Seven

I'm the last child my parents had. The "baby" as people like to say. I'm the seventh child.

My next-oldest sister enjoyed "baby of the family" status for five glorious years until I showed up. She likes to tell people that "We were The Brady Bunch until Heather came along and screwed everything up." Obviously, she's still not over losing her title. We hated each other growing up and now we're best friends. I still want to belt her when she makes the Brady Bunch comment, though.

So I came along and six became seven. Lucky number seven? Meh. Probably not. I think seven kids pretty much torched the last of my mom's sanity. In family pictures, she looks like she held it together right up until kid number five, then you see the screws coming loose. By the time I arrived, she was OVER. IT. Every picture of her after my birth, she's practically climbing out of the frame. I just have two kids and I can't say that I blame her.

Instead of The Brady Bunch, we became the Seven Dwarves. At least, that's what everyone hooted when they heard "seven kids." "Harharharhar! Seven kids! You're the seven dwarves! HARHARHAR!" Yeah. That never gets old. And it wasn't enough just to point out the Snow White connection. Idiots who point that kind of crap out always have to ask, "SO! Which dwarf are you?!"

May I use this opportunity to educate you? Thanks.

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves is a very old story. It goes back to the middle 1800's at least. In some versions, the dwarves are knights. Mostly, they're just short dudes who let Snow White crash with them in exchange for cooking and cleaning. The dwarves weren't named until that Disney came along. Suddenly, every dwarf needed a name. Every dwarf needed a label. Bashful, Doc, Dopey, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy and Sneezy. Well, fine.

So when people asked us which dwarf we were, my brothers were all too happy to start throwing labels around. Guess who got to be Dopey each and every time? Harumph.

Crybaby

I think the first movie that made me cry was "E.T.". I was, what, 12-years-old so I was a pretty easy mark. After that it was "Out of Africa." I can't plead immaturity there. I think I was 18 when I saw Karen Blixen get her heart stomped all over Kenya. I was never quite the same after that. Any Hollywood tear-jerking formula got right to me. "Four Weddings and a Funeral", "Steel Magnolias", "It's a Wonderful Life", whatever. Give me a giant box of tissues with my popcorn, please.

It drove the Grinch crazy to hear me sniffling beside him. The man has no heart. He could watch poor M'lynn rant and rave next to Shelby's grave a thousand times and never even feel a tickle in his tear duct. I'd be sobbing into a pillow....then rewinding to watch it all over again. I don't know why movies got to me so easily. I think too much about how the characters feel. It becomes how I feel and then, choke, sob, murblurblubrbbbbb...

A funny thing happened on the way to the cineplex a couple of years ago. I saw an interview with CNN's Walter Rodgers. A reporter asked him how he could cover wars and famines and express genuine concern for the people involved, but not shed a tear. He said, "You have to remember that you have a job to do, you have to remember to tell the story."

I stopped thinking about the characters and started thinking about the scriptwriters and the director and the jobs they do. I started looking for all their tear-jerking cues and resisting them. "It's just a story. They're trying to make me cry and I won't do it. It's just a story." And it worked! No more tears. I tearlessly watched Jack's frosty blue face slip underwater in "Titanic" and never looked back.

Then I became a mother and all bets were off, especially where movie kids are involved. I see children in danger, or mommas fretting over their sick/imperiled child and my stomach knots up, my head swims and I start choking back tears all over again. I want to jump through the screen and protect everyone. Sometimes during the quiet, lonely weekend overnights at work, I'll have a movie up, sound down, on the TV monitor at my desk. Today it was "Deep Impact." Every scene had some kid running from danger or seeing their mommy or daddy for the last time and I nearly lost it. When Leelee Sobieski's mom hands her the newborn and tells her to run for it? Dude. I had to leave the room or I would have started sobbing at work OVER A STUPID MOVIE. Not. Cool.

So here's the thing, Hollywood: I'm still not crying over shipwrecked loves or prostitutes with hearts of gold. Every drunk in Las Vegas can die alone in their motel rooms and I won't even blink. But you put a kid in danger or have a momma worrying about their bebes and we have a problem.

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO DO TO ME scriptwriters. You WANT me to cry. Are you challenging me? Fine. Bring it on. Go ahead and tie Dakota Fanning to the nose of a rocket-powered, monkey-piloted spaceship that will save Earth from certain doom. I. WILL. NOT. CRY. Much.

Every Vote Counts

Quickie: Go over here and vote for my new hairstyle. I'm not thrilled by the choices. (It's pretty obvious which one I'll pick.) But I've been waiting nearly a year for this so let's make it count. That picture was taken a few days before Dos was born which should explain the super shiny hair and double chin. My hair is much longer now, a couple of centimeters away from my coccyx at least. I'll definitely donate the hair to Locks of Love when I get it cut, so go vote and you'll be doing something good. Yay, feelgoodism!

My Life as a Movie Poster

Ingrid tagged me for a meme! It's my first! This was a good one, too, because she asked people to cast a movie about their lives. I used to love going to the movies (pre-rude audiences, crappy movies, crappy schedule and children). I was once a movie critic, too! Oh, what you people don't know about me. We'll catch up soon enough.

Anyway, go read my guest post/meme response here and get the story behind this:

Six Things I Don't Understand

(Bottom right: Jennifer Lopez. I understand HER. I just don't understand the apparent universal appeal of her butt.)



Created using http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/ mosaic tool

Whatcha Say, Sonny?

I was feeling pretty good about getting through my whole first week back at work. I did it without caffeine. I did it on four hours of sleep a night. I did it without crying...much. Everyone is still alive at home. We've eaten a lot of leftovers and some frozen pizzas, but we're still alive the kids are happy as far as we can tell.

So I was checking up on some insurance coverage details and came across some of the details of my recent claims, like Dos' birth. That's when I saw the words "Elderly Multigravida" next to my name. Dear Google, what is this interesting term and WHY is it being applied to me? "Elderly multigravida. Second or more pregnancy in a woman who will be 35 years of age or older at expected date of delivery." Well, yeah. That WOULD be me, wouldn't it?

Elderly. I'm elderly. I'm 39 years old and ELDERLY.

I feel a sudden need to wear pink polyester pants with an elastic waist, a flowery shirt, squishy shoes and go to Shoney's for the early bird special.

Didja hear me, sonny? I'm elllllllllllderlllllllllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyy.

10 Reasons Why I'm Weird (to most people)

1. I like my pizza without cheese.
2. We don't have cable, the dish, or TIVO in my house. We haven't watched TV at home in months.
3. I work the overnight shift and take care of my child all day.
4. I hold my breath when I walk past people in the hallway.
5. I pick up my feet when driving over railroad crossings. It's an old superstition
6. I can't eat a handful of food. Like M&Ms: I have to eat them in twos.
7. I once co-hosted a reggae music show on the radio.
8. I love the smell of coffee but hate the taste of it.
9. I have never been to New York.
10. I firmly believe that white chocolate is an abomination.