It was an historic weekend, gentle reader.
First off, I got a little sick. Which, I will admit doesn’t sound exactly historical. Until you consider the fact that I got sick on a weekend, when I could just lay on my bed and have the husband be in charge of everything. Ev-er-y-thing. Cooking, child-rearing, cleaning the kitchen, etc. (The man made crepes for Sunday lunch- who knew he had such hidden culinary depths? And why did it take thirteen years for me to discover them?)
The whole weekend was like being on a really nice vacation. With a few chills and muscle aches thrown in for good measure.
Second historical happening: Early Saturday morning before I started feeling like ran over hamburger meat, I went shopping and bought myself some clothes. As in, clothes I will wear and not the children. Also, adding to the historicalness (I just made up that word), the clothes came from an actual department store and not a second-hand clothing place.
(If you’re feeling the symptoms of shock, please put your head between your knees and concentrate on your breathing for a few minutes until the sensation passes. And let me reassure you that each item was either on sale or from the clearance rack. I didn’t completely lose my head.)
I’ve had the goal of purchasing myself some new clothes for a while now. It even made my bucket-list birthday post earlier this year. So on Saturday, I finally got to cross that item off my list.
Third historical happening this weekend: One of the items of clothing I purchased was a pair of jeans, that are exactly similar to my other jeans, except for the fact that they are a size smaller. <fist pump in the air!>
Like I said, gentle reader, it was a historical weekend for me. Anything historical happen for you?
Woohoo! Ok, seriously shocked that you went into a department store. I don’t even go into those places. I get so depressed looking at the price tags. But a clearance rack is perfect. And jeans a size smaller is even better, woohoo! Way to go!
Something hugely historical happened on Saturday. The prophet announced that missionaries can go out at a younger age. For boys, they can go at 18 as long as they’ve graduated high school. And girls can go out at 19! So this solved my previous major problem! My daughter is not quite two years older than my son, meaning they could have served a mission at the same time, if Sara isn’t married by then. But now, as it stands, she is planning on serving a mission at 19! She’ll come home and Zack will turn 18 and go on his mission. So I’ll only have to figure out how to pay for one missionary instead of two. I may have to actually get a job that pays and go to work every day. You know, ’cause doing dishes and laundry around here doesn’t pay. Anything…nothing. But missionary blessings would be well worth it.
Simply historical. No, I did not say hysterical!)
I almost went into hysterics thinking that Will could be a missionary in just 7 years instead of 8, so nice job keeping calm.
It was a historical weekend in our home as well. My husband cleaned our master bathroom for the first time. He learned two things. 1) It is very time consuming to clean the whole bathroom…and I mean, really clean it. 2) It is a pain in the butt to clean the soap scum off the tile and glass in our shower from HIS soap. It was an eye opener for him. He also gave our 22 month old daughter a bath for the first time. I’ve always been the one to give her baths, but I decided it is time he learn how so he can help out sometimes. I was sick this past week as well, and it really sunk in that my husband doesn’t really know what goes on in our home and doesn’t know what to do. It’s time that changes.
That is an amazingly historic weekend! I think I can count on one hand the number of times my husband has cleaned the bathroom.