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Michael Buble Destroys Society

After singlehandedly preserving the planet at the Closing Ceremonies, Michael Buble went and undid it all last week.  As the suburbs of Cincinnati emptied into Riverfront Coliseum* for the hometown leg of his "Crazy Love" tour, the society around it slowly spiralled into chaos.

Despite the fact that a good third of them were probably conceived accompanied by the vocal stylings of Mr. Buble, the children of the Tri-State had to go somewhere while their parents kicked back in Martiniville.  They were thus unleashed en masse upon grandparents, godparents, and elder siblings.  They saw their chance.  They took to the streets.

Jim The Small Child Nephew, Will The Smaller Child Nephew, and Sam the Baby Nephew were deposited with my parents.  Their cousins required a three-person double shift with maternal grandparents and a paternal aunt.

At my sister's house, it began with spaghetti.

"Spaghetti?"  Will requested after dinner.

"You already ate," his grandmother reminded him.

To bolster his point, Will produced a container of leftovers from the refrigerator.  "Spaghetti?"

"Put it back," said my mother.

She was diapering Sam some minutes later when she sensed a pasta-clutching presence behind her.


Sam, for his part, knew what was what before his parents even left the house.  As his mother descended the steps into the kitchen, perfumed and wearing something other than a cotton-poly blend, his eyes narrowed and the plotting began.  He was more patient than his elder brother, however, and waited until his final bottle of the evening was through before crying and crying and refusing to go to sleep and crying and refusing to go to sleep and refusing to go to sleep and crying and crying and refusing to go to sleep.  Oh, and crying.  And then the revolution began.

Will cast aside his carb cravings for the moment and announced that he would like to see Mommy.

"They're eating at a restaurant," Jim reminded him, "and then the man is going to sing."

Herein we see the difference between my parents and me.  I would have mixed up some juicebox and vodka cocktails, put Cars on infinite repeat, and let nature take its course, welcoming my sister and her husband home to the sight of their sons strewn all over the house, sleeping where they dropped.  Then I'd file suit.

"I want Mommy."

"Your mommy will be home soon," said my mommy.

"But I like Mommy.  I want to see Mommy now."

Michael Buble, meanwhile?

You may wonder where my father was during all of this; he was on the scene, in fact, but doubled over in pain from a McDonald's run gone wrong.  He recovered enough, however, to end the Will-related trauma with utter lies.

"Mommy will not come home," he said, "unless you go to sleep."

So there was one down, dreaming of all the therapy bills to come, while Sam continued to address his grievances.  And then Jim, sensing weakness, chose his moment.

"Let's play!"

They closed the door on their eldest grandchild just as Julie the NephewsMama and Country The Brother-in-Law sailed in the door with tales of indoor fireworks, beach balls, and awesomeness.

"This happens," my mother said, "once every two years."

Jim was once again awake at this point, and demanded that his parents present themselves Will, who was sound asleep in the next room.  He is a good big brother.  I would have said the hell with him and sat very quietly, basking in You're Being So Well-Behaved! comparison bliss.

I suppose my parents had an easier time of it, however, than the family of a friend, which introduced weaponry.  There were four children instigating their own takeover, with one bopping another on the top of the head with a baseball bat.  Everybody had a marvelous night for a moondance at the ER.

And so as the sun rose over the smoking husk of a city, vultures fed on the carrion, the highways stood empty and Michael Buble moved on to Detroit, which, to his credit, was already in a pre-destroyed state when he showed up.

*and yes, I know it's technically not called that anymore, and no, I do not care.

free birth control at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Reader Comments (6)

[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Mary Beth Ellis. Mary Beth Ellis said: Michael Buble (@michaelbuble) Destroys Society: http://blondechampagne.wordpress.com/2010/04/01/michael-buble-destroys-society/ [...]

OMG! Hilarious!


April 2, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterKris

This cracked me up.

I was one of those Cincinnati suburbanites who put on lipgloss and heels and dumped the next generation to see MB at USBA last week.

Love your blog

April 3, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterBarb Noland Hogan

This almost makes me glad I am geographically isolated from the rest of my family.

April 3, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAnne from Iowa

Anne, I completely agree! I am soooo glad they're in Indiana and I'm in Arizona.....even with earthquakes in the desert on Easter Sunday.

Well done, MB! I needed a laugh today!!!

April 5, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterWiserlemming

[...] was sitting here writing (okay, typing) (okay, yelling at someone on a message board who called Michael Buble, quote, “a woman with a microphone and  a Nordstrom suit”– so let us not fear [...]

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