Although I could spend 40,000 words telling y’all about our weekend, I just can’t.
(Don’t think I didn’t hear a collective sigh go up from your side of the computer.)
Hubs has secured Thing 2 on the sofa with a video entitled “Tractors Working In The Field,” which is eight and a half minutes long. Thing 2 will watch it straight through until the very end, and then it’s done. That baby will need to run and bounce and climb the side of the refrigerator like Spider-Man’s love child for thirty more minutes before we can lure him with a tractor video again. So basically, I’m down to just eight minutes now, before Hubs releases the hound and my time in front of the computer, alone, is completely over. So that’s why I have to be quick.
(But honestly? If you’re a farmer, and your tractor is featured in a You Tube video… well... we have watched it at our house forty-eleven times. And you’re welcome for all the hits you’ve received. I know you think the hits are coming from every corner of the globe, but that’s probably not true. All of your video hits are coming from our house, but Thing 2 watches them enough times to make them go viral. Tractors and big trucks are his love language.)
So the rain on Thursday? Yeah, it turned to snow sometime in the middle of the night. And sometime around 2:30 on Friday morning, when normal people were still sleeping, and I was awake in bed, trying to count backwards from one thousand, just to bore myself to tears with some hopes that I WILL FINALLY FALL ASLEEP, I heard an enormous crash.
That would have been half of the neighbor’s tree falling into our backyard, because this snowstorm was twelve entire inches of heavy, HEAVY, HEAV-EEE wet snow. I’m not even kidding you when I say that basically every single (!!) tree in Small Town County broke in half. When we woke up on Friday morning, it looked like the apocalypse had hit. Tree branches and tree limbs and entire trees and families of trees were all over the ground. They blocked roads and streets and driveways and playgrounds. By 9:00 Friday morning, Hubs, the boy and our neighbor had hauled four (!!) truckloads of broken branches to the green waste dumpster, just to clear our driveway out so that we could back down it.
Add to this the small fact that over half of Small Town was without electricity, and it’s no wonder that all of the schools were cancelled for the day. The boy was out dragging tree limbs at 8:00 Friday morning, when we found out that we went from being on a two-hour, late-start delay for some street cleanup to happen so the buses could get through, to being bagged as an entire NO SCHOOL TODAY snow day, and he nearly did backflips.
(I teach PE at a Catholic school, which means we are actually encouraged to talk to Jesus there throughout the day. We call snow days “MANNA DAYS” there, because they fall from heaven, exactly like a delightful provision from the Lord Himself.)
In case you’re wondering, this picture is a photo of a tree on the side of our yard. Under normal circumstances, its about twenty-five to thirty-feet tall. On Friday morning, it was laid flat, and wasn’t even as tall as our neighbor’s car-storage trailer that’s parked beside it.
Of course, we pretty much lost my favorite trees, and I have to keep reminding myself that they are just trees! They are not family members, regardless of the fact that I loved them and watered them and pruned them and sang hymns to them. In return, they grew tall and strong, and Mother Winter snapped them down this weekend without a single care. I can’t post photos, because I don’t have any. My saddened heart couldn’t stand to take snapshots of the deceased loved ones.
I cleaned house exactly like a maid on a cold medication high on Friday. There was scrubbing and vacuuming and scouring in every room. On Friday night, I sat back and felt blessed to live where I did, amidst the sparkle of cleanliness. Our home smelled of Clorox and fresh Scentsy wax and fresh laundry and freshly-bathed babies.
By noon on Saturday, none of the fruits of my labor were even evident, because the three little pigs live here, right along with the seven dwarfs and nineteen fraternity boys. Sometimes I have no idea why I even invest any effort into cleaning things.
And guess who turned NINETEEN MONTHS OLD on Saturday? That would be Thing 2. He wasn’t overly cooperative with a HAPPY NINETEEN MONTHS kind of photo shoot, because he was anxious to get back to a life of crime and misdemeanors, instead of sitting angelically in front of my Canon.
He laughs in the face of danger.
Don’t worry. Hubs and I have really and truly and HONESTLY talked to our pediatrician about starting a pre-paid plan for stitches and the setting of broken bones. Dr. B. assured us that she would accept our checks ahead of time, and put them into an insurance fund to pay for any future trips where she meets us in her office on a Saturday night to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Today there was church, with a sermon from James that was meant for me, and me alone. I mentioned this to Pastor John afterwards, and he promised that he hadn’t actually researched me in preparation for today’s sermon, but maybe I had some issues to bring up with Jesus. I’m sure the pastor is probably right. But church was good today, and Thing 2 didn’t get kicked out of the nursery, so it was ten kinds of golden.
And then we came home. I made scrambled pancakes for lunch, which involved real flour and genuine sugar and SEPARATE THE EGG YOLKS FROM THE WHITES and fold the butter in and everything. You would have thought that I’d have been exhausted by all of that labor over the stovetop and just needed to lie down, but I forged ahead and made a stew to put into our crockpot for dinner.
Yes. I cooked two meals in the space of thirty minutes.
It was exactly like a Stepford Wife had taken over.
While I was getting my Martha Stewart on indoors… in a house that was no longer clean or smelling like fresh anything… Hubs and the boy cleaned up the rest of the broken tree bodies from our yard. There was much dragging and sawing and heavy lifting going on, but I think we’re relatively cleaned up outside. Our neighbor brought his chainsaw out, which DELIGHTED Thing 2 to no end. He was mesmerized to watch that gasoline-powered saw in action, and he kept shouting out, “Airplane! Airplane!”
(Differentiating between chainsaws and airplanes is sometimes difficult, especially when you’re so excited over ALL THE FANTASTIC NOISE AND FLYING BARK that you wet your diaper.)
So yes. Our yard is basically back to normal again, until the nineteen fraternity boys decide to move the party outside.
And with that, the tractor video is over, and it’s time to bathe the baby and call it a night.
Happy Sunday, people.