Tommy was playing with his Nerf gun over the weekend and the rocket part that blasts off of it got stuck on the roof. I heard him wailing and moaning about it just as I sat down to enjoy an episode of The Real Housewives of New York.
Hey, I didn’t say it was anything particularity stimulating.
I usually end up jealous when I watch that show though. It’s like, hey, I want to vacation at St. Barts! Hey, I want to walk into a store and be able to drop three grand on clothes. Wait a minute, I want to eat at that restaurant and be served little puff cakes!
But anyhow, before I could get into the show—dear gracious, one of the husband’s on there wears Speedos to a beach!—I heard Tommy’s complaining and had to put it on pause.
I rushed outside and he was standing in front of the house next door. Thankfully no one lives there. Tommy was gesturing to the roof and muttering something about a rocket, a rocket, A ROCKET!
Then I realized that his foam toy was sitting on the roof.
Dang.
We don’t have a tall ladder so that was out of the question. So I decided that I’d take the handle of our broom and knock it down.
It really sounded like a good idea at the time. I grabbed the broom, stood on the ultra tiny ladder that we do have and tried to push the toy off the roof.
Um. What happened was that I somehow let go off the broom and it....got stuck...I MAY have grown annoyed and just thrown it up there hoping it would somehow knock the toy to the ground. I mean, my upper arm strength is basically non-existent so after a few tries of swinging and attempting to hit the toy, I was spent.
When Tom came home from work he went, “Why is our broom on top of the house next door?”
I gave him a sheepish grin. “I got so annoyed with housework that I decided to throw the broom on the roof,” I fibbed.
Tom looked like he believed me and was about to launch into a lecture on why we don’t throw our cleaning products on the roof so I quickly added, “I’m joking.”
Though really, sometimes I do long to throw the laundry out the front door. And maybe one day I WILL throw the dish sponge out the window. Dishes just seem to multiply in this house.
The good news is that the wind blew the foam rocket down. At least the Wyoming winds are good for something.
Sadly, our broom is still up on the roof.
So we had to go to the store and buy a new one. Tom took it upon himself to inform the checkout lady that we were buying a new broom, “Because my wife threw ours on the roof.”
The look the checkout lady gave me was priceless. And then she sort of took a step back as though she thought I was insane or something. Maybe she thought that if she made a mistake that I’d reach over and throw HER on the roof.
But anyhow, other than that, nothing really happened over the weekend. On Sunday I went to Target, which is one of my favorite stores ever and the woman across the street waved and said something like,
“Mutter mutter Jesus?”
I wasn’t quite sure what she said. I just heard the word Jesus. I’m assuming she was asking me if I was going to listen to the word of Jesus or something like that. She probably thought I was on my way to church.
See, she has tried to get me to join some of her religious groups and I’ve politely declined. I do believe in God, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve just never felt comfortable in a church. Maybe one day.
We do teach the kids about God. Though I think Tommy was a little confused because for awhile he thought that we went to Venus when we died.
So I explained the concept of Heaven and Hell and he seemed to comprehend. Maybe a little too well.
Because a few weeks ago I heard him outside getting upset with a friend who kept squirting him with a water gun. I ran out to put a stop to it and arrived just in time to hear Tommy shout, “You’re being naughty, Blake! You’re going to go to Hell now!”
Um. Eeps.
Blake’s mouth dropped open and he went, “I’m telling. You said a bad word. I’m TELLING!” And then he spotted me and waved his hand dramatically in Tommy’s direction. “He said the H-word at me. He said it and he needs to be punished.”
I did pull Tommy inside and explain that we don’t say things like that.
“But why?” asked a confused Tommy. “It’s true. Bad people go to Hell. You TOLD me so.”
I swallowed and wished that I could be laying out in a beach in Hawaii. Oh gosh, I need a vacation. Big time. “You’re right, Tommy, I did say that,” I began. “But it’s just not nice to say.”
“But what if—” Tommy started.
“It’s just not nice to say,” I repeated sternly.
Tommy seemed to get the point after that. My stern face can be scary. I sort of pierce my lips and try to furrow my brows and will my eyes to get all stony and hard. I bet that sort of look would be frightening to a child.
Or to anyone, really.
Anyhow, what I told that lady who asked me if I was going to listen to the word of Jesus was, “Yes!” accompanied by an enthusiastic nod.
I have no idea why I said yes. Sometimes I just agree to things to keep people happy. I hate disappointing people.
But, to be honest, sometimes I feel like I’ve heard the word of Jesus when I’ve found a fabulous deal at Target. Once I found this adorable purse for 75% off and I swear I heard a gospel singing in the background. (They were all, “Hallelujah!”) And once when I found this cute navy pea coat in the 75% off rack I thought I heard someone say, “Well done.” It COULD have been Jesus.
Of course I think Jesus has better things to do than watch me shop.
I mean, seriously.
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