All mothering and no fun is, well, no fun. It’s spring break at Mamazina contributor Loren Christie’s house — let’s take a look:
Here’s why: Guess who picks out the movies while I’m at work? Last night I had to endure Body of Lies. It’s not that I don’t like Leonardo DiCaprio films. I liked him in Gangs of New York, and I can’t wait to see Inception. I thought he was great in Romeo and Juliet and Titanic. However, do I like watching him get his fingers smashed with a hammer by terrorists?
Picture me not finding that entertaining. After about five minutes of hearing the actor scream and covering my eyes, I shout:
“No, it’s just getting good,” my husband insists.
“Shut it off!” I yell, pulling my head into the case on my pillow.
“NO!” he shouts.
So I reach for the remote, but he grabs it too and we wrestle.
God made him stronger, but He made me sly as a fox. There’s an old family rumor that a paternal great-grandmother of mine was the daughter of an unknown vaudeville actress. So, even though I lose the battle on the couch for the remote control, this war is far from over yet.
In all likelihood, I think, as I sit fuming with my arms crossed, an Oscar performance will ultimately lead me to victory. So, I throw my hands up in the air dramatically and march out of the room exclaiming,”That’s enough for me. This is torture. I can’t look anymore. How can you enjoy watching this violence?”
I retreat to the restroom to find the tissues so I can wipe my tears over poor Leonardo’s fingers. My spouse is laughing at me. Then I turn mad and he looks surprised.
“It’s just a movie,” he says, exasperated.
“How can those bad men smash someone so cool?” I slobber the thought all over a tissue.
My husband frowns and switches on NBC. (My plan is working.)
As I sink back down onto my pillow clutching my tissue box and trying to hold back a grin I hear:
“The hills are alive with the sound of music!”
“Ah, a nice movie,” I say, smiling.
But not even ten minutes into watching, my other half is looking up at the ceiling, over at the door, frowning and whining like a sick dog.
Then, at the scene in the gazebo where Maria and Captain von Trapp declare their love in song, the man I married jumps up and runs out of the room.
“I can’t watch this movie anymore. It’s torture!” he says, retreating to the bathroom.
And I’m left there to wonder as I laugh out loud, how did this veteran ever graduate from boot camp?
“The Sound of Music is not torture,” I insist, gloating over my win by adding, “Are you sure you spent four years defending our country before we met?” When I hear the bathroom door slam in response, I am busy hiding the remote control between the couch cushions in anticipation of the impending marital Cold War.
Bio: Loren Christie is a mom of three and writer from New York. Visit Loren’s blog Dude, Where Am I?.
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Photo credit: Tv Controller by Anna Cervova