PyeongChang 2018!

It's that time again, when our television set stops spouting endless animal facts and blasé morals about going potty and sharing our toys and instead stays tuned into NBC for nonstop Olympic action!

We have tried hard to obey the APA about television viewing in our house, but when the Olympics are on, we throw off all the rules, certain that two weeks of watching the best athletes in the world do their thing (and letting the reporters string out the best of the athletes' life stories) is worth the consequences. (Aren't we such rebels?)

This is the only photo I've taken since the Olympics began.
Us on the couch. In our jammies. That pretty much sums it up.

And yes, I've already teared up twice - once watching Mirai Nagasu nail that triple axel - because who could resist that reaction at the end? - and another time reading an interview with Scott Hamilton about his fight with success and cancer. I laugh at the Hershey's Gold commercial with Apollo every. time. - and there have been a LOT of times - and if I see the one about the Chevy Traverse one more time, I will definitely throw something. (P and I both agree that we'd like Chevy to start using real actors again.) And as for Johnny Weir, well, P and I have become quite adept at the Entire-Conversation-in-a-Look technique:

[silently]
P: Do you SEE what he is wearing?
B: Yes, now HUSH.
P: It is so, so.... [wide-eyed emoji]
B: BE QUIET. The kids don't need your opinions on this.
P: If they EVER wear their hair like that...
B: BREATHE. It'll be okay. We will still love them.
P: You might, but I'll get the scissors.
B: Good grief.
P: Fine, I'll be quiet this time. But one day...
B: Thank you. Yes, one day we will discuss this with them in more depth. But today, we don't need to give them any reason to start judging people based on appearances.
P: I know. You are right, as always, most beautiful and wise wife of mine. I am so lucky to have you in my life. 

I'm pretty sure that's how the conversation would've been translated into words. It's possible that I misinterpreted a little bit, but you get the idea.

And as is true of so much of this momma's life, watching my kids is really the best part of the Olympic season. I remember when Sarah was still so little and we watched the London summer Olympics while she crawled around on the floor and couch, oblivious to the TV but happy to be with us, and now I sit on the couch while that girl dons her socks and paper plates for a very serious "fan dance," a unique mixture of figure skating and Found Object Artistry, which her brothers can't resist joining ("where's my socks?" can be heard all over the house in the evenings), and which serves as far better entertainment than any of NBC's video clips of young future athletes' home videos on the ski slopes.

While the two younger kids still spend most of the time playing, Luke is glued to the TV as if his life depended on the outcomes - in fact, we let him stay up late on Saturday night to watch Men's Snowboard Slopestyle but made him go to bed after they switched back to more figure skating. In the morning, he insisted that I get him up to speed on the figure skating scores... It's fun to watch with him, and it's especially fun to discuss with him what event he would like to participate in - he is so very practical, like his parents, so he doesn't even pretend that he might do any of the ice skating events, but he is willing to consider the idea of a skiing event. ("Is there any event that involves reading a lot?" he asks... and his parents shake their heads in shared sorrow, knowing they'd all be contenders if that were possible...)

Our excitement always dies off before long, and I am always disappointed that they show so little of the weirder events, like that one with the brooms, but while the fun lasts, we will soak it in, immersing ourselves in the stories and steeping ourselves in the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.