The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions

Tuesdays Suck… Here's Some Free Stuff to Make You Feel Better, Vol. II

Judith Shakespeare — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 22:13:48 +0000

A couple of weeks ago, I decided that free stuff may make Tuesdays a little better (This is the part where I get to quote myself, awesome, isn't it?):

I dread- DREAD – Mondays. Tuesdays are much worse, however, as they tend to completely ruin the giddiness leftover by getting through a dreary Monday by still being four whole freaking days away from the weekend. Meh.

So, in order to make your Tuesdays a little less meh and a little more yeah [insert cheesy drum roll and cymbal clash here], I'm going to try to give you something nifty *each* week.

Now, for the handful of you who read my blog on a regular basis (the handful of all that is awesome and kickass in this world, of course), you totally know that I'm a complete flake and that the little asterisks around the "each" in that mouthful above were there for a reason…

Specifically-

To let anyone who is not aware of the flakiness of my being to become aware of said flakiness and not expect consistency of any sort whatsoever.

In other words, the word "each" in this case could actually probably sometimes and most likely means…

"Every other week"

"Every three weeks"

"Look I gave you something that one time, didn't I???"

And yet…

Here it is…

A Tuesday.

And I have something for you.

[How 'ya like them apples, Matt Damon?]

Last week, I was invited to join an online community and forum for amateur, hobbyist, and professional women photographers called ClickinMoms. The site is super-cute (technical term), is a little over a year old, and has over 4,000 members who all share a love of photography—

That's a lot of good minds in one place, I tell 'ya.

So many good minds, in fact, that I've only just barely skimmed through the knowledge and support that such a like-minded community has to offer…

So far, I've found countless threads full of useful and fabulous information on how to start your own photography business, where to find the best post processing tools, exclusive vendor discounts and group buys, posing suggestions, photo critique, reviews and suggestions… Quite frankly, I think that you'd be pretty hard-pressed to find another site geared specifically to women and moms and PHOTOGRAPHY than this one.

I'm totally in love.

That said, I've got a one year membership to ClickinMoms to give away so that you can give it a go and perhaps fall in love as well.

Want it?

Of course, you do.

To enter for a chance to win one whole year of membership to ClickinMoms ($50), do any and/or all of the following:

Leave a comment on this post letting me know what your least favorite day of the week is.
Leave a comment that mentions Matt Damon.
Leave a comment with a link to your Flickr, Photobucket, or latest post that contains a picture that you've taken.
Leave a comment with a link to where you've Tweeted, Facebooked, Plurked (is plurking still acceptable?) or promoted the giveaway in any way.
Tell me how pretty I look today. ( Tuesdays suck. What can I say?)

Each action counts as an entry and you can do any and all as often as you like between now and Friday.

Especially the telling me how pretty I look bit.

Seriously.

(ClickinMoms also has monthly plans as well if you'd like to jump in right away- I'm judithshakes- click here to join me.)

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

When There's More Than One, It's Called a Murder…

Judith Shakespeare — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 01:39:34 +0000

Something Wicked This Way Comes…

While getting ready for Halloween festivities, I looked over at my super-cute daughter, 3, prancing about in the hastily purchased drugstore sorceress costume and said, "Oh, honey, you look pretty!"

To which she responded, "Yep, mama. I look GOOD."

Are You Questioning My Badassness?

That Middle One, 5, came home from school last week a little upset because a little girl didn't pick him for some random classroom thing that day. I asked him what happened… He explained that "Leena" was supposed to pick someone for "something" and that if you wanted to do it, you were supposed to raise your hand. "I raised my hand, mama, but she didn't pick me because she doesn't like me."

"Really, honey? Why do you think she doesn't like you?"

"She said that she doesn't like me because I make green checks all of the time…"

(Green checks are given daily for good behavior, yellow for the questionable, and blue for the times when a child makes the kindergartner teacher cry.)

"I told her that I made a yellow check on the first calendar…

And that I made a yellow check on the second calendar…

And that I was probably going to make a yellow check on this calendar too."

