Memorial Day Weekend

I wrote this post last night and never posted it. So, pretend it's Memorial Day, okay? And not 7:00 a.m. on a Tuesday.

A lovely Memorial Day Weekend, despite Charlotte waking up before 6:00 a.m., every single morning.

Did I do everything I aimed to? Eh, almost. I got the final bedroom painted—a lovely olive green. It was a lot of work, especially because I’m a slow painter, but ta da! Done. And I finished the book I was reading so I could start the June book club book. But convincing Chris to hang the pictures? Alas, not so much.

On Friday night, Chris went out with the guys to do the P’ville bar crawl—which totals three bars that become increasingly sketchy. Imagine, if you will, five or so 30-something guys (well, Chris is the baby at 29), on their umpteenth pitcher of beer, hanging about with a bunch of 21-year-olds. How do you differentiate them from the young’uns? Our dudes were the ones discussing preschools and which of their kids were sleeping through the night. Oh, how I love this generation of men! Nonetheless, my guy crawled into bed past 2:30 a.m., and obviously it’s a good thing that everything around here is within walking distance.

On Saturday night, it was the womenfolk’s turn for a night out. We had far more class than the boys and did a wine night at the main restaurant in town. The manager “poured heavy” for us, as she promised she would (she loves our neighborhood group—we’re making her rich), and we all had a great time on the outdoor patio with the gold Christmas lights—and lots and lots of local wine. The people in our neighborhood are genuinely nice, fun, lively people, and pretention is nonexistent. I mean, really. We all see each other shuffle down the driveway in pajamas to get the morning paper.

One of my favorite moments of the night, which totally exemplifies life in a small town, occurred as one woman got a call from her 13-year-old daughter asking if she could spend the night at a friend’s house.

“Is it okay with her mom?” she asked.

“Her mom is at some wine thing somewhere,” her daughter replied.

The mom says she’ll call the daughter back. Shouting across the room, she asks, “Is Carrie’s mom here?”

“I’m Carrie’s mom!” yells back another woman.

“Is it okay if my daughter spends the night at your house tonight?”

At this point, everyone was just DYING, laughing like idiots. Of course, being several glasses of wine into the evening, that’s not too surprising. So the two moms introduce themselves to each other, and that was that. As one woman in our group, who grew up in this town, said, “Growing up in a small town is tough, especially as a teen. You can’t get away with anything. Everybody knows your mom, and if you do something stupid, she’ll find out from ten different people.”

So that was Saturday night.

On Sunday, we went to church and grocery shopping. So very exciting, no? The rest of the day was filled with watching Charlotte play outside while Chris continued to labor on his raised garden bed frame.

Today (Monday) was insanely hot—a heat index around 102 degrees—so it was too hot to even go to the pool. I took Charlotte to a rather depressing mall one town over (hey, at least it had a DSW) and the grocery store (again) just to get out of the house while staying within air conditioning. Of course, Charlotte LOVES to be outside, so we had to let her play on her little toddler car at some point, right? Thus, at 6:30 in the morning, Chris followed her up and down the sidewalk (coffee in hand) while she zipped along in her car (still wearing her pajamas, of course) in 95% humidity.

Tomorrow will be even hotter, so I guess we can say that summer has arrived? I just hope Charlotte’s school is smart enough to shorten outside time, or keep them indoors altogether.