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June 26, 2008

A Little Bit of Everything

I’m thrilled to have escaped chez Glamore, as it’s been a hectic week. Porter evidently felt that with Drew at camp he had to do twice as much talking, although Drew is the quietest boy I have and it took about a week before I really noticed his absence and started missing him.

Each morning Porter and Finn have been at Bible School, and though Porter told all the teachers he was Drew the first day, the next two days he filled out his nametag “Mr. Glamore” and refused to answer to anything else.

This morning I packed my bags and hit the road to pick Drew up from camp. All the evidence I’ve seen so far in the form of pictures and letters lead me to conclude he’s not going to be glad to see me. He seems to be equally enamored of the horses and a counselor named Justin, and won’t want to live without them.  We’re zoned for extra males, so Justin is welcome, but we’re not zoned for horses.  Plus, I force Drew to change into clean clothes and brush his teeth every day, so he’ll have a big adjustment to make.

I’m currently in Traveler’s Rest, S.C. I listened to my entire repetoire of Better Than Ezra songs on my way up here, and relived the two times I’ve seen them live, once with the girls in New Orleans at the House of Blues, and once with Drew at the Crawfish Boil. I keep wondering when I’m going to be too old for concerts, but I just purchased Maroon 5/Counting Crows tickets for the whole family so apparently I have a few months left in me yet.

Speaking of music, I mentioned to Finn that John Mellencamp had a music career under the name “John Cougar” and he didn’t believe me.  I’d always heard that his record label made him use the “catchier” (?) Cougar, but given the names bands and singers have today, Finn wasn’t having any of it.

He had some monry for iTunes, and surprised me on the way to church by playing “Jack and Diane” which he deemed “pretty cool.”  I surprised him, in turn, by singing every word of the song, even the part where Jack and Diane climb in the backseat of the car and start disrobing, and he blushed.

I’d love to stay and chat, but I located a Jazzercise class in nearby Taylors, S.C. and no kidding, I’m going.

What I wrote on Deep South Moms Blog: 8 Ways I Tricked My Kids Into Reading

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 7:19 pmBoys: Demented & Dangerous,Music: Give Me A Beat!17 comments  

June 9, 2008

Drew Busts A Move

It’s rare for me to have uninterrupted time with any one of my sons. Drew and I drove to Greenville on Friday and spent the night, and then I dropped him off at camp the next morning.

Drew padded his seat in the car with his favorite pillow, his iPod, and his teddy bear. His bear is less cuddly than you might imagine, as Drew pierced his ear and stuck a gold loop earring in it. He then unraveled the bear’s knit cap and refashioned the strands into blue dreadlocks. That is one reggae teddy bear.

I spent part of the drive teaching Drew how to blow a bubble with bubble gum. We bought three flavors of Bubblicious and chewed them, then I went through the “flatten, tongue poke, and blow” routine with him. I highly recommend this activity as a bonding experience.

I let Drew pick the music on the way up, and we listened to the rap playlist I created with all of your valuable input. I added a couple of tunes of my own, and so we listened to Chic sing “Good Times,” and then noted that “Rapper’s Delight” shares the same background music. We did the same exercise with “Superfreak” and “U Can’t Touch This.”

While Drew got the point that a major part of rap involves sampling other songs, I don’t think I’ll be teaching Porter the same lessons just yet. I can hear the questions now: “Why can’t you take her home to mother?” “What’s she doing on the street?”

I sang every word to “Rapture” and the background vocals to “Bust A Move.” Drew showed a definite preference for “Brass Monkey” and “Parents Just Don’t Understand.” He was thoroughly entranced with the latter song, and I have no idea why he found it so appealing, thus illustrating Will Smith’s premise, I suppose.

He also asked insightful questions, such as, “Which came first, Bubblicious or Fergalicious?”

One of my college friends lives in Greenville. I’d let her know we were coming up, and she emailed back and said they had a Scottish parade at six. I wrote back, “WTF is a Scottish parade?”

Turns out it’s exactly what you’d imagine, and it marched right in front of our hotel.