My Sincerest Apologies, Mother

[This spot reserved for something that my oldest, 10, may eventually say that isn't snotty nor frighteningly reminiscent of a ten-year-old me.]

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Can We Stop Now? My Ears Are Starting to Hurt…

Judith Shakespeare — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 01:56:00 +0000

I was terribly grumpy today.

Not that I'm usually a big ball of sunshine and ooohlookatthatprettykittyridingtheunicornonthatbigrainbow type of person or anything, but today's lack of joy was a *tad* more noticeable to all. Including that old lady in traffic that I flipped the bird to… totally on accident, of course.

At first, I chalked up said grumpiness to the odd case of plague running about Shakepeare-ville that turns normally lovely little children into bonafide zombie spawn of Satan (more on that tomorrow)…

But then I realized that it probably was actually due to the fact that that stupid Confessions song has been stuck in my head non-stop since the Glee kids did the mash-up competition a few weeks ago (If you have no idea what I'm talking about here, get thee to a Hulu or a Fancast or wherever it is that you snake free t.v. from posthaste.)…

And, last night, it was the LOUDEST tune from the one song soundtrack that played continuously throughout my otherwise lovely dream about…

well…

let's just say that Chuck Bass (please see the if you have no idea what I'm talking about disclaimer from paragraph four) paused at a very inopportune moment to tell me to, "stop singing that rubbish and pay attention here."

Seriously, folks, the phrase "chick on the side" has passed through my lips so many times at this point that I've picked up my car keys on more than one occasion to drive her to the clinic my damned self.

I need help.

So much so that I'm about two seconds away from pulling out the Rent soundtrack.

And then it's all just downhill and dead unicorns from there.

[This is the part of the post where someone who didn't love you would include an audio player that automatically started playing through a looped playlist consisting of Confessions [Part Whatever.. who the hell names their songs in parts... smells like douchebaggery if you ask me] and La Vie Boheme… You may thank me in a comment below. ]

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

And then Kramer said, "Not everyday!"

Judith Shakespeare — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 16:07:52 +0000

Last night, my toddler hugged my leg.

He quickly jumped back with a screech.

Mama, he looked at me with confusion on his face, you've got SPIKES growing out of your legs!

I told him that it was how I defended myself against alien invaders.

He nodded his head in apparent agreement and even a little awe.

If only all men were so easily impressed, eh?

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Tuesdays Suck. Here's Some Free Stuff to Make You Feel Better.

Judith Shakespeare — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 19:18:08 +0000

I dread- DREAD – Mondays. Tuesdays are much worse, however, as they tend to completely ruin the giddiness leftover by getting through a dreary Monday by still being four whole freaking days away from the weekend. Meh.

So, in order to make your Tuesdays a little less meh and a little more yeah [insert cheesy drum roll and cymbal clash here], I'm going to try to give you something nifty *each* week.

Since I will soon be opening up a special design shop inside JudithShakes Designs geared towards photographers, I thought that I'd give you a little taste of what I'll be offering by giving you guys my new "Little Snowflakes" Greeting Card Templates for Photoshop (CS2+).

This template pack has 4 different 5.25in x 7.25in holiday .psd designs that use clipping masks (if you don't know how to use clipping masks (and, dude, they're awesome, you should totally learn how to use clipping masks) there are a couple of really great tutorials here, here, and here (video, woo hoo!)).

They're absolutely free, and you can use them in both your personal and professional projects as needed. I just ask that you give me a little feedback to let me know how they worked for you and whether or not you'd like me to keep posting things of this nature here on my personal blog (or if you'd prefer that I stick to sarcasm and senseless anecdotes).

Fonts are not included but can be downloaded here and here.

To download, click on the "Add to Cart" button below!

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Cutting Corners with Chainsaws & Various Other Things That Bear No Relevance

Judith Shakespeare — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 16:43:41 +0000

Oatmeal Cranberry Walnut Cookies

Please stop licking your computer screen. I'm fairly certain it tastes like ass. And it can't be at all sanitary…

But if it makes you feel better, the very quick and super easy three step recipe for those nomilicious cookies pictured above can be found at the bottom of this post once you're done reading all of my fascinating and thought-provoking personal dialogue.

