I would just like to apologize in advance if the paragraphs in tonight’s blog post start to sound a little bit like they might belong in Johnny Depp’s version of Alice in Wonderland. In that event, we can just blame it on the TOTAL LACK OF ALL THE SLEEPING.
It’s cotton season. This means that the cottonless cottonwoods growing next door to us have done their annual event of LYING THROUGH THEIR LEAVES, as they distribute enough cotton into the air to make a blanket big enough to cover Texas. Our neighbor — and we love her dearly — promised us that her husband bought the cottonless cottonwoods, and that the tags on the tiny trees twenty-seven years ago stated in bold, Times New Roman font: COTTONLESS. Amen. Only, as time wore on and those trees matured and became entirely too big to hit with the grill of your truck to knock them over and kill them dead, the cotton began to fly. Our neighbor said that it was just a tiny fluff of cotton, here and there and everywhere in the beginning, but then… eventually… it turned into an event that rendered the cotton plantations obsolete, because her three trees were generating enough cotton for all of America to be dressed comfortably and still have enough to export.
The problem with all that cotton is that Hubs has himself some first class allergies. Hubs can take a lesson from Eva Gabor, as she sang in the theme song for Green Acres, and simply belt out, “I get allergic smelling cotton!!” With the height of cotton season comes the height of allergy season. The height of allergy season swells Hubs’ eyeballs up and packs his sinuses with glue. The glue renders Hubs unable to breathe. All the NOT BREATHING makes Hubs snore.
And the snoring? Well, THAT is what keeps me awake all night during cotton season, especially when it’s THICK cotton season, like it is right now. Our deck looks like it has been snowed upon, but alas… it’s just cottony fluff that will get wet when the sprinklers come on, leaving us with cotton slime everywhere.
In other words, our yard looks exceptionally glamorous these days. I’m surprised that HGTV doesn’t feature yards covered with big globs of cottony slime on any of their programs. It’s all the rage in our neighborhood right now.
I finally fell asleep in the middle of the Snore Storm at 12:30 this morning, and then Thing 2 got up at 3:30. I’m not going to lie, people. At three-thirty-o’clock in the morning — unless you’re busy throwing up or running a fever — I tend to be a touch… HOW DO I SAY THIS IN POLITE ENGLISH? Let’s just say that I — Ahem! — wear my witch’s hat then. Three-thirty-o’clock in the morning is supposed to be dedicated to sleeping, and I’m not on my friendliest behavior when I have to get up and convince a preschooler that WE ARE NOT UP FOR THE DAY, and YOU MAY NOT EAT BREAKFAST NOW, and NO, THERE IS NO SUNSHINE OUTSIDE; GO LOOK FOR YOURSELF, and YOU WILL PUT THE LEGOS AWAY RIGHT THIS SECOND BEFORE MAMA’S HEAD EXPLODES.
So yes. I managed to sleep between 12:30 and 3:30 this morning, and that is all.
The boy has a summer job this year, for the first time ever. I’ve had a hard time dealing with that, because it’s like having a second MAN in the house. He works. I still picture my baby as a six-year-old without his two front teeth, who prints his first name in giant, block letters and has no idea how to use algebra. But now he has a real job, with a real paycheck. He’s working at both of the golf courses here in town this summer.
On Sunday morning, at 7 AM, I dropped him off at one of the courses for his very first day of work EVER. I told him, “Your mama needs a picture,” and he mumbled something about breaking my camera and making it look like an accident. But then he sort of stopped alongside our Suburban and let me snap one quick picture, to forever document his first day of work.
Oh! How I love that kid!
He worked for six hours on Sunday, outside in the heat, and it was HOT. He drove the sweeper cart that collects the range balls. He washed golf carts. He hauled tables and tents and chairs to help set up for a big golf tournament. And he had an absolute blast! He came home slightly sunburned and starving, so Hubs and I fed him a lunch that should have fed seven adult men. The boy ate every last bite, before we went to my parents’ house for a little visit.
And then, after six hours of working outside in the sun and getting up at 6 AM after spending the night with a friend to celebrate the beginning of summer vacation, and carb-loading on his lunch, the boy tipped over on Mam and Pa’s sofa.
But… he’s a working boy now, because he has a car payment to make. Yes, indeed. Our fifteen-year-old son has already taken out his very own loan to buy his very own car, and, since the bank tends to enjoy timely payments, for the full amount, the boy is going to be working all summer, if he intends to keep his car and not wave goodbye to it, as it’s repossessed.
Because boys love cars.
Those aren’t the cars the boy is buying, because those cars cost more than our house did… and then some. Small Town, USA had a Rolls Royce show in town this past weekend. The boy is the only teenager we know whose dream car… is a Rolls. We took him out to see the big, flashy, luxury cars, and let me tell you this: It’s not exactly like looking at new Hondas or new Suburbans. These cars shout out, “I am ridiculously expensive!” at the very top of their silent mufflers. The insides of these cars smell like gold bricks. They are spotless, to the point that they shine like angel halos. You can’t hear them when they run, because their engines don’t make noise.
I think I told Thing 2 forty-seven billion times in twenty minutes, “Don’t touch the cars!!” And that’s about the time he picked up a stick from underneath a tree and sent me into premature cardiac arrest. The one thing you don’t want around a Rolls Royce is a preschool boy, who is armed with a giant tree limb.
In the end, the boy decided that he’s going to dedicate an entire savings account to buying himself a Rolls Royce one day. That’s so nice, because his mama just dedicates savings accounts to paying the electric bill and buying groceries to feed working teenage boys.
And now she’s going to add BUY SOME ALLERGY MEDICATION FOR HUBS to the list of what her savings accounts can go to.
Y’all have a merry Tuesday evening. It’s Summer Vacation, when you can stay up late. We’re all going to bed early, because I’ve had three hours of sleep!