I never dreamed that Greenville, South Carolina was the heart of Scottish parade country, but there you go.

This man was clearly the star of the show.

Drew was entranced by the spectacle. The bagpipe rendition of “Amazing Grace” was a far cry from “Baby Got Back,” but I guess that just shows Drew’s appreciation of a wide range of music.
He didn’t say so, but I know that inside Drew was thrilled that he’d worn his plaid Old Navy shorts, like a true Scotsman. He fit right in, except that he was wearing underwear beneath his plaid.

The next morning we got to camp, and my Braveheart got a bit jittery. The custom at camp is to register and go straight into the lake for the swim test. A camper must get a rank of 3A in order to be able to do the water activities such as sailing and kayaking. Even if you plan to stay on land, planted firmly on horseback or on the tennis court, you’re required to take swimming lessons if you don’t reach a 3A. This happened to Drew last year and upset him so much he almost decided against going to camp this year.

As I wrote earlier, Drew worked diligently on his swimming all spring, culminating with his triumphant swim in the triathlon a few weeks ago. Still, even with that under his belt, returning to the scene of his earlier failure, coupled with the prospect of three weeks away from home, turned my usually unemotional son into a red-eyed, quivering mass of bones.

The camp encourages you to leave before your son goes for the test, but it was such an emotional hurdle for us that I found a towel to hide behind and watched as Drew walked down the pier to demonstrate his racing dive, his crawl, his float, and his ability to tread water for twenty minutes.
Although he’s grown several inches this year, he still looked tiny to me.

They got out and stood in line to get marked with the level they’d achieved.
I thought I might die from the suspense. It would be embarrassing when a counselor found my corpse lying beneath the mildewy towel. Plus, I was wearing a pretty short miniskirt, and if I collapsed, I might look indecent. I’d be the “Superfreak” personified– the mom who couldn’t live through her son’s swim test and then died with her leopard undies showing.
Thank God this had a happy ending.


One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom:Bad Bride

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 8:20 amMusic: Give Me A Beat!,Wanderlust: Travel Tales20 comments  

June 3, 2008

Give Me Your Rapping Delight

You all know by now that my sons are into rap, and by that I mean today’s rap, which to me sounds like nothing more than nasty talk. I could write a rap song myself, just by stringing together words like this:

“Shawty on the floor, look all sexy in that thang, wanna buy you a drank with all the green I got, while we drink champagne, and do dirty stuff that I won’t describe here but would in great detail if this were a real rap song, my boo, yeah, uh huh, I be lookin’ at you, and your booty too…”

I’ve written about the rap music before, including the awful lyrics to “Low” and “My Humps” and the fact that I let Finn teach me the Soulja Boy dance.

Maybe it’s my liberal tendencies and belief in non-censorship, or perhaps I’m a terrible mother, but I don’t think the way to handle this rap situation is to ban the music altogether. I thought I’d try a different tactic.

I figure that as long as the boys are listening to this stuff, they ought to learn about it as well, and that means going back to classic rap songs, those from back in the day when we sang “Hotel, motel, Holiday Inn,” and thought we were fly.

I want to make the boys a playlist of classic rap.

Sadly for me, the only old rap songs I can think of at all are “Rapper’s Delight” and MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This.” (You can tell I’ve been a parent for too long; I originally wrote that title as “Don’t Touch That” which isn’t half as catchy but I say it all the time in this house full of boys.)

I wasn’t concentrating on rap back in the day; I was moodily lining my eyes with kohl and following the Cure and Hoodoo Gurus and Wall of Voodoo.

So I ask you, readers, can you suggest some rap songs that are musts for this list?

And in return, I’ll take you back to the unforgettable “Mexican Radio” by Wall of Voodoo:

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 10:09 pmBlast From the Past,Boys: Demented & Dangerous,Music: Give Me A Beat!39 comments  

May 13, 2008

Smooch On Over

If you don’t live nearby, you may not know that I also write for Lipstick magazine.  Why don’t you mosey over there and see what I had to say about my boys’ taste in music?

