September 30, 2005

Gone to the Dark Side

I had hoped that Bill would keep his wits about him during football season, and not fall into the same mindset as all of the other football-addled dads. Unfortunately, I overestimated the power the sport has over an otherwise rational man.

I was getting the newspaper this morning when Chatty Mom pulled into the driveway to pick up carpool.

“What’s up?” I asked, while Finn, Drew and Porter heaved themselves and their backpacks into her van.

“Yesterday was great!” she beamed. “Bert’s team finally won a game. It’s the first game we’ve won. We beat the Dolphins. I know it’s just fourth grade football, but it was so good to see all those players so happy.”

“Great,” I said, and went inside. Bill was pouring himself a cup of coffee and getting ready to leave for work.

“Chatty Mom is all excited because Bert’s team won last night,” I told him.

Bill stared at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked.

“No, I don’t generally make football jokes before coffee,” I said, wiping a blob of syrup off the counter.

“You mean they beat the DOLPHINS?” Bill asked.

“I’m not sure,” I answered, getting a coffee cup from the cabinet. “I think that’s who they played. But the point is that Bert’s team got a win.”

“Whoa,” Bill said, shaking his head. “That is bad timing. The Dolphins are the best team and we play them Saturday. Now they’re gonna be really pissed off and out for blood. Finn’s team is going to have to buckle down.”

“You could look at it that way,” I said. “Or you could focus on Bert and the fact that he finally got to win a game this season.”

“Yeah,” Bill said sheepishly. “You’re right,” he said. “I was getting carried away. That’s great for Bert– he’s been playing well all season.”

“That’s better,” I said, opening the dishwasher to unload the clean dishes, satisfied that my real husband had returned.

Then Bill walked over to the TV and switched it on. “What channel is the Weather Channel?” Bill asked, holding the remote. “Maybe we’ll be rained out Saturday and the game will be postponed and the Dolphins will get over being all fired up about the loss.”

I went over to my husband and put my mouth up against his ear. He leaned in toward me, perhaps thinking I was going to kiss it.

“Earth to Bill!” I shouted. He jumped.

I slapped him on the bottom and pushed him toward the door. “Go to work!” I yelled. “Think about grownup things. Get a life. Get some priorities.”

“I’m going,” Bill protested, laughing. He got in his car and drove away.

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In other news, it seems that some luckless mother reached my site
by googling “washing football pants pads.” As you all know, I don’t do that.

September 27, 2005

Version 2.0: Cocoa Puffs and Lady Lumps

“Mom, when can we buy Cocoa Puffs for breakfast?” Porter asked this morning, as everyone was getting ready for school. This is a common question in the Glamore household.

“When you find a nicer mom who’s willing to buy you Cocoa Puffs for breakfast,” I said, like I do almost every morning.

“That’s never gonna happen,” Porter sighed.

Talking about the cereal reminded me that I had a new song about Cocoa Puffs on my iPod. It would be fun to have a little dance party before school.

I surveyed the boys. Miraculously, everyone was completely dressed, including shoes. Their backpacks were packed, and all three were eating breakfast. We were running on time.

“Hey guys, I’ve got a cool song for you to hear,” I said. “I’ll get my iPod,” I added as I turned to get it from the bedroom.

Just then, fate intervened. There was a crash as Drew dropped his bowl of grits and burst into tears. As I threw Drew a dishtowel, Finn looked up from the table where he was perusing the lunch menu.

“Gross,” he shouted. “We’re having barbecue at school. I’m taking my lunch.”

“Me, too,” said Porter.

“Not me,” Drew sniffed. “I love love love barbecue!”

I looked at the clock. We weren’t on time any more.

“Finn and Porter, you have three minutes to make a lunch and pack it up,” I announced. “Chatty Mom will be here in four minutes. And don’t forget to clean up your breakfast.”

I stood back as Porter and Finn emptied the contents of the refrigerator onto the counter and whipped up sandwiches. Within moments, Chatty Mom honked her horn and the boys were gone. I was left in the kitchen with a cold cup of coffee and blobs of grape jelly on the counter. As I was scrubbing the jelly spots, I realized we hadn’t gotten to dance to the Cocoa Puffs song.

