The "Beat It" beat down

Since being married, I have been painfully reminded that I'm no where near as funny as I think I am. Although, I run into fresh meat every now and then, and they miraculously find ways to think my dramatic antics are hilarious at first, then I believe it starts to wear on them. So, I really enjoy running into new people who take the time and energy to laugh when I'm trying to be entertaining.

Enter in children. Boy, talk about fresh meat. It doesn't take much to make a 6-month-old smile or an 18-month-old laugh, especially if you know all the right tickle spots. Well, I have a brand new 4-year-old that is starting to test the waters of joke-making (and I mean test the waters). Her idea of a joke is usually something like this:

"Hey mom. Are we going to eat ... a ... CHAIR for lunch?" with insane laughter to follow.

So my story begins with a typical evening of attempting to feed two kids that are trying to survive on approximately 25 calories per day. I prepared a meal I knew they liked and have eaten before, with no snacks before hand and knew they ate enough to satisfy a newborn hummingbird for lunch. So, they should have been eating more.

I found myself repeating "just eat it" about every 10 seconds and it really started to get old. All that repeating the same thing over and over again lead me to start singing "eat it." For those of you from the right time period (boy, am I telling my age), you'll remember there was a song Weird Al Yankovic sang called Eat It that was a parody of Michael Jackson's song Beat It. I've never been good at remembering a whole song's lyrics, other than the majority of the chorus, so I started singing, "Eat it, eat it, eat it, eat it, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm eat it" over and over again.

An interest was sparked and the biggest bird-eater asked, "Mommy, what are you singing?"

"Oh honey, there was a song when I was growing up; it was a silly song; that had those words in it. Eat it, eat it. Just like I wish you would do."

The perplexed look on her face made me realize that attempting to explain that it was a parody wasn't going to make any hill of beans difference so I got up and decided to find a video on YouTube and turn it up real loud so they could hear it from the office. I found a video of Weird Al, but decided to play the real thing: Michael Jackson's Beat It.

Both children were in their seats, not eating, but sitting patiently and the song started to blast from the little computer speakers that came with the computer (I'm sure they weren't made to play that loud). I turned it up pretty loud to make sure they could hear the music real well and I noticed it. "It" was a captive audience that occasionally finds me funny, with some really good music playing.

I couldn't hold back. The beat from Beat It triggered something in my bones and the urge overcame me. I started to dance, in the kitchen, in front of this captive audience. The type of dancing the Spartan cheerleaders on Saturday Night Live or Elaine from Seinfeld would be proud of. Four and a half minutes worth of sideways finger v's uncovering my eyes (from Pulp Fiction), Rockette-style high leg kicks, lots of hip-shaking, spinning around, snapping to the beat, jerky head motions, Jersey Shore fist-pumping, raising the roof, contorted facial expressions, peeking around and dancing next to the door jamb, anything and everything I could pull from my dance moves folder was used and with much gusto and passion. The grand finale was topped off with a big "whoo!", hands in the air, spirit sprinkle, mouth wide open and a "ta da" look on my face!

And my children were paralyzed ...

and ...

speechless.

Through my labored breathing, I sat down at the table, smiled, said real sweet and Mommy-like, "What's wrong, you didn't think that was funny?"

They were still paralyzed. I've seen that look before because I know my brother and I made them more times than I could count. We made that face usually after one of our parents did something that embarrassed us so much we prayed the heavens would open up and swallow us just to save us from the wrath of ostracizing that was soon to come. But four years old and 18-months? Are they embarrassed already?

I'm pretty sure it had more to do with, "Mom complains about sitting on the floor to read me books and she's capable of all that?" or most likely "What the he** was all that and what does it have to do with eating?"

I think when Katherine finally spoke, she said something random like, "Mommy, do kitty cats like to play with dogs?"

The children managed to sit still and quietly for the majority of the next two songs, Thriller and Billie Jean, but they made it very clear what I was doing was not amusing AT ALL to them. Now, if I would have sat at the table and crossed my eyes while sticking out my tongue, THAT would've been funny.

I guess the biggest lesson I got out of my little dancing routine was that in the midst of my "actions" I think I'm funny. I probably wouldn't think I was that funny if I was watching me either, but acting out the video reels constantly playing in my head is quite amusing and entertaining to . . . only . . . me.

So now, instead of having just one big person who doesn't think I'm funny, I can now add two little people who are rather confused when I act out my silliness.

Oh well, paybacks I guess: practice for their teenage years. :)