If I were up for the Mother of the Year award, I certainly would get it after tonight. I volunteered to take my two boys to the Ariana Grande concert. Actually, I think Brian ran away when it was discussed, so I was the only alternative. In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen him move so fast. (Please be aware of how hard it is to type this blog while I have my hand to my head in the “martyrdom salute”.) I have ventured into the darkness of screaming teenage girls when I took Bailey to his first concert…..Miley Cyrus. This was during her transition from Disney star to adult porn star. I kid you not, she danced around a pole, straddled a motorcycle, and virtually scarred all the nine and ten year old girls who were there to see her.
You can only imagine that my PTSD from Miley Cyrus has kicked in and I am dreading the concert. Here are my survival tools. First, I only get tickets in a suite. Thank God, I have a friend who has access. Never a line for the bathroom which is key for a woman with a pea size bladder. Second, my phone is key as I need to be able to post statuses on Facebook describing the pure torture that I am experiencing. Third, dance around and look like I am having fun. Embarrassing the boys is simply a bonus.
With all of the complaining aside, I love how excited Bailey is and that he knows all of her songs. He has dance moves that he has been practicing, so he can wow all of those around us. Bryce is another story. I am assuming that he wants to go more because she is girl in tiny outfits versus he actually knows the songs. Whatever his reasons, I will probably have a better time than anticipated. However, if there is pole dancing or straddling a motorcycle, I am so out of there.