Saturday afternoon, Calfgrit7 asked if we could have a camp out in our backyard. (We’ve set up our tent in our backyard before, and I thought I had blogged about it, but I can’t find the post now.) Well, I had already cut the grass, trimmed the edge, and raked everything up, so I didn’t really feel like doing the work of putting up the tent then. I told him we’d do it Sunday night, since Monday was a holiday.

Well, Sunday afternoon, when we were going to set up the tent, it started raining pretty heavily. So, as a consolation, we decided to have a camp out in the den. We got out the boys’ sleeping bags, pillows, and blankets, and we spread everything out on the floor downstairs. Wifegrit was going to sleep in bed, like normal, (wuss), and I was going to sleep on the sofa.

Calfgrit11 got in his sleeping bag, but Calfgrit7 curled up on his beanbag chair with a blanket over him. Then after about 20 minutes past bedtime, he decided he couldn’t sleep and asked to go on up to his bed. I told him, “Sure, go on up,” and he left his brother and me to be the lone “campers.”

After CG11 fell asleep, I got up off the couch and snuck up to get in my bed. When I opened the door to my bedroom, I found CG7 asleep in my spot next to Wifegrit. I gave a big sigh and turned around and went back downstairs to sleep the night on the couch.

So much for any kind of “camp out.”

Bullgrit

I think the next time my boys go outside to play, I’m going to lock the doors behind them. And close the blinds and curtains.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to get a toy.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to get a drink of water.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to tell me something they just did.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to get another toy.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to get a snack.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to let me know they’re going to ride their scooters in the cul de sac. (I don’t know why they tell me that — I can see them right out the front window — but they fail to tell me that they’re going down the street to a neighbor’s backyard.)

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to check on the guinea pig.

They go outside for 10 minutes, and then come back inside to “cool off.”

Repeat till I can’t stand the sound of an opening and closing door. Over and over and over. And every time they go back out, I yell, “Don’t  slam <BLAM!> … the door.” Sigh.

Why can’t they just stay outside? Would it be cruel, bad parenting for me to seriously lock the damn door?

Bullgrit

I was playing some tunes with a good beat, and I mentioned to my boys that it was good dance music. (I was playing Earth Wind & Fire, if you’re curious.) They’ve both “danced” a bit with their mother, to Just Dance 2 on the Wii, but that’s more jumping and playing than real dancing. So their idea of “dance music” is really pretty much anything. They didn’t understand why I would identify something particularly as “good dance music.”

Something I intend to teach my boys when they’re old enough is the value of knowing how, and being able to dance. They’ll appreciate it when their old enough to date. Women love to dance, and a man who can dance can open a lot of doors that might otherwise stay closed.

Other than my mom teaching me how to Shag, (that’s a U.S. Southeast coastal style dance, for those of you who know “shag” to mean something else), I’ve never done any kind of choreographed or couples dancing. In fact, I’ve never even danced the Shag outside of those first lessons from my mom. My dancing has always been just getting out on the dance floor and grooving to the beat.

I like grooving to the beat, and although I never had anyone teach me how, I apparently had a talent for it and did okay just doing it. Since my brother seems to think white people can’t dance, I’ll throw out this supporting fact for my claim: I’ve had black women pull me out to the dance floor.

Dancing is a fantastic skill for any guy wanting to meet women. Most women want to dance, and if they see that you can, they will almost always say yes when you ask them. Dancing has proven to be a really easy (and fun) way to break the ice with any woman you fancy. It served me very well when I was single, and I’ll pass the advice on to my boys when they’re interested.

Last night, instead of my regular workout, I decided to dance. I haven’t danced in a very long time, but I’ve recently been thinking about it. I took my wireless headphones downstairs, turned off the lights, and danced for over an hour in our den.

• She’s a Bad Mama Jama
• Brick House
• Party Rock
• Poison
• Moves Like Jagger
• Etc.

I loved it! It was fun and it was exercise. I could have gone longer than an hour, but I had other things that needed doing, (including taking a shower and going to bed). Now I’m going to look and find a local dance club where I can go on a real dance floor.

Bullgrit

I and my boys just spent the weekend at my mom’s house. Saturday night, after getting the boys in bed, I sat up with my mom comparing our music libraries.

We have a common love of classic soul music — Barry White, Marvin Gaye, Teddy Pendergrass, Bill Withers, etc. The kind of music that makes for really good lovin’ mood music. Or good “reading” music, as my mom puts it. I often wonder how many 70s babies were made to Barry White songs.

We both have a pretty good selection of the great soul tunes, but we both were surprised to find gaps in our collections. I can’t believe I totally missed Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing, and The Commodores’ Easy.

Get up, let’s make love tonight.
Wake up, ’cause you do it right.

Midnight loving — it’s a special moment.

Technically outside of the soul genre, Mom was surprised she missed any Dr. Hook music.

You know, it’s never been till right now that I’ve thought, Is it weird that my mom and I have similar taste in “mood” music?

Bullgrit