My Life Is Just Like That Of A Movie Star

I read a tabloid recently while standing in a checkout line about the infamous Brangelina couple.

(Don't judge me. You read them, too. They're right there, I have nothing else to do but fight with kids, and every single one of us has an unholy fascination with celebreties.)

This particular one was saying how bad of parents Brad and Angie were. Their sins? Skinny dipping at midnight, serving pizza for breakfast and loud fights.

Bwahahahaha!!!! I'm so glad they're real people.

First of all, let me clarify that I'm neither for nor against the Pitt-Jolie union. Much like any other celebrity, I don't give a flying cow chip what they do, don't do or think. It makes for interesting reading, but doesn't affect my life. In short - I don't care enough to have feelings one way or another.

But things like this just crack me up. Let's take a closer look at what they're doing wrong, shall we?

Skinny dipping at midnight. If I looked like Angelina I'd be tempted to go skinny dipping in broad daylight. What's it matter that they're doing it after the kids are asleep in their own private pool?

Eating pizza for breakfast. That has happened here more times that I can count. Sometimes because that's what I choose to eat and sometimes because Micah finds the leftovers and helps himself. Is there something wrong with that? I find pizza to be a miracle food myself. It's got breads, dairy, meat and veggies. Could it get much healthier? If I didn't run the risk of the kids learning to dislike that, too, I'd serve it for every meal.

Loud fights. Good heavens, the neighbors probably think we're killing someone daily with all the yelling that goes on here. I try not to yell so much, but the kids force me to do it. We'll just gloss over the angry-at-the-kids yelling and talk about the other yelling that goes on. We live on 4 acres. My parents are just across the road. It's a daily occurrence to yell for kids to come inside, to have a loud conversation with my parents while we're standing on our front porches (that usually ends in a "CALL ME! I CAN'T HEAR!"), or yelling for dogs. And then there's the whole big-house thing. The kids claim they can't hear me when they're upstairs. I call for them in my indoor-loud voice and get zero answer. I go to the bottom of the steps and yell. Still nada. So I put my hands to my mouth and lift my voice to the heavens. The whole world hears me, and miraculously even the kids do.

The kicker is that my house is only 2500 sq. ft. Imagine if I lived in a McMansion. I can truly believe that there's a lot of yelling going on in that house of Brangelina fame. After all, they're real people. Angie asks Brad to take out the trash. He "doesn't hear." She asks louder, he turns up the television to drown her out. She throws the trash at him and screams bloody murder.

It's only what any couple would do.