This morning, I decided that it was time to get serious about getting some stuff done. Especially since our Christmas tree stand is still sitting on our deck, exactly like we’re the redneck band of yaywhos in the cul de sac.
Although… I received the official confirmation that we are not the MOST redneck tribe in Small Town, USA while I was at the laundromat on Monday. A woman was folding clothes at one of the green, plastic tables like it was an Olympic sport, and she was out to break the world record in Fold Time. Eventually, she looked up and announced to her husband, “We’ve got to hurry up here! I’m afraid we’ll miss Swamp People, and you KNOW that I can’t stand to miss my program!” That statement caused her husband to triple-time his folding. I use the term folding lightly here, because the husband was really just wadding shirts up into little balls; he will be paying for that later this week in hard time spent at the ironing board. He had obviously been married to her long enough to know that his evening was going to progress a little smoother if he had the laundry finished and his wife settled in the recliner, with her Diet Pepsi and Salisbury steak TV dinner beside her, in time to see the opening credits of Swamp People on the big screen.
Suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter that we still have a Christmas tree stand sitting on our back deck for everyone and the Good Lord to see, but I had set some goals this week, and putting that stand away was one of them.
And then the boys got sick, and the fever has lingered like a bad smell in our house for days on end. Our entire week has been dedicated to the comfort of a Children’s Motrin high, and the devastation of that Motrin wearing off and jacking the heat back up to 103.5. When that happens, the tears flow without ceasing and the sobbing can be heard, six houses over. That’s when Hubs tells me that I really need to get a hold of myself, knock it off, quit crying and rise up and do the mothering that I was intended to do when the children are sick.
At midnight last night, Thing 2 was back up and out of bed, clocking in at 101.2. As I filled yet another shot glass with liquid Tylenol, I told Hubs, “It’s never going to end! This is the fever that is going to go on until he’s a third grader!”
I’m seldom dramatic, and I never exaggerate.
By 7:30 this morning, Thing 2 was up, showered and racing his John Deere tractors through the house. I know, because I took one at 87 miles per hour to the back of my heel. I may never walk upright again.
In other words, I SUSPECT that we have finally kicked the three-day fever to the curb.
Further confirmation came in the fact that Thing 2 actually wanted real food to eat today, after doing several days of the Sprite Cleanse, in which actual food is not consumed.
Last Saturday was Thing 2’s fourth birthday. We celebrated by having his little buddies out to a party on Friday night, and that left our boy’s actual birthday wide open for whatever we wanted to do.
What Thing 2 wanted to do was open presents before the sun had even peeked over the horizon on Saturday morning. So… with cups of coffee in ours hands… Hubs and I obliged him.
He claims they make him run even faster than he used to.
I actually believe him.
Mam and Pa met us at a local bar and grill, where Thing 2 had his favorite entree: Applesauce With Gummy Worms, with a side of macaroni and cheese.
And then I made the FOUR YEAR OLD (!!!) stand in front of the fireplace for a few birthday snapshots.
Since it was an unheard of sixty-five degrees in Small Town, USA on March 5th… we went to the park. We even invited some friends of ours to join us.
All of it.
It was a Park Marathon, because it’s what the four-year-old wanted to do for his birthday. We all had a great time. The grownups got to sit at a picnic table and talk and laugh; the big kids hung out and talked and laughed; Thing 2 and Leah got to run the equivalent of forty-six miles, while they played and played and played.
It was a very good fourth birthday.
When we finally called it a day and went home, Thing 2 wanted us to put his Number Four candle into the half-eaten birthday cake from his party the night before. He wanted us to sing Happy Birthday to him again, too.
Of course… we did!
And of course he blew that candle out again.
And then, people, 7 PM rolled around and Thing 2 was exhausted. It’s hard to ring in your birthday with some big parties and three hours of nonstop running at the park.
So… I rocked that four-year-old to sleep. I held him close. I sang Happy Birthday to him again, very softly, and I told him how blessed we are to have him. How VERY blessed we are to have him AND his big brother.
It was a really great day.
And now… here it is almost bedtime tonight… and that Christmas tree stand is still sitting on my deck. I guess there’s always tomorrow to get some stuff done.
As long as I don’t miss Swamp People.