Dancing Without Rhythm

The title of this post is Benja's doing. While Avee paced back and forth in our living room as she "talked" on the phone with her dad (who was undoubtedly pacing back and forth in his hotel room), Benja was at the computer saying, "I'm blogging about you Avee. I'm just typing a blog about you." The title is as far as he got before the law was laid and teeth were brushed and beds were utilized.

I've been a grump to trump all frumps today. And I watched one too many episodes of Dr. Suess on dvd as well. Not my choice, thank you.

I fell asleep on the couch for 20 minutes and woke up to an open bottle of water balancing precariously on my hip, my purse raided, and the words to "Sneetches" running on a continual loop through my mind. Benja thought he'd be helpful and place my water within reach in case I got firsty while I was sleeping. I haven't fallen asleep like that while babysitting in a long time.
Don't you think it's funny how when dads watch their kids it's called babysitting, but not when moms do?

I really didn't have anything to blog about and was going to just skip it today because I'm so grouchy, but then I thought of something I saw on TV yesterday and I wanted to write about it.

Also, this evening I was in the living room dressing my kids in their pjs when our front door opened kind of suddenly. A 7 year old neighbor kid was surprised to find us home. I guess. He seemed surprised. I said, "hey--get back outside and knock!" He did. I yelled "come in!" from the living room. I can't be bothered to open the door for would-be prowlers. Then he pokes his head in and looks past us to Benja's toy area, catches himself and asks, "Can he come out and play?" pointing at Avee and then readjusting his point to Benja. First clue, he doesn't even know the potential playmate's name. Second clue, he's in second grade and wants to play with a 3 year old who's mom won't allow him to wipe his own butt until he's 4. Being the astute parent that I am, I said no. He said, "okay, then can I just have his light saber?" Uhhhh. No. He seemed genuinely surprised---only a little less than his surprise at finding us home. Guess I'll have to lock our doors....better. Harmless I'm sure, but we have some very valuable McDonald's toys that I don't want to end up in the wrong hands.

The original point was this. They took my TNT off the TVs at the gym. Very sad for me. I can hardly get out of bed in the morning now. No Judging Amy. Apparently football season has started. Like THAT matters to fat housewives...

Anyway, I was forced to watch The View. Which, I actually enjoy, but I was forced nonetheless because it's not my first choice when the Honorable Amy Grey is presiding just a few channels away. They announced their guest Gene Simm0ns. I didn't know who that was. I imagined a sort of hybrid of Gene Shallot and Richard Simmons. Which is interesting because GS just sort of looks like an RS in humidity with some water retention. Anyway, Gene Simm0ns appeared. He's from KISS, if any of you reading this are like me. And if any of you reading this are my mother, KISS is a hard rock band from the 70's and 80's. He was there with his commonlaw wife and his two teenage children. A 17 year old boy and 14 year old girl. At one point his wife was extolling his virtues and he told her to hush, she was ruining his image. I thought that was funny. He sort of poked fun at his image. So, later one of the hosts of the View mentioned what good solid people his children seemed to be. I have to say, from the limited exposure, I was agreeing. She asked, "Are your parents strict?" His son answered, "Yes they are strict, but it's not just that. They are strict, and they are good examples. They don't do the things they teach us not to do."

Isn't that cool? Wouldn't any parent love to hear their 17 year old child say something like that about them? On national television no less?

I tried to tell J about this last night but it was much to late and I ended the story with a punctuated, "So take THAT Ozzy Osmund"

It's a scary day when I can't distinguish between the fried, I-can-say-effin-more-times-than-the-average-human-brain-can-process, bumbling product of Rock & Roll, and Utah's finest head of hair who's a only a little bit Rock & Roll.

That's really all I had to say. The day I learned who Gene Simm0ns is.
The End.

Posted by Angela on Wednesday, August 16, 2006 at 8/16/2006 | Permalink