Commercially Speaking

I was watching a movie last night, for lack of anything better to do, and I realized why I rarely even turn on the television...other than for sporting events and weather reports. Why anything on any cable station, in this case CMT, gets on my last nerve.

First of all it’s because of what movie I was watching, which was a really lame one. No, I’m not going to mention the name. Ok, it was Twister. Every time it’s been on, I’ve watched it. Some kind of strange obsession with Bill Paxton that I really don’t understand. He’s going bald and he can’t act. He’s not a mega star or all that good looking. But he has a voice that kinda haunts me. Gruff, a little hoarse. A lot sexy, especially when he speaks softly.

And because I was annoyed that I was watching Twister again, I started looking for a reason to be further annoyed and perhaps justify…something? And I found it, which has been my reason for not watching television much in the first place. The commercials. And being annoyed with the commercials made me further obsessed. So I stopped paying attention to the movie, which I pretty much know every word, every nuance of anyway. And I found out this…

How annoyed was I? For every seven minutes of movie time, there were eight minutes of commercials. Twenty. Twenty commercials in a row each break. Yes, I started timing and then counting them. In between, I was putting the finishing touches on my bucket list so it wasn’t a totally wasted evening.

After a while, the timing and counting got a little boring (I hear you asking, ya think?). So I began writing down the commercials in each segment of eight minutes. I found out that they were playing three loops of twenty. After a while, I quit even pretending to watch the movie. After all, I’ve seen it before.

But even writing down the commercials gets a little boring (I saw you roll your eyes). So I began timing each one. They were mostly 30 second spots but you got the gist that car commercials are more important than those for Macy’s holiday sales and Geico ads were even more important than the ones for cars. I guess to even own a car, you need insurance so that makes sense. But the most important, it seems, is a local (Louisiana, I mean) rehab center where a former New Orleans Saints football player’s father went to dry out. Go figure.

The worst part of the whole thing, the whole wasted evening, was that it didn’t stop when I turned off the TV. This blog was running through my head half the night so I didn’t sleep much. Hardly at all, in fact. Which made me grumpy most of the day and gave me a headache as well.

And I’m blaming it all on Bill Paxton.

What's In My Bucket

My younger daughter was talking about her bucket list the other night…she’s in her twenties and has a bucket list? I realized that I have never made one…I guess I’m more of a live-in-the-moment kinda girl but it got me to thinking that maybe I should. So I thought and thought. Then thought some more and finally came up with what you’ll see below…in no particular order of importance, of course.

1.       Get something published. I’d settle for getting anything published but I’d really like to have a novel done and sent off before I’m in my dotage. Right now I lack time, energy and motivation. But I will get there. Somehow. Some way. My lifelong dream.

2.       Sing on stage. I’ve done plenty of church performances but I’d really like to do it up big someday. The Voice? I really don’t think so. Too many pretty babies on that show where women my age don’t have much of a chance. Then I’d have so much trouble picking which coach I’d want when all four chairs turn around. America’s Got Talent? Too many weird acts for me to compete with. Not really strange enough…although there are those who would disagree. American Idol? Nah, the judges are mean and nasty. Mayhap I should stick with my church ditties. Although that really defeats the purpose of the bucket, doesn’t it?

3.       Take shooting lessons. I’d like to learn to shoot a gun with my eyes open. Right now I’m afraid of seeing the bullet come screaming out of the end of the weapon or sparks flying out of it into my face (yeah, I know this doesn’t really happen). Or maybe I just don’t want to see how far from the target I really am. But I could learn…

4.       Take ballroom dancing lessons. I can’t do that right now because I don’t have a willing partner. Elijah has offered but he’s a little on the short side and it’s awkward when we do lifts, dips and the like. I’ll put this aside for way in the future until he gets taller. They give these in the nursing homes, don’t they?

