We had one of those weekends where I actually said to myself last night just as I was getting to sleep...


This was supposed to be one of our better weekends. Perry's baseball team was going to compete in the state tournament for machine pitch baseball. For their very. first. time.

Phil's Uncle David was coming to town to spend time with us and to play in his high school's annual golf tournament. With Phil. And I knew he was just as pleased as pickle juice that Phil was playing in this golfing annual with him.

And our baseball team's party was going to be on Sunday afternoon... hopefully celebrating the end of the season as well as a state win.

And then the rain came down, and the floods came up. The rain came down, and the floods came up... anyone remember the title to that catchy tune from Sunday School circa 1969?

Anyway, I digress. The rains came and we never saw an inch of a baseball field this weekend. The game was cancelled on Friday evening. We were on rain delay hold until Saturday around noon when all was cancelled... as Perry sat on the couch in his baseball gear... waiting and waiting and waiting. The games were cancelled on Saturday, as well as the entire state baseball tournament. Need you be reminded that I knew of one boy who was upset, as I'm sure were the other 11 boys on his team.

And it rained on the men and their mudball golf tournament. And it was a cold rain.

And on Sunday it was still cloudy and too wet for a end of the season pool party. Party re-scheduled.

But we did spend the afternoon and most of the evening at my neighbor's house. They grilled burgers and we shared the end of the season party cake with them. It was rather tasty. I'm hoping they get the same kind for the next end of the season party sometime in hot, dry August.
But while we were over at my neighbor's, Phil went to check on the rowdy boys playing downstairs when I heard a loud thud and saw my husband bent with his head on the stairs, grimacing in pain. He had slipped on the stairs and had taken a tumble down right on his back. He didn't say much for a few seconds, but as I mumbled something about calling 911, he looked up and said he was okay - but just barely.

And when Phil was home soaking in the jacuzzi tub, I was downstairs cleaning out my sink of all the unwashed dishes collected from our weekend, when I heard... "MOOMMM - COME HERE."
"My tummy hurts and I think I almost puked in my bed."

Oh Lord - the sentence that I least want to hear at dark thirty in the night. In fact, whether it be dark outside, or in the middle of the day, I really don't want to hear anything about puke or any type of weird things going on, I'm just saying.

But I woke up this Monday and Phil seems okay. His back is in some kind of pain, mainly an annoying pain that he is trying to ignore so that he can spend all next weekend playing golf.

And Perry slept the night through with no tummy worries.

After dropping Perry off to summer camp this morning, I stopped off at my favorite coffee house before work and thanked the Lord for small blessings.

Mondays aren't so bad after all.

Labels: family; weird things