As I mentioned yesterday, we spent last weekend back at the old house. We had some business to wrap up, including finishing the spring cleaning and preparing the house for new tenants.
Have I discussed how much I love cleaning up after other people?
It pleases me so, in an opposite of that sort of way.
Anyway, I spent a good part of Friday and Saturday cleaning and preparing, while LCB did whatever it is that he does to make a living, spending most of the weekend in the confines of his home office.
Naturally, however, at some point on Friday afternoon, we found ourselves out on the beach, taking a break from it all.
Just as they often do lately, the boys turned to football as a beach diversion. It’s funny, because we never really watch football unless there are major social events involving substantial amounts of food that surround the games, and the beach is the only place anyone ever seems to want to play football. Then again, it’s the only place where LCB ever runs, either. I once suggested LCB do his run on the sidewalk, and he looked at me as if I was so, well, gauche. It took me a week to stop feeling downright bourgeois after that look.
As is his habit, my younger son created the football field, using thin pieces of driftwood to draw the lines.
Then, he played the entire time with one sock on and one sock off. It’s one of his many idiosyncrasies, somehow managing to lose one sock and never thinking to replace it or take the other one off. I can never seem to figure out how he loses one sock, and I don’t know how it doesn’t drive him crazy to exist in a one-sock world.
Of course, he doesn’t understand why his mother runs around with holes in the heels of most of her socks. “Mom, you really need to get new socks,” he tells me whenever he sees me shoeless and with my feet up, the consternation in his voice obvious to all. It really bothers him, much like it bothers me to watch him run around wearing only one sock or oh, say, to run to the store and buy new socks for myself.
We’re quite the duo.
As expected, baby-girl had to be in the thick of it all, constantly vying for attention from the male family members. They were, all three, very gracious to her, which will undoubtedly stand in strong contrast to most of her sports-flavored experiences with males yet to come. I know, because I was always small for my age too, and decidedly unblessed with any form of athletic prowess whatsoever, so I knew that no boy in his right mind would ever pass me the ball during gym class or recess for any game that actually counted. I even remember once in sixth grade, while playing football with my class, in an effort to prove to everyone that zeal could surpass ability, I attempted to tackle my best friend when she got the ball and ended up literally riding her back all the way down the field while she made a touchdown.
You know, for the life of me, I just can’t write this post without falling into one digression after another, can I? I could blame it on this strange cloud of respiratory funk that’s hovered over me all week, one that can’t seem to decide whether it is coming or going.
Truth is, this is just me. Usually, I just put a little more effort into gussying up the façade a bit.