5.       Vacation in the Dominican Republic. My former boss goes there and he loves it. I think I could spend a week or two soaking up the sun, relaxing on the deck of my cottage on the beach. Who am I kidding? I’d be there two days before I’d be checking my work email, rearranging the furniture or reorganizing the cabinets. I can’t even take a sick day without being antsy. Weeks on vacation would drive me nuts. Another one for way in the future…perhaps when I’m too old to walk much and would have no choice but to sit on the deck.

6.       Travel to Ireland. The land of my ancestors (on my mother’s side). Now this is one I could sink my teeth into. I’ve always wanted to go and after seeing pictures one of my Twitter tweeps posted a while back, I’m determined to get there. All I need is money. I could travel the whole country, exploring, wandering, getting recipes for fish and chips. Ah, the beauty of it. Yeah, this is definitely one I’ll work towards. And put Scotland right behind it on the list.

7.       Be an extra in a movie. I’m definitely not leading role material so I’m being realistic here. But I’d love to be an extra. In a comedy. A really funny one. Starring Brad Pitt. No, George Clooney. No, not him either. Too cliché. Pierce Brosnan. Yeah, he’d do. Wait, does he do comedy? So I’d be in the background, mostly doing something hilarious. Or not hilarious. I just want to be there.

8.       Go on a mission trip. I’ve always wanted to. First, my parents thought I was too young. Then I was in college. Then I had babies. Always working after that, with vacation and sick days delegated to taking care of sick kids. But I could definitely take time off work for this. To give back. To help. Or teach. Or build. It really doesn’t matter what I do as long as I make a contribution.

That’s pretty much what I’ve come up with so far. They have always had these in the back of my mind, although some are closer to the front than others. I just never labeled them as belonging in a bucket. Here’s hoping I’ll get to do some of them. Maybe even all of them.

It's All About The Celebrity

It’s amazing how much you have to give up to be a celebrity.  Privacy, anonymity, the ability to go into a restaurant for an uninterrupted dinner. All because they have chosen to spend their lives entertaining us. Then there are the celebrities who have no reason being famous. They have no talent that I can see but news of what they do gets in the tabloids, on talk shows and all over the internet. What I want to know is why?

Case in point, Kim Kardashian. The woman’s major claim to fame is being wealthy, being married to Kanye West and the latest…her butt being the spectacle on the cover of a magazine. The media is all like she’s a mother now. She has no business baring it all for the public. How could she do that to her daughter? Who is surprised? She named her daughter North West, for crying out loud! In my opinion, showing her behind is nothing compared to that.

Anything that has to do with Kate and her eight, along with Jon…who is now bankrupt and nearly homeless…just annoys the crap out of me for some reason. Even without the weird hair, Kate is annoying. So she had sextuplets. I really don’t care. Having a lot of kids does not (or should not) make you a celebrity. It just makes you busier than the average family. Not news worthy.

Which brings me to the Duggars…I will apologize to my daughter in advance since she’s a fan. Sorry, Deanna. I had no issue with the Duggars until I heard Michelle say she would have more children AFTER having a preemie that nearly died and having a miscarriage as well. I’m not interested enough to know which came first but why risk having another child? Risking another miscarriage or, God forbid, losing her life leaving her other 19…egad…children without a mother? Very selfish. YOU HAVE 19 KIDS! That’s way more than enough! No, their morals don’t bother me. Nor does the way they live. But that does.

Lastly…Honey Boo Boo. Holy cow, the whole concept of that show just makes me nauseous. First of all, child beauty pageants should be considered abusive. Second, is this what television is coming to? The child is not talented or attractive. And finally, there’s Mama June. Mama June. One more time…Mama June. There really are no words to describe her. I thought at first that maybe it was just that it’s reality television, which I hate. But then I saw her in an interview on Entertainment Tonight (Don’t ask, I don’t know why I was watching it) and she was just indescribable in her ignorance. It’s obvious she has no pride in her appearance and limited education. Add to that, she clearly cares nothing for her kids. Please go home, lady, and invade my television no more.

