Bouncing back from a canceled vacation: Brad springs into action

My Week of Amy came to an abrupt halt when Brad's anticipated trip to Alaska was suddenly canceled. My carefully planned itinerary, that included a grueling marathon of television watching, tireless snacking, and multiple opportunities to sleep in, was up-dated to include some doubles events.

Nestled in my chair, clutching a fistful of Twizzlers, I watched as Brad, looking to fill what was supposed to be a week filled with fishing with something productive and meaningful, got up to leave the room. "Where are you going?" I asked, praying that his answer would be, "To the refrigerator." 

No such luck.

"Thought I'd pressure wash the house," he said.

I sighed. What a way to spend his hard-earned vacation. And there goes my Week of Amy. Okay, then. I guess we were in it. Let the games begin.

So...first up, was target shooting. 

From multiple angles and incorporating varying degrees of difficulty. 

Pressure-washing a two-story house using a ladder apparently wasn't hard enough. Let's introduce
motorized vehicles. So, as Brad balanced along the raised edge of the cargo bed of our Titan directing 1500 PSI of water at his target, I played ground crew, trying to maintain a perfect amount of slack in the hose to keep my husband from pitching forward or sling-shotting backward.

Fortunately, I had a prior commitment that kept me from seeing the conclusion of this activity. I drove off as Brad entered the perilous next leg of his event: Scaling the roof and skipping rope with twenty feet of hose.

I spent the next several hours representing my proud family name in water sports; including fencing with wacky water noodles. I also tested the boundaries of buoyancy by swimming the breast stroke with a 6-year-old attached to my neck. "Margaret Mitchell," I gasped, "Hold onto my shoulders." 

Somehow, both Brad and I managed to survive this day.

Those of you raised in the 70s and 80s well-remember the now-incomprehensible reality of being limited to three channels of television. And those of us not particularly fond of sports were then further tortured. March Madness was a nightmare. But the Olympics...oh my. The Olympics were a never-ending horror show. Enter 2024 and my husband's utter delight that we have multiple channels focusing on every obscure sport known to humankind. What on earth was the basketball thing with no dribbling and a soccer net? We watched, amazed, at the smaller-than-we-remembered ping-pong table and how the players seemed to serve from their foreheads. "We'll have to remember to fluff the feathers," Brad suggested as we took note of the badminton players tricks to win.

And, oh my, the trampolining. Initially skeptical, Brad was quickly converted. His commentary (that had been RAMPANT throughout the Olympics) evolved into colorful  and quirky sound-effects. Fortunately for us, this fortuitous exposure would prove beneficial the next day when we embarked on our next event: Team Mattress-Marketing. We bounced on all surface-levels including multi-gauged inner springs, gel memory foam, latex, and hybrids. 

Next, we competed in the  javelin.

Which consists of Brad trying to stuff an uncooperative wire brush up our pellet stove pipe. Obstacles included retinal burn from a misdirected flashlight beam as well as vision impairment when your partner fails to shield you from a shower of soot.

The next day (Sigh...remember the Week of Amy?) was heavy-lifting. Unloading a ton of pellets. Not the hyperbolic ton as in I ate a ton of M&Ms. No. A literal ton. Amy (sort of) helped unload a ton of pellets. 

I'm not sure what Olympic event is the equivalent of Brad and I racing the emptied trailer back to its resting space OVER a thick nest of tree roots. Hurdling? Steeple chase? All I can say for sure is that, in this instance, Brad's coaching could have used a little work. I have to admit that this particular activity got me a little emotional: I just couldn't get over it!

Sigh.

And, yeah. I would have gotten away with it, too...if it hadn't been for my medal-ing husband.