Other people's children

This is the price that comes with entertaining your children. Inevitably, you come in contact with other people's children. Or rather, other people's parenting. After all, what do kids know but their nature and how they've been taught to express their natures?

For instance, if no one told you that during VBS you should sit with your group or with your parents and not run around the fellowship hall like a crazy person, would you know?

But amid the tears, throwdowns, temper tantrums, and attitudes, so far, the third week of summer is progressing nicely. Pete wasn't thrilled with the delay of his $1 summer movie today due to camp counselors waiting until the last minute to escort their long, meandering lines of 10 year olds to the bathroom. But pinky, ever the perky one was simply delighted to be allowed out in public.

Pudding, ever the mellow trooper, took the interruption of his nap in stride. Just look at those tired eyes.

We went to see Legends of the Guardians. To be frank, it wasn't a great movie. In fact, I'm pretty sure Zack Snyder must have been high when he agreed to pretty much make Lord of the Rings with owls. And no, that's not at cool as it sounds. However, it wasn't as awful as it could have been either. The owls were pretty, the story wasn't cloying, and there was plenty of action to keep the kids engaged.

What there was, however, was one very douchey brother owl named Clyde (or something.) You see, Clyde even before the mean old owls came a kidnapping, had a touch of the green eyed monster. His brother Soren, you see, took to their father's storytelling and flying lessons with all the overeager excitement characteristic of these movies. Instead of taking tips from little Soren, Clyde's sullen ass gets, well, more sullen. Eventually, he shoves Soren off a branch and takes himself out of the process which leads to both being kidnapped and Helen Mirren waxing poetic about some kind of new world order.

Soren defends some little owl he just met and earns Helen Mirren's wrath. He calls out to Clyde for help and old Clyde behaves like Helen Mirren has beaten him into submission and fronts like he doesn't recognize Soren. I've never seen an animated character develop Stockholm syndrome so quickly. Later, after Soren has been sent to pick up bits of upchucked mouse bones (uhm eww), Clyde tries to ingratiate himself to Helen Mirren by offering up his and Soren's baby sister, tucked safe away back at their little hollow.

I wish I could tell you what happened next but pudding had enough of all this sitting business and demanded I walk him around in the theater hallway. (Or maybe he just wanted to see why so many kids were constantly leaving and returning. No one has to pee that often, I assure you.)

All you need to know is that for being a royal jerk to his brother and willingly handing over his sister to be moonblinked (don't ask) Clyde earned himself a fiery death . . . maybe. God bless children's movies and their unwillingness to let anyone die for certain. In the end, Soren's mother and father gather around to gush over their pride in little Soren and his can do attitude. And to pretty much forget about their dead, useless other son.

And so it goes, the old world is restored to order in a mere 112 minutes and I am liberated from captivity among a theater full of talking children.

I felt like William Wallace as his innards were being torn out by the executioner, in agony but grateful it was coming to an end. I wonder if the last thing William heard as he was leaving was the hot mess temper tantrum of an 8 year old screaming for his mommy like he'd just watched her throat being slit.

Something to think about.

Tuesday, we're going to see Hop. Russell Brand better bring it.