Well, that all changed yesterday. Husband found himself unleashing his Angry Bird fever all over those smug little piggies, and now, I’m alone. I was trying to read with #1 son tonight, but he couldn’t stay focused for all of the yelping and giggling by his father, followed by the all to familiar theme song. “Just a minute Mom. I’ve got to see what level Dad is on,” and he ran off to join his brother and sister huddled around Daddy and his iphone.
I do admit, I had my Angry Bird moments a few weeks ago, but soon tired of its seeming endlessness. I like things to conclude. Those piggies just keep coming up with more inventive and subversive ways to hide themselves. I am no match for their genius.
Usually Husband is all cozied up in bed by 8:45 and hollering at me to hurry up and finish whatever it is I’m doing so he can go to sleep. Now here it is, 9:48 and I see no sign of sleepiness. Maybe it’s because of the nap he took while watching Megamind tonight. (by the way, I never had much of a taste for Guns n’ Roses til I heard “Welcome to the Jungle” playing along with Megamind himself jigging it up in his black leather. I might be making a purchase. But don’t tell anyone. My image might not survive it.)
#1 son was in rare form with his amazing dance moves tonight. I swear he would make an excellent candidate for the Boy’s Dance Class at a local studio, but he swears he has no interest. I must admit that I utter a slight sigh of relief every time he claims to be more interested in soccer. (even though he spent much of last season watching from the sidelines, snuggled into my side.) A new soccer season begins soon. I’m exercising my best relaxation techniques to use on the sidelines. In keeping with their parent’s tradition, our offspring are not exactly *adept* at the sports. But as long as they have fun. . .
*Adept*. Several weeks ago I signed up for a clay throwing class at our University’s Art center. The center is pretty cool- an offsite hippie artist village in the hills of Middle TN. I claimed to have “no expectations” going in, but who am I kidding? I expected myself to sit down at that wheel and throw a couple of balanced, if simple pots on the first night.
Boy, I should have really had NO expectations because NOTHING is what I had after three hours at the wheel.
A BIG FAT NOTHING.
Wheel throwing is really hard.
And I really suck at it.
But I went back for week #2, and actually threw two extremely lopsided cylinders. It made me think of what Frankenstein’s mother must have felt.
Angry Birds, G n R, and Clay.