I don’t know if y’all are aware of this or not, but the weather has been a little warm for the last four or five days.
I’m guessing that you probably knew that. What with all the Instagram pictures of people’s car thermometers and whathaveyou.
By the way, I only figured out how to use Instagram a couple of weeks ago, thanks to a a very patient and thorough tutorial from my sweet friend Annie. I still haven’t worked the Instagram into my routine like I have the Twitter, but I’m starting to get the hang of it. Nonetheless, I’m boomama205 if you’re also on the Instagram and would like for me to add one picture every two weeks to your Instagram stream. Eventually I hope to work up to a picture a week, but I can hardly commit to such a lofty and prolific photography goal.
We spent most of the weekend running errands that were directly related to my recent decision to spruce up our living room a little bit. It’s time, I think. Most of the furniture in our house is somebody’s old something-or-other, and while I love that everything has a history (like the fact that our breakfast room table was my aunt’s, or our dining room table was my friend NK’s, or the chair where I’m typing this post was my brother and sister-in-law’s), we have a few pieces that are barely hanging on in terms of function. And after fifteen years of being the Home for Wayward Occasional Chairs, I also feel like we’re teetering on the verge of cluttered, especially in our living room and bedroom.
Friday afternoon I ran across a yellow ottoman in Home Goods, and oh, it got the decorative wheels a-spinnin’. Once I got home I realized that if we moved this and sold that and swapped that piece with something in the next room, I could give Ye Olde Living Room a little shot in the arm.
So you know what that means, don’t you?
It means that I was at Home Goods as soon as it opened Saturday morning. And just look what I brought home.
Don’t worry. It’s not staying in that exact spot.
And please excuse the coffee table clutter.
Also: on a scale of 1-10, the dog’s decorative interest level is peaking at a solid 1.5. I think I make her really tired. And maybe a little angry.
By the time Sunday rolled around and I’d crossed everything off the round one living room to-do list, I reminded D that the little guy has been talking a LOT lately about wanting a basketball goal. I am all for another GET THEE OUTSIDE activity, and since his interest in basketball has been pretty consistent for about a year, I feel like we’re in a reasonable safety zone in terms of buying some of our own equipment.
I learned the safety zone lesson the hard way after I committed way too quickly to buying a few of those Lego Harry Potter kits.
I would say that Lego Harry Potter was a short-term hobby, but that would imply that it lasted longer than about four days.
So D and I went to Academy (my mama is in town, so she and A stayed home, and I recognize that you don’t necessarily need that piece of information, but I’m oversharing, so we’ll run with it), and after we picked out and purchased a goal, we loaded ‘er up and brought ‘er home. Since it was in a big ole box, I knew that there was going to be some assembly involved, but I didn’t concern myself with those pesky details, mainly because assembling things is one of my husband’s spiritual gifts. He is the polar opposite of me in that he is 1) patient and 2) thorough, so he’s rarely overwhelmed by the task at hand.
I’d love to know what that’s like, by the way.
Because sometimes I feel like I’ve been overwhelmed since approximately 2002.
Maybe that should be my slogan.
Since I’d been the head let’s-get-a-basketball-goal cheerleader, I thought it was important for me to make a show of goal-assembly unity and stand outside in the 102 degree heat while D put the blasted contraption together. I knew that I wouldn’t be of any real help, but I figured I could say encouraging things and provide cold beverages. Maybe set up a box fan or something.
Initially I thought we were looking at a thirty-minute process, tops, but I quickly changed my mind. When I saw D remove all the pieces and parts and nuts and bolts from the box, I knew with great certainty that putting the goal together was way beyond my skill set because it was GOING TO TAKE SOME HOURS. D wasn’t intimidated, though; he read through the instructions, then grouped and categorized everything according to when he would need it. I don’t mind saying that just looking at all that stuff made me sixteen kinds of nervous.
Listen. That was just one tiny little group of materials. And all I wanted to do was stack it up and kick it over and scream “JENGA!” while I ran back into the air conditioned comfort of the indoors.
However, I completely ignored every single instinct that I have and stayed outside with D. When he got to the part of the instructions that specify that assembling the goal requires two capable adults, I looked at him out of the corner of my eye to make sure that I was in fact qualified. Yes, I have the adult part of the equation covered, but capable? Of putting a basketball goal together? NOT SO FAST, BILLY RAY. We’d developed a little bit of a routine, though, so I decided to stick with it. D worked and figured and analyzed and assembled, and I, well – I kept my foot on the base of the goal so that nothing tipped over after the primary pole was attached.
Oh. It was realllllly complicated. You can’t see all the subtleties of the weight distribution from my foot in that picture, but it was an intricate operation. I think the instructions actually recommended that someone with an engineering degree should be in charge of keeping the base stable, but I guess I’m just a natural in terms of being able to put my foot on things.
I know. I know. It’s a humbling gift.
Once the primary pole was stable, D moved on to the backboard portion of the festivities. By that point I’d moved on to heat comparisons in my head (It’s not as hot as Ecuador, but it’s definitely hotter than it was that time we went to the State / Louisiana Tech football game, which wasn’t quite as bad as when our church re-did that house and it rained all morning and it felt like it was 416 degrees outside), and I kept telling myself that even though I wasn’t actually, you know, doing anything, I needed to get over it and be a gamer and remember that nobody has ever died from lending moral support during the assembly of a basketball goal.
Much to our surprise, it started to rain, and after we moved all the tools and instructions and whatnots into the garage, I realized that light was getting scarce and I could provide a valuable service by shining a flashlight on whatever part of the backboard demanded D’s attention. I handled that flashlight with great precision, and (70′s sitcom alert) I couldn’t help but think of when Hot Lips Houlihan would assist in surgery. However, my noble calling still couldn’t distract me from All The Heat, so I very cleverly sat down on the kitchen doorstep and cracked the door ever-so-slightly so that the frigid AC air would hit the side of my back while I continued to SACRIFICIALLY HOLD THAT FLASHLIGHT, AMEN.
Once the backboard was assembled, D quickly moved us through the final five or six steps. Those steps required that I put down my flashlight (horrors) and actually engage in physical labor, and somehow I managed to push through the heat and lift some things. About an hour later, it was ALL DONE, which meant that we could fill the base with water while I talked about how much cooler it was once the post-rain temperature dropped to about 95 degrees.
Seriously. In comparison to earlier that afternoon? It was downright frigid.
And behold! The finished product!
I think it’s safe to say that it would’ve NEVER come together if not for all that quality flashlight holding I did. Not to mention putting my foot on the base and leaving it there for upwards of fifteen minutes.
(Sometimes I like to kid myself.)
(It helps to get me through the day.)