Oh what to say about a perfectly perfect weekend that included almost nothing noteworthy. We will of course, take note of it, because that's what we do here.
Everett's jumping head-on into the "I have opinions about my clothes" portion of his life, so on Friday night, before heading into town, it was me and Tyson and Everett cross-legged on the floor in front of his drawers, running through the options.
No mom, the skeleton shirt is too scary.
Wait let me see it again.
Ahhhh! Too scary.
The "numbers shirt" aka the football jersey looks good, but wait no, it's actually a dress so never mind.
The yellow rain boots are an absolute must.
No, not the orange shorts.
No, not the black shorts either.
Suspender shorts? OK
Wait no, do the hiking boots instead.
The black tank top is a winner. Hey dad look at my big muscles.
Oh! We forgot the pirate hat.
So we're never going to be on time to anything ever again.
(But I like it, I do. Strong opinions are important in life. Gumption and stuff! And I would totally want to go to the park in my onesie monkey pajamas tucked into my rain boots too, if that wasn't the most disturbing mental image that ever existed.)
So after that fun fest, we headed out. But not before I dutifully threw my hospital bag into the back seat, just to insure that I wouldn't go into labor that night. Since these are the facts right? Nothing ever happens when you're actually prepared. In town, we shopped for the man who never shops, we dined in the place where the free balloons are abundant, and in a darkened car, with a sleeping boy in the back seat, we parked and savored some truly delightful red velvet cake.
Saturday was rainy all day long. But it was, you know, that stupendous kind of rainy.
You sleep in, you mosey into the clouded kitchen light around 10 to scrounge up some oatmeal or leftover waffles to be eaten in bed. And you listen to the heavy drops on the street below, while you give the yays and the nays on your husband's closet clean-out, while your son walks on your calves and uses the mountain of pillows around you as his somersault arena. Later, you will all nap for 10 years. And then make a very late-night run to the grocery store for a light bulb and a limeade, because no one is even thinking about going to bed any time soon, most especially not the adorable chatterbox in the backseat.
So anyway, just sign me up or another weekend. I'll take mine tomorrow.