Perhaps, as I said, it’s just the Reality TV issue but I don’t think so. I really believe that these people need to go back to wherever they came from. They are not celebrities. They don’t entertain. They do not belong on television. They are annoying, obnoxious in their sense of self-importance and they need to go away.

The Truth of the Matter

A friend called me recently to tell me that my ex-husband had posted some lies about me on one of his pages somewhere. When I refused to look it up, because basically I don’t care what it said, she emailed me the contents. My response was “So what? He’s delusional. I knew it when I was married to him.” She couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t even defend myself even though I have the resources to do so. In order to shut her up, I’m posting this. My rebuttal, if you will, to his defamation of my so-called character.

You can probably tell already that I really don’t take this seriously. I don’t want to know what website he posted it on, who would read what he posted or what is going on in his life. I’m not one of those people who stalks others on the internet. Not interested enough. To be honest, I am happy he’s getting on with his life. That means he won’t try to be in mine. What I don’t understand is why the post that he put up, which I’m told is supposed to be about who he is, is basically all about me. Whatever.

He (the ex-husband) says that I hate him because “it’s all his fault.” First and foremost, I hate no one. Even if they deserve it. Second, yes it was. Mostly.

He (the ex-husband) worked so much for us to have a good life. I tend to remember that I worked as well. I made pretty good money. And life was not so good. Because it’s not about money.

He (the ex-husband) came home from work one afternoon to an empty house and a note saying he was no longer loved. First and foremost, all I took was my personal belongings, my daughter’s personal belongings and my grandson’s stuff. I left in a Honda CRV, for crying out loud. Not too much would fit in there. The house was far from empty, as is inferred. The note didn’t say anything about love. It was actually quite tender and thought provoking. OK, not really but it didn’t say he was no longer loved.

He (the ex-husband) has spent the last three years searching for the pieces of his shattered heart and trying to find out what he did to deserve this. First of all, waaaaah. How melodramatic. Second, umm, maybe being drunk for quite a few years, along with vulgar and abusive…that may have had something to do with it. It's possible.

He (the ex-husband) is now in love with the most amazing, beautiful and obnoxious woman in the world. I can only say good for him. Woo. Hoo. Seriously, I am happy for him. And I promise not to look her up and tell her things I wish I had been told…

He (the ex-husband) had 16 years of lying, 16 years of pain and 16 years that I took from him. Really? Wow! That’s a lot of years.

He (the ex-husband) would like to thank me (the “x wife”, as he spells it) for showing him what love isn’t. Ok…your welcome?

He (the ex-husband) will rise up and change mistakes into gold. He (the ex-husband) will rise up and erase his mind of dark memories. I really don’t have anything to say about this one. Not because I’m at a loss for words or anything but because there simply are no words.

In conclusion (I’ve always wanted to do a post that I could use that phrase in, kinda like an attorney), I remember things a bit differently. But he always did see things from another point of view. He (the ex-husband), I think, should be thanking me from the bottom of his heart that I am no longer around. And I’m sure he is.

And that, my friend, is all I have to say in defense of my worthless self. The sweeping up of my shattered reputation. The drying of my bitter, angry tears…sob. My self-esteem, at an all time low, is starting to recover. I must now get back to more important things, like living my life.

Butter Me Up

A couple of months ago, I was reintroduced to my other “grandson”. He’s sweet, pretty well mannered (as opposed to my other guy) and he’s six years old. His name is Butters. Strange name for a little boy? Look at his picture and you’ll see that it’s not. Actually it is but don’t tell his momma I said that…

                                          

Having a grandcat is pretty much like having a human grandchild. With a few exceptions. I never had to change his diaper…only his litter box. I don’t know which is worse. I never have to feed him. Just dump it in a bowl and he’s good to go. Same with his water. He never cries himself to sleep or has to be told to stay in bed. He doesn’t talk back…well, not really. Ok, he does but all I have to do is hiss at him and he backs off.

