Some days it feels like I’m on the set of a movie. A great, big Hollywood blockbuster!
Not that my life is particularly dramatic or anything, but much in the same way that a song can take you back to a certain place or time, a conversation or an event can occur that pulls up a memory of a movie I’ve seen.
Take for example, the other morning …
When I asked my oldest son to put his socks on, he started muttering things under his breath like, “I told you! I spent it with my uncle in Alaska hunting wolverines” and stomping around a la Napoleon Dynamite. I don’t know where it came from, but he was definitely channeling that curly-haired, bespectacled geek.
I then went upstairs only to find my middle son walking out of the bathroom where he had just plastered his hair with copious amounts of hair gel achieving the unfortunate look of a certain German dictator. Trying very hard to stifle a laugh I pondered, was I now on the set of Inglourious Basterds?
After helping that son re-style his hair, cue to me walking downstairs to be met by my tiny little dog who had just had the most ginormous wee … on my hard wood floor. I kid you not, it was akin to the giant flood in that crap movie that was 2012. Where was my ark to save me from the rising waters?
I stomped myself through to the next room where I was met with my youngest sitting on the loo. He was surrounded by the biggest pile of what looked like used toilet paper, grinning away at me telling me, ‘Look, mummy I wiped my own butt.” Aaargh, where was Ben Stiller and the rest of the cast from Meet the Fockers?
If only I’d had a film crew in my house … and, scene!