This is the first time, though, that Child's seen Mommy yelling at innocuous-looking people doing odd things on large apparatus, as the last Olympics, he was three and pretty much in blob-toddler stage of ooh, colors!
Child: Jenny, what are they doing?
(Yes. He does still call me Jenn and Jenny.)
ME: SHE STEPPED! THAT WAS A STEP! LOSE A TENTH, DAMMIT! LOSE A TENTH!
Because of course, from my comfy spot in front of the TV, I so know what I'm talking about.
(I hear this most often when he's worried. Yes, I scare my child during Olympics.)
Me: WHAT. THE. HELL? She DIDN'T STICK HER LANDING! SHE HOPPED!
I don't need to explain how it degenerated from there.
Or I could.
ME: SHE SO DID NOT LOSE HER BALANCE! SHUT UP COMMENTATORS! SHUT UP!
ME: Oh God, stop talking about how high they *could* score. Every time you do that, someone stumbles. SHUT UP YOU MADE HER STUMBLE AGAIN!
It's true though. Seriously. They'll be all like "ooh, she can get 9.7s usually--whoops, lookie, mistake, but still--ooh, balance check (blah blah blah)." Except the Romanians. They seem to be immune to The Commentator's Curse.
I'm digging Mo, with the tattoo on her ankle and how just utterly ecstatic she looks to be here. Plus, you know, delivering pizzas and living in unfurnished apartments to afford Olympic training? That girl *rocks*.
Also, Phelps is still, *extremely* hot. But yes, I see the ear thing. Also, perhaps one might say his chats with interviewers do not show his most intelligent side.
OOH! LAST ROTATION ON GYMNASTICS! MUST BREATHE!