More Moana, Please. And a Giveaway!

As it seems my summer plans do not include a trip to Hawaii (sponsored post, Hawaii? Call me!) I can still have this:

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Guys, sometimes I don’t really keep track of all the kids’ movies out there. I mean, sometimes… I am kinda late to the game. I still think Toy Story 5 is playing somewhere, at some movie house, surely?

Is there even a Toy Story 5?

Anyhow. This summer, we have been super busy, so making it out into the heat means getting to the pool, not driving to a movie theater. And yea, I know the theater is air conditioned. Sure. But there is still DRIVING THERE AND LAST TIME I DID THAT MY DASHBOARD MELTED. It’s hot. It’s like Africa hot.

So, thank you Netflix! Friday movie nights have involved lots of popcorn, no driving, and this adorableness:

 

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I mean, seriously. The cuteness.

My family LOVES Moana. Perhaps it’s the water (they are little fish), or the tattoos. Or, you know, the chicken:

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(Oh, that chicken. I can’t help but think we might be related somehow).

This is the princess movie that stole my kids’ hearts. It’s funny. It’s gorgeous to look at. (Did you know they have an entire team of people who just work on the WATER animation? And if anyone watches this and doesn’t want to go swimming in the deep blue sea afterwards, there is something wrong with you).

Oh, and, it has The Rock.

 

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You’re Welcome.

Yes, I’ll admit it. It is just a teensy weensy bit possible that Momsie, in all her literary-ness and English teacherish sophistication, has a big fat celebrity crush on Dwayne Johnson. Could be the muscles. I dunno. Or the blinding white teeth. Or, back to the muscles.

I just think he’s cute, ok? GIVE ME MY CRUSH. I’ll go back to reading Faulkner in a bit.

Also this: I double-crab DARE you to not watch “Shiny” and keep humming it, for days after. It’s catchy.

Enjoy Moana, courtesy of Netflix and stay INSIDE for the last days of summer. Shine on.

Also, if you find yourself sneaking some Dwayne (er, Moana) time on your OWN, Moms, I get you. I really do.

Netflix gets you too. 97% of moms say that they had more time for themselves before motherhood, and now, three-quarters (71%) of moms admit to sneaking in TV “me-time” while juggling a busy schedule, with some even hiding from their kids for just a moment of peace. With moms doing it anywhere and everywhere in the neighborhood when the kids aren’t around, sneaking is the new bingeing.

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Would you like to be a part of the #MomSneak revolution and enter to win a 6-month Netflix subscription giveaway, so your sneaking is covered for the rest of 2017?

To Enter the #MomSneak Giveaway:

  • On a public social media post (Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest or Instagram): share a personal story of how you sneak in your TV shows, or a selfie pic of you sneaking in your TV.  Please don’t forget to add #MomSneak to your post!
  • Copy the URL of your social share and paste it in the comments below.

It’s just that simple. I am here for you Moms. Get your sneaky on.

#MomSneak your way to a little me-time. (By the way? I’m part of the 47%. Thank you, Stranger Things and Gilmore Girls. You are vastly different, with your creepy strangeness vs.your caffeinated banter. Either way, you give a tired mom a break.)

Giveaway ends on July 31 2017 at 11:59 p.m. CST. The 1 winner will be chosen at random and announced on this site. Giveaway is open only to legal residents of the United States (including District of Columbia), who are at least eighteen (18) years old at the time of entry. The 1 Winner will be notified by email and have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen.

Make sure to watch your social media message boards to see if you are the selected winner on August 1!!

Good luck! #MomSneak to your heart’s content!

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As a #NetflixStreamTeam blogger, I get to watch Netflix and then chat about it. It’s a great gig.

Have a Scare-Free Halloween with Netflix

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Guys. GUYS! Netflix has FANTASIA!!!!

I have no clever leader here. I am simply too thrilled about Fantasia. The centaurs, cavorting! Mickey and the Sorcerer! The romantic ballet between a hippo and an alligator!

Ok, if you haven’t seen Fantasia then you have NO idea what I’m talking about. Allow me to explain:

FANTASIA! THE BEST! SO AWESOME. I CAN’T EVEN!

Sorry. Ahem. Let me try again: Fantasia is a Disney movie, made in 1940, and it’s unlike any other Disney film made. Ever. It’s a celebration of animation, art, and music. So, dudes like Tchaikovsky (thank you, spell check) and Beethoven show up.

And also, THIS DUDE:

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Try meeting up with him when you are about eight years old, in a huge, darkened theatre with a gigantic screen and soft red velvet seats and my mom’s treats from her purse because we never actually BOUGHT treats at the concessions. Don’t ask me why I thought it was important to include that detail, but know this:

Regarding the movie house concession stand: I DO THE SAME THING. My momma taught me well.  I have been known, on occasion, to bring a Diet Coke in to a movie and do the Diet Coke Cough whilst popping it open. They get you at the concessions, people. Bring your own.

