Mamma (for) Mia?

While summer arrived on our fair coast (scorching 71-degree temps), three major events marked this past weekend:

1. RP and I saw “Mamma Mia” in San Diego

2. RP made it clear that I would NOT be a “Mamma Mia” anytime soon.

3. As if a hand-out from God to a poor non-“Mamma Mia,” I will now be teaching the CTR-4’s.

Our theater date was lovely; with enough unrecognizable 70’s rock to make me feel like an 18 year-old and enough skillet cornbread for me to call Dr. Dukan personally and beg for forgiveness (seriously, there was severe weeping and wailing amidst a puddle of demi-glace and a pile of criss-cross fries).

Aforementioned cornbread and fries

On Sunday, we trouped BACK down to SD County for dinner with friends at their lovely Carlsbad beach house. With their new three-month-old, I was in non-committal baby heaven. RP, however, took this opportunity to make his thoughts on the matter known:

“Will you put that down so I can show you the surf room in this place?” (“That” = “the baby.”)

“It’s fine in its thing.” (“It” = “baby,” “Thing” = “bassinet”)

“Yeah, I’m not really interested in those.” (“those” needs no translation.)

But don’t you worry, dear readers, while my womb remains unoccupied, I was sympathetically given rein over 11 (yes, ELEVEN) four-year-olds each Sunday.

Mamma Mia, here I go again….