Well… we survived last night.
Hubs was smarter than I was at dinner, and he just had a single bowl of homemade peach ice cream, while I went the distance and had two. But… Hubs had a giant ribeye, followed by half of my grilled fillet, because in order to eat like an ice cream Olympian, I knew I’d have to free up some room.
Finishing the steak didn’t make the cut.
Hubs claims this is a disappointment to Jesus, because you never turn your back on a chunk of cow, hot off the grill. Hubs believes a second steak IS dessert.
And still… I stay with him.
The two of us skipped the Overeaters Anonymous group that we should have met with last night, and we went to bed. I spent a great deal of the evening exclaiming, “I’m dying! My gut hurts! I can’t breathe! I’m quitting food forever!” Hubs spent his time ignoring me, because he was knee-deep in building a new kingdom in Middle Earth on his iPad, with some game involving hobbits and gremlins and wizards and monkeys.
(For the record? I don’t GET that game. Hubs and the boy are competing against one another in a kingdom-building contest. They type in commands, and little workers with little pickaxes move around on the screen, doing their jobs. You can leave the iPad unattended, and those little drones will just keep on hammering away, building a new sweat lodge or butcher shop or whatever it is they’re building, and then the iPad dings to announce, “Your row of fraternity houses is complete, but the contractor has some issues with the Sigma Phi house; something about the bathroom tile not matching the color scheme the decorator chose.” Hubs and the boy compare villages every now and then, and debate over who has the biggest army of hobbits, and what neighboring borough they’re going to attack.)
At one point last night, Hubs did gather up his pillow and an extra blanket. He announced that he couldn’t sleep AT ALL! NOT ONE BIT! and he was headed to the living room sofa to see if he could sleep out there. This was actually reason for concern, because Hubs needs exactly four seconds to fall asleep ANYWHERE. He’s the man who could go furniture shopping in a giant store, sit down on one of the display beds, and wake up three hours later, when the manager shook him awake to announce that they’d be closing soon. Meanwhile, I spent the rest of the night alternating between I’M TOO HOT WITH THESE COVERS ON and NOW I’M FREEZING AFTER I KICKED THE COVERS OFF.
Oh, Estrogen! You and I are going to go the distance together!
So, after that peaceful night, I got up this morning to meet Hubs’ sister in my front yard, because we had enormous plans to finish up some serious weeding today. Or rather… grass pulling, as what we were really doing was attacking the Kentucky Bluegrass that had trespassed into the neighboring rock garden.
And why shouldn’t we have weeded today? I mean, seriously… it was only 95 degrees outside, with no breeze. We thought it was the perfect day to manually rake back a trillion pounds of river rock, yank grass out with our bare hands, lay newspaper down as the cheapskate’s answer to a weed barrier (considering that our THIS IS THE SAME PRICE AS AN IMPORT CAR fabric weed barrier lied to us and actually IS NOT the best weed barrier on the planet), and rake the rock back into place.
At one point, I had so much sweat dripping into my eyes, I was in danger of having a contact lens just float right out.
Please don’t be envious of how glamorous I looked.
(Also? I apologize to you, if you live anywhere even remotely near our cul de sac. The smell you breathed in today wasn’t due to a landfill gone bad. I’m pretty sure it was just me, and all the sweat.)
The good news is that the front rock garden is now pretty much finished. I have to go back and yank out a few straggling tufts of grass that we somehow missed, but I didn’t have the energy to do that today, after I realized that HEATSTROKE MIGHT ACTUALLY BE A REAL THING THAT I SHOULD BE CONCERNED ABOUT. It seemed a lot more critical to me at that point to just go inside and soak in a cold shower.
And so that, in a little nutshell, is pretty much how we spent our very last day of summer vacation.
Except we did have dinner tonight with our dear friends, Paul and Katie. We’ve tried, over the years, to form a tradition of having a picnic dinner with their family in the park on the eve of THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL. It’s a nice way to wrap up the summer… to finish things off… to say, “Tomorrow, summer break will be done.”
There’s our boy. He’ll start the 7th grade tomorrow.
Seriously… do they get any cuter than these three?
We kind of like having these punks around our houses.
Thing 2 spent some quality time in the swing this evening, mooching pushes off anyone who would give them to him.
Tomorrow I will pack the boy a nutritious lunch that he will trade for somebody’s Twinkies, and I’ll send him off to the 7th grade. He’s definitely dreading tomorrow, because DO YOU KNOW WHAT THEY MAKE YOU DO IN LITERATURE CLASS?
Read. Real. Books.
The boy has read zero-point-zero books this summer. Honestly, like a good mam, I shoved books his way and said, “Look, Son! Look at ALL THE INTERESTING inside of these pages!” And, to his credit, he’d read a paragraph or four, before I’d find the book beneath the sofa when I vacuumed, with his book mark tucked into PAGE 3.
Oh, literature class is going to hurt him, and hurt him badly.
Of course, if the boy is returning to school tomorrow, I’LL be returning to school tomorrow, too. The little private school where I have worked for scads of years is still insisting that PE is a good subject for the kids to have, so I’ll be heading back into the gym.
And that’s it for tonight, people. We’ve got to head to bed early, get our beauty sleep, and psych ourselves up for tomorrow. With any luck at all, I’ll just crash, and crash hard, after my day of I WORKED IN THE WEED PATCH, DOING MANUAL LABOR IN THE SWELTERING SUN FOR EXACTLY ZERO AMERICAN DOLLARS, and I won’t notice if I’m too hot or too cold or just right.
If the truth is to be told, Goldilocks’ youth worked in her favor, because eventually she found the bed that was JUST RIGHT. Had she already crossed the threshold of 40, she’d have been humming a different tune. The chorus would have gone, “I’m way too hot; I’m way too cold; I can’t get comfy; oh, dang, I’m old!”
Y’all have a merry Monday evening, and may the force go with you as you send your kiddos back to school.