Like a human child, I can buy him things. Kitty treats are always welcome. And he loves to play so I can buy him toys, although his favorite thing to play with is a hair tie. Or two. Which he will steal from you if you aren’t careful. Or a plastic bag (he’s not allowed to have those, of course). His favorite actual toy is his little red lobster, which he throws in the air and rubs his cheeks on. Sometimes he just hangs with the lobster…I think he forgets it’s there.

       

As with my human grandchild, Butters expects certain things. Mainly, he wants his evening Yaya time. Every night after Elijah is in bed, it is my time with him. We play with the hair ties, his mousy or…the lobster. And like my time with Elijah, I rarely come away unscathed. I don’t get football injuries or black eyes from wayward elbows. I get scratches and bites. He doesn’t mean to, really he doesn’t. He just gets overly excited.

Butters tends to be a bed hog. As I type this, he is laying in the middle of the bed. Sprawled out leaving little room for me except on the edge. When I mention that he leaves little room, I need to tell you that my guy weighs almost twenty pounds. Yes, he is a large baby.

                                 

He also has a bad attitude at times. No temper tantrums but you do know when he’s not happy with you. Because you get the butt…along with a disgruntled look now and then with tail twitches.

                                  

All in all, I’m quite happy with this addition to my household. It’s not all fun and games with Elijah thinking he’s a toy but I’ve missed having a kitty in my house and occasionally sleeping beside me. Most of all, I have to admit, I’m really happy that Butters brought his mom home to me.

Hello, Samsung?

When we moved to Louisiana in 2011, my daughter, grandson and I basically came with nothing more than our personal belongings. We filled up my Honda CRV, leaving a small nook in the back for the boy, and what didn't fit, didn't come. No furniture, no television and no washer or dryer. We rented an apartment two weeks after arriving but it looked really empty due to our trip with next to nothing. So we went shopping.

One of the first things I looked into purchasing was a washer and dryer. With a 2-year-old that needed his clothes changed twenty times a day, it was a must.  I picked a great time to buy them as it was right after Thanksgiving. Christmas saving doesn't always have to include toys and clothes and Lowe’s had a great deal on a Samsung set…front loader washer and dryer, $1,200 for the pair.  I researched and found excellent reviews on the brand. I bought them thinking I wouldn't have to replace them for at least ten to fifteen years. They were here and installed within a week.

Fast forward to July 2014. I’m drying a load of clothes in my Samsung DV350AEW/XXA (I’m giving you the model number in case you own one of these babies and want to keep an eye out for what happened to me). After about twenty minutes, the dryer stopped. No warning. Not a sound. It just quit. I’m thinking that maybe a breaker tripped. Yeah, I’m not an electrician but what else could have happened? Well, look at the picture below and you will see exactly what made my dryer stop.

                

Imagine my shock when I opened it up, removed my clothes and saw this. A crack. In my drum. I’m not even going to mention the clothes that were ruined because they were stuck inside the crack (the black marks below the crack are the result of those clothes).

Now I want to first point out that only myself and my daughter have ever used this dryer. We wash our clothes and the boy’s. No uniforms, heavy items, shoes or the like have ever seen the inside of this thing. I work in an office so my things are basic office wear. Small child things. My girlie's workout gear. Just normal clothes. It was not abused in any way, shape or form.

I immediately went to the Samsung website to find out who to contact about this thing and there’s really no information. To get a phone number to call, you need to fill out a “Two Thousand” transaction so that those in charge can figure out (I’m guessing here) if your problem warrants their attention. I did this, got a ticket number (I’m figuring I was deemed worthy of such an honor) and the golden phone number I was seeking. Good deal, I thought, as I dialed the phone. I’m in like Flynn…whoever he is.

My optimism came too quickly as I had approximately two billion callers ahead of me. I put in my blue tooth and took a walk while listening to the same strange ditty over and over. Walked about six miles, came home and made lunch, same ditty is playing. Ate said lunch and did the dishes, same ditty. Took a nap, knitted an afghan…ok, so not really but you get the point.

