The Colorado Avalanche have plenty of time to golf now, and Hubs is enrolled in grief therapy. He’s had a very difficult time coping with the fact that his boys lost Game 7 of a playoff series in overtime last night, and HELLO, NO STANLEY CUP THIS SEASON.
As a consolation prize, I fixed him a hot dinner of microwaved leftovers tonight, which has helped ease his pain.
And that pretty much sums up our week around here. It’s been an emotional roller coaster, and listen: We’re all glad that April is behind us now, and we’re turning bright eyes toward May.
Remember how my dad had surgery on the 17th of April? And how he had a cancerous tumor removed? But remember the joy we found in the news that the cancer cells hadn’t spread to the lining of his bladder, and GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH?
My mom had no sooner gotten my dad home from the hospital, when she announced, “I think I have a lump in my throat.” Sister and I offered her every diagnosis possible, ranging from swollen tonsil to strep throat, but then our mother didn’t follow our advice, as she got on WebMD and diagnosed herself with Death. She saw her doctor the next day, and he said, “Yes. That does look a little suspicious. Let’s take it out and biopsy it.”
So my mama had her tonsils out on Tuesday, which is no walk in the park, after the age of ten.
And then Tuesday night, she suffered in agony, because her pain medication was making her sicker than the pain she had taken it for. By Wednesday morning, she was as dehydrated as a raisin, so we spent six hours in the ER, having fluids pumped into her. After her pain meds were switched up a bit, she felt much better. We’re still waiting on her biopsy report to come back, but her doctor was encouraged after surgery that this is probably going to be okay.
This morning, she even had enough energy to read a book out loud to Thing 2, while he did his level best not to crawl all over her.
So that’s how our week has kind of gone, and I have confirmed that I really do continue to loathe and also hate waiting room coffee with powdered Coffee Mate that has been stirred with an itty-bitty red straw.
And then the Avalanche lost Game 7.
And then the boy had a soccer game tonight, that was twenty miles away from home. We drove out there, and his team was creamed, zero to four, regardless of the fact that they’re a good looking team this season, and they have been on a bit of a winning streak.
AND… we had Thing 2 at the soccer fields with us. If you want to know how that went, picture this scenario:
Take forty-one small monkeys. You don’t want anything big, like a gorilla or a full-grown chimpanzee. You want a smaller monkey… like a spider monkey, which is quite acrobatic. Don’t forget to gather forty-one of them up. Now, drive them twenty miles down the interstate to a soccer game. Take them out of your Suburban, and MAKE SURE YOU KNOW WHERE THEY ALL ARE AT, BECAUSE YOU LOSE POINTS IF YOU DON’T GET ALL FORTY-ONE OF THEM BACK HOME AT THE END OF THE NIGHT.
What? You’ve got one running onto the soccer field during the game? And that one is climbing the side of the portable potty house? And four of them are swinging from their tails off the bleachers, and two are stealing popcorn from some good folks you know? And then you have a dozen of them running loose on the sidelines of the game, and IS THAT ONE HANGING UPSIDE DOWN FROM THE GOAL NET? And look! One spilled apple juice everywhere and another one threw animal crackers all over the bleachers, to the complete horror of a set of great-grandparents who lived through the Great Depression and were there to see what all the hype about this new game called soccer is, since it’s all their great-grandson talks about any more.
When the soccer game finishes up, count them. Are there forty-one? Do you need to go back and look for a little spider monkey or nine before you leave for home?
THAT, people, IS EXACTLY what it’s like to have Thing 2 on the sidelines of a soccer game. He is but one toddler… but he is as busy as forty-one tiny monkeys.
I managed to snap a couple of pre-game pictures of the boy and Enzo, because Thing 2 was momentarily occupied in a pile of gravel. Of course, he was busy flinging handfuls of gravel everywhere, all willy-nilly like, and it didn’t matter whose face was in the way, but HE. WAS. OCCUPIED.
That Number Eight is about as cute as they come, and Number Fourteen is kind of handsome, too.
After the toddler had lost interest in throwing gravel at everyone, he climbed the bleachers one thousand and twenty-nine times. It was exactly like he was doing a workout entitled KILL YOUR BUTT AND LEGS SO BADLY, ALL YOU’LL BE ABLE TO DO TOMORROW IS FLOP ON THE FLOOR AND PEE DOWN YOUR LEG, BECAUSE YOU CAN’T ACTUALLY WALK TO THE BATHROOM.
I guarantee you… only one of us will feel that way tomorrow morning, and it won’t be Thing 2. However, my butt and legs haven’t seen a workout like that since I ran from that grizzly bear in the mountains that one year.
So… that’s basically… never… because… you know… I don’t really go into ALL THE NATURE when there’s a chance I might encounter a grizzly bear.
We had leftovers for dinner.
And Hubs and I asked ourselves if active toddlers slow down as they age, because OLD PEOPLE slow down when they age, and LISTEN, KID! Your mama and your daddy need naps and hydration breaks if we’re going to chase you around like that.
However, we did find Thing 2 sitting very still and quiet for a little bit after dinner tonight.
Y’all have a happy weekend.