Domestic Happenings: Slithering Snakes Part II, The King, Birthday Bashes and more. . .
Goodness but what a wild week it’s been: jam-packed with concerts and award banquets and birthdays, oh yeah, and slimy snakes!
The Relieve of the Skeeve!
On Saturday, Spence came running in the house from having taken the dog out and breathlessly proclaimed, “Jeremy is back!”
“Super! Who’s Jeremy, and how long have we been missing him?” I replied.
“Jeremy is the snake! I named him. He’s slithering between the mulch and the grass.”
SKEEVE – again!
It seems the snake had re-emerged from the viper pit under my front porch. Thank goodness I wasn’t there to witness his return or almost step on him again.
“Yeah, well Jeremy will not be slithering there for much longer . . . JAME! That damn snake is out again! Can you please just get rid of it?!”
See, here’s where it decided to make its den. Can you understand why I want it gone?
It’s right under the front stoop, for goodness snakes!
We’re having a houseful of guests for Logan’s grad party in a few weeks. Wouldn’t it just be swell if good old Jeremy decided to act as the greeting party?
Jame, being a braver man than I, went outside to introduce himself to Jeremy and kindly escort him off of the premises. Moments later, however, he strolled back inside with the news that our neighbor, John, who is amazingly “one with nature”, was keeping an eye out for the snake and would grab it when it returned.
That, however, was easier said than done because that slippery serpent went into full-on attack mode: body reared back, mouth open. It took several tries for John to grab it behind its head, but finally he succeeded. Thanks, John!
Jame had a shoe box at the ready that they stuffed Jeremy into. Logan then held the box on his lap in the car on the way to Jeremy’s new home: a pond about a mile from us. When they opened the lid, the dang viper apparently rocketed out of the box like one of those fabric covered, coiled wire snakes from a can, and dove into the water.
Now let’s just hope there isn’t a “Mrs. Jeremy” and a bevy of baby Jeremys in the pit waiting impatiently for him to bring home take out Pad Thai.
King of the Thing!
Saturday was also Logan’s senior prom – a bittersweet affair to be sure since it marked the end of his time in a beloved school, it means he’ll soon be saying goodbye to long term friends as they move on to their college or occupation of choice, and that sooner than I’d like, he himself will be packing up and leaving our cozy little roost.
Anyway, let’s tuck that thought away for now, shall we?
We did the obligatory pre-prom picture thing with Logan’s lovely date and a couple dozen girls in rainbow-hued gowns . . .
And then Jame and I went to dinner at our friends’ house only to receive this cryptic text:
“Guess who is prom king?”
“Hint: this kid is!”
Is it bad of me to admit that I searched on my phone in vain for the photo of “this kid” to whom he was referring?
Well, bad or not, that’s exactly what I did. Then I texted him back asking what the heck he was talking about to finally learn that he, himself, had been crowned prom king, and that there wasn’t any missing photo of some royal mystery boy.
Well, I’ll be!
Does that make me mom of the prom?
Yeah, probably not.
Then Spence had to get in on the action, perpetual goofball that he is!
I’ve been having a hankering for popcorn lately, so all I could see when I looked at that goofy crown was this:
Do you see it, too, or am I just food-obsessed?
That was a rhetorical question.
Please don’t answer it, actually.
Thursday was the last band awards banquet for Logan.
As I watched his friends, all having grown into men, march up and accept their plaques and silly farewell gifts like lava lamps and dart boards, and in one case, a single marching shoe, I marveled at how much they’ve matured.
Four years ago, they shuffled into the school as scrawny little kids with seemingly giant backpacks and innocent grins.
Now, they’re full on adults with five o’clock shadow and neckties, and will soon have the responsibilities and freedoms that go with adulthood.
What will they do with their lives? How will they positively impact ours?
It’s a wonderful thought to contemplate.
(Logan is the one wearing the oh-so-groovy clock necklace instead of a tie.)
I admit that I’ve often scoffed at the whole “soccer mom” concept. I mean, really, why, as an adult, would you build a life that is centered around driving your kids to and from a sport and revel in it?
And yet, if I’m to be honest, I have a confession to make. Here goes.
“Hi, my name is Becky. And I’m a band mom.”
Lame, I know.
Boy do I know!
And yet, it’s true. I’ve spent so much time and focus on band activities and volunteering, from hosting the band website to chairing various fundraisers, attending concerts and games, and supporting Logan in his band roles, that I feel as if I’m leaving the band as well.
Can I just stress again that, as a fairly independent woman, I never thought I’d feel that way about one of my children’s activities?
It’s odd how you can get sucked in.
Aside from the wonderful memories made, we’ve met friends through the band program who we absolutely cherish and hope against hope will remain in our lives despite our children’s departures.
Somehow, My Baby Turned Twelve!
The years have sped by. So much so that my baby boy is no longer a baby and had the audacity of celebrating his 12th birthday yesterday.
He’s a jester through and through, and I adore that in him.
He keeps us young, keeps us hopping, and keeps us laughing.
His array of accents are hysterical: “I would like glass of wodka to toast Mother Russia.” Complete with rolled “Rs”.
Not exactly something you would expect to come out of the mouth of a 12-year-old. But still. . .
Dinner, presents, cake and family topped off his day and sent him to bed with a smile.
Now it’s on to a wedding tonight, friends over for dinner tomorrow, the parade on Monday, etc. . .
Life keeps marching on with a happy spring in its step!