Unless, of course, you skip the rest of this post.

Which is totally cheating.

And nobody likes a cheater.

Not even Baby Jesus.

Just sayin'.

Now where were we…?

Ah, yes, I know… thought-provoking dialogue. Got it.

When I was kid, I was neighbors and friends with the daughter of our high school's home economics teacher. Home economics not being my thing, I, of course, completely missed out on learning how to properly sew (something that I now regret) and all of the benefits of using a crying, pooping, needs-to-be-held robot baby as a sex education tool (something that I now regret even more). But I had a friend whose mom was the home ec teacher. Bygones.

One evening, while having dinner at said friend's house, I sat in silent amazement at the beautiful weekday meal that her mom had made. I just couldn't imagine how much this woman had her shit together in order to work all day, cater to the whims of two children, run about to and fro and do all of those other necessary things that mothers do, and still have time to come home and put together a homemade lasagna, a vegetable side with a fancy name, fresh bread and salad, iced teas in pretty glasses, and a cake to boot.

My mom was making macaroni and cheese.

And no cake.

Unless Little Debbie's count.

(And, dude, they sooo do.)

After dinner, when I was helping my friend with the dishes (because, in my book of newfound appreciation for both Donna Reid and Clare Huxtable, her mom needed a moment to put up her feet and relax), I began waxing poetic on how awesome the meal was and how I just didn't know how her mom had the time and perhaps I should take home ec to learn the trade… yada, yada, yada. I think I was probably going into the tenth solid minute of discussing, most inappropriately for a teenager that had much better things to occupy her mind (read: boys), how time consuming making a homemade lasagna must be, when she held up her hand and said in a most exasperated voice,

"Judith, it's just Stoffer's."

Judith's Three-Step Nomilicios Oatmeal Cranberry Walnut Cookies

Step One: Visit your local Kroger's and spend a whopping $2.50 on a package of their premade Oatmeal Cranberry Walnut Cookie Dough.

Step Two: Follow the directions on the package.

Step Three: Relax, put your feet up, and enjoy.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

This is not a test. Okay… it could be. But there's no annoying beeping noise, so just be thankful and read the friggin' post already.

Judith Shakespeare — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 01:53:13 +0000

I've lost my microwave.

How does one lose a microwave, you ask?

Frankly, my dears, I have absolutely no clue.

All I know is that I had a microwave and now I do not.

I had a microwave in Louisiana (the first tour). I happily nuked stuff in the Egypt that was McCrory, Arkansas. I re-heated many a leftover slice of pizza in that aptly named town of Bald Knob, and Alabama dished out the bags of microwavable popcorn as only a pretty little box of cancer-causing waves of radiation can…

And, yet, here I find myself sitting in our new house [insert huge sigh of relief],quietly tucked away in a private little road smack dab in the middle of suburbia, tearfully reflecting on the big gaping hole in my heart (and countertop) that was once consoled and temporarily filled by the sweet smell of quickly heated baked goods and other various fattening things that taste like heaven once made gooey and nearly unrecognizable by the tiny waves of happy heat that could only come from the devil because they are just that awesome and obviously evil.

(Oh sweet saucer of microwaved Hershey's sauce over ice cream/fudge/dinner, you complete me.)

I've lost my microwave.

And it totally sucks in a cold and unforgiving way.

And, combined with the fact that there is no dishwasher in my new (old) house, it may just cause me to lose my mind.

As soon as I unpack it, that is.

On the other hand…

My three-year-old just told the noisy kids next door to "be quiet, dudes".

So I take it back.

All is right with the world.

And the stove gets hot, right?

