Here’s what you need to know about our weekend:
We behaved like slugs.
I feel like we all had some of that sticky substance slugs secrete (which is not a tongue twister at all) on Saturday, which kept us stuck to the sofa. In our defense, though, it pretty much rained the rain of Noah’s days on Saturday, so Venturing Forth and becoming Productive Members of Society really wasn’t an option without life vests and canoes.
Plus, my house got a decent sort of deep cleaning on Friday, which made me all happy inside, so setting Thing 2 up on the iPad in front of all manner of Barney episodes (which causes Hubs and the boy to cringe with horror, because they dislike the purple dinosaur horribly) didn’t make me feel like we were wasting our time at all.
Thing 2 sort of pretended he was at the drive-in theater. He behaved like it, too, as he kept leaning partially out of his diaper box and hollering, “More snacks!” Apparently, he thought it was a full-service drive-in, where the girl on roller skates would show up at his summoning with Goldfish crackers and tall bottles of warm milk.
I cleaned house on Friday. Mam (who never learned to behave like a slug) popped by to say hello, and she grabbed my broom, while I did some laundry and removed two entire boxes of books out of my bookcase, all in the name of GETTING RID OF SOME WORTHLESS CLUTTER. And then we sort of rearranged things in the living room a bit, to create some more open floor space that made my soul sing HALLELUJAH.
(By the time this decluttering, midlife crisis of mine has passed, our rooms will all be naked.)
(I can hardly wait.)
By Friday afternoon, I felt like we were ready for royal visitors of any kind. Things sparkled and shined like a beauty pageant child around here.
The boy did some golfing on Friday afternoon, because he lives on the golf course, and then he went to see the new Transformers movie with approximately eight other junior high boys. When I commented, “Oh, a Guy Date,” I was informed that I was to NEVER use the words GUY and DATE together again. Apparently the 8th-grade-to-be crowd has some strong feelings about that phrase. I was instructed to just say, “Everyone is hanging out at the theater.”
So, people… everyone hung out at the theater on Friday night. And while they were hanging out there, they saw a movie and drank copious amounts of Mountain Dew, seeing as how there were no parents to deny them their beverage-of-choice.
And let me just say, it was the LONGEST movie on record. I kept waiting and waiting for the phone call to come in that would say, “We’re out of the show now. You can come pick us up, Mom,” but it just WASN’T coming in. One of the other mothers and I were texting back and forth, exclaiming that perhaps the crowd of eight boys had just walked downtown for a beer together after the movie finished. But thankfully, with Al Gore’s miracle of the Internet at our fingertips, we were able to Google how long the movie was, and found out that it was SO LENGTHY, all the boys would need to shave when they were finished watching it, what with it being plenty o’ time for the beards to come in.
Also? On Friday? Well, Mama forgot to put the TAME DOWN THE CURLS hair product in Thing 2’s hair. He sort of resembled a dandelion that had gone to seed.
I read a book. Hubs read a book. Thing 2 watched Barney on some endless loop and played with his tractors on the living room floor and made thirty different demands for snack crackers. And the boy, BLESS HIS HEART, discovered a book on true ghost stories from our home state. After playing video games until his brain was melting out of his ears on Saturday morning, Hubs and I encouraged him to JUST SHUT THAT JUNK OFF RIGHT NOW AND READ SOMETHING, BEFORE YOU COMPLETELY LOSE THE BRAIN GOD GAVE YOU. And he did.
And then Hubs and I noticed that the boy went to sleep with his bedroom light on last night, but a good ghost story will do that to you.
We took advantage of the little sunshine we had this weekend to play on the deck with Thing 2. I filled his water table up with birdseed, so that our toddler’s construction crew and all of his trucks and tractors could get some work done.
Real airplanes DEMAND attention!
Right about the time the Beatles were becoming popular and shaking their shaggy manes all over, Hubs put a ladder on our deck, climbed up it, and dug rotten-leaf-slop out of our gutters.
The ladder is still here today, in 2014, after the Beatles are no longer with us, because WE ARE THAT FAMILY. That ladder will actually be on our deck now until Thing 2’s departure for college, which is when he’ll ask to borrow it, because he needs to hang a banner advertising I PARTY HERE on the fraternity house’s second story.
Also, if you have a toddler, please do not try this at home. Thing 2 is a trained professional when it comes to performing dangerous stunts and acts of bravery that leave his grandmothers breathless.
We also had church today, and then we took Thing 2 to his buddy Andrew’s 4th birthday party. Andrew belongs to my friend, Jill. Jill throws parties that make people on Pinterest weep with their sweet and holy perfection; you DO NOT want to miss one of Jill’s parties, because OH, MY!! They are AH-MAZING! Since Andrew’s party had a fishing theme this year, the centerpieces at every table were glass bowls containing one LIVE LIVE LIVE goldfish.
The answer is NO.
No, we did not knock a centerpiece over and cause the death of a beloved pet fish at the party.
The other answer is YES.
Yes, Thing 2 DID reach into a bowl, grab a LIVE LIVE LIVE goldfish around his fat little belly, and just haul him on out of his makeshift tank, so that they could chat, face to face.
The fish survived; he’s no worse for wear. And while I was scrambling to assist in OPERATION SAVE THAT FISH FROM MEETING JESUS TONIGHT, we spilled two water bottles that had been sitting on our table.
So… the other answer is YES.
Yes, we completely and utterly flooded a table tonight, but it wasn’t because we knocked over a fishbowl, like I assumed would happen. But, since everyone — those with gills and those without — was still classified as ALIVE AND WELL at the party’s end, we called it a brilliant success. Hubs and I left the party and high-fived one another, because we were not going to be labeled as FISH KILLERS.
BARE-HANDED FISH CATCHERS, maybe. But we practice a very safe CATCH AND RELEASE program, y’all.
Enjoy your Sunday night.