This weekend has been so great.  As I mentioned, a good girlfriend came to town.  I got to spend two whole nights hanging out until all hours of the night, er….. I mean morning acting in a manner that some might consider to be childish.  Totally unexpected, right?  More on that later.

In between all those good times, I had plans to squeeze in some time with the family, as it was the last big weekend of the summer since the kids start school again tomorrow.  I have to say that as far as weekends go, this one has been really successful.  I don’t often get that “I can have it all” type of feeling that I imagine the supermoms (whom I envy) get on a regular basis, but this weekend I really feel like I pulled it off, even if I will probably fall asleep earlier than my kids tonight!  Regardless, on Saturday morning my husband, kids and I (in a state of recovery from Friday evening’s adventures) drove to the Century Centre Cinema in Chicago to see the film It Might Get Loud.  No, we don’t often drive such distances to see a film, but this was a limited release that was not to be missed.  You haven’t heard of it?  Really.  Well, check the website here.  And then go see it.  Seriously.  Right now.  Not very often am I moved by a film, but sitting there in that theatre between my guitar loving husband and his guitar loving son watching these three guitar icons talk about their musical inspirations, methods, history, their instruments, and how they do what they do I just straight up couldn’t help it.  My husband was way into it I know, but my son seemed absolutely inspired.  I thought it totally rocked.   My daughter thought her chair was uncomfortable.  Whatever.

To reward me for attending a movie that for some reason he didn’t think I’d want to see (fool), my husband stopped at a hat store on the way home.  Because I love hats.  LOVE. HATS.  Ok, sometimes they don’t love me back but I don’t let a little thing like that bother me.  I annoyed the cranky men working at the store by touching every single hat.  And trying them on.  All of them.  And then on my children.  Both of them.  We were there way too long for a girl who has big plans that night, but I got an absolutely adorable little brown wool brimmed paperboy hat.  No, I don’t have a picture because I’m always the one holding the camera and I hate being that person taking a picture of themselves.  Besides, the little hat store men were not amused by me and my enthusiasm for their hat selection.  They actually knew that I wasn’t going to buy the collapsible silk top hat for $350, even though I took it out of the glass cabinet and put it on all of the available heads in my family.  Nor would I be wearing out the purple wool felt pimp hat for $220, the sailor hat, the barbershop quartet pork pie, the captain’s hat, the heavily beaded sombrero, the Kangols, the Canadian Mountie hat, or even one of the 30-some odd cowboy hats that I tried on.  Yes, I went there.  I still can’t pull the trigger.  I was able to sneak this rather amusing photograph of my son wearing Slash’s mad hatter hat.  It seems appropriate for a guitar dudes kinda day.  What do you think?

Is it wrong that my son is the subject of all of my cameras prohibited shots?