Thunder Blunder

     Soooo happy for the win, but let me tell you what happened at our house last night. 
So yesterday we, I mean the boys, got the invitation to spend the night with the grandparents.  We were tempted to load up and go to the game, but by the time we got them packed and ready, got ourselves packed and ready, got tickets, and got a room, we’d barely make it in time.  We decided we would just do our normal routine, but this time without kids.  Whoa.  What?  Not that we don’t enjoy our kids, but…
     Our routine is to record the game, wait till about what we think is half time, and then start watching the recording.  We usually go eat supper, or now that summer is here, we go to a t-ball game or go get a sno cone or something.  By the time we get home, take showers, get the boys settled, get ourselves settled, perhaps get a snack, it’s time to turn on The Thunder.  I’ve even seen us all exhale at the same time as we sink into our respective game watching positions.  If we’ve done it right, and we always do, we can watch the game without commercials and replays.  This is particularly awesome when there is a close game and I can’t stand it.  The tricky part is avoiding all human contact while we wait for the game to get good and started, which can be hard to do.  Since everyone knows I’m a huge fan of The Thunder, well, I’M not huge, my Thunder fanness is huge.  Anyway, for some reason, people love to give me score updates.  You would think if they know me well enough to know I’m a huge Thunder fan, they would also know I love surprises.  Sheesh.  The only bad part about waiting for the game to get that far ahead, is that it does no good to pray, or have a good attitude, or send good vibes, or anything.  I sometimes pray anyway, just for my own comfort, but I know it’s too late.  It’s a helpless feeling really.  That’s why I like to ‘Thunder Up’/pray earlier in the day. 
     So yesterday when we, I mean the boys, got the invitation to spend the night with the grandparents and we could either bust it to get to the game, or have the house to ourselves to watch it, we couldn’t help but think about how the night might go if we stayed home.  It didn’t take us long to decide to watch from the comfort of our living room.  We decided we would go out to eat to pass the time until the 3rd quarter. We were in no hurry since we knew we didn’t have to do *shower drill.  
     *Shower drill is where we start ‘yapping’ at the boys at about 5 miles out from our house.  Who’s going first?  That usually takes a few minutes because they have to try to get into the other guy’s head and decide what he's going to choose, decide if he’s just using reverse psychology, and then decide the best way to argue appropriately for what he wants which is what the other guy wants.  When one of us gets tired of that argument, we will cut them off and just tell them who’s going first.  Check mate.  They will both be unhappy even though the 50/50 odds say that one of them should have gotten exactly what they wanted, I guess unless they were fighting for the thing they didn’t want just because the other guy wanted it. (sigh…exhausting)  Anyway, even though the routine is the same, I start giving the orders.  Take your clothes off and toss them in the laundry room on your way by.   Get underpants and something to sleep in.  I break up the second argument of shower drill over the one t-shirt they think they own and remind them that I have purchased several nice pj sets they could wear and if they don’t stop fighting over a stinkin’ t-shirt, I’ll quit shopping for them and start shopping for myself.  On our way to the bathroom, they are still arguing over whose turn it really should’ve been and I am thinking about how ridiculous it is that I don’t have one pair of pjs to my name.  I turn the shower on and tell Levi, who has been granted the gift of first, to hurry up.  What he hears instead is, how about a nice, long poop before your shower, Sir?  I can’t believe I’m surprised every time.  Here come the reminders.  Remind them to please use soap- everywhere.  Remind Maverick that in order to wash his hair, he needs to get it wet.  Remind them to dry off, with a towel, before they try to put their clothes on.  Both boys are naked.  Maverick has gone into silly mode.  The kind where he’s dying laughing but nothing funny has happened.  Not to me anyway.  I fuss at him to settle down, but he already took his ears off.  He is laughing and laughing.  Levi is not distracted in the least by any of the hubbub going on around him.  I wonder how such a sweet little boy that is so snuggly and delicious can create a smell so awful that it makes me think I would feel better if I could just throw up.  I would love to do us all a favor and flush the toilet for the slightest bit of relief, but I know that will throw Levi into panic mode and who knows how long we may have to wait for him to ‘relax’ in order to ever finish and get in the shower.  Besides, it doesn't seem to be bothering either one of them anyway.  I want Levi to take his shower first since Maverick usually has to take two.  On an oddly regular basis, he comes out of the bathroom with the his dry clothes stuck to his wet body, the back of his head soaking wet and soapy, and the front of his head bone dry with the sometimes extra added bonus of a little sap in it from the tree he likes to climb.  He has the nerve to get mad when we tell him to go back and try again. 