ANYWAY. BACK TO FANTASIA.

We have a rule at our house – no scary or spooky for Halloween. My reasoning?  I have kind of had it with 2016 and have decided life is scary enough.

But then… I saw Fantasia in my Netflix cue and thought, “Hey, Satan coming out of a mountain on Halloween night to summon up the undead isn’t THAT awful, right? I FEEL A FAMILY MOVIE NIGHT COMING ON!”

Yea, I know. Consistency is key in parenting. But, to my credit, THIS Satan has a classical score (Night on Bald Mountain by Mussorgsky and then adapted by Rimsky-Korsakov, and if you can rattle off all that Russian in a crowd you will totally impress people. I think. Or, you might spit on them. It’s a lot of ‘S’s.) Also: Satan and the mountain is followed by this:

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Shubert’s Ave Maria.

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It’s a painting, on the screen.

Satan is banished. We are safe, and sacred, in a cathedral in the trees.

I love Fantasia. And no,  It’s certainly not a typical Halloween movie. No jack-o-lanterns. No tricks or treats. But for us, it was perfect.

And also, this year? I have my new costume idea:

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Hyacinth, the Hippo, dancing to Amilcare Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours.

Perfection.

For those of you who are a bit braver, here’s a clever idea – Netflix’s savvy understanding that the doorbell can impede serious Netflix binging on all things scary. So, may I present you with  this:

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Good luck with the viewing of the 9-12 slot. I just can’t. Too skeery!

Or, if you are really up for a scare, watch Chopped, the kids’ episode, and start training your kids to step up their game because:

THANKSGIVING IS COMING. Be afraid, kids. Be very afraid.

“So… Whose dish will be on the chopping block?”

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When You Wish Upon a Disney

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There are a few things in this life that I would officially label as Annoying but Necessary.

  1. Swim suit shopping
  2. Customer representatives
  3. Kale
  4. The DMV

I have news, y’all. It’s wondrous. Like, the kind of information that makes the sun shine through the trees and little birdies alight on your fingers and then you break into song… I dunno… like a DISNEY PRINCESS MAYBE??

If you Netflix, Disney will come. And Disney will actually manage to redeem the DMV. I thought it could never be done… but yes.

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September 20th is already HERE, ya’ll! I know this because I checked. Knowing the date is important.

Anyhow, Disney cometh. All sorts of other movies are heading our way. Fishes with memory issues. Large talking bears. My childhood favorites, and new ones, for my boys to love.

Watch and wait, as the magic happens.

Ok, and while you are waiting, I will provide you with one other option for you. And stay with me here, because I assure you, this one will NOT be family viewing. But, did you know…

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Oh yea. It’s on Netflix too. You’re welcome.

But, if you don’t really like the whole shark with big pointy teeth thing? I provide you with THIS: *Dramatic flourish*

“A curious shark, with a curious talent…”

 

 

 

Tired. Both the person and the writing.

ExhaustedMomQuoteThe old “but it’s a good tired,” is here.

This is like telling someone in Hell that it’s a dry heat.

I am so tired I am typing this through sheer will and a last spurt of final dying breath to get the word out to you, my readers, that I love you, and it’s been good and all, but holy hot sauce, this Momsie is no more. I have ceased to be. I’m expired, late, stiff… bereft of life. THIS IS an EX-Momsie.

If this were a Disney movie, we are all at the last twenty minutes of Old Yeller.

Or. I’m the mom in Bambi. Or Cinderella. Or that fish movie where the mom bites it right at the beginning and my children freak out and never let me watch any more of it, even though I try to talk them into it with, “It’s a Disney movie, y’all. It’s gonna end happily, I promise!” because I think it’s funny. And they’re all looking up phone numbers for local therapists because the MOM DIED in the movie, how in the world does a happy ending blossom out of that?

Yep. I’m that mom.

Well, wait, that’s confusing. Am I the dead fish mom, or the one who wants my kids to watch the dead fish mom, you know, because it’s funny?  Well, both, of course.

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I’m so tired the thought of making dinner tonight made me sob a little. I considered microwaving some hot dogs but oh good gravy that means ketchup and I just can’t. I can’t.

Please don’t make me get the ketchup out of the fridge. It will be the end of me, and I mean it.

And also, I have to now look up the spelling: ketchup. Or catsup?

Oh, I can’t even go on.

