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Monday. Another weekend gone too soon. I swear if we do anything, anything at all besides stay in our house from 6:00 pm on Friday to 7:00 am Monday, the weekend flies by so fast I feel like it never happened at all. Like there is some glitch in the system that makes me lose thirty hours somewhere between Friday night and Monday morning. 62 hours should take 62 hours to pass. But it doesn’t. From Friday to Monday, 62 hours take 24 hours to pass. Yet, from Monday to Thursday… 62 hours take 1,250 hours to pass. Who is messing with us? Where are the hidden cameras? Anyway, the weekend flew by but a lot happened.

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Truman was too cool or the MGM.

Saturday we were having a fight party. (In case you live under a rock; Mayweather vs. Pacquiao – the fight of the century – was going down after five plus years of anticipation.) There was a ton of stuff to do; the house needed cleaning and there was food to make. So, naturally, we decided to go to the MGM and check out the fight hype instead of handling business around the house. We had breakfast and then headed to the strip. It is one of the most fun things about living in Vegas. An event isn’t just as event. The whole week before the event is part of the event as well. Since our children hate us, we were up, fed and walking around the MGM by 9:00 am. Not that you’d know it was morning by looking around. There were guys wearing head to toe TMT gear walking around like they were not just fans, but integral cogs in the Money Team machine. The line for betting was absolutely ridiculous. The ladies were already in club gear, wobbling around on six inch heels. (If the girl wearing the dress that looked like strips of electrical tape stuck together made it past noon, I’d be shocked.) And of course, drinks were in hands and I’m not talking about coffee. 9:00 am was crazy. I can only imagine what 9:00 pm looked like. We walked around for awhile and then went home.

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The line for betting. See the TV screens in the distance? That is the front counter. This was 9:00 am.

The rest of the afternoon was a flurry of cleaning and cooking and running to the store. Truman fell and smashed his mouth on a stool, cut a chunk of his gums off and cried for about two minutes before shaking it off and helping me vacuum. (I spent the rest of the weekend obsessively checking his mouth for signs of tooth death. It looks fine so far.) Mike’s friend stopped over with her daughter while I was cooking. Her daughter is 15 months old and in that stage where she doesn’t quite understand the concept of playing with other kids yet, so she ran from scooter to motorcycle and back again with no regard to Truman’s desire to play on his scooter. He looked completely confused by her lack of focus but remained the ultimate gentleman, offering whichever toy she wanted and quietly taking what was left over. I had already made enough buffalo chicken mac and cheese to feed a small army, and I was trying to make five baked sandwich rings and make conversation at the same time. That was in addition to stepping around two toddlers on wheels, and making sure Truman didn’t lose his patience and rip his scooter out from under the little girl’s ruffled little butt. Mike’s friend and her daughter took off and I was able to finish up the cooking before our guests started pouring in the door.

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Awesome art work.

We ended up with around thirty people smushed into our tiny little house. We had so much fun! We had great conversation, lots of laughter and we were able to catch up with friends we haven’t seen in awhile. Truman was thrilled to have an audience and ran around like a little maniac, doing tricks and being adorable for everyone. We have kind of an all-bets-are-off approach when it comes to special events or holidays and junk food, so he was able to fill himself to the brim with chips of all kind. He was flushed with glee, fake cheese stains all over his sugar-filled body running from person to person waving handfuls of chips around and yelling, “CHIPS!!!!!” Turns out, Doritoes and Ruffles have effects similar to that of crack cocaine. Who knew? He met my friend’s sister and fell in love with her. (Never mind that she’s in her 20’s, I may be in trouble with this one.) He played with her, showed her his coolest toys, sat on her lap and ultimately, fell asleep in her arms. When I put him in bed he woke up and said sleepily, “My friend?” I said, “Yes, you made a new friend tonight, huh?” He demanded, “I see. I see her.” I told him I’d find her and have her say goodnight, but by the time she came back, he was snoring.

Grant was cuddled all night by my friend who has baby-sat Truman a number of times for us. She met Grant for the first time on Saturday and I swear I only saw him once over the next three hours. I kept asking people if my kids were ok, both of them having a blast with people other than me. I sat on my living room floor watching the fight and felt like my arms were missing or something. It was refreshing and yet felt completely unnatural. I was stuck between the desire to fully relax, knowing that my kiddos were safely being entertained by other people and feeling like a completely neglectful mother who pawned her children off on unsuspecting visitors who had only wanted to enjoy the fight and a little bit of food. The latter thought kept me from fully embracing the situation. I think this is what comes from raising your kids without family around. You get so used to being the only people caring for them, (outside of daycare) that you can’t just relax and feel comfortable knowing other adults are watching out too. Sigh. Something to work on…

So, as we all know Mayweather won the fight, which I knew he would. I love both fighters but I just felt like Mayweather would win. Now all the haters want to hate, which is normal. The fight wasn’t exciting enough, Pacquiao was injured, Floyd ran around too much, they were paid too much, blah blah blah.

Listen. These are two extraordinary fighters. They are pretty equally matched. That was the whole reason this was a big deal. This fight was never going to be a blood bath. Floyd is extremely defensive and generally doesn’t look beat up after any of his fights. Pacquiao is super fast and also never looks exceedingly lumped up after a fight. If one of them was significantly less talented than the other, the fight would have been more one-sided, therefore more exciting. It also wouldn’t have been as big of a deal. Floyd danced all over because, hi, who wants to stand still and be smashed by flurrying fists? If Pacquiao was injured during training, I’m sure it wasn’t the first time for him or any other boxer. He fought really well. Floyd fought better. The numbers say the same thing. As far as money is concerned, yes they were paid an astronomical amount. Just as every other professional sports figure is in this country. Guess who pays them? You do. If you rented the fight, bought a T-shirt, bought tickets, or tuned in at all, you helped fund the fight, and waive your right to complain about the amount of money these fighters made! I thought this fight went exactly as it should have gone. If there is a re-match, I’ll pay to watch it.

Stay tuned for other thoughts on the weekend. Some things popped up that got me thinking. What else is new, right?

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