Usually, I put the pictures at the end of a post. Tell the story first and follow with the funny visuals. But for this post, I need you to look at my son. He looks sweet, no? Sensitive? Intelligent? Yes, in fact, he does. So how did the following conversation happen?
I emerge from my bedroom with my best 'Praise Team gig' outfit. We are singing at a church in Itasca. We sing Christian rock, so I'm dressed pretty casually - jeans, t-shirt, cool shoes (I know they're cool because my Dad hates them). I think I look alright. So, I jump in front of Pearce in my best power-guitar move and...
Mom - "So, do I look like a rocker?" (sticks out tongue like Gene Simmons)
Pearce - "Not really..."
Mom - "What? I totally look like a rocker."
Pearce - "No, I'll tell you why after you get home."
Mom (a little concerned now) - "Well, if you tell me now, I can go change."
Pearce - "It's not something you can change.....easily."
Mom (panic setting in, smile fading) - "Are you telling me I'm too old to be a rocker?"
Pearce - "No, it isn't your age."
Mom (panic stricken) - "Pearce, are you about to tell me that I'm too fat to be a rocker?"
At this point, Pearce puts his hands up and shrugs his shoulders in a gesture that means "yes, and that's why I didn't want to tell you until you came home."
*sigh*
From this point, I have choices in where to go with the blog posting. I can tell you about the conversation we had when I was pregnant about how sensitive women are regarding their weight and how we use words like "showing" and "glowing" instead of "huge" or "enormous."
I can list the MANY rockers who enjoy their dessert as much as I do - Meat Loaf, Notorious B.I.G., Winona, Aretha Franklin.
I could recount to you the agony I had ordering at Dairy Queen that night after we played at the church in Itasca and how I denied myself the Blizzard that called to me.
But, I'll end with this - I might need to lose a few pounds. Not to be a rocker, but to catch Pearce the next time he calls me fat.
