We saw The Avengers tonight while on a double date. Our friend is 32 weeks pregnant and managed to not get up to use the restroom once… but at the end, when the Chop requested we stay seated to see the special scenes after the credits, she asked him if he wanted to see her pee in the theater when she stood up, lol. He informed her we’d tell the management that someone spilled Mountain Dew. 😉
The movie was AWESOME and our theatre had some very enthusiastic fans.. particularly after this scene, which had everyone laughing hysterically.
When I was a kid, I used to listen to songs on repeat, watch the same movie over and over and read the same book a hundred times. I know now that’s normal and how kids learn the world around them – I also know it drove my parents insane, lol.
Newsies was one of those movies that we (my sister, I, my best friend Em) watched religiously. Once a week for months we’d sit in front of the TV, absorbed in what we considered the best movie of all time. We sang the songs, attempted to dance the dances, dissected the love interest… there was literally nothing about that movie we hadn’t memorized. We each had a favorite (Jack, Spot, Davey) and passionately defended our choices (as girls of a certain age are want to do).
The minute the music started on Broadway last night, my sister and I were transported back to our youth. We grinned and cheered through the entire production (as did everyone in the audience), sang along with some of the music and talked nonstop about how great it was during intermission. They changed part of the story (bulking up the love interest and removing Bill Pullman’s character – a sacrilege), which made us sad – but we still loved it.
My sister and I took our Mom to NYC for Mother’s Day to see Newsies. It was amazing, as was the Muse hotel where we stayed. I LOVE weekends like this 🙂
My parents haven’t seen each other in a month and apparently, they missed each other. Ugh.
My sister flew out with my mom for the week, and driving home with them was very disturbing for her… but posting about it on Facebook? Good god, no. lol
Multiple ambulances, fire trucks and cops sped by our house a few hours ago. They were so loud and so bright and they just kept coming… we were sure the Peanut would wake up. We went to the news to see what was going on, but we’re not in a big city, so we came up with nothing. But then the Chop pulled out his phone, said “I have a police and fire scanner APP,” and we proceeded to listen in (along with 71 other people).
A three car accident, teenagers it sounds like, and two LifeFlights were called in. One cop on the band gave another the address of one of the kid’s parents and told them to go tell them. He gave turn-by-turn directions and we were surprised to hear that the parents live just a few streets from us, on a road we take walks on almost every day.
Is it normal for the cops to say names of people involved in accidents over the radio? What if her parents were listening and heard them say their name? Is it normal to give out the full address and directions? Shouldn’t the band be protected in some way?
I felt like such a voyeur, and it was so interesting, but my god, I hope I never hear my name.
I hope I raise a child who says “thank you†to the bus driver when he gets off the bus, “please†to the waiter taking his order at the restaurant, and holds the elevator doors when someone’s rushing to get in.
I hope I raise a child who loses graciously and wins without bragging. I hope he learns that disappointments are fleeting and so are triumphs, and if he comes home at night to people who love him, neither one matter. Nobody is keeping score, except sometimes on Facebook.
I hope I raise a child who will stick up for a kid who’s being bullied on the playground. I also hope I raise a child who, if he’s the one being bullied, fights back. Hard. Oh, and if he’s the bully? I hope he realizes that his mother, who once wore brown plastic glasses and read the phonebook on the school bus, will cause him more pain than a bully ever could.
And I hope that if my child turns out to be a colossal screw-up, I take it in stride. I hope I remember that he’s his own person, and there’s only so much I can do. He is not an appendage to be dangled from my breasts on the cover of a magazine, his success is not my ego’s accessory, and I am not Super Mom.
One of my favorite things about the Porkchop is his excellent taste in music – and his ability to find new music know I will like it, and either buy it or send it my way. He introduced me to this band today, a group he stumbled upon while looking for a video for a sobbing Peanut (he woke up from a very short nap in tears).
They’re awesome and have a great story. A small group out of Canada who created loads of low budget videos, posted them on YouTube and parlayed that into a record deal with Columbia. I love stories like this.
Regina’s bare skin is the same color as her fur! It’s a crazy kaleidoscope of mottled grey, black and white. You wouldn’t even realize she’s been shaved unless you were right next to her.
Drugged dog whining is more sad and pathetic than normal dog whining. Also, groaning. It’s very sad.
I don’t “slowly come to a stop” at stoplights, according to the Porkchop. Apparently I’m a jerk-and-go driver? Driving the two of them home from the vet, both in the far back (sans seatbelt), was a pain in the butt. FOR ME!
The Peanut really missed his dog. And eight weeks to a dog AND a baby are an eternity.
My mother saved so much more crap from our childhood than I realized. Penmanship exercises (those didn’t take), spelling homework and nine million pictures of Christmas trees are just a few of the items I’ve told her to toss. Because seriously.
Maurice Sendak wrote more books than I realized. All interesting, all telling of his own youth. He will be missed.
The surgeon called after Regina’s surgery with the verdict: one completely ruptured ligament, one half torn ligament and a torn meniscus. She did well and gets to come home tomorrow, but apparently the “keep her chill” instructions are more like “crate her in a tiny space for eight weeks and omg, don’t let her run, jump, walk, hang out with the baby…” The Chop and I are now far more stressed than we were before – keeping her in the house is one thing, keeping her locked in a small space is something completely different. Especially because she has a rather high-pitched whine that she likes to employ when she’s feeling mistreated, sigh.
