Feeling Zany....

A few weeks ago, N brought home a flyer that offered discount tickets to see Dan Zanes and Friends in concert.

 Since we'd listened to some of his music, and seen him on the Kids Music Channel, and since its fishing season AND football season--both of which are guarantees that Jimmy will be otherwise occupied--it seemed like a good idea

OK, fine, the other thing that influenced my decision is that after watching Dan Zanes videos on the Kids Music Channel for 597 hours, I started to develop a crush. They don't show very many actual people on that channel, so it was either him or the Wiggles, and the Wiggles seem to enjoy each other's company just a little too much for me to think we could ever have a thing.

Don't judge me. When you've been home with kids for seven years, and you realize that neither soap operas nor tequila shots are acceptable forms of entertainment for mothers who are home with their children, the guy singing kids songs on tv starts to look kind of cute.

So we went.

And he is cute. In that rocker-turned-family-music-guy-who-intentionally-mismatches-his-clothes-and-doesn't-comb-his-hair-kind-of-a-way.

I mean, if that's your thing.

Anyway, on the way there, we reviewed appropriate concert etiquette. You sing along and dance in your seat, unless someone tells you otherwise (which I thought they might). Our etiquette lesson got side tracked at one point when B blurted out the word "stupid" (not in relation to my etiquette lesson. At least I don't think so).  I told him we don't say that word. N informed me that, earlier, he was calling someone named Bob stupid.

I'm pretty sure we don't know anyone named Bob.

"B", I told him, "That is not a nice word and I don't want to hear it again."

"But why, mom?"

"Because it's not nice, B. I don't want to hear it".

"OK, mom."

He was quiet for a minute, and then said "Mom, I really don't understand why I can't say Bob".

Yeah.

Once the show started, we did dance in our seats for a while, and then Dan (I don't think he minds if I call him Dan) told us that this wasn't that kind of a concert. That this was, in fact, a party.

Which, of course, meant that insanity immediately ensued.

The room became one giant toddler mosh pit. There was slam dancing. And body surfing. At one point, I even thought I smelled something familiar--something that took me back to my own concert days.

But surely, no one would have that here. Surely, no one would be passing...

Gas.

They were just passing gas.

A lot of it.

Apparently when you put two hundred pre schoolers in a room together and tell them to start jumping around, it really gets things moving.

For the rest of the show, I chased O to and from the exit doors while B slammed into children we don't know and N alternately swayed in the aisle or sat in her seat and pretended that she wasn't singing along.

Eventually, we waited in an absolutely ridiculous line to buy a CD, and some groupie mom butted in front of us and got the last CD of Dan's newest release. I know her type. She's just like those girls who used to throw their underwear on stage at Bon Jovi concerts.

No matter.

We still got Dan's autograph.

And I'm pretty sure he winked at me.