I am thankful for Lady Gaga. Mostly because she tries things I don't make time for - like arriving to an awards show in an egg/chariot thing or wearing a dress made out of meat. I mean really, why not? My uncle and cousin raise prize winning beef cattle, why not support a trend that could open a whole new market for them? (http://www.manta.com/cmap/mm2wdhf/borst-family-farms) We wear leather trousers and fur coats, why not meat?
Oh yah, that's why not. Thank you Lady for figuring this out for me. Not machine washable. Definitely too risky to wear when chasing after littles. No meat dresses for me. Sorry Cuz... Our own little fashion risk taker is pictured below in red cowgirl boots, pink leggings, her brother's madras shorts, pink sweater and lizard cap. She kept in character all day and is pictured pretending to be a "tokay gecko" that can climb walls at lightning speed. Why not wear Little M's shorts? Oh yah, that's why not.
Due to the title of this entry, you probably guess incorrectly that I will continue with a story of Lady Gaga's once ubiquitous "Telephone" song and my children. But you guess incorrectly. Rather, the Primary 7 classroom monitors for little M's class love the "Bad Romance" song and sing it when they are on the play yard. Like the children's game, telephone, the lyrics have been passed from monitor, to Little M, to his sister - G. The only lyrics that have passed/morphed are the ones that go, "Gaga oo la la la/ want your bad romance." M sings a rendition that is startling in tune though it is clear the lyrics are disintegrating into some variation of "gaga oo lalala you're a bad roman." These lyrics in G's lovely little mind have morphed into "Gaga oo lalala, you have a bad man." After swimming lessons in the woman's locker room, G sings these morphed lyrics while galloping in her lion costume sans other accoutrements like underwear and socks and pants and shirts and such. The ladies in the locker room strangely trust her as a sage for relationships. Perhaps it is her willingness to go out on a limb? Or the tendency for Glaswegian men to truly be bad men to date? I dunno. Maybe it is just the costume.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
This babe is TW and he is taking maybe his second or third breath in this picture. My husband is cutting the umbilical cord as I murmur to TW that he is right where he needs to be. That I am so happy that he is here. That without doing a thing besides make for a pain filled and hectic morning, he is loved more than he will ever know. That this day is a happy birthday. These are the things I have murmured to all of my kids at their births. We would not have gotten there with TW without:
her. I had a drug resistant lung infection for the last month of TW's gestation. Nana came and cared for us for the last 2 weeks of that infection and the first week of TW's life. Her 24 hour plane flight, constant pain in her repaired knee due to the travel, absence from her work, and Bopa's willingness to let her go before a major surgery of his own were so very necessary. Her actions murmured to all of us that we are loved more than we know, that she and Bopa are so very glad we are in their life. That we are worth the hassle. We are left with nothing to do or say except thank you and hope our actions say the same thing to Nana and Bopa.