When the sons were younger, we had to find ways to amuse them. Amusement parks. Parks, in general. Movies. Dodger games. Laker games. Kings games. Any venue that served milk shakes, hamburgers and fries. Buying them stuff worked well, too. Skateboards. Rollerblades. Bikes. Basketballs. Baseballs. Bats. Hockey sticks. Sports memorabilia. Gameboys. Video games. New equipment of any kind brought temporary joy. Entertaining the sons was a costly endeavor. These days, it's so much easier to amuse them. It costs nothing. The effort on our part is minimal. All we have to do is doze off, mid-afternoon, in a seated position -- hubby on the sofa, me on the LazyGirl -- and hilarity ensues, especially when the eldest son captures the siesta on his iPhone and offers to share it with the world. Fortunately, a series of parental threats, including disinheritance, stopped him from exposing us to international ridicule. Such self-restraint. Have we raised him right, or what? He only shared "Parents Snoring On A Sunday" with his brother, who was all the way in the next room, debating whether it was worthy of Funny or Die, Instagram or Facebook. In the end, the sons wisely opted to spare us the global humiliation, most likely because they prefer not to lose their laundry privileges, upcoming Hanukkah gelt and supervised visits with our new dog.
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