The Lazy Weekend that Wasn't

Last week was a seriously busy time for me, and so as I snatched an old Patricia Cornwell novel out of a sale bin at the drugstore on Friday evening, I envisioned myself piled up on the couch for the weekend, absorbed in the thriller.

It was not to be.

Standing before the open refrigerator on Saturday morning, I realized that I'd have to break down and go grocery shopping or we'd go hungry all weekend.  I showered and dressed and hit the road about 9 a.m.  As The Husband and I were putting away the groceries an hour later, he told me that The Grandson had called, wanting to come over.  Before we finished, the phone rang again.  The Husband answered it.  "Ok, we'll be down there in a little bit to get some of it," I heard him say.  He hung up the phone and turned to me:  "Mama's picked a bucket of tomatoes, a bucket of butterbeans, and a bunch of okra.  And somebody gave her a bucket of pears.  She said for us to come get some of it." 

Oh, boy...there goes my lazy Saturday, I thought, but I went across the road and relieved Nanny of the tomatoes and butterbeans.  While I was there, she told me that the squash plants in the garden were infested with bugs.  I went out and had a look and, sure enough, the squash plants were crawling with squash bugs of every size and description.  They'd already demolished some of the older plants and were working their way down the row.  Watching them, I remembered that a month ago a friend in Albuquerque had complained that squash bugs had arrived in his garden, and that he had given them $5 and my address.  Thanks, buddy.  I'd have to deal with them later. 

Back at home, when The Grandson saw me assembling the tomato squeezer, he made a bee-line to the kitchen, volunteering his help.  Letting him help seemed like a good idea.  I clamped the contraption to the kitchen table, showed Caleb how to turn the crank, and began slicing the tomatoes into the hopper.  We'd only ground a few tomatoes when he leaned into the juicer too hard and knocked the whole business, bowls and all, onto the kitchen floor.  He needed no encouragement to go play with his trains when he saw the mess he'd made.  I cleaned it up and finished the job without his assistance.

It was early evening by the time I'd canned the tomatoes and shelled and blanched the butterbeans. My feet were aching, but I knew that if I sat down to rest them, I'd never get up again, and there were still squash bugs to be dispatched.  I went across the road, mixed up a few gallons of insecticide, and went out to greet the squash bugs.  Truth be told, the squash plants weren't worth saving, but I knew those rotten bugs would multiply, or over-winter in the soil, or something; getting rid of them this year might save me some headache next year.  I let 'em have it with the bug spray and didn't even feel bad about it.

Sunday was far less hectic, even though Caleb was still with us.  We had a semi-lazy day loitering around in our pajamas, reading books, watching cartoons, and watching the writing spider catch bugs in her web outside our living room window.  Between all that, I managed to wash four loads of laundry, change the bed sheets, and put meals on the table - all in all a productive weekend, despite the non-productive plans I'd made.