Not posting about our weekend last night (which is when normal, OH-SO-FIVE-SECONDS-AGO people would have written about their weekend) has actually gone and worked itself in my favor, because I have absolutely nothing to write about today.
Unless you count what happened over the weekend.
Because my day today was absolutely riveting. It involved laundry and scrubbing down the front of the stainless steel refrigerator so that it no longer looks like a family of orangutangs had opened and closed the door forty-six thousand times and left their banana-grease fingerprints all over it.
Plus, I made spaghetti. The homemade variety, because, let’s face it. I was in college before I realized that slackers could purchase already-prepared spaghetti sauce in a jar. My mama always made it from scratch, and that’s what I do. I like to chalk that up as a little Cooking Victory for myself.
I also cleared off our dining room table today, which was an important Monday goal. We had literally dumped everything from our weekend onto the table, and I was going to have nowhere to serve the homemade spaghetti, if we didn’t clear us some space.
And how do you write about laundry and table-clearing and I BROWNED THE HAMBURGER AND ADDED TOMATOES AND ONIONS AND SPICES and make it interesting.
Oh, that’s right; you don’t.
So our weekend got started on Friday afternoon, because… well… that seems like a good time to throw in the towel for the week and get the party started. Becki and her girls watched Thing 2 on Friday afternoon, while I had my hair colored and trimmed.
(If you’ve always asked yourself, “Does she? Or doesn’t she?” like the old hair color commercials used to ask, the answer is YES. I do. And the color is nothing dramatic, because it is the EXACT SHADE of my real hair color, which causes Hubs to ask, “Why?” Apparently, Hubs can understand dyeing it all pink, but he cannot mentally grasp spending the equivalent of a new Ferrari on coloring your hair the same color that your hair was before you walked into the salon.)
(I don’t understand points in wrestling, either. Points for pins; points for I GOT HIS ELBOW TO TOUCH THE FLOOR; points for I KICKED HIS LEGS OUT FROM UNDERNEATH OF HIM; points for making a nose bleed like a faucet. It makes no sense, so I guess Hubs and I are even now. I think the wrestling referees just pull points out of the air, based on who throws the least amount of sweat onto them.)
(Because if a 200 pound high school wrestler flipped around and flung sweat off of his hair, and it landed on me, I would dock him a thousand points and vote him right off the island.)
(And also? Well, it should be noted that Becki’s girls did not skip school on Friday afternoon to watch Thing 2. Although, I think they might have, had they needed to! But no. Becki’s girls don’t go to school on Fridays, because they are in a different school district than the boy is in, and I’m envious. I’m very much pro for HOME ON FRIDAYS WITH THE KIDS.)
(I just thought I would share that.)
(And also? My stylist waxed my mustache off on Friday, too, so GOOD-BYE, BURT REYNOLDS.)
(There’s nothing like a good tangent that steers itself into nineteen different directions, is there?)
When my hair was done and my mustache was gone, I met Becki and the girls and that cute baby at Starbucks. It was the second time I had ordered a grande, no-water, skinny chai latte from The Bucks on Friday. I was fulfilling a chai fix, because Hubs and I have decided to boycott Starbucks in the name of having a family budget for the month of December.
Today is December 3rd, and I already feel like I’m living in the trenches, and the two-a-day drinks on Friday are nothing but a distant, feel-good memory that I’d like to repeat.
On Friday night, the boy went to the cute neighbor boy’s birthday party. The cute neighbor boy told us that the party was from 6:00 to 9:00, so PERFECT. We sent the boy out our back door at 5:55 with some cash in his pocket, because they were all going to the movies.
At 9:15, I texted the cute neighbor boy’s mama and asked if she needed an extra Suburban to pick boys up from the theater with. I figured the movie was about done, and I’d offer to drive the school bus.
(But not a literal school bus, because do you know what I could do behind the wheel of one of those things? Take out a line of parked cars on accident when I turned a corner… that’s what I could do with one of those things. The Suburban is the extent of what I can handle and still keep the rest of society safe.)
My neighbor texted back and said, “Oh, the boys are just now getting ready to leave for the show, and the rides are completely covered.”
I looked at Hubs after reading this, and I said, “They are going to the late show! The LATE SHOW, Hubs! The late show that doesn’t get out until midnight, and I’m elderly now, and I have a baby who will be up at 5:30 in the morning, and HOW ON EARTH CAN I POSSIBLY KEEP MY HEARING AIDS IN THAT LONG TO WAIT UP FOR THE BOY TO COME HOME?”
Hubs just looked at me and said, “I remember when we were young, and we’d actually go to the late show, too.”
