Diana and I went to see “August Rush”. I agree with Diana when she turned to me after the credits rolled and said “That had potential, but it just didn’t quite get there.” It was syrupy-sweet and that little Freddie Highmore is a sweetheart… but there were some cheese-ball parts of that movie that made even me groan.
And he sings and plays the guitar well — which, as some of you may remember, makes me swoon. I love a guy with musical ability. (My husband is never hotter than when he’s playing the piano.) Diana worried — like she always does when sizing up leading men — that he would not be tall enough for her, should she actually ever date him in real life. (Diana, he is 5′ 10. I’d wear flats and call it good.) Also a bonus for Rhys Meyers, he has a fantastic Irish accent.
On to my next (current) crush: James McAvoy, who is starring in the upcoming “Atonement”, which I can’t wait to see. And it better have a happy ending, and he better not die in the war, or I’ll stab someone. I’m getting a little bit Keira Knightly-ed out with her and the period pieces, but I’ll let it slide to see Mr. McAvoy again.
And finally we come to my longest-standing crush; the man who can’t seem to recover from his jag of terrible movies, Mr. Jason Statham. He is starring in the upcoming long-winded titled movie In The Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale. (You must click the link and watch the trailer before reading on, that way you can make fun of the trailer with me.) Think: LOTR, only really dumb and with not as great costumes. Yesterday Jon sent me a link to a post blasting this movie (more specifically, the laughable, cheesy trailer) and I laughed really hard, despite my adoration for this man. Could there have been a hot guy named “Farmer” who beat the crap out of people during the Middle Ages using martial arts fly-through-the-air-round-house-kicks? Probably not. But I’ll continue my suspension of belief until after I see it, because I WILL see it. And as much as I laughed at the classic line “Those who you fight, we will help you fight them”… well, if I were given the chance to kick A along side Jason in a stupid movie, I’d say that awesome line in a heartbeat. Go Jason. Fight the evil Book Twirler. I’ll be there with nachos to see the epic battle.
Also, I found a hilarious post this morning while looking around for pics of Jason Statham. Check out “The Bare Men’s Chest Movie Rating System”; The Transporter made the cut. Funny stuff.
Last night, while walking to the car in the church parking lot after the Christmas party, I had a vision of the near future. It was like something out of a “Charmed” episode. (I like to think that I looked like Alyssa Milano; having a premonition while looking hot and having a super-cute haircut.)
Zoe was running back and forth across the slick, ice-covered pavement in her Hello Kitty cowgirl boots that happen to have banana peels for soles. Not really, but they may as well.
“Zoe, don’t run!”
Zoe continues to run.
“Zoe, stop running, you are going to slip!”
Zoe continues to run.
“Zoe Gale!”
I pull out the big guns with the last name, but she still runs.
A mom passes by and says, “I’m glad my kids aren’t the only ones to not listen.”
“I know, I may as well be talking to that van,” I say.
“Zoe!…” I try again, giving my hair an Alyssa Milano-esque toss for good measure.
Zoe zigzags across the ice and then
slip.bang.bounce
She hits her knee on the ice, and then bounces with her face.
I ran over and picked her up and couldn’t help but blurt out an I-told-ya-so. I could not help it. I DID tell her so… twenty times! And I saw it happen before it actually did… the blood, the tears, the drama.
I am making myself available to receive messages from your dead pets and give you helpful insight about your future…
Jachin is at that age; 8 1/2. Third grade. His peers are telling him stories; stories of parents who sneakily place presents under the Christmas tree, all under a shroud of merry deceit.
“Do you really believe in Santa?” he asked me, hoping for a truthful answer from his wise, all-knowing mother.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s an old myth.”
“An old myth?” Jon asked.
“Well, yeah,” Jachin said seriously. “Like, he used to be real — in, like, the 80’s — but then he did what all old people do; he’s dead.”
“What if Santa is like the Dread Pirate Roberts?” Jon posed thoughtfully. “Like, before Santa dies, he appoints someone else to be the next Santa.”
“Nahh,” said Jachin, shrugging off Jon’s logic. “He’s just an old myth.”
Later Jachin tells me of his wise friend, Rachel, who sits at his table at school and often wears headbands with reindeer antlers attached. She covertly set up camp behind her couch last year and caught her parents red-handed as they came out to the Christmas tree at two in the morning, arms filled with presents labeled “from Santa”.
