What, No Clever Olympic Theme?

Here we are, forty-eight hours on the flip side of Sunday. Sunday that I spent watching Olympic athletes do crazy, uber-athletic things with their lithe bodies. I had hoped to deliver to you a cheeky synopsis of the experience - perhaps with honorary medals for various special moments - but I'm too distracted to be cheeky, so you're getting the straight up version.

First of all, we took a bus. A big white YMCA bus. The bus was not mandatory, but I thought the camaraderie would be good for the girls. The bus driver, who looked to be on his "retirement career," began our trip by announcing that he had not driven into Boston in twenty years. Yeah. It's changed a bit since then. Fortunately, he assured us, we were equipped with GPS. Judging by the chorus of groans rising up from the parent section of the bus, this did not have the reassuring effect that the driver hoped for. He did, in fact, get us into Boston before things went awry, at which point we pulled over on some desolate little road of nothing while various irate mothers barked directions at the poor overwhelmed driver. As it turns out, we were within shouting distance of our destination, so all out disaster was averted.

Our fearless leader, Head Coach M, had managed to get enough people to come along in our group so that we got to go to the Chalk Talk before the actual show. I admit, I was a bit star struck by this. Thirty elite athletes are warming up while you watch. Nastia freaking Liukin is right there, tossing herself around on those bars. Very buff boys are doing handstands everywhere you look. Meanwhile, three of the gymnasts sat and took questions from the audience and then gave out a smattering of autographs. Fifth Grader managed to get her program signed by Shannon Miller - the most decorated American gymnast of all time, mind you, yet a bit before Fifth Grader's time and therefore not the biggest thrill of her life. Oh well.

On to the show - but wait! I forgot to tell you about JF. Well, she didn't come...but the daughter did, accompanied by the two older daughters. You know, the amazing superstars that she bragged about? Let me tell you, I have not seen two sulkier teenagers since I myself was a sulky teenager. And not only sulky, but ravenously hungry, judging by the way they devoured package after package of...wait for it...Reese's peanut butter cups. I kid you not! Do you think I felt a little smug? Oh yes. Smug indeed.

Anyway, the show. The girls were very dancy. The boys did not wear shirts. The girls were beautiful and graceful and, at times, a little edgy and funky. The boys did not wear shirts. It didn't suck. I have a new found respect for these men and their athleticism. Good heavens, they were strong. And shirtless. I was a bit surprised at the amount of rock star-like screaming going on in the audience. I've screamed at a few rock stars in my day, and I doubt any of them could even spell pommel horse, never mind do the things these men were doing on one. Lesson learned.

The ride home was only slightly painful. Given the day's excitement, the decibel level on the bus was a bit heightened. We did make one rather misguided stop at McDonald's - just one more thing standing between the parents and much-needed cocktails, I'm just saying - but fortunately, we had a different driver who actually knew where he was going and made pretty good time.

So there you are. Only slightly cheeky.