You may be wondering how I ended up with a song about Cocoa Puffs on my iPod. There’s a simple explanation. Last Saturday night at girls’ night, one of my friends played the new Black Eyed Peas CD, Monkey Business.

I was already familiar with “Don’t Lie” and “Don’t Phunk With My Heart.” They’re great songs, and hopefully we’ll be shaking our derrieres to at least one of them in Jazzercise soon.

As we chatted and sipped our wine, I heard a new song off the album. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the words, but I noticed that in one verse, one of the men sang about
Cocoa Puffs. That caught my attention immediately. The boys beg for Cocoa Puffs every time we go to the store, but I can’t let them have chocolate for breakfast and feel like I’m a decent mother, so I’ve placed a moratorium on that particular cereal.

But singing about Cocoa Puffs would certainly be permissable. The song had an infectious beat , so I borrowed the CD to upload it to my iPod. I figured that the boys would get a kick out of singing about Cocoa Puffs even if they couldn’t eat them.

Once the boys had left for school and the dance party opportunity was over, it occurred to me that to be on the safe side, perhaps I should get on the computer and check Lyrics on Demand to make sure the song was appropriate.

So I did. I had to look at the lyrics several times. First I had to convince myself that the words I was reading were actually the song I had come to think of fondly as “The Cocoa Puffs Song.” I had to read it twice more before I found the Cocoa Puffs reference buried deep within the fifth section of the song.

The song wasn’t about Cocoa Puffs at all. It was about sex, and lots of it. It included phrases such as:

“what you gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside that trunk?” and

“My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps (check it out)” and

“I mix your milk with my Cocoa Puff.”

It took me a while to recover from the shock of seeing the lyrics written out. I cringed at the thought of how close I had come to blasting the song in the kitchen during our morning meal.

When I had finished cussing myself for being an idiot as well as a bad mom, I used
my skills as an English major to analyze the lyrics dealing specifically with Cocoa Puffs. I concluded that the singer was not talking about cereal at all, but was speaking metaphorically.

Now, you might be more worried about the “junk in the trunk” lyrics than the cereal lyrics, but we’re way ahead of you in the Glamore family. The phrase “junk in the trunk” has been around for quite a while, and we’ve encountered it in otherwise perfectly appropriate songs before.

The first time the Finn asked me about the phrase, I decided not to lie, but not to exactly tell the truth, either. That is why the twins, at least, still believe that “junk in the trunk” refers to jumper cables, umbrellas, smelly athletic shoes, improperly folded maps, and the baseball glove you’ve been looking for and need for this afternoon’s practice.

Finn bought the explanation for a long time, but then wondered why everyone always talked about Jennifer Lopez having junk in the trunk when he never even saw her driving. He pointed out that she was always walking the red carpet wearing a fancy dress, with no car or jumper cables in sight. Faced with his logic, I let him in on the true meaning of the phrase, and swore him to secrecy.

What a close call! I cannot fathom how I would have explained “lovely lady lumps” and the rest of the words to three inquisitive boys so early in the morning. I have spent much of the day thanking God for the fact the cafeteria was serving barbecue today, or I would have been in a hell of a mess.

We’re going to stay far, far away from Cocoa Puffs and Black Eyed Peas until I recover.

To analyze the Cocoa Puffs song (otherwise known as “My Humps,” which should have clued me in, and surely would have if I had consumed more coffee before proposing the dance party), click here.

September 23, 2005

Blender

I think I am reading periodicals intended for another demographic. No, I’m not curled up in bed with Hot Rod or Gracious Retirement Living. But it was jolting to receive my new copy of Blender magazine and read the headline: “The 500 Best Songs Since You Were Born! The Best Tunes of the ’80’s, ’90’s and the Totally Awesome Aughts!”*

Referring to the current decade as the “awesome aughts” was disturbing enough, but realizing that the list, by definition, left out songs that have been popular in my lifetime was downright sobering. No “Ode to Billy Joe” or “I’m a Believer.” No “Tie A Yellow Ribbon” or “Killing Me Softly.”