Finally my call was answered…by someone who spoke very little English. What he said to me, I will most likely never know. I’m sure he was a very nice man but after being on hold for what seemed like a week, my level of frustration rose with every passing minute. My end of the conversation consisted of “Excuse me?” and “I’m sorry?”(repeated ad nauseam) and finally with gritted teeth, “Can you please put someone else on the line? I can’t understand you.” And, oh pennies from heaven, I was transferred!!!

My jubilation came too quickly. He transferred me to Tai (ID #86092), a very competent, pleasant sort. Or so I thought. Oh, she was pleasant but the kind of pleasant that made you want to pull your eyes out through your ears. The kind that tells you she thinks she is superior and you are an idiot. She was “reasonable”. She was an Executive Level Agent. With attitude. The following is the result of my conversation with the executive level of Samsung service:

-My dryer was out of warranty. Duh, I knew that but circumstances, I believed, warranted a second look at this issue. A not quite three-year-old appliance with such a major failure? Could it possibly be a factory defect?

-It was not a factory defect. Because, says Ms. Executive Level Agent, there has never been a report of it happening before. My response? There has to be a first time. Perhaps mine was it? She pooh-poohed that idea out the window. Apparently first times never happen.

-The “Executive Level Agent” in charge of parts was consulted to see if they could, at the very least, provide replacement parts for free. His decision? Oh. Hell. No. My response? Unprintable. Actually, I said nothing to this because by this time, I expected nothing, but the response in my head was definitely unprintable.

-Most Samsung appliances have a life expectancy of approximately ten to twelve years. Your comment makes no sense, I say. Ten years but mine didn't even last three? And who wrote the good reviews of the product that I read when I was considering my purchase, Samsung ad execs? Well maybe I should have purchased a Maytag. The Maytag washer/dryer set that I left with my ex was almost fifteen years old and still going strong. Tai, ID #86092, had no answers to my questions.

-The Executive Level is the highest level I could go for help with Samsung. There was no one else to take my complaint to. Oh, that is where she was so wrong. So very wrong. I’m a blogger. I’m active in social networking. I may not reach too many people but I will reach some. Maybe no one at Samsung will listen but I have others who will. They can’t help me but they will shake their heads in disbelief at the callousness of those who are to be obeyed at Samsung. They will there there me with sympathy. It won’t dry my clothes but I’ll feel a little better.

Anyway, the end result? I got nothing. My gently-used, almost new dryer is not fixed. I am taking my clothes to the laundry to dry them.  I was pleasant and respectful, at least until her pompous attitude made me feel like a lower class citizen and a fool. Someone trying to cheat Samsung into fixing my dryer for nothing. Listen, I’m not trying to get something I don’t deserve. I paid a lot of money for an appliance that did not operate as it should have, for as long as it should have. I honestly feel that my dryer had a factory defect and to that end, I contacted them. I've spent a lot of my time since my phone call doing more research but have come up with nothing that will help me. But at least I tried.

My next step, after posting my blog, is to take my worthless, broken, piece-of-crap Samsung dryer out to the trash with a huge sign that says “THIS PRODUCT SUCKS & I DON’T WANT IT ANYMORE!” After doing so, I will make tee shirts for all my friends, neighbors and co-workers that say “Samsung Service = Not”…

Moving & Grooving...An Update

A friend and fellow blogger, Tammie Sue Brown, gave me a great idea to advertise the newest venture for my grandson's favorite rock band, the Imagination Movers. Her latest blog is a tribute to their greatness. You can read her interview here with the awesome Scott Durbin aka Mover Scott. http://www.typicalmommies.com/disneys-imagination-movers-exclusive-interview/  And as Tammie did, I also will do.

So, readers, I have a favor to ask of all of you. Please read this even if you’ve read it before, and most importantly, visit the link below to see what is coming up next for the Mover’s. It is not only a new CD/DVD filled with the best rock music and hilarious hi-jinx but a way to contribute to the enjoyment of so many of their fans, both ankle biter size and all grown up. And help a worthwhile cause as well. The link will show you what they are doing and how you can help. Great music, great prizes and a donation to help the National Down Syndrome Society…a cause near and dear to my heart after I joined the Buddy Walk three years ago as a way to give back for all of my blessings. Since then, I’ve met some really great people who are involved and enjoy helping when I get a chance.

