeping ON A WEEKEND MORNING, we will list him on eBay. We won’t tell either of his grandmothers about this, either, because we know they’d just buy him back.
But then Hubs decided that if the grandmas got into a bidding war for Thing 2, we might be able to rack in a wheelbarrow full of gold and vacation on the coast of Australia, where he wants to scuba dive in a metal cage and pet Great White Sharks.
(Hubs’ way of thinking was altered from all the loud music he listened to as a teenager.)
If the wording around here gets a little funky, and my grammar seems worse than ever tonight, just remember that while y’all were still sleeping this morning, I was listening to the Gummy Bear Song with Thing 2 and trying to make a bottle without my contacts in.
So, we did some things this weekend.
On Friday, we ushered Cousin W into the teenage years, as he plum decided to grow up and turn thirteen.
And thirteen? Well, it looks good on Dub-ya.
Everyone drove out to Brother’s house for the big party. We even hauled Hubs with us, regardless of the fact that he kept mumbling, “WHO has a birthday on the day that Small Town High is playing Rival Town in football AT HOME?” So Hubs had a grilled hamburger with everyone for dinner, and then he and the boy skedaddled back into town for the game. Thing 2 and I stayed around to throw birthday confetti and dish out birthday spankings.
And also? Well, Brother’s Wife brought out a container of key lime pie yogurt for Thing 2, and Cousin W, being the birthday boy with all the privileges, fed the baby his first hit of grown-up yogurt EVER.
I’m pretty sure that key lime pie yogurt, in the BIG BOY VARIETY (instead of the Gerber yogurt that’s for little babies), is Thing 2’s new very-most-favorite-food-of-ever. Thing 2 thinks he’s twelve, anyway, so it makes sense that we should throw the Gerber yogurt under the bus and just buy the real deal now.
Eventually, Cousin W gave Thing 2 the container, because Thing 2 was quite insistent that when you’re almost twelve, you’re plenty big enough to just EAT IT YOURSELF and eliminate the guy with the spoon in front of you.
Thing 2 is also enamored with Cousin B. He and B are real tight. Thing 2 will laugh belly laughs for B that he won’t do for anyone else. We don’t know why, but that baby LOVES to throw his head back with hysterical giggles whenever B is around.
W’s birthday cake this year changed my life forever. It was red velvet with cream cheese frosting that Brother’s Wife had a professional baker make, and I wanted to take the entire box and go sit in her laundry room, with the door shut, and eat it all alone.
Best. Cake. Ever.
(That’s what you get when you decide to use professional bakers instead of the Walmart bakery for your son’s birthday. So sue me. The boy’s cake this year tasted like a Hostess cupcake that had been on the grocer’s shelves for sixteen months. W’s cake tasted like baby angels had baked it.)
Thing 2 enjoyed the red velvet cake, too.
He splashed tremendously hard, and he turned the water pink.
It didn’t work.
Apparently red velvet cake with real cream cheese frosting is not the thing to give to babies when you want them to sleep. Thing 2 rolled around in his crib, laughing to himself and kicking the wall in merriment for FORTY-FIVE ENTIRE MINUTES before he finally said, “Wow! 9:30! I haven’t ever stayed up this late,” and conked out cold.
Hubs and the boy made it home, too, and and our beloved Small Town High had lost to Rival Town by 3 points. Hubs was heartbroken. The boy was hopped up on sugar from the concession stand.
It was a late night at our house.
We also made it to the pumpkin patch today. Christy and Sister and I had all decided to head out there after church. When I announced our plans to Hubs, he gave me a deadpan stare and said, “Why is everything conspiring against me this weekend?! THE BRONCOS PLAY THE STINKING RAIDERS TODAY! Who plans a trip to gather pumpkins when the Broncos are on?”
Apparently that would be me.
Thanks to the DVR, Hubs’ game was saved, and we went pumpkin picking.
We piled the entire gang onto the decorative hay bales for a photo opp. I know, I know. We’re WORKING ON Deedan’s shyness around the camera. The poor boy. Hopefully someday he’ll come out of his shy shell and be brave enough to… Oh! I don’t know… Throw his arms into the air and flash the AC/DC symbol.
We made the babies pose together, too, but forty-seven snapshots later, we still couldn’t get them both to look at the camera. Thing 2 kept saying, “I think we’re allowed to EAT this scarecrow’s arm!” Little H kept insisting, in her very quiet way, “I don’t know, Thing 2. I think it’s just for decoration. I don’t want to get into trouble.” And Thing 2 just said, “Well… I’M eating it!”
And look at Cousin L. My word! I think this looks like her senior picture, even though she’s only a 4th grader. Everyone knows that it’s nothing but flat-out cool to pose with a pumpkin during your senior photo shoot.
Cousin K found some adorable little pumpkins to take home. He spent a sweet forever cultivating that giant pumpkin patch, in search of the minis. He was never after the Great Pumpkin, like the big boys were.
After everyone had their squashes, we went back to the barn and had drinks and cookies and talked to 4,700 other people that we knew. Obviously TODAY was THE DAY to be at the pumpkin patch. Hubs kept pacing saying, “Um… The Bronco game…”
The camera strap.
And they won.
And after I put my pajamas on at 3 PM, everyone lived happily ever after.