Last week I renewed the Blabbermouse domain name at GoDaddy for two more years. Each month, without hesitation, I pay Typepad their modest service fee. And every day, I wonder when in the name of the ever loving SHATNER* I'm going to get back to blogging here on a regular (or even semi regular) basis.
In the meantime, a few brief updates--just to keep my fingers oiled:
To know me is to know how much I hate the word "tinkle". Haaaaaaate. There is only one urinary euphemism I despise more, and that's "tee-tee", because KILL ME NOW. Who comes up with this shit? You people are disgusting. Whoever you are.
So, we're at the playground the other day, and Gus--who is always casually test marketing new phrases on me--says, "Mommy, I have to tinkle."
"I have to ... tinkle?"
"Over my dead body you do."
"MEN DO NOT TINKLE, GUS. MEN. DO. NOT. TINKLE! (!!!) Do you understand me?"
"And don't ever let your father hear you say that word."
"GAH. NO MORE!"
A few seconds later, he says, "Yo. Ma! ... I gotta take a WIZ."
"Thank you. That's more like it."
In other news, Patrick is still KILLING me with the cuteness. He and that little elf nose and those little leprechaun lips are relentless. THERE SHOULD BE LAWS. Someone is going to get hurt.
He skipped church on Sunday to go fishing with Dad, and I had no choice but to follow.
We had Patrick to ourselves all weekend because Gus was at theater camp, and he was just brimming with ideas about how to make the most of that time. Ice cream at Jeni's, naps (his idea!), and then, out of the blue ...
"Mom, are there any museums in Nashville?"
"What kind of museums?"
"No ... I don't think there are any dinosaur museums, but there's a cool art museum."
"Would I love it?"
"Well, you might not like ALL of the art, but you'd like a lot of it."
"YES! (hops in the air) Let's go to an art museum!"
So we went to the Frist Center, where we looked at all the paintings, did all the kid activities, bought a few geodes in the gift shop, and a vitamin water, and just basically made his day for about $13.50.
On his way out the door, he said, "You were wrong about the art. I liked every single thing."
And then I died and was dead becauseCUTE.
So young Gus has been getting into theater--excuse me, The TheatRE--in a big way. Last weekend we had him in an "Extreme Theater Workshop", for which he auditioned on Friday night, rehearsed a play all day Saturday and Sunday, and performed Sunday evening. He played the nerdy and nervous Stix Piggington and when he came on stage I felt like I was seeing the next decade flash before my eyes.
He just belongs up there.
When it was over he told me he felt like his pig family was like his real family.
THEATRE GEEK BONDING!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ... oh, genetics, genetics, genetics. So cruel.
This week, he's at American Idol camp, where he said there is much choreography to learn. And that, friends, is where my genes stop, and Larry's kick in. Our man Larry can get DOWN.
Speaking of Larry:
He looks different to me lately. Younger somehow. But I can't quite put my finger on why.