Opening Ceremonies, or the moment I know I'm raising my children right

I'm a dork. I admit it. Every four years (well, now every two), I anticipate the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I watch, I get teary-eyed, it's great.

Nobody in my family shares my enthusiasm (even the dogs look at me crazy), but at least Craig is tolerant (especially because he can watch a DVD on the laptop).

The ceremony last night was conveniently timed to begin right before we had dinner (taco salads, in true international spirit), so I paused the program (thank you, TIVO!) and made the kids watch with me. They were interested, sort of, for the first few minutes. At least anytime there were flashing lights or explosions.

My darling daughter, the model of refinement and elegance, made a cultural observation:

"If Memphis hosted the Olympics, we'd ghetto it up real good!"

And her brother, with impeccable timing and wit, added:

"It would be the Ghett-Olympics!"