In honor of the Movers, I wrote this blog almost two years ago after a wonderful trip to see their Rock-O-Matic concert in Houston and last year, we attended their concert here in Louisiana. Another great success! A fantastic time was had by all.

Here are a few of the details of our inception into the land of blue and our latest (at the time) experience with our little guy and his heros, circa 2012:

If you have young children, you know the names Rich, Scott, Dave and Smitty. And if you don’t, you should. Yes, I’m talking about the Imagination Movers, the kid’s rock band from New Orleans that has taken the world by storm, aided in part (but only in part) by their brief but very popular run on Disney. Right off the bat, I want to tell you that this is not another article promoting the group. Not that I wouldn’t promote them, because I do…I am a proud member of Imagination Mover’s Street Teams in PA, FL/GA and LA/TX, doing my best to spread the love. But that isn’t the meaning behind my blog. This is a story that documents our personal induction in to what is aptly called Mover Nation. In a world where most news you hear is bad and terrible influences are everywhere for those of us raising children, I want to share something that is positive. No negativity allowed in this post. To begin…

Our family began watching the Imagination Movers when my grandson, Elijah, was eight months old. I was surfing through the TV channels one morning trying to find anything that wasn’t a mindless, annoying cartoon to calm my feverish little guy during a bout with whatever illness it was that caused nasty fluids to come out both ends of his body and landed on a show I now know so well. Four gentlemen about my age running around in blue coveralls, waving giant toothbrushes and singing about how everyone needs to brush their teeth. Apparently their rodent friend didn’t brush his and now had a cavity. I rolled my eyes and prepared to flip the channel yet again when I noticed, hey, these guys are kinda funny. And, hey, this music is really good. Then, more importantly, I saw that Elijah had stopped crying and was watching intently. Bonus! Thus, the Mover frenzy in our home had begun.

That band (and their awesome show) from New Orleans became a staple in Elijah’s life in record time. Amazingly enough, the grown-ups enjoyed it just as much as he did, with great rock music and awesome annoyance avoidance (I just made that up). We DVR’d episodes for emergencies (i.e. belly aches, missed/interrupted naps, Momma working overtime). We bought their CD’s and DVD’s for peaceful road trips. Elijah’s love affair with all things Mover had been established. He had a Mover Dave gadget hat (which he now eats pizza out of), a Mover Smitty hat, Mover Scott’s wobble goggles and drum sticks like Mover Rich. Oh, and also a stuffed replica of the rodent, who I have since learned is Warehouse Mouse, basically the show’s mascot. If it’s for sale on their website, he has it. When we heard the Mover’s were touring the US in 2011, we bought tickets to their Pittsburgh show. Third row, center. We couldn’t wait to see his reaction to seeing his hero’s live and in person.

So, the concert…Elijah, now two, danced and laughed at Choo Choo Soul, who provided the opening act. He was also familiar with them since they are Disney related. But once the Mover’s came on stage, he barely blinked, eyes never leaving the stage. He was awestruck. The only change in his demeanor was when Mover Rich hopped down and made his way to stand on the seat in front of us. Elijah smiled for the first time since the show began and almost reverently touched Rich’s leg. A pat on his head from Rich brought an almost hysterical giggle.

Of course we sprung for the Mini Mover Package, which gives you not only the great seats we enjoyed but also a chance to mingle with the Mover dudes backstage in their “Think Tank”. We had a blast there as well. Elijah got a hug from Genevive and DC from Choo Choo Soul. He was able to pull Mover Scott’s beard and get his picture with all of his idols. Getting him out of the room was a different story. But after we warned him that none of the band would like it if he misbehaved, we were able to make our exit peacefully.

