I don’t think that it comes as any surprise that Despicable Me is our favorite cartoon at the Jedi Manor, because Gru warms my heart and because the yellow minions make me laugh out loud and choke on my popcorn. So imagine our family’s UTTER DELIGHT when we realized that… LOW AND BEHOLD! The makers of Despicable Me had also made the new Lorax movie. People, we were on a stinking countdown for it to get here.
And it got here on Friday.
Hubs and I gathered up the boy, the cute neighbor boy, and Enzo, and we went to Jimmy John’s for dinner, because that is the place where all your dinner dreams come true. It is also the place where you can put three VERY LOUD and VERY SQUIRRELY boys at one table, and then you and your husband can go sit clear across the restaurant, where you can pretend that you have no idea who the three rascals are who are laughing so hard that Sprite is shooting out their noses. And then you and your husband can kind of look around the restaurant and mumble things like, “Some people’s kids!” under your breath.
Of course The Lorax is in digital 3-D, which means that Hubs and I were ripped off by the theater and had to pay $1.50 up-charge on every ticket in order to wear grimy glasses and see the grouchy Lorax jump out of the screen and land in our laps. By the time we’d paid for the tribe to get in (Because the movie! It was our treat to this pack of boys!), we didn’t know if we’d just gotten into the cinema or paid for a semester’s worth of tuition at the local community college.
To say that the theater was packed is THE understatement of twenty-twelve. Every child in Small Town, USA was there on Friday night, clamoring to get their dirty hands on a pair of 3-D glasses. We ran into approximately 1,800 families that we knew, and I sighed with relief when my friend Tiffany said, “Well! We just shelled out $50 to get the family in to see The Lorax!”
Amen! And thank goodness someone else has issues with the additional 3-D prices.
(And also? I do not need to see The Titanic sink again in 3-D when it comes out next month. And I don’t need to see Darth Vader whip his light saber around in 3-D when it finally gets to our hometown theater, either. The money that a 3-D movie charges is better spent at Starbucks, if you ask me.)
Of course, Tiffany had purchased bags of popcorn and Dots (which taste a whole lot like melted Crayolas) and Kit Kats for her family, when Hubs and I had looked at the lines snaking out from the concession stands and said, “No treats! We just had Jimmy John’s sandwiches, and how would you manage to fit a Nerds Rope into your bellies now anyway?” The boys all protested, because they are eleven and because they have hollow legs that were designed for candy, even after Thanksgiving dinner, but Hubs and I held firm. We didn’t want to refinance the house in order to secure sugar and trans-fats at the concession stand.
And then Hubs put on his 3-D glasses, and I nearly swooned, because he looked exactly like he did in 1994 with his Oakley sunglasses, and THAT was handsome. And then I put MY 3-D glasses on, and listen: The little punk who had worn them during the 4:30 showing of The Lorax had obviously been eating copious amounts of butter with popcorn on top, and then he (she?) had pushed the glasses up his (her?) nose repeatedly to keep them from falling down, because let me tell y’all! My 3-D glasses were in desperate need of some Windex and some Clorox and also a hot-water bath involving much soap.
So basically I watched the show through a layer of something resembling melted pig fat, which was smeared all over my lenses.
And The Lorax? Oh, people. It did not disappoint! The three boys and I loved it in a way that is similar to our love for the pretzel M&Ms that we weren’t eating during the movie. Although Hubs found most of the show enjoyable, there were some musical parts where the characters sing entire songs, and Hubs was a little disturbed about this, because Hubs’ idea of a good musical is NO MUSICAL. Hubs cannot abide movies with singing in them, unless it’s a movie that is set in the early 1980s and features a twenty-minute filler section where Angus Young spins around on a stage with his guitar.
After the show, the three boys laughed so hard in our Suburban they couldn’t breathe, and when Hubs and I asked what was so funny, the cute neighbor boy volunteered to tell us. This is exactly what he said:
“You know how some little kids wear Superman pajamas to bed? Well, Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas to bed!” And then the fits of giggles and hysterical laughing burst out in full force again, and Hubs and I laughed until we cried, because SCORE! That was very possibly the best joke we’d ever heard from the peanut gallery of small boys, ever!
And then the boys burst out singing a rousing round of some rap song, with eighteen verses about how Santa Claus barbecued Blitzen and he ended up tasting like chicken, and I’m not even going to lie to y’all. That song was stinking funny, and Hubs and I laughed all the way home and rejoiced over the fact that we LOVE that boy of ours and his adorable friends.
And now Hubs wants to throw a reindeer on his Traeger grill.
Hubs is hysterical.
On Saturday, I painted three closet doors.
Painting doors and trim is now the story of my life. If NBC makes a mini-series about me, Sandra Bullock will play my part and she’ll be dressed in her sloppiest paint clothes, painting closet doors, for three-fourths of the series. Hubs’ part on Saturday was to put doorknobs on our closet doors… and on the freshly-painted bathroom door… and we officially joined the ranks of people who have doorknobs on their interior doors, instead of drilled-out holes that can be used to spy on people. I felt like the Jeffersons on Saturday, because we moved on up.
And today, we went to church.
And then we went to lunch with my parents after church.
I ate pancakes.
Because I’m crazy like that.
And then we went through the new car wash in town, because yes! Small Town has a brand new car wash, and it is fully automatic, to the point that all you do is put your car into neutral, remove your hands from the steering wheel, and ride the conveyor belt through all the soap and brushes, exactly like you were at the carnival, but no one throws up the cotton candy in this scene. Hubs and I had gone through it on Saturday, because of FREE! FREE! FREE! IT JUST OPENED, AND IT’S FREE THIS WEEK TO EVERYONE! The boy had been at a friend’s house on Saturday, and so he missed out, and when he discovered that Hubs and I had had the audacity to go to the new car wash without him, he was formally crushed and wanted to disown us as his parents. He said, “But I don’t know how it works! And I want to know how it works! And I want to go!” And after he had said this twenty-seven thousand times today, Hubs and I threw him into the sparkling clean Suburban, and we drove him down the hill to the new car wash. The attendant on duty said, “Hey! I remember you from yesterday!” And we sort of hung our heads in shame and said, “Yes. That was us. We were here yesterday. But our small boy did NOT get to go through the car wash, and he cannot rest until he knows how it works, and so we are here to totally take advantage of your free weekend again, all in the name of an educational experience on spinning brush technology.”
And the attendant said that he fully understood, because every single boy should get the chance to go through the car wash.
So now our Suburban sparkles like a diamond.
And listen, people. Jedi Mama, Inc. may take a small sabbatical for a couple of days this week, so don’t be horrendously alarmed if you check in two days from now and see that the post is an old one. Hubs and I are going off the grid for a couple of days (we’re going dark, like Jason Bourne would do it), but we’ll be back. And by the time we get back, I’m sure our Suburban will be dirty enough to need a third trip through the grand car wash with the conveyor belt.
Happy Sunday night, y’all.