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Call Me When I'm Sober…

Judith Shakespeare — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 19:16:57 +0000

Thursday

Hours to New Orleans from Huntsville via minivan equipped with 3 screaming children: 7

Friday

Hours necessary for errant husband to convince me to move back to Louisiana despite my SIGNIFICANT (Look! ALL CAPS for EMPHASIS) misgivings: 5

Saturday

Hours to Hunstville from New Orleans via minivan with no screaming children: 6

Sunday

Hours to reassure me that this was a good idea: 24

Monday

Hours to rent truck, pack shit, load it all up: 9

Hours spent convincing me that this was still a good idea: 24

Hours from Huntsville to Lake Charles, Louisiana via slow-ass moving truck: 10.5

Hours slept: 0

Tuesday

Hours spent reflecting on what exactly went wrong in your life in order to end up living with your mother-in-law after all: [censored]

Wednesday

We're heading back to New Orleans tonight to pick up the Spawn of Shakespeare from my mother's house. I am tired. I am grouchy. My face has broken out from the stress, and I've yet to surface from this cloud of complete disbelief and chaos.

I am in desperate need of a good book, a hot bath, and a significantly large dose of liquid demerol.

I am also in desperate need of a good long look at my life…

This spur of the moment shit is for the birds.

Perhaps it's time to become boring.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

…And All I Got Was That Stupid Hickey

Judith Shakespeare — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 05:20:13 +0000

I once gave one of my favorite pair of sunglasses to one of my favorite rockstars.

He wore them on stage for all of three bars and then dropped them promptly to the floor.

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

It's midnight here in Deliverance. I'm leaving at four to make my way down to New Orleans- me, three Spawn of Shakespeare, and my new GPS Gertrude (RIP Betty). I've pin-marked all of the Starbucks on the way and have loaded my iPod with all of the best traveling songs…

All the makings of a great roadtrip.

If I could get to sleep, that is.

P.S. My cell number is on my Facebook, feel free to call and revel in my "must talk in order to not fall asleep" conversation. We'll talk about rockstars and cherry chapstick and the price of tea in China.

Or monkeys.

Whatever.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Lady Sing the Blues…

Judith Shakespeare — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 17:04:44 +0000

...as if she mean it.

The funny thing about being Gypsy-born is that constant desire for the mundane.

For the standard fare.

For the prince charming, the picket fence, the Sunday dinners, and shiny kitchen sink.

The funniest thing about being Gypsy-born is the inherent knowledge that princes tend to be assholes, picket fences never stay white for long, you can't cook worth a shit…

And who the hell looks at kitchen sinks anyhow?

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

On the Owning of a Kitten, Part I (A Guide by Judith Shakespeare)

Judith Shakespeare — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 23:11:24 +0000

Kittens, my dear friend, are very curious creatures.

They care not a whit for your sensibilities nor your culture and are quite happy to become that thing inside your household around which the entire world revolves. This, of course, may cause quite a bit of concern amongst the small people previously in the position of that thing and, in such cases, a bit of cattiness is to be expected (do pardon the pun).

One must thoroughly check the clothes dryer before shutting its door.

This process should be repeated with the refrigerator, bathroom cabinets, and toilets as well.

Proper grooming is vital for all manner of man or beast. Your kitten is no exception. He should be groomed regularly and thoroughly, with no bramble left untangled and no eye un-gunked. It is very important that you not forget to file the nails as they tend to be overly sharp and will easily tear through all manner of fabric, furniture, skin, and Prada. Various contraptions, such as clippers and specially made scissors, are available to aid in the endeavor. This author strongly cautions against the use of the popular electric rotating-files as seen on your television screen, however, as the kittens used to test these files are obviously robot kittens and immune to the roll and thunder of the device.

Your kitten is most likely not a robot kitten and will not be pleased.

Neither will your arms.

The male gene in any species is known to cause particular peculiarities amongst its kind. Much as your male counterpart will fall asleep with his hand lovingly cupped over his unmentionables, your kitten will seek warm and safe places in which to keep his nethers fairly toasty. One such place is your nightstand, wrapped around your alarm clock. Or, perhaps, on your kitchen cabinet near your ever-running coffee pot. If you are of the geek persuasion, for instance, your kitten may be at his most happiest with his scrotum pressed tightly up against the back of your laptop.

In such cases, this author recommends the frequent saving of your work as overheating is more than likely to occur.

A laptop stand with a fan is a great help. Your favorite local electronics store should have several models from which to choose. A knowledgeable employee should be able to help you determine which models and brands best suit your needs based on the type of machine, hours of use, and the size of your kitten's balls.

