Slackstress Reporting Here ... Under the Influence of American Idol (and Hair Gel)

Reader beware. I'm writing while under the influence of American Idol, my guilty pleasure, my embarrassing mass appeal American addiction. Also, I'm writing from my husband's laptop, something I'm going to have to suck up and get used to now that my mine has terminally ended its damaging affair with the Blue Screen of Death. I can't even revive it long enough to launch its operating system.

Okay, how hot was Jenry (pronounced Ahn-rey) from Day 2? Keep on licking those lips, baby. Paula, I was pleasantly surprised too. "Easy on the eyes" is an understatement. Those dimples. Those teeth. Wait a sec ... They just said this guy's only 16. Uh, yeah ... scratch all of the above.

I'm pressed for time. Sharing the Internet with my husband is about as fun as sharing a bathroom. So, all I have to offer is a snapshot of my day with the munchkins. Truth is, I'm writing during Idol commercial breaks. Here goes with hair gel overdose visual flair:



I'll start with Pigtails. She spiked a random high fever with no warning. No prior symptoms. I wonder if she's sprouting some new Chiclets in her thumbsucking mouth. An hour into her Tylenol dose she was bouncing off the wall like the rock hard Red Sox regulation baseball her brother Cheeks dug out of his "special drawer" earlier in the morning. A freakin' (spell check suggested changing "freakin'" to foreskin, hmmm?) baseball in the house. Just what we need flying through the air at fast ball speed while Cheeks still has three metal staples firmly holding a hole in his head together. (It would have been to easy/cliche to say we needed a flying in-house baseball like a hole in the head. I think I just said it anyway.)



Cheeks, well, he wasn't what you would expect today. Calm. Well-behaved. Listening. Sharing. I think his fall might have straightened out some of his rather crooked behaviors. Is that terrible to say as a mother? Will I burn for such comments? Seriously, though. My mother always said that people can change when they crack their heads. He didn't even talk through his nose in whine-tongue-speak. Keep it up, Cheeks. Oh, and don't forget to sleep through the night for once. As usual, I'm endeared by his poofy cheeks, which he noticed in the mirror for the first time yesterday. "I look like Santa, mommy. Even my chubby cheeks are red like his!"



As for Mouth, he said kindergarten was hard. "We even skipped snack because all we did was work, work, work." He carted a stack of paperwork home to prove it. Once we settled down from pitching that same regulation baseball around the playroom INSIDE THE HOUSE for God knows why (what kind of a mom lets her kids throw a real ball in the house), Mouth took me to his room and drew me some addition and subtractions problems in yellow crayon, "Just so you aren't so bad at math anymore, mom. Dad's the math genius. You're the writing genius." Ah, to be young and clueless.

Mouth, who should really be nicknamed The Lawyer I've decided, wowed me with his progress reports (from his home room kindergarten teacher, music teacher, phys ed teacher and Spanish teacher)yesterday. As I opened the final sealed envelope, I played a little trick on him. A mean one perhaps. Definitely not an age-appropriate joke. "Oh, you'd better come here, mister. I need to have a word with you about your progress report from Mrs. Kindergarten Teacher. It's not good. Not good at all. What are we going to do about this. NOT GOOOOOOD. What I mean is, this progress report is not good, it's EXCELLENT. Outstanding. Better than good."

I should have known better. He nearly imploded with stifled tears. True Mouth style. He only cries when the Patriots lose. Now he'll have nearly a year until next season to store up the tears. ("They said at half time that Tom Brady was the 'Come Back King,' but he's not! He's sooo not. He's not a king to me anymore, mom. How could he throw an interception in the last few seconds? What was he thinkin'! It's just not fair. I hope the Bears kick the Colts butts hard in the Superbowl.")

On an Idol note, the girl with the red cowboy hat might need a taste of Valium. BTW, my husband's only comment during American Idol was, "She's got the cleavage for it." He said it about Jory Steinberg. I don't think his gaze ever made it above her necklace.

I take that back. The New Yorker who works out in frumpy sweats like Rocky "has a nice ass," according to my marital peanut gallery. Why do I watch this show with him again? Talk about a double-standard. Wasn't I just drooling over the guy with the hard to spell/pronounce name only a few paragraphs ago (Jenry)?

Sorry to random zig-zaggy write this post like Rod Stewart's hair. Hopefully I'll be able to post as often as possible in the coming days, even with a lap top slated for the graveyard.