Torches; Passing On Thereof

The best part about having kids is realizing one day that you're done with all the sleep-deprivation and the booty wiping and the non-stop maintenance and that those tiny little things who couldn't breath without you are suddenly people.  Their OWN people.  People who you can do all sorts of kick-ass things with.

My son was chosen to be the editor of his classroom newsletter.  Excuse me while I do a geeky little happy dance of joy.  We sat up all night laying that sucker out.  He's got a headline article, a monthly recipe, a seasonal column and a monthly teacher spotlight, where he will one-by-one interview all the teachers in school.  Each teacher will get a standard lists of questions and then one that is a surprise, editorial if you will.  Teacher one is being asked, "Why was man able to set foot on the moon before they put wheels on suitcases?"

Gawd, I love that kid.

And oh yeah, he wants to start a blog.  And I'm totally going to let him.  And it will totally rock your socks.  Or bore you to tears.  Either way, I'll read it.

As if that's not good enough, I offer you evidence that I have sufficiently warped their little minds and can now retire to a treehouse in Fiji, with a drink in a pineapple rind and a little pet monkey.


I tried to take them the last time Weezer came through Denver, but it just so turned out that the baby likes Weezer, too, and decided to claw her way out of my more delicate bits right about the time the show would have started.  That's dedication, yo.

Angels and Airwaves opened for them, which is one of all of our favorite bands.

The kids were sort of, well, shocked by the whole thing.  I tried to prep them for the bass feelings in your chest, but I failed to mention that they might get something of a contact high (which I have no doubt they did, fucking Vancouver, man) and the boys spent the first 40 minutes of the show just about like this.

(By the way, can you tell what good seats we have?  The Donor never, EVER, has to do a load of laundry again.  He came through in a big way for me on this one.  We could see the sweat dripping off their foreheads, I tell ya.)

But when Weezer stepped out on stage, and before the lights even came up hit it hard with My Name Is Jonas, the mood all changed.

My kids?  ARE THE FREAKING COOLEST KIDS ON EARTH.  They lovelovelove Weezer.  They stood on their seats and screamed along with the band for the rest of the night.  I could die.

And then the 3 year old flipped out on the sitter, and I had to leave the boys behind and head home right when 1of3 grew the cajones to go crowd surfing (turns out, there's an age requirement.  Which?  Grrr) but the report is that the last half of the concert was exactly as good, if not better, than the first half.

Dude, I don't care if you're not much into nerd rock, I don't care if you're 96 3/4. Go to Weezer if they ever come through your town.  Take your kids.  They are flawless live.  And every single person, even the 8 year old in the section up from you, will be singing along at the top of their lungs to every song, all night long.  It'll be like Woodstock, only with talent.  Also, not disgusting.


PS: I was so excited, I even did my hair.  And so did Colleen. Just sayin.

See all of Lotus' not so geeky Weekly Winners right here.