Weekly measurements should be written down and handily placed in your reticule for just such purposes.

Current pet foods are formulated specifically with all of your kitten's nutritional needs in mind. It is neither recommended nor encouraged that you supplement his diet with foodstuffs meant for only human ingestion. Promptly cover and put away any leftovers or take-out. This, despite a sense of some logic, includes that plate of California Rolls from lunch. While the roll itself may be perfectly acceptable for digestion, that wasabi, in all likelihood, will be a terrible reminder of the reasons why this author insists that one should never allow a kitten to share one's pillow.

In the next installment of this guide, one can expect to find project charts on the many uses of shredded toilet paper, step-by-step instructions for removing dried ramen noodle from your kitten's ear, as well as several paragraphs on the mending of blinds.

Please stay tuned.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment.

Judith Shakespeare — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 17:33:11 +0000

Fact:

There are parents in this world who honest-to-goodness think that their teenagers really do need that new car that looks just like the one from that movie.

Fact:

There are children in this world who really believe that the pretty yellow car that just sped by is actually a robot in disguise.

Fact:

There are mothers in this world who will grin and gladly heed a toddler’s call of, “Mama! Follow that Bumblebee!!!”

Fact:

There are teenagers in this world who drive shiny new sports cars and think that the crazy laughing woman in the minivan is having a grand ol’ time and wants them to go faster.

Fact:

There are crazy women in mini-vans in this world who really will be having a grand ol’ time.

Fact:

There are cops in this world who will pull you over for doing a measly seven miles over the speed limit.

Fiction:

There are cops in this world who, when faced with the decision to pull over either teenager in shiny car or woman in minivan, will always choose teenager in shiny car.

Fact:

There are women in this world who have been pulled over thirty-eight times and have never once received a ticket.

Fiction:

There are women in this world who have been pulled over thirty-eight times and have never once received a ticket… without ever flashing an indecent amount of cleavage.

Fact:

There are children in this world who are so disappointed to have lost the chase that they suddenly find themselves with the capabilities to make the worst stink-eyes EVER.

Fiction:

There are stink-eyes in this world bad enough to get you out of a speeding ticket.

Fact:

There are flashes of cleavage in this world that still will.

Thank God.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Bed Head, Aliens, and Cat Scratch Fever… Oh my! (Weekly Winners)

Judith Shakespeare — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 18:32:12 +0000

Brought to you by Little Man's alien thumbs.

Click on the thumbnails above for larger images… And when you're done with that, head on over to Sarcastic Mom's place for more Weekly Winners.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

Well Sinead O'Rebellion…

Judith Shakespeare — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 22:11:13 +0000

The 15th Commandment, July 2009.

Believe it or not, I’m the level-headed person in this [text] conversation.

The other chick is my sister.

She’s blond.

Obviously.

“I want that tattoo like hayden pantierre? has… to live without regrets in Italian. Vivere senza rimplanti. Look it up. Hers is spelled wrong but that’s the right spelling.”

“Never get words in a language you don’t understand tattooed on you”

“That is the right spelling, and I want it on my side like that.”

“Says who? Google? LOL”

“Just look it up and she just said it on the dave. l. show.”

“It probably actually says something like “girl like big penis”.”

“Shut up”

“You know you like big penis, so it’ll be a good tattoo for you.”

“LOL. It’s rimpianti, I thought it was an ‘l’.”

“No—that one just means “girl like tiny penis”. Duh.”

“You’re crazy, just look it up in the Italian Dictionary.”

“Oh yeah… totally got one of those hangin around. BTW, foreign words often mean different things depending on the context. There’s a word in French that means “full” but when used in a sentence, it means “pregnant”. So you’re probably getting “girl is full of big penis and is subsequently pregnant with sextuplets” tattooed on your side… And that’s just NASTY.”

She didn’t respond.

Hopefully she thinks I’m full of shit and will ignore the sage sisterly advice.

“She Who Likes Big Penis” will look plum AWESOME on the Christmas cards, don't you think?

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.

P.S. Santa Claus isn't really real.

