Aren't I just the little worker bee? I've been out doing yard work since, um... well, it feels like 4 in the morning, but in actuality I can only say it was really around 9:00. It's noon now, so I consider that three hours in the sun, mowing and weed whacking my brains out, to be the equivalent of about 3 days. Sure, it's a far more advanced math than most people use, but I'm smart like that. Catch up.
Oh, and for absolutely no reason whatsoever? Here's a picture I thought I'd share, from Mother's Day weekend...
So this weekend's been a roller coaster of activity. Nay, a veritable Cuisinart. How's that for some imagery? The madness started Friday (for the family... for me? Started Tuesday. Being a mom is festive.) and hasn't quite stopped yet. It's slowed a bit, which probably helps increase the chances that those in my vicinity will survive till dinner. Friday I went to work, left at 1:15 (which I accomplished by skipping lunches all week to build up time so I could blow that pop stand at a reasonable hour. It's not a practice I intend to keep up. Lunch break helps keep me from biting the bitch in the desk next to mine.), hauled ass all the way across town to Connor's daycare (since Jonathan couldn't be sure that he'd be off in time to pick him up for me. I'd like to have a little talk with his boss. Just me, him, and a pair of jumper cables. Attached to my CAR.) to pick him up, drove from Springfield down to Jasper, Arkansas to pick up Nathan (battling every moron with a truck and a six pack who was on a mission to scar his family for life over Memorial Day weekend. I bet the family reunions will feature lots of mooning, farting, and urinating on foliage. At least if the fuckwits I saw on the road are any indication.), turned around and drove back to Springfield, grabbed Jonathan and the luggage from the house, THEN drove from Springfield to Daddy's lake house up past Camdenton (about two hours away). It was, obviously, a day full of fun and merriment. I positively glowed. Really.
The time at the lake was nice. FYI? Not every 8 year old is born to fish. I know, I know... shocking news to everyone. But, surprisingly enough, some 8 year olds get bored when faced with the prospect of sitting in one place and holding a fishing rod. A fishing rod which neither lights up nor has any resemblance whatsoever to anything remotely related to a Playstation. A fishing rod that does not play music on command. A fishing rod that does not get Cartoon Network.
Damn thee, fishing rod. Daaaaaaaaaaaamn theeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Yeah, Connor had enough of trying to fish after about five minutes. Daddy, ye olde fisherman from way back, was about ready to push him in the lake. I'm not sure I would have stopped him, since Connor's ants in his pants kept propelling him back and forth over my fishing rod. One good bite on that line at the right moment and I'd have jerked that pole straight up into Connor's little nads. I can't swear to it, but I'm fairly certain he would have found that less than entertaining. Not that I'd have laughed, either...
I also got my first lesson in how to drive Daddy's little old bass boat. Let me tell you, it's NOTHING like driving the ski boat or the pontoon boat. That motor with the handle that sticks out of it? The one you're supposed to use to steer? It's sentient. And it doesn't like me. Not even a little bit. I practically had to throw myself on it and offer it a blow job to get it to turn left. Daddy's all yammering at be about 'just push it to the right a little', like that wasn't what I was TRYING to do, thank you very much, and I'm sitting there about wrenching my arm out of the socket in my attempt to get the boat to do something OTHER than carve a path through the north side of the dock.
I now officially know just enough about driving that boat to kill myself.
Oh, and remember the monster fish? I'm happy to say that my father has now been forced to acknowledge his existence. The fish not only snapped Uncle Troy's fishing line last fall (which Daddy wasn't willing to quite concede proved that there was, in fact, a behemoth fish under that damned dock), but has now, as of Friday right before we got there, taken DADDY'S line as well. HA! I am so fucking validated. I have officially named the fish Walter (let's see how many of you get that reference... I'M WAITING!) and can also report that I caught that goddamned fish this weekend. Twice. Both times resulting in a broken line and negative actual fish.
I'm soooooo on a mission.
Yesterday we basically repeated the process in reverse. Left the lake house and drove down to Jasper, turned around and drove home. And fell down. The cats were glad to see us, but only in the moderately interested way that cats have. They're not like dogs, who are likely to have eaten your couch cushions while you were gone and will then piss all over themselves, and whatever they're standing near, when you pull in the driveway. And I am, indeed, thankful for that.
God, I love my cats.
I am also proud to report that all the seeds I planted in my garden a couple of weeks ago? Have gone mad. I've got itsy teensy tiny baby flowers coming up all over the place. Hollyhocks and Snow-in-Summer and Blanket Flower and... uh... I forget what all else. I'll post pictures of my babies after my camera's batteries recharge. The weekend was hard on them. They should just be grateful I didn't drop them in the lake.
I'm going to go see if the weed whacker has charged up enough for its second wind now. I wore the poor bastard out earlier. Pussy.
Nola the invincible!