I just can't decide what the highlight of this weekend should be. Help me, Obi-Wan. You're my only hope.
It might have been dropping off my two guys at a scouting event called Webelos Woods on Friday night, where the Boy Scouts take the older Cub Scouts under their wings and try to impress upon them the utter coolness of becoming a Boy Scout. I just knew they were in for a night and a day of nonstop male bonding, building stuff and getting dirty and singing ridiculous songs. Grunt.
(Fly in the ointment: Three year old thinking I'm the worst mom EVER for not letting her stay with the boys. Well, get used to it, kiddo. I think that particular file will remain open for the next two decades.)
It might have been taking my girls to the pumpkin patch to make their selections. To be honest, I just couldn't work up any motivation for autumnal activities until this weekend. When it's mid-eighties and humid, it's like your seasonal clock is jammed. You're bitterly aware that folks in OTHER parts of the country are picking apples and baking them into crisps, or crunching merrily through piles of leafy splendor, but you just can't quite get into the spirit of things, you know?
Or maybe it was my mother-in-law, whom you might have met in the comments section, taking the girls to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs and get ice cream, so I could have a bit of that "margin time" we've recently discussed. I like my mother-in-law. She speaks Desperate-ese. (Bonus: Three year old thinking I'm the best mom EVER for making her a twirly skirt in her absence.)
No wait, I know. It was THIS. This afternoon we were invited to attend the baptism of a young friend of ours. All the ingredients for a perfect occasion were assembled: gorgeous lake, perfect weather, tasty refreshments, 20-30 supportive friends and relatives, and us getting completely lost and arriving twenty minutes late. Awesome. So we're gathered at the shore and our seven-year-old friend Catherine wades out into the water with her father, who has offered up a prayer and a short word on the significance of baptism. Everyone's quiet, reverently waiting. Her father takes Catherine's arm.
Suddenly, loud and clear, one of my children blurts into the silence, "Hey, while you're in the water, can you pick up that glass thing floating around out there? It's going to pollute the lake!"
Okay, go ahead and keep your bubbling, cinnamony apple crisp. I'll just be over here in my corner, giggling nervously and eating humble pie.