Judith Shakespeare — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 17:38:59 +0000

transforme- french for make your kid cry, 2009.

The boys have been on my case for the last month about the new Transformers movie…

I was reminded on a daily basis that it was coming… And that I would need to put on my big girl panties and brave the theaters as soon as it did. (For those of you new to the land of Shakespeare, movie theaters are out to get Judith. And her little dog too, if you know what I'm sayin'– And I think you do. Or maybe not. Whatever. It totally made sense in my head.) So, like the good "let my kids watch movies with guns and alien warfare" mom that I am, I set aside an extra $50 in last week's budget, dropped the girl child off at my sister's, and headed to the seven o'clock feature Wednesday evening.

Which, of course, was totally sold out.

So I bought tickets for the 7:30…

And then spent the next twenty minutes slapping my kids' hands away from the six pounds of illegal candy stashed in my purse while they read over the free little Transformers comic books that the nice lady at the ticket counter handed us as we walked in…

Which, incidentally, gave away the majority of the plot of the movie we were just about to see.

Yay.

The hodgepodge bundle of confusion previews before the movie included the trailer for the new Harry Potter, Ice Age 3, and Public Enemies… the latter causing That Middle One to immediately stick his hands over his eyes due to either the "man shooting at man" violence (as opposed to man shooting at robot violence, which is obviously acceptable) or the fact that I've ogled Johnny Depp so much during my child's lifetime that the actor has simply become the equivalent of yucky grown-up kissing scenes and other random televised moments from which children run screaming.

Oh god…

Johnny Depp has totally become my child's Freddy Krueger/The Thorn Birds.

That is just so wrong on so many levels.

The movie itself was what I expected and along the lines of the first movie, with the exceptions of the addition of more cursing (to which my child would basically scream at the screen, "That's a baaad word!") , the fact that you saw more people actually killed as opposed to implied killed (I prefer the implied killed, truth be told.), and the extremely unnecessary 45 minutes of scenes that switched back and forth between dude running in circles and random indiscernible robots fighting.

My kid, however, was NOT impressed.

[Hi! This is your friendly neighborhood spoiler warning. If the plot of a silly action flick precedes your desire to continue reading this witty and anecdotal post, I suggest you turn back now... and perhaps take another long life-look into your priorities.]

Dude, they killed Optimus Prime.

They. Killed. Optimus. Prime.

We were hardly into the movie at all when it happened, and I looked over to see the most heartbreaking devastation on his sweet little face as he watched the screen… There were tears in his eyes, people. TEARS.

And then he turned to me with a look that can only be decribed as,

"What in the ever-living HELL is going on here? What did they DO? Which DUMBASS is responsible for THIS? Mama, DOOOOO something!"

Followed by an adamant,

"It's time to go home now, Mama."

I patted his knee and reassured him that things would get better…

He was doubtful.

I then spent the next thirty or forty minutes watching as his little face fell farther and farther as it seemed the good guys could never win, all the while thinking myself, "What in the ever-living HELL is going on here? What did they DO? Which DUMBASS is responsible for THIS?"

The good guys were losing so much, that even the smallest coup received an exuberant yell and two little five-year-old hands thrown in the air with joy.

It. was. depressing.

When we finally got up for the obligulatory "important scene" bathroom break, he again told me that it was time to go home. This time, though, he threw in a quivering lip for good measure.

The quivering lip.

Sigh.

Balancing myself, as no clumsy person should, while using my foot to flush the toilet, I explained to him that they were going to bring Optimus back. Sam had a plan. And if theycould bring Mega-whatever-his-name-is back from the dead, then I'm certain, CERTAIN, that they could bring Optimus back as well.

He looked hopeful.

All was right with the world…

Then they killed Sam.

Damnit.

In the end, though, everything turned out fine… Good guys won. Bad guys lost (but got away for another movie,of course). Kid was happy (although perhaps a bit more jaded). And I finally got around to drinking that bottle of shiraz that I bought last week.

Another movie experience well spent.

Big girl panties, indeed.

Karma is real. Please don't steal. © Judith Shakespeare for The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions, 2009.