Stitchpop

Yesterday we spring cleaned the girls' rooms and siphoned off about six tons of dust and toy matter. Then later we capped off our hard work by camping in the living room with Fortel's pizza and a private showing of The Wizard of Oz.

We haven't watched it since Gertrude was much younger before she started reading into things like witches and pretty girls in peril, and lately she's been particularly sensitive to anything scary. Scooby Doo, for example, scares the crap out of her. So we were prepared to stop the movie at the first sign of concern from Gert.

"You know," I said to her at the beginning, "there's a witch in this movie. But it's all just pretend. If it's too scary, we don't have to watch it."

Gert looked disgusted at me. "Mom. I know. I've seen this movie before."

I got yelled at again when Dorothy started to sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and so did I.

"Mom!" snapped the song police. "This is not a sing-along."

"But I--"

"Do you see any words on the screen?"

I was forced to admit that I didn't.

Two seconds later, I heard a small voice coming from Gert's side of the couch. "Some... where... over the rainbow..."

I tapped on her shoulder. "Um, excuse me," I said. "I was under the impression that singing was not allowed here."

"No. You can't sing," said Gert.

Matilda nodded in agreement. "It's true, Mom. You really can't."

And there go my plans for pop-stardom. Poo.