May
18
Weekenderies
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When I finally arrived home from DC on Friday night after two delayed flights and a near-poisonous amount of airport food, I staggered in the door around 1 AM prepared to collapse in the comfort of my own bed but lo! What is that melodious sound I hear? Why, it’s the baby, awake and blatting angrily from his crib, almost as though he sensed my arrival and had strategized the most restful, soothing method with which to greet me!
Pro Tip! Never show weakness in front of children, because that is the exact moment they will punch you right in the nads.
It would have been a great weekend for some mellow family downtime, but JB had to run off in order to try and kill himself on the slopes of Mt. Hood. He was even kind enough to live-tweet the details of his ascent, made harrowing by the unusually warm weather and subsequent deadly ice melt. (“Hundred mile per hour television-sized ice falling now”, he wrote, before lapsing into total radio silence for a couple hours and leaving me to envision him flattened somewhere on the side of the mountain, finger still hovering over the iPhone keypad.)
Should not be allowed to Tweet and climb.
Also? This photo is why I will never summit a mountain EVER. It’s not the physical exertion, or the insane amounts of gear, or even the surely-unpleasant business of starting a climb at 3 AM, it’s the fact that the shit is so STEEP. Like, take one wrong step and you’re FUCKED levels of steep. No thank you, not even with training wheels and my own personal Sherpa.
The kids and I had a pretty decent weekend on our own, even though Dylan is firmly mired in a stage I like to call “Exhausting, But Rewarding. Wait, Mostly Just Exhausting, Actually”. The weather was beautiful and I would share the lovely photos I took of my kids frolicking in the backyard but I was too busy prying fistfuls of dirt out of Dylan’s mouth while Riley stood nearby and whined about how he wanted to go back insiiiiiiide to get the camera. Oh, and I had planned to share a picture or two of Riley joyously playing with the inflatable rocket I brought home from the Smithsonian store but he was greatly disappointed in this thoughtful gift and informed me it wasn’t the right KIND of rocket, and that he’d like a little pink one instead.
So let’s recap: Daddy’s gone for the weekend, I’m on my own with the children, my older child is ungrateful, my younger one is howling because I won’t let him eat fertilizer, and I’m supposed to hand over a pink battery-powered rocket? I don’t think so, kid, any object that meets that particular description is staying right in my bedside drawer where it belongs because FRANKIE SAYS RELAX.
May
15
Night at the Museum premiere
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When Riley and I were in DC a few weeks ago for the Hershey’s/Night at the Museum event, we were sitting with the other bloggers at breakfast and I somehow won a free trip back to DC for the Night at the Museum 2 premiere. I was kind of confused about the whole thing because they called my name while I was having this intense discussion with Mom-101‘s nephew Brodie about coffee and he was just in the middle of asking why people don’t just pour coffee on their heads instead of drinking it in the morning and I was all dude, I think you’re on to something there, that would sure wake MY ass up, and then someone was all, “Linda!” and I was like Riley stop standing on your chair and eat your cereal huh?
Which is how I came to be at some fancypants movie premiere last night with the actual stars of the movie in attendance and lots of women wearing fierce shoes and jutting collarbones and everyone being very cool except of course for me, because I was busy urging Amy to do the “I’m crushing your head!” thing at Owen Wilson.
She totally did it, too. Ha ha ha DOOOOORRK!
I was determined to get a picture of the two of us flanking Ben Stiller, maybe giving him rabbit ears or forcing him to yell MOMMYBLAWWG or something while we towered over him in our heels (such a cliche and yet so true: movie stars, they’re just like Us! Assuming Us = short), and I actually went so far as to grab his arm as he was being ushered by, because oh, you know, why NOT physically accost the guy surrounded with security, but sadly he scampered away before I could drag him to a halt.
Whoah, check it out! It’s Ricky Gervais! Oh Ricky you’re so fine you’re so fine you blow my mind hey Ricky! Hey RICKY! Ha ha ha ha haaaa I bet you have never heard THAT one before, Mr. Gervais! Wait where are you going?
After the celebrity-gawking we filed into a giant IMAX theater and watched the movie and that was pretty enjoyable, partially because the film has some legitimately laugh-out-loud funny scenes and partially because the good people at Hershey’s had provided these massive feed-bags of Reese’s Pieces (which I heard Owen Wilson dismiss when offered some by his handler. “I don’t need any damn candy“, he said, like OMG my body is a temple. Men who fear sugar: Hot or Not? I say Not, even when combined with a sexy broken-ass nose).
Afterwards there was this big fancy party thing and instead of mingling I holed up with Amy and we talked about, wait for it, our kids. Everyone else was standing around nibbling at canapes and teetering back and forth in their stilettos and looking very posh and I was like OH MAN POTTY TRAINING I KNOW. The guy who plays Napoleon in the movie was standing nearby with his swan-necked, much-younger girlfriend and I think I actually drove them away with my enthusiastic, detailed description of our post-potty wiping technique.
Clearly I shouldn’t be invited to such things and in fact probably should never leave the confines of my house, but ANYWAY, it was a fantastically fun evening, particularly because I finally got to meet Amy in person. I’m super grateful to Hershey’s for the trip, and for the extra ten pounds of ass-fat I gained from their delicious candy that Owen Wilson wouldn’t eat.
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