I used to blog here, back in the olden days.
But then we had a week of THE TODDLER DIDN’T SLEEP and LET’S SCHEDULE SOMETHING FOR EVERY SINGLE NIGHT and WHO THOUGHT IT WAS A BRIGHT IDEA TO DO OLYMPIC EVENTS IN HER PE CLASS, SO THAT SHE’D HAVE TO SPRAY-PAINT GOLD, SILVER AND BRONZE WASHERS TO ACT AS MEDALS, BECAUSE ALL OLYMPIANS WANT A CHANCE TO WIN REAL HARDWARE, EVEN IF THEY’RE JUST THIRD GRADERS?
And then there was the REAL Olympics (as opposed to the WE DID THESE MUCH SAFER EVENTS IN PE CLASS), so of course we had to flop like slugs in front of our TV and watch the opening ceremonies, followed by all the snowboarding and the ice skating and the ski jumping.
And as long as we’re talking about the real Olympics, I just need to go on record and ask Ralph Lauren, “Um, Dude! WHAT were you thinking with those sweaters?” I’ve always been a fan of Ralph and his polo pony, but I’m pretty sure the athletes’ sweaters on Friday night were one holiday ornament away from being a wardrobe choice for an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party. I wanted to call Ralph on his cell phone and holler out, “Abort! Abort! Get the Nike ski coats on top of those sweaters, POSTHASTE!”
(Dear Ralph, I really DO forgive you for the horrible sweaters, and I will continue to shop your online sales. But please! In the future, just remember that LESS IS MORE when it comes to all the red yarn and the knitting.)
And then we got into the snowboard-watching, which is when I announced to Hubs, “Do you think it’s too late for me to become an Olympian? What could I train for?”
(Because, sweet mercy! I did approve of the Nike ski jackets the Americans are wearing, and I think I’d look awfully adorable in one.)
(Especially with a giant, gold pendant hanging from a red, white and blue ribbon dangling around my neck.)
We decided that all the aerial jumps on the Burtons weren’t realistic for me, because I would leave a trail of barf behind me for all the following snowboarders to encounter, and that’s just a wild heap of rudeness. I honestly thought that I might need a Dramamine tablet just to WATCH Sage Kotsenburg flip all over the place. However, I’m pretty much a professional sweeper with the forty acres of hardwood floors that I have, so Hubs and I decided that a gold medal in curling is probably within my grasp exactly four years from now.
After all the snowboarding and ski jumping, Hubs and I watched the short dance sessions with the couples’ figure skating. Hubs just looked at me and asked, “At what point would a little boy EVER say, ‘Hey, Mom? I think I want to put a pair of figure skates on and dance across the ice?’” Hubs just didn’t think it was a manly enough sport, because no one was intentionally knocked down, and nobody did any tackling. Plus, no one had a stick or a face mask. I was pretty impressed with THE TWIZZLES on the ice, though. The announcer kept saying, “And now they’re going to move into their twizzles, which is going to make or break their score.” Hubs would then shout out, “Twizzle with every ounce of twizzle you have!”
I think he just likes saying TWIZZLE.
Today we decided that the twizzle is also done in the NHL. Hubs was watching a recorded hockey game on TV this afternoon, that he didn’t get to last week, because we had THE WEEK OF ALL THE BUSY. One of the Avalanche boys spun around behind the goal, and I said, “Look! He’s twizzling!”
And that, people, is my very unprofessional rundown on how the Olympics have started panning out for us.
With any luck at all, I will be back here tomorrow, with something closer to a REAL blog post, because we have had some things going on.
(And they were things other than the fact that HELLO, BETTY CROCKER! MAMA HAS COOKED A HOMEMADE DINNER ALMOST EVERY NIGHT THIS WEEK!)
Y’all carry on, and don’t forget that a perfect twizzle almost always guarantees a perfect score.