Click the link and then click on “Soulja Mom.”


One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: In Which Bill Is Assaulted By Hyperbole

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 2:29 pmMusic: Give Me A Beat!10 comments  

May 5, 2008

Crawfish Boil: Hot!

We’re all about music festivals, so Saturday our family headed downtown to the Crawfish Boil and saw Flo Rida, Gavin deGraw, and Fergie.

I don’t know that I’ve discussed the rap music phenomenon since I published the video of Drew and me trying to do the Soulja Boy dance. In a word, Finn continues to listen to this stuff and Bill and I can barely understand any of it. Earlier this year we persuaded Finn that we were both worthy and capable of learning the chorus to Flo Roda’s hit “Low.” Finn was doubtful but indulged us.

Once we got to the festival, I felt a surge of coolness that at forty-one I was able to sing “Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club was lookin’ at her” along with the rest of the crowd.


Flo Rida looks pensive, almost beatific in this photo. Don’t let that fool you for a second. At one point he scaled the scaffolding on the side of the stage while he sang, and his jeans sagged way below his cheeks in the back. On the up side, his underwear was sparkling clean. Still, it didn’t seem possible that he’d be able to dance and sing without revealing his family jewels. I was sore afraid, as I have only two hands but was responsible for six young pairs of eyes that would need to be covered in such an event.

Here’s a picture I found that shows this strange fashion statement.

I knew people were sagging, but this was a new low for me. (Thanks to for the picture.)

I’d heard the name Gavin DeGraw before, and I pegged as for a country singer. Maybe he’d smooched Carrie Underwood a time or two.

Actually, he’s a singer songwriter with an edge, and you’ve heard his song “I Don’t Want To Be.” (caution: sound link!) He’s also quite the cutie, and if I were Carrie Underwood I’d be smooching him. He pounded the piano and sang and put on the type of show that makes you want to run buy the CD.


(If he can’t decide what to get his Mom for Mother’s Day, I have the perfect idea: the necklace he’s wearing in this picture. Big necklaces are back in for women, and he’d look much cooler without it.)

But my family’s aching buns can only be attributed to Fergie. She was full of energy, had awesome dancers, and had a charming personality when she talked to the crowd between songs. She was so enchanting, in fact, that when she sang “Big Girls Don’t Cry” I was able to ignore the horrifying subject/possessive pronoun disagreement in the line “and I’m gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket.” I even sang along. Nor did I shudder when she spelled tasty “T-A-S-T-E-Y” in her hit “Fergalicious.” She gets an A+ for showmanship because I’m the biggest grammar geek around.

Fergie wore three different outfits during her set. One showed her impressive abs, like this:

except that it was white.

For her hard rocking set she wore the same outfit she wore on American Idol a couple of weeks ago.


No one was more thrilled than Bill when she sang “Barracuda,” crawling all over the stage, and throwing in a couple of cartwheels to prove she’s not pregnant.
Fergie was highly amused that a city would plan a music festival around crawfish, but that’s what we do down here.

How much crawfish will Drew and Porter eat?


We don’t know. We ran out of money long before we were able to make that determination.


One year ago in My Tiny Kingdom: My boys reviewed the 2007 Festival, which featured the Spin Doctors, Akon and Hinder.  Their thoughts are here.

Posted by Anne Glamore @ 12:50 pmMusic: Give Me A Beat!11 comments  

Welcome to the Kingdom

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I'm Anne Glamore, wife, mother, lawyer and blogger. I have three boys, and I'm desperately trying to train them to become Southern gentlemen, but that may be an unrealistic goal. At this point I'd be ecstatic if they'd quit farting at the dinner table. If you're new here, check out the Readers' Favorite Posts below or browse through the Categories. I write about my attempts to teach the boys about peckers and sex (which we call "making googly eyes"), my struggles with hepatitis C and spine surgery, the boys' adventures with fire and pets, my mom's death from ovarian cancer, my love of cooking (with plenty of recipes) and anything else that crosses my mind. Join me on Twitter or StumbleUpon or Email me. I'm happy to speak to your group or club.

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