Do. Doo.
DoDoDoDo. Doo.
DoDoDoDo. Doo.
Do. Do. Do. Doo.
WT?
And then it strikes me.
My Budding Percussionist playing the Star Wars theme on bells.
You know the bells?
It’s what my Young John Williams' band teacher calls a xylophone, so he can justify making us pay big bucks to rent an instrument whose primary purpose is to give Kindergarten teachers a word that starts with an X.
People south of the border call them marimbas, jazz musicians call them the vibraphone, and the Germans, because they always have to make things more difficult, call them the glockenspiel.
Then Young Lionel Hampton breaks into The Lion Sleeps Tonight, which is only made worse by daughter entering the room and picking up on vocals.
One thing they don't tell you about the Harried with Children Life: After the crawling stage, the walking stage and the No stage, there's the singing stage. She sings it not once, not twice, but twelve and a half times until…
"ENOUGH," I scream. “STOP! You're both grounded to the basement!"
The children stare at me in disbelief.
Spouse comes running into the room. “I'll take them downstairs."
He escorts Ten-Year Old, who jumps up on dad and puts him in a choke-hold. Oh yes, the WWE stage. Bet Dr. T. Berry Brazelton forgot to mention that one.
"Thanks,” I say closing the door. Back to work:
Work.
Writing a blog is work. No only are the conditions, well, loud, there’s the pressure to please the audience.
I start and stop the post twelve and a half times. I consider ripping off another Sarah Palin video and embedding it. And then I start again. Then I stop.
Then I watch that little computer guy in the pop out window.
Then I check the weather.
And then the TV listings.
And then I start reading an article about this
on Uncyclopedia when out of the corner of my eye I see Young Undertaker, having escaped from the basement, is standing at the door.
Damn. I always tell Brad to do head counts.
"Hi, honey. What are you doing up here?"
"Are you finished writing, Mom?"
"Well, almost."
"Did you write a story?"
"No, it wasn't a story."
"What is it?"
"Well, it's kind of like a story, I guess."
"Is there a ship in it?" He says.
"No. No ship."
"A pirate?" We’ve been reading Peter and the Star Catcher together and it’s only taken me until page 201 to figure out it’s the Peter Pan story.
"No. No pirate."
"Have you ever written a story about a pirate? Says Young Treasure Hunter.
"No, honey, I haven't." I don't mention the Xylophone-rated story I've created in head my about a particular pirate.
"You never wrote a story about a pirate?"
"Never."
"You're a writer and you've never written about a pirate?"
God, even my son thinks I suck.
Then Young Lionel Hampton breaks into The Lion Sleeps Tonight, which is only made worse by daughter entering the room and picking up on vocals.
One thing they don't tell you about the Harried with Children Life: After the crawling stage, the walking stage and the No stage, there's the singing stage. She sings it not once, not twice, but twelve and a half times until…
"ENOUGH," I scream. “STOP! You're both grounded to the basement!"
The children stare at me in disbelief.
Spouse comes running into the room. “I'll take them downstairs."
He escorts Ten-Year Old, who jumps up on dad and puts him in a choke-hold. Oh yes, the WWE stage. Bet Dr. T. Berry Brazelton forgot to mention that one.
"Thanks,” I say closing the door. Back to work:
Work.
Writing a blog is work. No only are the conditions, well, loud, there’s the pressure to please the audience.
I start and stop the post twelve and a half times. I consider ripping off another Sarah Palin video and embedding it. And then I start again. Then I stop.
Then I watch that little computer guy in the pop out window.
Then I check the weather.
And then the TV listings.
And then I start reading an article about this
on Uncyclopedia when out of the corner of my eye I see Young Undertaker, having escaped from the basement, is standing at the door.
Damn. I always tell Brad to do head counts.
"Hi, honey. What are you doing up here?"
"Are you finished writing, Mom?"
"Well, almost."
"Did you write a story?"
"No, it wasn't a story."
"What is it?"
"Well, it's kind of like a story, I guess."
"Is there a ship in it?" He says.
"No. No ship."
"A pirate?" We’ve been reading Peter and the Star Catcher together and it’s only taken me until page 201 to figure out it’s the Peter Pan story.
"No. No pirate."
"Have you ever written a story about a pirate? Says Young Treasure Hunter.
"No, honey, I haven't." I don't mention the Xylophone-rated story I've created in head my about a particular pirate.
"You never wrote a story about a pirate?"
"Never."
"You're a writer and you've never written about a pirate?"
God, even my son thinks I suck.
But hey, somebody loves me. Thanks to Chris at Chris Wood's Blog for this lovely honor. It came at the right time.
There are more great blogs to get hooked on at Humor-Blogs.
