Klowns in my Koffee

Despite today's downpour, we had the kind of 50's sitcom family-centered day that would give Norman Rockwell a run for his money if he weren't always busy smoking his pipe.

My in-laws are visiting as part of a family celebration of my husband's and mother-in-law's birthdays. Having houseguests for me is that definitive deadline that causes me to put at least a part of the house in order.

First stop after breakfast this morning was the dress rehearsal for my daughter's dance recital tomorrow. The dance instructor's brand identity is that she taught the children of the rich and famous in Los Angeles for 15 years. "If the kids of Clint Eastwood, Rod Stewart and Jeff Bridges can tap, then why not my kids?" She has a Blanche-Dubois-on-acid personality that makes a control freak like me look like the Dalai Lama. She apparently had a bad experience with swimming earlier in life since she repeatedly admonished the parents in the audience not to allow their children to go swimming before the recital to avoid being overtired. I had not considered the option of getting up early on a Sunday morning to go swimming but, now that it is forbidden, it has the appeal of the taboo and I want to do it. I was blissfully unaware of the rule about swimming before dancing and wanted to ask if there was a certain time limit as in waiting an hour after eating but I was concerned that she would charge me like a velociraptor if I interrupted again.

After three repetitions of "My Raggedy Doll has a happy face ..." we were able to escape the practice and head for the baseball game, in the process transforming a child dressed as Raggedy Ann into a child dressed as a little outfielder with a lot of rouge and raccoon eyes from mascara and tears.

We arrived at my daughter's game for the last five minutes, limiting her participation to standing next to the dugout and shaking hands with the opposing team.

Our son's game was next. He played very well, including hitting two doubles. This is only hearsay because these magnificent plays happen only when I'm in the bathroom or otherwise engaged. But the grandparents took some terrific pictures so we have the evidence this time. About halfway through the game, it ceased raining steadily, allowing us to come out from under the SpongeBob Squarepants umbrella.

After the game, a few quick errands and then well-deserved naps. The evening rolled into making pizzas, blowing out candles on the chocolate mousse birthday cake, and then attempts on our new Rock Band game that set back musical culture by decades. A band is only as weak as its weakest drummer. We'll definitely need some practice before taking the tour on the road and opening for the Stones. I had a flashback to the year spent as the worst bass drummer in the history of Watertown High School. Fortunately, I snapped back in time to close our session with a faux guitar solo in Gimme Shelter. It's a just a shot away ...

All in all, a very nice day