FYI, he’s still asking as many as ever. Today when we got home the lawn service was cutting the grass and I didn’t hear from the duo for at least fifteen minutes, except once when Drew ran downstairs to say, “Hey Mom, if you have to talk to us in front of the guy mowing the grass, be sure and call me ‘Fred’ and call Porter ‘Bobby.’”
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“I don’t have time to explain– just do it, okay?” He ran back up the stairs.
During lunch (a nutritious bowl of Beef-A-Roni seasoned with Tabasco and oregano) the boys laughed about their adventures in the front yard, while I just hoped they had not driven the poor man crazy.
I gathered that they peppered him with inquiries such as “Do you like Mountain Dew” and “Have you ever fried beef jerky?”
Apparently he still has his sense of humor intact:
Beware all Glamore visitors! My boys just might talk you to death.
I’m thrilled to have escaped chez Glamore, as it’s been a hectic week. Porter evidently felt that with Drew at camp he had to do twice as much talking, although Drew is the quietest boy I have and it took about a week before I really noticed his absence and started missing him.
Each morning Porter and Finn have been at Bible School, and though Porter told all the teachers he was Drew the first day, the next two days he filled out his nametag “Mr. Glamore” and refused to answer to anything else.
This morning I packed my bags and hit the road to pick Drew up from camp. All the evidence I’ve seen so far in the form of pictures and letters lead me to conclude he’s not going to be glad to see me. He seems to be equally enamored of the horses and a counselor named Justin, and won’t want to live without them. We’re zoned for extra males, so Justin is welcome, but we’re not zoned for horses. Plus, I force Drew to change into clean clothes and brush his teeth every day, so he’ll have a big adjustment to make.
I’m currently in Traveler’s Rest, S.C. I listened to my entire repetoire of Better Than Ezra songs on my way up here, and relived the two times I’ve seen them live, once with the girls in New Orleans at the House of Blues, and once with Drew at the Crawfish Boil. I keep wondering when I’m going to be too old for concerts, but I just purchased Maroon 5/Counting Crows tickets for the whole family so apparently I have a few months left in me yet.
Speaking of music, I mentioned to Finn that John Mellencamp had a music career under the name “John Cougar” and he didn’t believe me. I’d always heard that his record label made him use the “catchier” (?) Cougar, but given the names bands and singers have today, Finn wasn’t having any of it.
He had some monry for iTunes, and surprised me on the way to church by playing “Jack and Diane” which he deemed “pretty cool.” I surprised him, in turn, by singing every word of the song, even the part where Jack and Diane climb in the backseat of the car and start disrobing, and he blushed.
I’d love to stay and chat, but I located a Jazzercise class in nearby Taylors, S.C. and no kidding, I’m going.
We’ve been worshiping at the altar of baseball so frequently that my fanny has permanent ridges from the aluminum bleachers. We head to Cooperstown for a week of baseball on July 4 and the team is working hard to get ready for facing other 12-year-olds from across the nation.
It was only fitting then, that in atonement, and also to get them out of my hair, I sent Finn and Porter to Vacation Bible School this morning. Finn is an official helper and Porter is a participant. Drew is still at camp, wearing a pink shirt and his wallabys as he rides horses and jumps over posts.
During my three hours of freedom, I was the quintessential suburban mom. I Jazzercised. A new lady there told me I was a “great dancer” and you’d have thought the Rockettes had contacted me, I was so buzzed about the compliment.
On to the carwash, where I made out a grocery list for the week: tiny burgers and lamb pilaf from Cooking Light, Chicken Adobo and tacos with some of the mounds of venison in the freezer are on the menu. If anything stands out I’ll report back. I made some phone calls in preparation for our upcoming trip to Cooperstown, then ran by the grocery and the library to pick up a copy of Darkness Visible, William Styron’s book about his experience with crippling depression. It’s been on my list of books to read for a while, and I’m hoping that the beautiful writing will make up for the melancholy subject matter.
Porter watched “The Parent Trap” this weekend, and I should have guessed that he’d try to masquerade as his brother at Bible School, but I didn’t. It was only when his teacher told me that “Drew had a great day and was very well-behaved” that I realized he’d pulled the twin switcheroo. Finn thought it was dumb, but I think it’s one of the few tricks you’re entitled to as a twin, especially since it works even when the twins look nothing alike.
