So our weekend is over, but that’s kind of the way of things when it’s Monday night.
And it’s Monday night.
On Friday, Hubs and I let the boy play hookey from school, so that he could head to Denver with his youth group. They were attending a conference aimed at junior high kids, and they would also be ingesting burgers, pizza and tacos for every meal, for three straight days. He was all, “WHERE DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS FOOD FEST?”
When Hubs and I dropped him off on Friday morning at the church, I realized exactly why I love our youth pastor as much as I do. He said, “Parents, your children will shower while they’re on this trip. I’ve been in this business long enough to know that junior high boys will wear the same clothes for a week straight, and that includes sleeping in them, and I refuse to drive a Suburban with that kind of smell surrounding me.”
Bless his heart. Because the answer is YES. 6th grade boys really DO think that they can wear the same outfit from September through February, and all will be well with life.
(If by all will be well, you mean all the flowers around you have wilted and died because STENCH! STENCH!)
On Saturday, some computers exploded and Hubs left our house at 7:30 AM to go fix them. It’s what Hubs does. His clients flash the Bat Signal in the air, and Hubs is off to whisper to motherboards and servers and coax them into behaving.
Since the boy was gone and unable to protest, I decided that I would gut his bedroom. It’s a chore that I have been dreading, because, although I love the boy with a full heart, he has some hoarding tendencies. Sister and our mom came over to help me, because the honest truth is simply this: If I didn’t know that a couple of gals were going to beat upon my door on Saturday morning and help me take charge of that bedroom, I would never have done it alone. I would have been too overwhelmed, and I would have just put the baby down for a nap and spent some quality time on Pinterest.
We took a box of tall, kitchen garbage bags into the boy’s bedroom with us, and we brought four of them… full to the brims!… out at the end of the day. We found Pop Tart wrappers and Cheez-Its wrappers. We found granola bar wrappers and grape stems. We found broken, inch-long pencils and little guns made out of paperclips and rubber bands. We found bows from old birthday presents, colored tissue paper from old gift bags, and playing cards that were ripped in half. We found an empty yogurt container, one of my kitchen spoons, a screwdriver from Hubs’ collection and a socket wrench that Hubs has been looking for for the last six months.
And we totally found that $50 Under Armour sweatshirt that I was ripping my hair out over. Oh, yes! We did! My mom found it under the giant Lego tub, even though I made the boy check the Lost and Found at school, three times… Even though I made him check the Lost and Found at the church, two times… even though I made him call Kellen and Enzo and Quinn and ask, “Did I leave my sweatshirt at y’all’s house?”
Yep. It was in his room this whole time, under the Lego tub in the closet, because OF COURSE IT WAS.
At the end of Saturday, the boy had the cleanest room in our house. His baseboards had been scrubbed down. His fish tank had been scrubbed out. His desktop had been scrubbed. His enormous walk-in closet could have been featured in a full-color, four-page spread of Better Homes and Gardens. The angels sang a chorus of hallelujahs, and his room shone with a heavenly light.
And it only took seven hours.
I wish I was kidding about that, but the Cleaning Crew doesn’t walk into a house on an episode of Hoarders and get things done in thirty minutes, people.
On Sunday, there was church. Thing 2 slept through the entire service, which was an absolute treat. When he doesn’t sleep at church, it’s like having a bored badger in your lap, and sometimes bored badgers are difficult to juggle.
And then the boy came home on Sunday at noon. The crew had gotten up at 5:00 Sunday morning, and they had spent some time on the road. Our youth pastor had called me on Saturday morning to let me know that the boy had thrown up, and we’re pretty sure that Red Robin fed him a tainted hamburger. He felt fine on Sunday, and he was happy to be home, but he has announced that Red Robin is officially dead to him. That’s a shame, because I kind of like that family-friendly franchise.
No one was happier to see the boy on Sunday afternoon than Thing 2! Thing 2 wet his diaper with excitement when his Bubbie showed up! He squealed… he kicked… he laughed… he kissed the boy a hundred times and patted the boy’s face over and over. Thing 2 had missed his big brother!
And then there was the Superbowl.
Since we’ve had the plague at our house, we simply invited one brave family to join us for the big game and a spread of snack food items, but their little girl woke up on Sunday morning with a raging fever. So Hubs and our boys watched the Superbowl alone, and we ate all the snacks. I’d like to say that we practiced some self-control with the carbs, but no.
No, we did not.
And all I can say about the Superbowl is that the mini-corndogs did not treat me right, but I have a brand new appreciation for Paul Harvey. I can remember listening to him when I was young… when my parents would have the radio tuned to his program… and I thought it was the most boring thing of EVER. I think I’d like to go back and take a re-listen to him now.
Way to go, Paul Harvey and Dodge. Even though the Dodge truck that Hubs and I bought brand new in 1998 turned out to be the single biggest lemon of our lives, I’m thinking that the farmer inside of me would like to try another one.
Because Paul Harvey said that there’s a farmer in all of us.
(My version of the farmer is the version that sleeps late and hires the neighbor kid to mow my yard.)
And then today.
Well, today was my sweet mama’s birthday, and Sister and I cooked dinner at the Jedi Manor. We would have taken her out to eat, but taking Thing 2 out for dinner is exactly like feeding a squirrel a couple of giant Pixy Stix and then expecting him to sit quietly at the dinner table.
Eating at home with Thing 2 is much safer.
And of course I made the kiddos all sit on the sofa for a Kodak moment. Y’all know how I appreciate a good group shot. There’s the boy and Thing 2… and Cousin L and Little H… and goofy K on the end.
…like this one…
And that’s going to wrap up Monday night’s edition here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated. I’ve got to go nurse a cough drop and smear some Vicks VapoRub on myself. This is the plague that just won’t end, people. Steer clear of it, and double up on your Vitamin C.
And y’all have a happy Monday evening.