I recently introduced one of my favourite films, Sixteen Candles, to the Serb. He knew that Samantha Baker and the Donger were near and dear to me, and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Most of it still held up (Helllloooo Jake Ryan!) but other parts, like the loaning-your-passed-out-girlfriend-to-a-stranger part, seemed a tad dated. My husband now seriously doubts my taste in all things cinematic because – true confession time – my track record kind of sucks.
Anyone remember Ishtar? It was voted one of the worst and costliest movies of all time, and I saw it. Twice. In the theatre. Adventures in Babysitting? Still have it in my personal library. On VHS. Years ago, I took Ho Boy to see Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion and in retribution he dragged me to Gone Fishin’. To his dismay, I loved both films in all their craptastic glory. Basically, if a movie was made between 1984 and 1998 and featured either angst-ridden high schoolers or ridiculous characters in absurd situations, chances are I saw it and loved it.
Unfortunately, my cinephile skills have not improved with time: I despised The Hangover (who laughs at a baby left in a closet and driven around without a proper carseat?) and I’ve never watched an Oliver Stone film. However, I’ve enjoyed most of the Lindsay Lohan oeuvre and although I haven’t yet seen Gigli, I’m sure I’d find it charming.
Moving forward, I’ve decided to play it safe with my choice of all-time favourite film: The Commitments. You may not understand what the frack they’re saying (chances are they’re swearing), but at least there’s no pimping of girlfriends to earnest virgins. Perhaps my tastes are refining with age after all. Now if you’ll excuse me, Glitter is on the W Network…
My mom arrives tomorrow for a weeklong visit. This is great news for my husband, who gets to eat her cooking, and fantastic news for my kids, who will spend hours at the park. But no one is more excited than I, because for seven glorious days, I get to be a second-string mom.
I’ll still be top-tier for things like scraped knees and ass butlering, but my mom will (happily?) take over a lot of the mundane tasks that make up a SAHMs day: folding laundry; putting the kids to bed; and loading the dishwasher. (Yes, I am Marion Cunningham.)
Her visits allow me to revisit, very briefly, a time when I was responsible only for myself. When I could eat popcorn for dinner. Or join a friend for a lunch date that didn’t include a juice box. Or go to a matinee movie without 3D glasses.
I will be able to write uninterrupted. I will do hot yoga. I will shop in stores that don’t offer strollers. (It appears that I aspire to be Candace Bushnell, only with less random sex and more comfortable shoes. So…still Mrs. Cunningham.)
Obviously I’ll also get to have a great visit with my mom. And it’s not that I don’t relish staying home with my kids; I know exactly how lucky I am to be in the position to both work from home as well as have an opportunity to step back and appreciate it all the more.
There’s a song that sums this up nicely: “How Can I Miss You If You Never Go Away.” Thank you, mom, for giving me a break from the ‘burb life next week and allowing me to miss it a little bit. (And if I do fewer posts, rest assured I am fine. And most likely in a pedicure chair moaning inappropriately.)