“Maybe she was naughty and Santa wasn’t going to bring her anything. Maybe the only way she was going to get any presents was if her parents gave them to her,” I said, grasping for straws.
Jachin gave me a look like are you freakin kidding me, mom? “Mom, please,” he said seriously. “Rachel is a responsible woman.” And she is; I’ve seen her. She wears her reindeer antlers in a very responsible fashion.
But I had to question myself about why I was trying so hard to fight the inevitable. It happens. Kids talk, and you learn things. I don’t remember how old I was exactly, but I do remember when I asked my mom straight up “is Santa real?” and she gave me the mysterious “I don’t know, what do you think?”, and I just about went nuts because no one would give me a straight answer when I really wanted to know. And here I am, doing the same thing to my oldest kid. Moms just don’t like to see that bridge crossed, I guess. I have to admit that this Santa thing is harder on me than him losing his first tooth.
Zoe, on the other hand, had her belief solidified last night when Santa showed up at the church Christmas party (looking oddly like our next door neighbor, Chuck, in a red suit and fake beard), calling Zoe by name and asking her to open the big present for all of the kids.
“Mom,” she said, coming up to me excitedly, “I forgot that Santa knows everyone’s name, but he knew my name! He said ‘Zoe’ and pointed to me!”
“Wow,” said Jachin sarcastically. “Or else it’s someone who knows you, and they’re dressed up like Santa.” I covertly kicked him in the shin, but it wasn’t necessary. Zoe looked at him like that was the dumbest thing in the world. “Someone I know? Give me a break.”
Jachin, however, has his heart set on camping out behind the couch to see who really puts the presents under the tree in the middle of the night. And he’s asked me to camp out with him to nab the gift-leaver.
“How will that work,” I asked, “if I supposedly have to get up at two in the morning to put the presents under the tree?”
Happy Monday, everyone. I am finished sounding all suicidal and depressing. The Emo part of me has left the building. But that was fun while it lasted.
Jachin has posted his Christmas list on his blog. It is a comprehensive list of high-priced items. Luckily he isn’t old enough to ask for a car yet, or spoiled enough to cry about the color and/or interior being wrong… like this chick.
If my children ever act like that on their birthdays or Christmas, I will promptly sell them. (The children, not the gifts.)
Don’t feel too bad for her, by the way, it all worked out in the end for her…
I’m sad and dreary. All cried out. I feel like a maple tree with a weathered old tap that’s draining life, drop by drop. There are a hundred reasons, and no reason.
It’s raining outside and the clouds are hanging low over the mountains, cloaking them in thick, cold grayness. If I didn’t live here, I wouldn’t even be able to tell that there are tall, majestic mountains on all sides of me. There is a thick fog hanging over the world, and seemingly over me. I feel like Eeyore’s long lost twin.
So today I stay inside and turn on the fireplace and maybe make some candies. I play soft Christmas music; but nothing overtly jolly.
A day like this sometimes is good. Tomorrow will be better.
Jon’s friend, Kris, is selling his car. (The listing is here, if you’re interested.) Now, I should tell you that this is no ordinary car. It’s a BMW M3, Dinan Edition. This is a balls-to-the-wall, in-your-face, built only for insane speeds kind of a car.
And Kris is trying to get Jon to buy it.
Man, it is nice, says Jon.
Well, here, says Kris helpfully, take it for a day. Trade me cars. See how you like it.
So Tuesday night the switch was made. Jon left the house driving his Ford Escape, took the boys from the church youth group to WalMart for their Sub-for-Santa shopping, and somewhere along the line the switch was made. He pulled into the driveway at 9pm in Kris’s M3.
He came in almost singing, “Who wants to go take a ride?!?”
The children, who had already been in their pajamas and in bed with lights out, came running down the hall. “Me, me, me!”
So we all piled into the M3; and I do mean “piled”. It’s a 2 door coupe, hardly a “family car”. The kids sat in the back and grappled with seat belts, and Jon drove down the street in the direction of the freeway.
“Wow, you need to get this car,” said Zoe, mesmerized by the glow of the navigation screen.