As we drove home, Finn was devastated to learn that I’d been unable to locate the tortillas at the store. His current lunch consists of pizzas he makes himself with tortillas, pizza sauce, pepperoni, cheese, oregano and Tabasco. Nothing would satisfy him but a quick swing by our neighborhood Piggly Wiggly for tortillas, and that’s what we were doing when he saw two of his friends walking down the street and yelled for the car to STOP.
The boys greeted me, but I couldn’t help noticing that one was making odd twitching movements with his neck which Finn seemed able to interpret.
“I don’t need any tortillas– we can get them tomorrow– I’m gonna go hang out,” he said and bailed out of the van.
“I bet he left so he wouldn’t have to help put up the grocery bags,” Porter said.
“You’re probably right.”
I refrained from saying that as I drove away, I looked in the direction the boys were heading and caught a glimpse of two females of approximately the same age in the distance. Dude picked ladies over tortillas. Things are changing fast around here.
Drew leaves for camp tomorrow. He’ll be gone for three weeks. I don’t usually get terribly sentimental, but that moment when I drop him off can be pretty hard. Two years ago he looked like the last photo in this post and I got a little teary.
We all survived, however, and it’s hard to believe it’s time for camp again already.
The most heinous aspect of preparing for camp is the part where you set out all the camping equipment, shorts and pants, towels and underwear, and make sure it’s all clearly marked with your camper’s name. I’ve tried the iron on labels, but either I suck at ironing or the ones I bought were poorly made. They flaked off in the wash and that didn’t piss me off at all.
Now I stick to the “last name with a Sharpie” method and it works as well as anything.
I’ve never marked socks before, but Drew insisted he had a fabulous way to identify his socks, so I armed him with a Sharpie and let him have a go at it.
You all know by now that my sons are into rap, and by that I mean today’s rap, which to me sounds like nothing more than nasty talk. I could write a rap song myself, just by stringing together words like this:
“Shawty on the floor, look all sexy in that thang, wanna buy you a drank with all the green I got, while we drink champagne, and do dirty stuff that I won’t describe here but would in great detail if this were a real rap song, my boo, yeah, uh huh, I be lookin’ at you, and your booty too…”
I’ve written about the rap music before, including the awful lyrics to “Low” and “My Humps” and the fact that I let Finn teach me the Soulja Boy dance.
Maybe it’s my liberal tendencies and belief in non-censorship, or perhaps I’m a terrible mother, but I don’t think the way to handle this rap situation is to ban the music altogether. I thought I’d try a different tactic.
I figure that as long as the boys are listening to this stuff, they ought to learn about it as well, and that means going back to classic rap songs, those from back in the day when we sang “Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn,” and thought we were fly.
I want to make the boys a playlist of classic rap.
Sadly for me, the only old rap songs I can think of at all are “Rapper’s Delight” and MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” (You can tell I’ve been a parent for too long; I originally wrote that title as “Don’t Touch That” which isn’t half as catchy but I say it all the time in this house full of boys.)
I wasn’t concentrating on rap back in the day; I was moodily lining my eyes with kohl and following the Cure and Hoodoo Gurus and Wall of Voodoo.
So I ask you, readers, can you suggest some rap songs that are musts for this list?
And in return, I’ll take you back to the unforgettable “Mexican Radio” by Wall of Voodoo:
To Use the Pickle Player: Click the show you want to hear, press play, sit back and enjoy. To read the show notes click HERE.
In "It's Natural" I will tell your kids about the birds and the bees, but YOU must stay in the room and perform the coital finger movements.
I read this ten years ago and am reading it again. I want to read *Stargirl* but must avoid the library until Porter locates lost books.
The Boys Are Loving
Hooray-- there's a sequel to the original Diary. The guys are snarfing it up.
Porter finished all the Harry Potter books so I started him on A Wrinkle In Time, and he's enjoying it. I bought the whole set so he'd have plenty to read for the next few months.
After finishing the Harry Potters, Drew turned to the Hardy Boys. He can't tell a story "in a nutshell," so I've heard all about the missing jalopy, and the red wig. Solve the mystery already!
, William Styron’s book about his experience with crippling depression. It’s been on my list of books to read for a while, and I’m hoping that the beautiful writing will make up for the melancholy subject matter.
