So as a direct result of some seriously weird dreams I had last night, I woke up this morning and went searching to see if my Favorite TV Show Of All Time was on Netflix Watch Instantly. I figured it wasn’t, since, objectively speaking, it’s the most ludicrous television show ever to grace the small screen, but lo and behold, there it was! So I’m spending today cuddled up on the couch with my yet-again-sniffling-minions, reliving my high school days by watching Roswell.
I know, I know. The show is awful, and the two main characters are almost as emotionless and unbearably wooden as Shovel Face and Vanilla in the Twilight movies. However, the badass assortment of supporting characters more than makes up for the dreadful community-theater emoting that Max and Liz make us suffer through. Brendan Fehr’s history as Michael Guerin is the major reason I squealed like a creeper fangirl when he appeared on Bones. Katherine Heigl’s turn as Isabel is also the only reason I seemed to have escaped the inexplicable hatred of all things Katherine Heigl that seems to have poisoned everyone, everywhere. Tom Hank’s son Colin is geeky and charming as poor, doomed Alex, and I even loved Emilie de Ravin as Tess. (*Ducks as Roswell fans everywhere throw flaming bags of poo at my head*)
But Majandra Delfino is my absolute, all-time favorite television actress. She’s hilarious, bizarre, and a really great singer. Her jazzy voice and whiny, tortured lyrics were my music of choice in high school. They so perfectly captured how difficult my upper-middle-class-suburban adolescence was. Unfortunately she never really took off and her best stuff isn’t available on Youtube for the idle, five-minute searcher, so here, best I can do:
And you get treated to an obsessive fangirl video montage at the same time! It’s a win-win.
Okay, I’m done writing about Roswell. Sorry.
This morning Sienna woke me up by climbing into bed next to me and saying in a slightly manic, high-pitched tone, “Mom! Mom, there’s this guy named the Beaver, and if you like him, you can get Beaver fever. Ashley* totally has Beaver fever. Can I get Beaver fever?
Obviously I was horrified at the innocent-yet-hideously-vulgar miscommunication of the Beiber’s name and quickly corrected her. “No, Sienna, it’s Beiber. BeiBer. BeiBBBBBBBBBer. Say it.”
Me: “No! No, B, not V. BieBer. Buhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuhbuh-” *looks down and notices Lincoln laughing hysterically* “buh. B. Bieber. Say it.”
Me: “Good job. Okay, now what?”
Sienna proceeds to explain how her friend has “Bieber fever” and how Sienna wants Bieber fever too. I have studiously ignored the entire “Bieber” phenomenon, having done my teenage-hysteria-penance with the meteoric rise and fall of Hanson. So now I have to find a Bieber song that is appropriate, hopefully with an appropriate music video to match, and not too irritating, so that my daughter can commence being a teenager at the age of almost-seven.
Nope. Scratch that. I’ll just take some facebook advice and show her a re-run of “Leave it to Beaver,” thereby securing my title of “Lamest Mom Ever.”
It’s even in black and white, to further ruin her life.
Oh, in case you scrupulous types are wondering how I can possibly spend the day hanging around in my pajamas watching bad late 90’s teen dramas, since it’s Sunday and if I don’t go to Mass I will DIE AND BURN IN HELL, rest assured that we did the double-whammy yesterday. Mass in the morning for the Immaculate Conception, Vigil Mass in the evening for the Sunday obligation. It went as well as you can imagine two hour-and-a-half long Masses going for three kids whose usual Saturday consists of morning chores and then playing outside with Daddy all afternoon. They were somewhat less than thrilled. Luckily, I have some awesome friggin’ neighbors, and one of them recruited her teenage kids to take Charlotte and Liam to the park in between Masses, while Sienna was at ballet and the Ogre was working on end-of-semester grading, and she and I spent the time wrapping presents. Or rather, she came over, with her own wrapping paper, and wrapped presents for me while I figured out which present belonged to whom, which was for birthdays and which for Christmas, and which grandparent/aunt said present was from. Also I shaped some bread and put it in the oven while she wrapped clothes in tissue paper. ADD what?
Okay, round up. I need some ideas for pink food. Sounds gross, right? But it’s for four three-and-four-year-olds, so I’m not going gourmet here.** I’ve already decided on the main attraction, Smitten Kitchen’s Pink Lady cake, which I am going to smother with cream cheese frosting and sprinkle with those big sugar granules that look like glitter (ahem, if one of you darling readers can tell me where to find said granules). And I’m going to get some Pink Lemonade Soda from Trader Joe’s, some pastel dessert mints from the local candy store, and some decaf tea to serve in Charlotte’s brand-new pink tea set (don’t tell her, it’s a surprise!). But I figured I should probably have, like, some real food or something? Finger sandwiches? Crackers? What? I don’t know. She also wants cupcakes, which I’m going to ixnay because this shiz has to come out of our grocery money, and I’m assuming the rest of the family will want to eat something other than pink cake and pink cupcakes and mints for the rest of the week. Oh, and should I decorate? Like pink streamers or something? A pink paper tablecloth? Is that unnecessary and excessive, or will the party look sterile and boring without decorations?
Obviously, I should open my own party planning business, since I rock at it.
Leave your ideas below. Winner gets a chicken dinner!***
*name of neighborhood child changed to protect privacy I’m assuming they’d rather keep. I’m thoughtful like that.
**My usual snotty food rules apply. No chemically-enhanced anything (like Cool Whip), no shortening, no pre-packaged cake mixes, etc. Because I’m elitist, that’s why. The combox is below if you need to call me names, but be advised that I deleted a comment for the first time ever last week, and it felt so good that I want to do it again. Game on.
***Winner must fly to Ave Maria to collect said chicken dinner, which leaves out Simcha and the Jerk.