“Don’t encourage Daddy,” I said over my shoulder.
The M3 is both an automatic and a clutchless manual… complete with “paddle shifters” behind the steering wheel. It goes 0-60 in four seconds; we found this out firsthand while blasting up the I-15 on-ramp at record-breaking speeds. The children were in the backseat (no car seats, mind you), screaming, their little cheeks flapping backwards against the back seat like those slow-motion astonaut take-off videos you’ve seen in grade school. I looked over at my husband who had glazed over wide eyes and a grin plastered to his face. And that fast, it was over. He let off the gas peddal and merged. Jachin was screaming something about “why does daddy want to kill us?” and Zoe (the rebel after her daddy’s heart) was screaming “You need to get this car, dad!” I told Jon that he was grounded from this car unless he could promise to be half responsible about driving it. He said it was pointless to have this particular car if you intended to be responsible. Then I asked him if he wanted to go back home and make out (yeah, this car does that to you). But he said that he wanted to drive fast some more first.
Jon drove the car to work yesterday. Deals were struck before he left in the morning. Jachin told him that for every second he drove over 75 mph on the freeway, he owed Jachin 10 cents. When Jon returned home last night at dinner time, Jachin said, “Ok, Dad, how much do you owe me?”
Jon replied honestly, “About $250.”
It’s a fabulous car… does anyone else want to buy it? Please? If for no other reason than to keep my husband from driving it…
The kids have been in swimming lessons on and off for the last several years. They’re both pretty dang good at it now. I think that they’ll actually both be good enough for swim team this coming summer. Jachin has it in his mind that he wants to be a lifeguard when he grows up. Well, actually, he wants to become a “Jr. Lifeguard” when he turns 12, and then continue on making $6 an hour until the day he dies. But he loves it and I encourage it. So last night during the ride home after lessons he asked me “So what else do I need to do to become a lifeguard?” I told him that he’d have to take a swimming test and a CPR course. He and Zoe both asked me what CPR is. I told him about how if someone isn’t breathing or their heart isn’t beating you puff into their mouth really hard and pump on their chest a few times (I was actually a little more medical in my description to them than I was to you just now) and they said that, yeah, they’d seen that on TV. So there I was feeling all proud of myself for taking that moment to teach my children something of great importance. I hadn’t turned on a movie in that car on the way home; I had taught my children how to save someone’s life! Yay me! I’m the mother of the year!
Cut away to two hours later. The four of us (daddy included) were driving up to Thanksgiving Point to see the Christmas lights. Jon was telling me all about how he’d been working on his Will and Living Will all afternoon. I said that I had to do the same. He then told me about his wishes, should he be incapacitated. He wasn’t being all that serious… he was just kind of jerking my chain.
He said, “I don’t want a feeding tube. And no paddles. DNR, babe. Do. Not. Resuscitate. I’ve lived a good life… just let me die.”
I was ticked. “So, if you have a heart attack, we’re not even supposed to TRY to bring you back?”
“Nope.”
”Well, that’s selfish.”
“DNR, babe.”
“Well, too bad. Because I taught the kids how to do CPR today.” And here it was! My chance to show how great of a mom I am because I taught my kids something worthwhile today!
“Guys,” I said to the kids, “tell Daddy what CPR is!”
“CPR?” Zoe asked quizzically, like she had never heard the term before in her life… let alone a short two hours ago.
“Yes,” I said, a little frustrated. “What do you do if you find someone who isn’t breathing or whose heart isn’t beating?”
They were quiet for a moment.
“Ummm,” Jachin said questioningly, “shuffle through their pockets and look for loose change?”
Stop writing posts at night after you’ve already taken your sleeping pill.
It makes for bad spelling and grammar that you will then have to correct in the morning (after lots of people have already read it and made fun of your bad spelling and grammar).
Plus, the content can be questionable. No one wants to read your foggy ramblings and iffy segues from Christmas stockings to popcorn shrimp.
Other things to stop doing once you’ve popped the sleeping pill:
*eating snacks in bed… especially high-calorie ones
*trying to hold a normal conversation with your husband
*set up a FaceBook account (sorry to all those in my email address book whom I may inadvertently invited to join FaceBook… including the lady from the Alpine School District office whom I emailed once, 8 months ago)