Fast forward to 2012. My daughter purchased tickets for the Mover’s Rock-O-Matic concert in Houston Texas, originally scheduled for early March then delayed until the end of September. Ironically, we were now living in the Mover’s home state of Louisiana but they weren’t performing in our area so we hopped a plane to Houston (if the mountain won’t come to Mohammad…). Elijah, now the grand old age of three and a self-proclaimed #1 Mover Smitty fan, was so excited that all he could talk about was being able to sit down with the Mover’s and have a nice long chat. Um, you and about fifty thousand other fans, sweet baby.

We had originally had front row seats but due to a scheduling issue, our 5 p.m. show was combined with the earlier one on that day. As a consolation prize, our boys in blue invited those affected by the change to the sound check prior to the big event. In we went with the others, Elijah lugging a sign as big as himself declaring his hero-worship of Mover Smitty. I wasn’t sure what to expect at this point but I should have known. All four of those wonderful men and their crew came down off the stage to meet the group. To make a long story short (yeah, like when have I ever done that, you ask?)…We learned about a sound check (thank you, Scott). As for Elijah? He got a Mover guitar pick (thank you, Rich). His sign (shown below) was placed on stage for the concert (thank you, Smitty). And Dave tried on his Mover Dave hat (he wants his pizza back, Dave).

Elijah's sign

Elijah's sign on stage

The concert was fabulous. Of course.  And, once again, we had purchased the Mini Mover Package. We heard more music, played with balloons and got our pictures taken with the Mover’s. We had to wait to get Elijah’s hat autographed until after all the families got their pictures taken. When told this, I initially thought “uh oh, this should be fun” since Elijah waits for things about as well as he eats his vegetables (which is not). But my little boy, that mostly inexhaustible ball of energy, stood by the gate (see picture below) without moving for over an hour watching as family after family posed and chatted. When I asked him if he wanted to sit down beside me, he replied “No. I’m waiting to talk to the Mover’s.” He was not disappointed. Because the Mover’s rarely, if ever, disappoint and only then when it’s beyond their control.        

Elijah waiting to talk

After the last photo was taken, he snagged Mover Dave as he moved toward the fans (Dave, he was asking if you really ate things that came out of your hat and telling you that he actually did too. We can vouch for him. Unfortunately he does.). We moved on to Mover Scott…thank you for the Twitter recognition, by the way…and Scott was uber patient while hearing all about his toy dog, Big Bad Barry (affectionately named after that famous dog from the Walkaway Walkie episode), who had attended the show with us. Mover Smitty was next and the photo op was so exciting for Elijah that he had trouble speaking (I can relate, little buddy, I felt the same when I met Drew Brees). But he was asking you if you liked having his sign on stage with you, El Smitto. We grabbed Mover Rich on our way toward the door and got a great picture of the two of them comparing muscles and mean roars. (Again, see pictures below.)

Comparing roars & muscles with Mover Rich

Overwhelmed while being held by Mover Smitty

And to the door we went. Not a cry, not a fuss. Because he got what he came needed. He was able to see the Imagination Movers on stage, dance to their music and have fun. Most importantly, he was able to visit a little with four guys he admires and looks up to and who bring such joy to so many children (and to their parents). A class act from beginning to end, never forgetting their fans or the importance of a little one-on-one time.

Movers, my little guy had the time of his life. You were all kind and attentive to his questions. You treated him with respect and caring. You were sincere and he recognized it your sincerity. And for that, Rich, Scott, Dave and Smitty, this Yaya thanks you from the bottom of her heart. See ya next year!

Anyway, that was 2012, and the 2013 concert, as I said, was just as much fun. So here's the big favor I mentioned at the beginning...

Please click on the link below to find out what is going on.  You will love it! And while you’re at it? Like their FaceBook page. Follow the Mover’s on Twitter…@imovers.  Follow their PledgeMusic on Twitter…@pledgemusic. Visit their website at www.imaginationmovers.com. Help us out!

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