     After both boys have had their showers, the bathroom is sufficiently soaked, I’ve won the bathroom door prize for the zillionth time in a row of another load of towels to wash, and most of a tube of toothpaste is covering a majority of the sink, they come in and do a couple of head stands, dunk the basketball a few times, look for baby (Levi’s teddy), get seven drinks, and finally sink down into their bean bags.  That’s when we shut it down.  Get the game on and Thunder!!
     So last night would be different.  We were kind of excited.  We had it all planned out.  We would set the DVR to record the game and whatever two shows come on after the game, just in case there’s some kind of overtime or three.  It’s happened.  There we sat, biting our nails, eyes wide, breath held, and we’ve run out of recording.  What just happened?  Are we at live tv?  Don’t look at the score.  What time is it?  AHHHHH!!  It’s like being in a movie theatre with 10 minutes left in the movie, and the power goes out, only about 1000 times worse.  I had already set the DVR to record the game, and whatever’s after that, and whatever’s after that like three days ago so, check.  We’re good.  We set out on our first half of the game trip to town.  As we’re pulling out of the driveway, he asks did you record the game?  Yeah, I got it.  Dang, really?  We ate, got a sno cone, and drove around a little, knowing that we would need to take up a little more time than usual since we didn’t have to do shower drill.  We came home and took showers.   I even took a *whole shower since it was possible and I had no idea when the next opportunity would be. 
     *A whole shower is a shower where I get to wash my face with designated face wash, wash my body with designated body wash, and I am allowed more time than my normal minute 48.  I even washed AND conditioned my hair.
     We had our lucky Thunder tees on, I was wearing my lucky socks, the remote…the remote… whew, the remote.  Yes!  I turned to get my pillows, yeah pillows, all fluffed, and I heard these words in the slowest of slow motion… Wherrrre izzzzz thhhheee gaaaaaammmmuhhh?  I spun (beautifully and on one foot) towards the tv and the husband.  I looked at the menu of recordings.  I looked again. You’re on prime time recordings.  You went down to far.  THIS ISN’T OUR TV?!  THIS ISN'T OUR HOUSE?!  Oh my God!! It didn’t record!!  NOOOOOO!
     Neither of us said a word.  I knew exactly how a dog feels when his owners come home to find that all the shoes in the house have been chewed up, the trash can is dumped and scattered all over the house, and the couch cushions have been shredded.  He thinks if he doesn’t make eye contact with you, you can’t see him.  I was desperate.  I tried it.  We found the game on live tv to see that we had again perfectly timed it so that the 3rd quarter was just starting.  I stared at the tv and didn’t so much as breathe for a good fifteen minutes.  God it’s hot in here.  I wanted to get up so bad and turn on the air conditioner, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.  Why am I wearing these hot socks?  Maybe if I wasn't wearing these hot socks I wouldn’t be this hot.  There’s nothing worse than having wet hair and being hot.  It’s probably that long, hot shower that’s making me hot.  It’s probably the deadly weapons system/laser beam eyeball rays shooting out from the general vicinity of Kerrick’s Lazy Boy that are causing me to be hot.  Probably.
     We watched the rest of the game in regular time complete with commercials and replays (thank God we didn’t have any replays).  You can’t imagine how long those commercials seemed.  It felt like forever.  When a Chickasaw Nation commercial came on (our favorite), I started imagining our story on the ID channel.  If I ever turn up missing, don't be surprised when they take our DVR in as evidence.    
     After a good Thunder win though, the mood lightened considerably.  Good thing I had Thundered Up.