Today was the day that we were supposed to embrace the braces and all the soft puddings and the milkshakes and JUST SOME CHICKEN BROTH AND SIX TYLENOL TABLETS, MOM! But then it snowed, and I don’t think I’ve ever been vague about how I feel driving in horrible, snowy conditions.
I’d rather fight a tiger on his home field.
We were under a Winter Storm Watch all weekend, with predictions that THIS COULD BE THE BIG ONE THAT PA INGALLS WAS TALKING ABOUT. Hubs is never one to take the weatherman seriously, and he simply said, “It isn’t going to snow.”
Because? On Saturday? Well, we had us some blue skies and some warm temperatures, even though our area was supposedly under a storm warning that shouted out, “MOVE THE YOUNG LIVESTOCK INTO THE BARNS! REFILL YOUR PANTRIES! DIAL 911 IN THE EVENT OF AN EMERGENCY, AND OUR SNOWMOBILES WILL GET TO YOU!”
On Saturday, Hubs and our friend, Gabe, took the big children out to ride four-wheelers and motorcycles. These children went without their mothers, which means they rode faster than they normally would have, and they tackled jumps that wouldn’t have been allowed.
When Mama goes, the cautionary flag is waved, full force. When just Dad goes, the only rule is, “If we end up in the emergency room, DO NOT tell your mother.”
There’s the boy and his yellow four-wheeler. He’s a rock star on that thing. He can even parallel park it.
(Ask me if I care. Parallel parking is overrated, and people who own that skill as a spiritual gift shouldn’t brag about it.)
(See? There’s no snow. It’s because we had Spring on Saturday, even though ranchers were freshening up stalls in the stables for weekend occupancy, because the weatherman yelled, “Get it done! Get those calves indoors!”)
There’s Ciara. She can zip along the trails, quick as lightning, too, when her own mama isn’t there to shout, “Let’s reign it in a bit, Girlfriend!”
I sent my camera with Hubs on Saturday, because I was very busy at home, giving Thing 2 a nap. Thing 2 couldn’t show his face in polite society on Saturday, until he’d spent some quality time in his crib, with his eyes closed. Hubs actually used the camera this time, unlike the time when he took the boy shooting a couple of weeks ago. Hubs claims he’s no photographer, but here’s what I have to say to that: “Neither am I! I can fill an entire blog with pictures taken in poor lighting situations, with blurry subjects!”
(I would just like to point out that in those snapshots, the boy is always in the lead. He gets that from his daddy, who claims he can’t breathe in second place, and that he needs the pure oxygen that only first place can provide. Hubs will pass you on the mountain corners, if it means he can have first place.)
(He does draw the line at petting the wild buffalo and moose, though. There’s stupid competition, and then there’s I WAS GORED BY A BUFFALO, AND THAT’S WHY MOST OF MY INTESTINES ARE MISSING.)
(Knowing Hubs, he would simply call that a FLESH WOUND, though.)
The riders came home on Saturday afternoon with dirt and dust all over themselves, and horrible cases of Helmet Hair.
On Sunday, the rain and the sleet moved in to Small Town, USA. My conversation with Hubs went exactly like this:
Me: “It’s going to snow tomorrow, and we’re supposed to drive to Bigger Town for braces.”
Hubs: “I accept.”
Hubs: “I accept the challenge. Anyone can drive on clean roads.”
Me: “I thought you said it wasn’t going to snow?”
Hubs: “It’s not. But on the off-chance that it does, I am up for the challenge of showing off my excellent driving abilities. I’m the guy in the commercials. You might have read about me. ‘This is a professional driver on a closed course.’ They usually write that beneath all my screen shots, so idiots don’t try to do what only I can do in a vehicle.”
People, we are working on HUMILITY at our house.
Last night, the rain and the sleet turned to snow. Then the snow turned into BLIZZARD CONDITIONS, and the ranchers moved their calves and lambs into barns.
This morning, we woke up to over seven inches of fresh snow, and it was still coming down. There is no school in Small Town today, so the boy got to spend his morning on our front patio.
That is a genuine Toadstool, compliments of Grammy. Grammy thought that Thing 2 could use some height to ACCESS TALLER THINGS BETTER. Bless her heart. The Toadstool also croaks when you stand on it. This means that Thing 2 climbs aboard, hears it croak, and then he has to do a little dance to the “song of the bullfrog” while he’s there. Dancing makes the Toadstool croak even more. More croaking results in more dancing.
Sometimes dancers fall off of the Toadstool. It’s inevitable.
At 8:00 this morning, I had already called our orthodontist, who is two hours away, and announced, “Um, we are under NO UNNECESSARY TRAVEL guidelines, and it’s a blizzard at our house. I usually pee down my leg and faint when I have to drive in severe snow, so we’ll be staying at home today.”
We get the braces on next week, unless the weatherman decides to tell us differently.
With no road trip scheduled, we stayed home today and hunkered down indoors. I hung out with my boys. I wore my pajamas for three-fourths of the day. It was nothing short of sweet perfection.
The boy baked chocolate muffins for breakfast this morning. He’s an excellent little baker, that boy. It’s why I keep him around. Thing 2 was powerfully impressed with homemade chocolate muffins.
(He gets that from his mama, the queen. My boys were born for royalty, and they take their responsibilities seriously.)
And then he had an appointment for the royal crown fitting. His servant tried diligently to measure the crown-making material around Thing 2’s royal head, but he was having NONE OF IT. He kept trying to dismiss his servant with a wave of his hand, so that he could get back to playing polo on the royal dinosaur with a golf club.
…there is my heart. Beating outside of my body. Completely wrapped up in these two adorable boys. I can’t believe that God trusted me with them.
So that was our day, people. The boys and I simply hung out together inside. It was fantastic. Poor Hubs was just disappointed that he couldn’t show off his mad driving skillz, and the boy was powerfully upset that he didn’t get homemade banana pudding for dinner, like I had originally promised him.
NO BRACES = EAT YOUR GREEN BEANS AND MEATBALLS.
Because… yes. I made meatballs for dinner. Wonders never cease.
Y’all carry on and have a happy Monday evening.