On the other hand, I guess the folks at Blender won’t be giving me a hard time about not appreciating Bob Dylan’s musical genius.

I’m thinking that if you are old enough to remember making a big deal over the Bicentennial, you should not be reading Blender.

Finally, many of you have been kind enough to worry about my blood test results. I’m worried, too. Not only that, I’m a little peeved. I got a message yesterday saying that I would need to come back to the office and let them draw the blood again. Apparently a machine “messed up while they were spinning the blood.”

I’m no stranger to medical mishaps. Throughout my medical adventures, my blood has been lost, I’ve been chased by a nurse holding a cup of urine, and I’ve been repeatedly referred to as “the liver” instead of “Mrs. Glamore.” Perhaps someday I’ll write a book about my amazing exploits through our health care system.

So this isn’t shocking; it’s just frustrating. I had hoped to be celebrating five years of remission by now, and instead I’m getting ready to mix up a gallon of Gatorade so I’ll have big juicy veins for today’s bloodletting.

I know, it could be worse, fo shizzle!

*(If the suspense is too much to bear, I’ll go ahead and break it down: Blender says the top song is “Billie Jean.”)

September 21, 2005

Remember Me?

I am back home, but my computer isn’t. It’s still in the shop, getting a checkup and some TLC. That makes it hard for me to keep in touch, but I’ll try to do my best.

Seattle was marvelous.

I dragged Bill to the Experience Music Project, which we both enjoyed. There was a great Jimi Hendrix exhibit, and a thorough one on Bob Dylan. Unfortunately, it did not convert me into a big Bob Dylan fan. I keep thinking something will make me appreciate his genius, but if that didn’t do it I’m not sure anything will.

The EMP also had an area where you can record songs to backing tracks, and I had a fabulous time recording “Hey Ya” and “Lose Yourself” (I was a better rapper than singer) while Bill tried not to collapse into giggles on the floor.

As is our custom, Bill and I ate our way through the city. At one restaurant we ate “Octopus Sous Vide, Provence Style” which turned out to be vaccuum-packed octopus in some tomato broth. It was much better than it sounds, and I don’t blame them for not putting “Vacuum-Packed Octopus” on the menu. The rest of the menu was equally wacky, leading us to refer to this restaurant as the “Experience Food Project.”

We also had dim sum at China Gate in the International District. All the other customers seemed to be able to speak and read Chinese. We couldn’t, nor could we manuever the chopsticks. This did not prevent us from enjoying what I believed to be fried lobster pastries, curried squid, something with shrimp, and steamed dumplings with pork. Regardless of the ingredients, it was all delicious.

We followed that with a trip to the international market where I bought four cans of red curry paste and some Japanese shampoo. I can get the red curry paste here, but I have to travel for it, and I use it to make a spicy chicken the boys like. As for the Japanese shampoo, I cannot explain that purchase and will not try to justify it here.

I came back to find an article in the paper stating that parents at one of the elementary schools in the Tiny Kingdom have been commanded NOT to get into the carpool line before 2:45 each day, as the carpool lines at that school are affecting the entire traffic patterns of the neighborhood. Carpool changes are bound to raise hackles, and I bet there are high spirits over in that area. I must consult my friends and find out more about this.

Will go marinate chicken, drive to football and Pioneer Club, feed boys, homework, ensure boys are clean. More later when communications are better.

September 14, 2005

He’s No Dummy

Last night Bill brought the boys home from practice and found me in the kitchen, sobbing over a “Little House on the Prairie” re-run. It involved brown eggs, and the Ingalls’ calico dresses versus the Olsens’ fancier dresses, and inevitably, hugs all around.

Tonight Bill came home from work and found that I spent more time than I should have making the world’s most expensive and chocolately brownies. The recipe requires two packages of brownie mix, six eggs (brown or white), and three huge Symphony bars, at two dollars each.

That man knows me, and the clues I leave behind. When we got in the bed, he asked, “Do you need a back rub?”

I did. Smart man.