Olympic fever.

Last week, RegularDad and I were sitting in the living room, flicking through the channels, when we happened upon the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics. Oooooh, let’s watch, I said. Which is weird, because I never get into the Olympics. Seriously. The last time I remember ever actually watching them is when Mary Lou Retton won all those perfect 10’s, way back when.

But, for some reason, this year, I’m hooked. I can’t stop watching the damned Olympics. And, if I may paraphrase what it says up in the banner up there, I don’t have time for this. The laundry is piling up, I haven’t exercised since the games started, I’m eating way too much junk food way too late at night, I’m missing out on some sorely-needed sleep, and it’s starting to show.

Two weeks ago, I had no idea who Michael Phelps was. Now, I hang on the edge of my sofa for every race. Two nights ago I stayed up past midnight watching the swimming races. I collapsed into bed at 1:00 am, and when RegularDad’s alarm woke me up a few hours later, the first thing I heard was the garbage truck rolling up the street:

“Oh no!” I said to him. “I forgot to put out the trash.”
“It’s okay. That’s not the trash truck,” he said. “That’s the recycling truck.”
“No,” I said. “Recycling only comes on Monday.”
He looked at me funny and said, “It IS Monday…. How late were you up last night?”

The next night, I stayed up until 1:00 in the morning to see the final outcome of men’s gymnastics. I mean, I could not go to bed until I saw if they got the medal. Seriously.

Last night, we tuned in for the women’s gymnastic finals. We ate cheesy puffs and drank grape juice in honor of all the calories they were burning on the screen. We noted the obvious young-ness of the Chinese team a half hour BEFORE the TV announcers made reference to it. I mean, two of them looked to be maybe twelve years old. Thirteen, tops. And we also noticed how the American girls looked so… TOUGH. Like some sort of modern West Side Story gang of girls. And we also noted the overall BLONDE-NESS of the group. Oh sure, they had a token brunette and a token redhead, but other than that, they were WAY BLONDE. I know it must have been the pressure they were under, but they just looked… MEAN. I’m sure in real life, they’re very nice young ladies.

A little after 11:00, RegularDad had to go to bed. He has to get up early in the mornings and go to work. Me, I’ve got to get up early because the kids get up early (My Kingdom For Children Who Sleep Later Than 6:00 AM!!!!!) but it’s not like I’ve got to operate heavy machinery or anything. So, I stayed up to watch the end. The next morning, when RegularDad’s alarm went off, I woke up with a headache that promised to linger all day long.

“So, how’d it end?” RegularDad asked me.
“We got the silver,” I said. “We could have got the gold but one of the girls fell off the balance beam, and it all went down hill from there.”
“Oh. Which one fell?”
“The blonde one.”
“Um, yeah. Which blonde one?”
“You know… that mean-looking one.”

He almost asked “WHICH mean-looking one?” but then must have realized how quickly we were succumbing to a horrible, exhausted, olympic rendition of “Who’s On First?” and he went down to the kitchen to pour some coffee without another word.

He’s a wise man.

I got the kids through their schoolwork and suffered through today’s headache until about an hour ago when I broke down and took two Advil with a cup of caffeinated coffee. I’ll pay for the coffee later on tonight. But at least I’ll be wide awake when Michael Phelps wins another one.

Go team.

YAWN. YAY!