After this past weekend I am tired out. Wrung out and limp as a damp washcloth. Oh, did the little guy have a bad weekend? You ask. Actually no he had a great weekend. I am recovering from heat exhaustion from two days of being in the most horrifically hot and suffocating weather of the year.
Her 13th birthday is in just a week or two but in order for her to receive the best birthday present ever, we have drove to Sparta, Ky. It's a surprise that we aren't miles away from the stage, but instead VERY close. The music starts and three young boys run out on the stage to the sound of adolescent girls screaming and swooning. I could give a fig about this boy band that has turned numerous girls' knees to jelly, but as they run out and their presence in known, I almost cry. I see her face. It's like Christmas morning, the smile of all teeth and wide eyes that sparkle so blue. Her face is red but it could have been from the heat. It wouldn't due for her Mother to be crying at this moment so I staunch my watery eyes the best I can.
I am the dutiful Mom and get what pictures I can and brow beat people putting girls on their shoulders in front of my daughter. When the concert is over we take the obligatory trip to the vendor table to check out the wares. We notice that a lot of the girls have taken to the dividers surrounding the touring bus. She has to go, she might be able to get an autograph! After a few minutes of blistering heat and seeing two girls almost faint I decide this isn't going to happen to my daughter and ask her to move to a more secluded spot of the dividers. It's in a little bit of shade and a truck is blocking sight of the bus. It isn't likely the boys will be over this way, but it isn't likely either of us will be victims of heat stroke. After what seemed to be a good while we hear the ear-splitting screams that tell us that the boys can be seen. I look to the spot I moved her from and see all teenage girls eyes looking at us. I turn to see the same three boys that plaster her bedroom walls walking toward us. All of them thank her for being there and touch her hand (hygienic practices will be stunted for a bit) and the oldest of the three grab my hands and thank me for coming. My daughter describes the look I gave him as "Don't touch me, I'm not here for you, Idiot."
They are freshly showered and have on a fresh change of clothes. She asked them to sign an autograph but was told "We'll be back" They make their way thru thanking all and shaking hands, and are whisked off to (we soon found out) to sing the National Anthem before the races start. When she is finished with her conversation on my cell to her best friend screaming at 50 or decibels that "The Jonas Brothers touched her hand!!" I attempt to reason that these boys are really just that boys and they may be watching the race and they didn't say when they would be back. We needed to head back home. To my astonishment to agrees. On the way home I got two thank you's one for taking her and one for making her move.
School starts tomorrow and the eldest daughter still has to find the perfect pair of woman's Dickies. Low rise, Flare legged and black. Of all the stores in the local Mall we find one pair and they are two sizes too small. We check a few other department stores to find Dickies that are Men's, tan, blue jean, too big, too small, and too long. The heat is soaring and making the air conditioning in my car feel more like a paper fan. Little guy has had all he can stand and wont stay in the car seat without being allowed to hold two or more bottles of water. I decide we are going home and call whatever stores in the city are still open. I find a store that claims to have twenty pairs of what I am looking for, within an hour of closing time and load up the car. We get there grab the pants, try them on, pay for them, and return home with our treasure at top speed.