Have you ever had that moment when you're riding in the car with the radio cranked up loud and a rockin' song comes on that makes you think, "This would be the soundtrack to my life right now"?
I've had several of those moments. I'd like to believe that the album of my life would have to include Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody," the Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones," the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" (for the sad bits), and something soft and thrumming by Astrud Gilberto. (And if, as I suspect, my life would be a Christmas movie, it would include the grossly underappreciated album Big Band Christmas Swing by the Chris McDonald Orchestra, which I picked up from a $5.99 bin a few years ago; as well as Billy May's "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Mambo," which you should absolutely go pull off of iTunes right this second.)
I do wish there had been a cameraman following me around this week, boom mikes and all, to film my life story. However, I can't imagine any of the above songs playing moodily underneath my daily grind; it'd probably be more along the lines of "Flight of the Bumblebee" or, if the filmmaker were particularly cheeky, that one Munchkin song from The Wizard of Oz. Fact is, this week, my life story just isn't cut out to be a particularly dramatic, or funny, or (heavens, no) romantic flick; my life is more suited to become a documentary filmstrip shown in junior high Health classes, right after the lesson where the students have to carry around a raw egg for a week, about the perils of parenthood.
Let's see: I've told you about Noah vs. The Ear Infection, followed immediately by Noah vs. The Hives. Now we're facing round three: Noah vs. The Screaming Poopies. Yes, thanks to the antibiotics, my little boy's diaper runneth over - all the way into his shoes, even.
In fact, the documentary of my week would have an entire chapter devoted to Things Excreted By My Children. David, still in the painful throes of potty-training, has become quite passive-aggressive since we informed him that we are no longer taking poo for an answer. A few weeks ago we had a sit-down talk with the lad, explaining to him that he knows how to go potty and that it's unacceptable for him to keep using his pants for this purpose; if he continues to do so he will face Consequences. For the most part, he's done well; but his newest way to express that he's pissed at us is to, well, you know. Right on the floor. (Most recently, it was because I discovered that he had shoved a canning lid inextricably into my laptop's CD drive, and I put him on the Time-Out Step until I could figure out what to do with him; he peed on the step in protest.) So, what with Noah's exploding pants and David's defiant wee-ing, this week has been rather full of shit.
(This doesn't even touch the section of the documentary about the Grocery Store Dash: the sprint we undertake from waaay back in the freezer aisle, where David invariably announces that he has to Go, up to the restrooms, next to the customer service desk - followed by the Noah-wrangling I have to do one-handed while I use the other hand to yank down David's pants and help him onto the cleanest toilet available, followed by chasing Noah into the men's room where he's managed to escape to, followed by calming David's fit of terror after the automatic-flush toilet unexpectedly flushes and scares him into screaming fits, thus ensuring that he will never be able to use another public toilet again in his life. In fact, The Dash could probably fill an entire documentary of its own, and it would probably be very effective in keeping those junior highers from becoming parents. I should market this.)
Also under the heading "excrement": That's what my car is speckled with right now, as apparently our backyard is a major rest stop for birds migrating south. There have been flocks and flocks of them perching in our giant maple tree for the past few days, thousands and millions, squawking and chirping and flapping and, well, you know. If you can look past the splatters, it's breathtakingly beautiful to see, in a Hitchcockian sort of way.
Which brings up the question: Maybe my personal Movie of the Week wouldn't be best as a documentary - maybe it would be a better horror film. Do you think I could find the "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" theme song on iTunes?
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