People, the late show died to me when Thing 2 arrived. MeMaw needs her Metamucil cocktail and her sleep at night with that baby.
I texted my neighbor back and said, “Okay; I just thought the party ended at 9:00, so I thought I’d offer help with rides.”
She texted back and said, “Do you need the boy home? I can send him home, if you want, but he’s welcome to stay here tonight.”
I texted back, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ll just see him at midnight, when the movie is done.”
And then, somewhere in the middle of all of that, the cute neighbor boy’s mama informed me that the party went from 6:00 THAT NIGHT to 9:00 ON SATURDAY MORNING. It was a slumber party. The cute neighbor boy had failed to tell me that, and I thought I was supposed to clear my twelve-year-old out of their house at 9:00 Friday night! When I found this out, I called my neighbor. We had a good laugh. We actually laughed until our sides hurt and I almost wet my pants. And then, I took my dentures out, slammed back a Geritol Silver, shut the lights out, and went to sleep.
The boy came home at 9:00 Saturday morning.
Hubs and I also sat down on Saturday, and we cranked out a family budget. Hubs has wanted a budget for the last seventy-two years of our marriage, and I’m all, “We’re fine.” Then I hide chai tea purchases in GROCERIES. But, we finally came to terms with the fact that our financial future might be dimmer than expected, if I keep drinking it out of the red holiday cups that The Bucks has out right now.
So, we made a budget.
And we’ve agreed to cut Starbucks COMPLETELY OUT of our December purchases.
I could just lie down on the floor and die right now.
I’ll check in with y’all in a few days, and let everyone know how I’m surviving.
We also put our Christmas tree up in the living room on Saturday, which is MONUMENTAL. We have never, ever in the history of HUBS AND MAMA put a tree up on the first day of December. We like to fly by the seat of our pants, visit the tree lots around the 14th of the month, buy a discounted, dried-out tree, bring that sucker home and try to love it into lush health for twelve days before all the needles fall off, and then blam! We throw it into the trash.
It’s how we roll.
So now I have a tree sitting in a stand in my living room, because she needed a deep drink of water. She’s still undecorated. For that matter, she’s still wrapped in twine and about twelve-inches in diameter. She’s more of a pencil shape at the moment, than a luxurious Christmas tree shape, but she’s hydrated.
I had to clean house all day today to bring it to a point of I HAVE EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL, so that we can go into the basement and drag out the tubs of Christmas decorations. The holiday decor, combined with a dirty house was going to be too much for mama’s CAN HANDLE IT scale.
On Sunday, we went to church.
Without cups from Starbucks.
Thing 2 got shoved into the nursery, because listen: If you can’t sit quietly during the sermon and not interrupt the pastor with an enormous shout of “DAD-DAD-DADEE!” every six seconds, then you MUST GO into the nursery and play with toys and listen to music and eat graham crackers and hang out with your friends.
And Thing 2 already has some good buddies!
Here’s Thing 2 and Gunnar…
Heather (Lincoln’s mama) and Katie (Gunnar’s mama) and I have already agreed that these three will be best friends forever and ever, amen. The three of them will all start kindergarten the same year. They all come from families who love Jesus. They’re all adorable. It’s meant to be. Please meet the next Three Musketeers. We’re pretty sure that the youth group leaders at church are going to have their hands full when the time comes to move them out of the nursery and mainstream them with the big kids!
Also? Well, Hubs and I just hope that Thing 2 grows some hair before they start kindergarten; otherwise, they’ll be known as “Lincoln, Gunnar and that bald kid.”
When church was over, we dropped the boy off at the ice rink. His buddy Quinn was having a birthday party there, and the gang got together for some laps around the ice.
Apparently, Sunday at 1:00 was the prime time in Small Town, USA to throw a skating party.
Miss R is officially a member of the double digits now. There’s no going back.
When Hubs and I walked into the rink together, we strolled past a long line of cars waiting for the car wash next door. Hubs announced, “I bet all those people are saying, ‘Ahh! That’s a cute couple; they’re probably going in for the couples’ only skate.'”
We also did Walmart on Sunday. Did it up good. Came home and tried to determine if we were still living within our budget, or if the Pop Tarts threw us over the fiscal cliff.
And then we went to Quinn’s house to have berry tart and pizza with the gang and the herd of other parents.
And then we came home.
And THAT, people, was the weekend. I know that your lives can continue now, since you know what we did.
Wasn’t that so much better than telling you how I sorted the darks from the whites today? And how I diced the onion for the spaghetti sauce JUST SO?
Y’all have a good Monday night.