I’m so tired. My son just spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, came out, all nonchalant with his underpants in his hand, and then proceeded to plonk his tiny white Hazmat-situation bum all over my oriental rug in the living room, and all I did was flutter a hand at him and then I looked away. “The horror…” I whispered. But, did I get up, grab my Lysol, and start squeegeeing him? No.

I’m just so tired.

I’m so tired I don’t even think I can write this. I have to put two boys to bed and I am not. I am so not. They’re on their own.

“Kids,” I say weakly, “Go on up. Put on jammies. Get in bed. Go to sleep. We’ll meet again, soon. Until then,” I flutter my finger at them and croak, “I’ll be right here.” I aim for my heart but there’s still some ice cream on my shirt as I look down, so I instead swipe it off and lick, which makes Blonde suspicious:

“You’ll be where? On your shirt? And… And what’s that? What IS that?” he starts to approach, his nose all quivering like an ice cream detecting drug dog. Red, always able to hone in on dairy, also starts my way. Steve the cat, a pathetic follower, well, follows.

This is it. This is the end. My children and the cat are now slowly approaching me because I smell like butter pecan and some chocolate jimmies, and they’re gonna eat me. It’s the Walking Dead. With sprinkles.

I am just so very, very tired.

Too tired to write this.

Definitely.

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This post was sponsored by: too many pop references to count.

Super Spies and #Netflixstreamteam

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It’s three am.  This is clearly a time that no human should ever be awake.  Unless, perhaps, you are a doctor or a police person. Or the president.    But no OTHER humans should be up.  AT ALL.

And yet, here is Red, standing next to my bed about two inches from my shut eyeballs.  His little face is glowing like an heart attack inducing alarm clock.  For the past three nights, Red waits until about three am, and then… he wakes UP.  Like BIG UP.

Like, he decides he’s Jimmy Fallon and I’m his next guest, UP.

I am ensconced so firmly in my sleep that when I am woken by Sir Chatsalot I am unsure of who he is.  There is this… a child here.  How did he get here? Clearly, he is not supposed to be here.  How did I have children?  Perhaps this is a post for a different type of blog.  But still, child, who are you?

And then, the questions:

“Where’s my balloon?”

“Canna I fly my paper airplane tomorrow?”

“Is dis a big ouchie or a little ouchie?”

“Can you tell us about your next movie?”  (Ok, he didn’t really ask that one, but I was trying to continue the Jimmy thing…)

 

This is super annoying, I know.  Even Jimmy Fallon fails to entertain when one is in DEFCON 5 level sleep.  And it would be immediate fodder for a stern talking to and immediate escort back to bed, if not for that fact that my sweet Red also has had a fever these past two nights.

Evidently, a 101 temp makes Red very… convivial.  He wants to share his deepest thoughts and dreams, and he wants to ASK about mine.  So at three am, I answer the poor dear as best as I can with assorted grunts and ahums, check temps, administer water, maybe meds, find Captain Spots (his stuffed hyena, of course), and get his chatty little bum back in bed.

So, here’s the problem.  I might have said, in my three am mutterings, that Red could go to VBS in the morning.  I might have.  There is no actual PROOF of this, but since the kid was basically asking me everything short of my blood type and do I prefer regular or spicy sushi rolls.

So BAMMO, next morning, there is a sad SAD little toddler who is gonna miss Da SUPER SPIES!  And he IS a SUPER SPY!  And der were clues!  And he is gonna MISS da clues!  And, most epic and catastrophic of all:  he is gonna miss da caaaaaaaaandyyyyy!

My kids don’t get out much.

Our church’s VBS (vacation bible school, for those of you who are terrible heathens or who have no children to farm off to these things because, FREE CHILDCARE!) is the International Spy Academy this year.  It’s got Jesus ,and SPIES!  My older child has been running around the house with a magnifying glass and some clues that make absolutely no sense because, well, he created them.  It has provided hours of entertainment.

And now, I have a sick spy who is obviously feeling demoted.

So, what does Momsie do when she needs to provide comfort and extra special care?

NETFLIX!!!!!  🙂

Thank you Netflix, for saving the day.  Red sat on the couch in his Elmo jammies (spy uniform) and watched this classic not once, but three times today.

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I realize it’s not exactly SPY material, but ders da clues!  And da magnafrying glasses!  And we will solve the case, together, right Mommah?

And we did.  We cuddled, ate grape popsicles, and rooted Basil on as he uncovered Rattigan’s dastardly deeds.

Did I mention we cuddled?  The whole time?  Sometimes a sick toddler who allows himself to just rest and take in a movie is a mommah’s dream.

And before you snark at me about copious television watching, YOU try to tell this one that he can’t go play spy with his brother at da church.  Go on, I dare you.

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