peevish mama

This morning found me in the kitchen making crèpes for the kids, which is slightly labor intensive in that you can only make one at a time unless you go crazy like the Swedish Chef on the Muppets and start in with two, maybe three separate frantic pans. As I was flipping crèpe after deformed crèpe, I heard Saint James and Supergirl singing in the dining room.  It went a little something like this:

We need fun,

We got nowhere to run.

This ain’t fun,

We got nowhere to run.

We need fun,

We got nowhere to run. etc., etc.

The child of the seventies in me thought - Wow, that sounds like something that would be great in a newly released Annie musical – a modernized version of  It’s a Hard Knock Life! ? Budding Andrew Lloyd Webbers?

The gold roped, diamond grilled, bling-ditty-bling-bling hip hop producer in me thought - Damn, chil’ren, that hook’s off the heezy, gots ta make it eazy, fo ya sweet mama peezy. A little like this.

And the mother in me, the mother who has basically dedicated her life to making their lives “fun,” thought - You pint size fuckers! What more fun could you possibly handle in your chocked-full-o’-sports-and-activities little lives? Saint James, sometimes you go from hockey to soccer to skiing all in one day. And who’s driving your skinny, fun lovin’ little ass? Right. Me. And Doctor Dash. When I was your age I barely did any activities. And my parents took me to see Reds – with Warren Beatty.  Do you have any idea how boring that movie was? And how long it was? It was so long it had an intermission! And they made me go and sit through it – and did my mother think to bring me something to draw on? Of course not. Her purse had TicTacs and cigarettes in it – not crayons and markers and squishy balls and little plastic animals and playdough. It was not a treasure trove of fun – in fact, we weren’t even allowed to touch her purse! And now, in the cruelest of ironies, I’m getting it on the other end with the boring movies when I have to sit through Alvin and the Chipmunks (hell) and Hotel for Dogs (purgatory). Good luck, my malcontented spawn, finding parents as “fun” as us! Actually, this is the land of milk and honey when it comes to nice families, so you just may be able to find other fun parents. But be careful what you wish for, you ankle-biting ingrates! Your new fun parents may make you bathe way more than we do, eat many more vegetables than we do, do many more chores than we do – and they may be more into board games (read: bored games) than dance parties, and then you will be singing a different tune altogether. Quite. A different. Tune.

BUT -

Fo shizzle ma nizzle. Lock it down, little chumps.

I gots ta admit – I feel y’all. Y’all real y’all.

Oh fa-show.  I need some fun, I got nowhere to run.

Yo, mama needs some fun – she gots nowhere to run.