As I may have mentioned, last night I sang everybody’s favorite song in the world that is easy to sing and that no one is at all tired of hearing, because Robin met (and beat!) the $4,000 mark for her soap-making enterprise. I did practice, kind of a lot. I’m telling you this now, because you definitely will not be able to tell.
Yesterday, I told the kids that if they did their evening chores really quickly, we would be able to watch Frozen, which they hadn’t seen yet. Note: my eight-year-old daughter was on kitchen duty last night. So this morning, I open the cabinet, and find this shoved in the back:
If you can’t tell, that is chili and sour cream. A pot full of it, plus four bowls full of it. And it smelled great at 6:15 a.m. after sitting out all night, oh yes it did.
I really liked the movie! I don’t think there was any homophiliac undertones — or if there were, they were the right ones: hey, maybe you’re born with something that makes it really difficult to interact with other people; but the solution isn’t to just cut yourself off from life. You’re lovable and valuable, and your job is to control and channel the thing that makes you different so that you become stronger.
Anyway, it could just as easily have been about being autistic, or artistic, or having a weird sense of humor, or whatever. Things clearly went bad (for herself and everyone she cared about) when she just let her unbridled interior self go on a rampage, so I honestly don’t see what’s to argue with, here.
Despite what you will hear me warble, almost nothing bothers me more than being cold. I was blue and oxygen deprived when I was born, and my thyroid is stupid, and I am cold cold cold all the time. When I open the windows to catch a little bit of that sweet springtime breeze, I turn the heat on, because I do no to want to be cold, not even for one second. Well, now they know.
Benny was big-eyed throughout the whole movie, and periodically cried out, “Poor Elfa! Poor Elfa!” and occasionally, “Poor mottster!” (What the heck was that snow monster for, anyway? They totally didn’t need him.) I thought it was funny that she couldn’t pronounce “Elsa,” which isn’t really hard to say. Then I remembered that I was teaching her the Greek alphabet for a parlor trick the other day. Alpha! See, she is listening to me! Just not when I say, “Please stop punching Mama’s head, Benny.”
Now I’m just stalling.
And now I’m not. Just remember, this hurts me more than it does you.
Well, if you think we’ve all suffered enough, why not drop a few bucks in Robin’s goatmilk soap fundraiser? If we hit the $5,000 mark, I solemnly swear, with the internet as my witness, that I will never again record a video of me singing a power ballad for the purpose of raising money for a goatmilk soap fundraiser. What more could you possibly want?