The Post in Which I Use the Words Sweat and Torture 257 Times
I'm at a loss. We've been so busy and it's been so long since I've blogged that I've forgotten what's kept us so busy. I'm getting flashbacks of Vacation Bible School, sweating in a garden, and lots of swimming. Right now I'm so stuffed with enchiladas and turtle pie and high on my great bunco victory that I can barely think. Funnily enough, people want to claim that bunco is a sin because it's gambling. I think the real sin going on that everyone overlooks is the gluttony. Husbands think we go with great determination to claim a victory and win a prize. What they don't know is that we're all winners...of a night away from bath time and a yummy dinner and dessert that we didn't cook (except for that one month when you're the hostess). The record-breaking six buncos to pull out first prize was just the icing.
I'll attempt a quick recap before the events of the past couple of weeks have fallen out of my tired brain forever. VBS was great fun, except for giant ball time. For those of you unfamiliar with giant ball time, it is some sort of twisted effort to have fun which is actually a form of torture for grownups. Close your eyes and invision a huge room with rows of chairs, in which are seated hundreds of children with a smattering of adults. Add some loud music and two ginormous inflatable balls being hurled randomly through the air, constantly ramming unsuspecting adults square in the head. If your head is not being targeted by the deadly ball, your feet are being trampled by children determined to be the next person to touch the deadly ball. Really, pure torture. When another adult comes up to try to have a short conversation with you, you must attempt to talk intelligibly and look completely calm while your brain and total attention are actually on the location and velocity of the giant balls being hurled violently around you. The stress is just too much. By Thursday, I was finding some very important tasks that simply had to be completed in our classroom so that I could avoid this horrid experience without appearing to be avoiding it. By Friday, I was wishing I had brought a steak knife with me to VBS. Pretty sure that's frowned upon. Let's just say, I would rest much more peacefully if someone were to sneak into the storage closet which houses the ginormous balls with a sharp object in hand and put us all out of our misery. Oh, and there were kids and crafts (which held a close second place in modes of torture available for adults at VBS - lots of modeling clay and paint) and Bible verses and lessons and goldfish. You know, all the vital ingredients that make VBS what it is. Overall, it was a fun week that was unfortunately overshadowed by large, scary flying objects.
Here are Luke and his friend Katherine on the one day he was not too sick to attend VBS. If you ask me, I think it was all an act to stay as far away from the giant balls as possible.
And below is the best picture I have of our little corner of Saddle Ridge Ranch. Pretty cute if I do say so myself. (The little cowboy ain't too bad, either.)
Each day of VBS was followed by a trip to the local pool, where we desperately tried to stay cool. I'm pretty sure that if you aren't near a pool, summertime in the South is just torture. Of course, it is not as horrid a form of torture as giant ball time. I had a momentary lapse in judgment toward the end of the week and decided to plan a fun family outing with Nana and Papa to the Botanical Gardens in a city about two hours away to see a lovely treehouse exhibit, the only problems being that it was approximately 117 degrees outside and I'm pregnant. The gardens were beautiful and the treehouses were fun, but for some strange reason, we were pretty much the only people there. I can't imagine why.
Seriously, though, I think something is wrong with me. I hate being dirty and sweaty. I'm not talking about a normal hatred of physical discomfort like most people have. I'm talking about an absolutely distracting disgust which pretty much ruins any fun that I could be having in the situation. When your eyelids are sweaty and your arms and neck are caked in a horrible mixture of dried sweat and oily sunscreen and your legs won't come uncrossed because they are glued together by sweat and then you're forced to ride for two hours in a cramped space in the back of a van with other sweaty people...that's just about unbearable to me. I think I could be diagnosed with a serious psychological problem it's so bad. For about 75% of the trip my thoughts were focused on when I could take a shower and put on clean clothes. Imagine the agony of spending 365 days a year on an island where all you do is sweat. I might very well end up on the brink of insanity. I'm already pretty close. Trust me.
Here is Jack, covered in sweat and with hot, red cheeks. Still handsome, though.
And here are the three amigos, just after we'd arrived and just prior to being covered in sweat.
At least I got this cute picture of my little growing weeds. Notice the soaking wet heads, created by a sprinkle of water which was attempting to wash the sweat away. One day they can look back at this photo and remember the day their parents took them out in scalding hot weather and made them climb, play, and run without a drink of water until they almost passed out from a heat stroke. Ah, memories.
(Please forgive the lack of proper spacing below. Blogger and I are having it out, and I'm not winning.)
So, this week, my goal has been to sweat as little as possible unless I would have immediate access to a shower and clean underwear. So far, so good.
In non-torturous news, my wonderful brother and his wife are moving to our neck of the woods by the grace of God. We honestly never expected God to allow us the blessing of living in the same city with them, but He has and we're so excited. The kids have come up with a plan for sleeping arrangements when their aunt and uncle move in with us, which they think is a perfectly wonderful and logical solution to their housing dilemma. I could use a live-in nanny.
The watermelon is still being consumed like crazy in our house in an effort to focus on the good parts of a southern summer. My tummy is growing bigger by the day, it seems (maybe I'm growing a watermelon in there), and the weeks of freedom and fun are flying by. Before we know it, the kids will head off to school and we'll begin serious preparations for their baby brother. You know, we'll have to buy some diapers and hang some shelves from the ceiling to put his clothes on. Then we should be good to go.
Seriously, despite the elements of torture and the profuse amounts of sweating involved so far this summer, it's been great enjoying our laid-back schedule and lots of fun family time...as close to a shower as possible.