We attempted to make the last week of summer break the best week ever: friends coming and going every day, one last lemonade stand, well-timed birthday parties all over the place, plenty of swimming, a Smokies baseball game with Grandpa for the boys, boating, etc, etc. Non-stop fun. Then for the grand finale we declared the last day of summer Stay-in-Your-Pajamas-and-Watch-TV-All-Day Day. And we did. We didn't do any work at all. And guess what was for lunch?
Ice cream. Covered with strawberries, bananas, cookie crumbs, and chocolate syrup. Oh. yeah.
Then came the dreaded day of everyone getting their lazy bones out of bed at 6:45 and getting a move on to be dressed and fed and out the door for school. Josh was nothing but thoroughly excited. Emma and Ben were excited deep down too, but hid it well behind a veil of disdain. Everyone was a good sport and willing to submit to a quick photo on their way out the door, followed by more extensive photographic harassment after school.
[P.S. This post is dedicated to Scott, who spent the better part of his evening last night getting our no good, lousy wireless connection to work so I could post some photos. And who earlier in the evening hit me a home run at his softball game. I love him.]
This one was inspired by Alice's recent post about her daughter getting her finger stuck in a seat belt. I read it and laughed (as one can only laugh at such distressing circumstances long after they've happened). It reminded me of a story I like to tell that I'd nearly forgotten (not nearly as serious). One time I got my whole body stuck in a seat belt.
I don't remember what year of high school it was. I was one of a few passengers that Anthony Johnson took from early morning seminary to the school. (Junior year, maybe? Sophomore? I can't figure out why I was riding with him and not my brother, or just driving myself. Maybe our car was in the shop? Oh well, it doesn't matter.) Anthony drove a sweet faux-wood-paneled Chrysler minivan back in the day. I was sitting in the middle row. We got to school and everyone exited the van. Except for me. I couldn't get my seat belt undone. (I am, and always have been, a very diligent seat-belt buckler. Which is a good thing. Except for this one day.) I tried and tried with all my might, but could not get it unbuckled. Everyone else gave it a try and none of them could get it to disengage either. A few friends we knew went past the vehicle on their way in to school. Some of them gave it a go too, but with no luck. It was just a lap belt, but not the adjustable kind. It was the kind that gets tighter and tighter if you let it, and won't let back out until it's retracted all the way. You know the kind? Good for keeping children in place, not so good for high school students trying to get to class on time. All of the fussing with the belt had resulted in it getting tighter and tighter. I tried sliding out, but it was too late, it was too snug now to budge an inch that way. The clock was ticking and soon school would be starting as our group stood around the minivan pondering our next move (what loyal friends! I was not abandoned to spend the day working it out for myself). I don't think it occurred to any of us to send someone in to ask an adult for assistance. If it did, no one mentioned it. To me, once it became clear that none of us could get the belt to unbuckle, there was only one choice. Cut the seat belt. I had a little swiss army knife on my key chain that would do the job. What else could we do? Eventually I would need to use the bathroom. I needed to get out of that van. Anthony was hesitant. He wasn't sure about my plan to cause lasting damage to his vehicle in the name of personal freedom. He wasn't sure if his parents would think it was the wisest course of action. My teenage brain insisted there was no. other. choice. Finally he agreed and I cut myself out. I laughed about it and retold the gripping tale all day (again, teenage brain). I vaguely remember Anthony saying something later about his dad being mad and it costing a pretty penny to fix the seat belt, but I could have that wrong. Perhaps it was actually that his dad was really proud of me for being so heroic and keeping a clear head in a time of crisis. Either way, I've harbored a tiny fear of Chryslers ever since.
I love the way the boy thinks. I love the way his thoughts sound when they come out of his mouth. He makes me laugh all the time with the way he tells things.
"Mom, remember that ride at Dollywood that goes really up high and then you go down really fast and it's red, white, and blue?" Yes. "I am never riding that because I'm afraid of heights. [contemplative pause wherein he reviews his statement and checks it for any problems, finding none he concludes:] That's reasonable."
When wearing a t-shirt with a football helmet on it: "I like this shirt because it shows I'm a fan of football."
Josh frequently uses the phrase "you know"at the end of a sentence. As in, he's about to tell me the conclusion of his thoughts, then decides it's too much effort so he throws in a "you know" instead, assuming I'm right there with him and know what he's about to say. Assuming I could possibly follow the complex route his mind has taken. For example, "I don't really like that show any more because, you know."
For another example, "I wish that we lived at the mall with a mansion attached to it...[goes on to describe all the things we could do, such as wading in the fountain, eating at the food court, playing with the toys, etc]...only we wouldn't have it be like a store because you realize, you know." I don't know. What? "Well, it would be pretty distracting with all those people walking around all the time."
One day when the Langford kids were over someone got the clever idea that they should empty out the treat-jar and create all new confections. Behold: The Candy Pyramid (giant smartie, life saver, somethings green (?), topped with a skittle), The Flower (a skittle smashed by a regular-sized smartie), and The Powder Pop (dum-dum covered with either a starburst or gum drop, sprinkled with crushed smartie powder and topped with a skittle). Mouthwatering! Then someone was even more clever and suggested selling their homemade candies. Julie bought a couple when she came to pick up her kids and I think Josh bought one as well. This was about a week ago, but don't despair! There are some leftovers still. Call for pricing or wholesale inquires.
She made the yellow fish for herself at Dani's house with only minimal assistance. She was so pumped that as soon as she was home she wanted to know who else would like a fish. Everyone! So she made the other three entirely on her own. I'm so proud!
"Mom, are we doing anything tonight?" "Mom, I'm still hungry." "Mom, when I grow up I want to be the ninja of fighting and stealth." "Mom, what if the whole world is just a giant pop-up book?" "Mom, why do we don't have any flying stuff?"