Tightly Wound

Labor Day Blues

Oh, the plans I had for this Labor Day Weekend. Big plans! Exciting plans! Plans involving lavender paint, new screen doors and a spanky new storage shed! Woo! And then Hublet came back from Sampson County, rife with the Cold Spores of Doom, and all was lost. I spent the entire weekend either on the sofa, in a recliner, or outside in a lawn chair blowing my nose, hacking up a lung, and watching The Boy perfect full-speed pratfalls into the Jump-o-lene. And may I just pause to say, "All hail the fabulous Jump-o-Lene!" Because verily, it rocketh. The Boy has already figured out how to maximize his bounce (climb to the top of the Little Tikes contraption and leap into the Jump-o-Lene from On High! Woo-hoo!), and although his request for Mommy to bounce him ended in disaster (he flew backwards over the side and did a half-gainer onto his noggin) he was undaunted in his pursuit of The Perfect Boing.

And so the house is in disarray, the guest room is no more purple now than it was last Friday, and I am hopped up on DayQuil. However, I did manage to add to my List of Interesting Things To Know. Here, for your further edification and knowledge, is Stuff I Learned While on Some Pretty Good Over-the-Counter Drugs:

• The last words of St. Thomas a' Becket were actually, "Pimp! Pimp!" directed at the knight who cleaved his skull in twain. And yes, he meant pimp as in "runner of whores," not as in "mack-daddy daddy-mack cool with 24-inch rims and gigantic sub-woofers." I really like Simon Schama's histories, if only for these fun little throwaway items.
• From The Boy, the importance of having hands. Direct quote, "The big giant ball can't come to the Thomas party, because he doesn't have any hands! He just has to roll around, and he can't even clap." "That's kind of sad, son." "Yep. It's sad to have no hands. Cats and dogs don't have hands. Are they sad?"
• Me and My Big Mouth, #3,472: "Mommy, I don't want to wear the seat belt." "Well, you have to, or mommy will get in trouble for not keeping you safe." "You get in trouble?" "Yep, the police will throw me in jail and you won't have a mommy anymore." "They'll throw you in jail and I won't have a mommy anymore! Hee-hee!" "You seem entirely too pleased about that, son." "Hee-hee!" "Just wear the seatbelt, okay?" "Hee-hee! They'll throw you in jail!"
• Interesting fact about Wiggles music, #42: The syncopated rhythms of "Toot-Toot, Chugga-Chugga, Big Red Car" pound in exactly the right frequency to create the mother of all sinus headaches. Go on with your bad selves, you crazy Australians.