I can sum up my entire day in two short words.
No. It didn’t rain. It would appear that while I was indisposed in the bathroom, Thing 2 climbed onto the kitchen counter and turned the faucet on, in his DEPRIVE MAMA OF ALL OF HER SANITY effort to be an independent toddler who needs no help with big chores, like getting his own drink and paying his own insurance premiums. And then, because the male mind can only focus on one item at a time, and that item this morning was getting down off the counter with a very full glass of water, our son failed to shut the faucet off.
So the full-force water hit an enormous spoon, that is either used for stirring soup pots or feeding the Jolly Green Giant his breakfast cereal. In the manner of IT’S ALL PHYSICS, the water hit the spoon, which acted like a catapult, and that is how I came to have fourteen thousand and six more gallons of water on my kitchen floor when my job in the bathroom was finished.
When I came into the kitchen, Thing 2 was standing on the floor, clutching a Big-Gulp-sized cup that 7-Eleven would’ve been proud of, full to the brim with water, to his chest. He hollered at me, “Mom! There’s a huge mess in here! I’ve never seen a mess this big before!”
And the real answer is that neither had I. And neither had Noah, because both of our cats were standing shoulder-to-shoulder (which they never do, because they’re mean cats who don’t like one another), as they whispered to me, “We have a ticket to ride the ark.”
After going through all of our dry bathroom towels in the cleanup process and fantasizing about cigars that I don’t even smoke and vodka that I don’t even drink, Thing 2 looked at me and said, “You did a really good job, Mommy. I’m so proud of you!”
I chased the morning flood recovery program with a trip to Walmart, where our cart was heaped so high, it tilted to one side.
In other words, today was a day of my favorite things.
Except the exact opposite of that.
… you know it’s been a busy weekend when OUR TODDLER sleeps in until 7:00 for two mornings in a row. Do you know how I know this? Because Thing 2 HAS NEVER SLEPT PAST 6 AM IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE! And he just pulled it off yesterday morning and again today, because EXHAUSTION, people.
From all the goings-on.
Also? Sleeping in until 7:00 for me and Hubs is the equivalent of other folks sleeping in until one in the afternoon, so we actually feel refreshed and full of potential. Amen.
I have a ton of snapshots to blog, from a ton of different events, and I’ll get them all done… eventually. Tonight, I’ll just go back in time to last Wednesday, when Hubs and I threw our common sense to the wind, rented a couple of golf carts from the clubhouse, and took our boys and Cousin B out to golf eighteen entire holes.
We picked up the Who from Whoville bright and early at 10:30, because incoming freshman have to sleep. They haven’t seen the fat side of 7 AM since school let out in May. In fact, they’re not even sure whether the sun is even up at 7:00 in the morning, because they still consider that time to be the middle of the night in July.
Behold! Cousin B, the Who.
That one headband, with the sparkly, Independence-Day-themed antennae, set the whole theme for the day, which was THIS WILL BE A VERY SERIOUS DAY OF GOLFING, WHERE WE SPEAK IN HUSHED VOICES AND APPLAUD SOFTLY AND ONLY SWEAR IN OUR MINDS WHEN WE MISS A SHOT.
Because we take golf very seriously around here, y ‘all.
Our left-handed toddler, with his own set of right-handed clubs, got in on the action, too. He tends to bring a little HOCKEY BRAWL and CAGE FIGHT and BULL STAMPEDE into his golf game, as he swings and removes divots the size of Ford pickups.
“Crud. That was an awful chip. I mean, seriously?! FOUR STINKING FEET?! What is this? PRESCHOOL GOLF? I’ve gotta get that cute three-year-old girl outta my head; she’s destroying my game with her adorable pigtails and crooked smile!”
And that’s when he’d just pick his golf ball up and throw it like a baseball pitcher across the fairway.
It involved hitting the ball back and forth, back and forth, in bounds, out of bounds, twenty-six feet ahead, three feet ahead, and BOOM!
I think they both got a 143 on Hole One.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he threw his ball whenever he needed to, or that he picked his ball up and put it in the golf cart, so that he could just drive it to the next acceptable hitting location.
Even his putting was dead-on.
In the words of Crash Davis, “Man, that ball got outta here in a hurry! Anything that travels that far ought to have a stewardess on it, don’t you think?”
… it started to rain on us. The drizzle came in, the grass got wet, the toddler’s sneakers were soaked clear through, and I was a shivering wreck of ARE WE REALLY IN THIS GAME FOR THE FULL EIGHTEEN HOLES?
Because WELCOME TO ONLY HOLE FOUR; WE’VE GOT A LONG WAYS TO GO IN THIS WEATHER.
Thankfully, the boys are made of much stouter stuff than I am, and none of them complained at all, because GOLF! GOLF! GOLF!!!
“Dude. I told you to choke up on the club, but you didn’t listen to me. And now what? Well, here we are, looking for a white ball in the tall grass in the rain… No one ever listens to the caddy.”
“You’re using your putter? YOUR PUTTER? Because look where you’re lying on this green, Bubbie! Get your driver out and smack that ball like you’re a big dog out on business!”
“Yeah, Ma!! I know! The grass is wet!! I’m not a baby any more. I can get my own drinks, and I can roll in wet grass without catching pneumonia.”
After he’d eaten every last bite of his $9.00 lunch, we recruited Mam to drive out to the golf course to collect our sopping wet toddler. She took him to her house for a nap, which helped with his Grouchy Caddy attitude.
With one less player, Hubs and I set out as cart decor for the boy and Cousin B, while they golfed the back nine holes.
I, on the other hand, laughed until I nearly peed my pants. It’s not every day that you get to witness an incoming freshman with sparkly bling.
And then, the boys golfed their very last ball, because neither one of them thought to bring any extras along for eighteen holes. Hubs and I cut them loose and let them TAKE THE CAR OUT ALONE. We talked about hold grown up they’re getting as we watched them drive off without an adult. They drove back to the clubhouse, armed with real American dollars, so that they could buy new golf balls to finish out the game with.
While I’m trying to describe how B drives, I need you to have a visual in your mind.
I believe this one will do the trick:
The doctor told me I didn’t even get a concussion when B jumped the ditch and I hit my head on the ceiling of the cart.
The boy, however, got to experience B’s driving firsthand on the way back from buying new golf balls.
No one got stitches or big white bandages wrapped around his head.
Someone needs JUST A TOUCH MORE PRACTICE before he takes his parents’ Suburban out on the open road, though.
And by JUST A TOUCH MORE, I really mean six years’ worth of driver’s ed, taught by someone with a current prescription for Valium.
So we put another eighteen holes in the books. The boys compared their scores and realized that Cousin B had won the first nine holes by three strokes, and that the boy won the back nine holes by two strokes. I’m no math major, but I think that means B beat the boy by one point.
I’d call that PRETTY EVENLY MATCHED.
And also? Well, it was a day for the memory books, for sure. We laughed so hard, we cried. We froze in the rainy drizzle. We ate million-dollar cheeseburgers. We laughed some more, until I snorted and wheezed in a most unladylike fashion.
When I’m old and gray and rocking in my chair at a nursing home, last Wednesday with these three boys will be one of the happy memories that I’ll enjoy recalling.
Y’all have a great Monday evening.