The Poignant Dreams of Ninja Moms (H50 3x01+ Grimm 2x01)
So, I broke my Yom Kippur technology/media fast by watching H50 3x01 with the boys. In the interests of full disclosure, I’ll admit that I never saw most of the S2 finale; I think I got the gist, but it may be that I missed some of the subtleties of this episode.
We enjoyed it. I was sad that they killed off Malia, but pretty happy that we’re going to be seeing more of Catherine. Everyone looked great. Mostly, though, I enjoyed the heck out of Doris it’s-the-name-I-was-born-with McGarrett. I adored that even though she’s been gone for twenty years, she still immediately exercised her maternal right to ask inappropriate questions of her son’s friends (“Is that what my son calls you?”; “Do you think your daughter wants to see you in a committed relationship?”).
Do you think she was like that when Steve was growing up? Asking his little friends about their parents’ divorces and whatnot? (“How’re things going with your parents, Billy? You tell your mom from me; sexual infidelity you can live with, but financial infidelity is a deal breaker-if he’s cooked the books, kick him out. We don’t want her penniless, do we, Billy?”; “Yes, ma’am; I mean, no, no, ma’am.”)-and of little Stevie himself (“And why exactly did you need a twenty- minute shower, buddy?”).
I like to think there’s a world where Doris McGarrett and Kelly Burkhardt from Grimm get together for some unsweetened ice tea and a few diet-breaking cookies.
Let’s call it the Land of Over-used Plot Devices.
They’re pretty glad to have found each other. Goodness knows there aren’t many women who’ve left their teenage children thinking them dead, much less women who’ve walked back into said children’s lives twenty years on. It’s good to have someone who understands.
They start off talking about general things-how hard it is to find a good colorist under deep cover (but a necessity; please, who can live with their roots showing?)-and the kinds of stories mothers always share about their sons (“how many stitches?” and “he did all that with just a roll of toilet paper?” and the thousands of times someone said “ma’am, is that your boy at the top of that ladder/flagpole/pile of small children?”).
They get a bit more specific. Doris rues the day she ever bought Steve those camouflage footie pajamas, and Kelly says, “My Nicky was the same, except it was always cops and robbers with him. I should’ve told him about the Grimms when I had the chance.”
Doris lets her go on for a while about the recent trouble with the Five Families. She’s known about that stuff for years. The Agency had a file on it an inch thick, squirreled away for the day it might come in handy.
Finally, she breaks in. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know what I was expecting. But somehow I thought that by now, well, the kids would have kids of their own. That I’d have grandchildren.”
“Honey, you don’t look old enough to have grandkids,” Kelly says, pushing the plate of cookies towards her. Doris purrs a bit, and smoothes her hair. “But, yeah, I guess I know what you mean. It would be nice-to know they were settled. ”
Doris snorts. If nothing else, she’s honest. “As if they learned anything about settling from us.”
They’re silent for a moment, but Doris is too irritated to let it go. “I tried to find out,” she says. “Find out if there was anyone likely. But damned if I could. Do you think there’s something he’s hiding? Something he thinks I won’t understand? ”
Kelly shrugs. She’s just as perplexed by the relationships in her own son’s life.
“As if I care whether he settles down with a man or a woman? Maybe in our day, sure-but things are different now-even in the military. Doesn’t he know about Neil Patrick Harris, about that gorgeous Bomer boy?”
Kelly nods emphatically. There’s no cover so deep it hasn’t been penetrated by pictures of Matt and Simon and their beautiful boys.
“It could be both, for all I care” Doris goes on, her exasperation rising. “I knew an agent who made a perfectly good run of that arrangement in Havana. Just. I worry. Children are such a joy. I don’t want him to miss out.”
“I’d love a grand-daughter,” Kelly says wistfully, clearly lost in her own imaginings. “I always missed having a girl, growing up with a sister and all.”
“Be careful what you wish for. I had a girl. Have. Three times the trouble, at the best of times.”
“I’d just love a chance to buy some little pink dresses,” Kelly says, tugging at collar of her tight black shirt.
“Pink shurikens more likely, given your gene pool.”
They laugh. Without warning, Doris finds she’s about to cry. “How can I keep doing it?” she asks, looking up in the futile hope that tears won’t spill over and ruin her makeup. “How can I be so fucking far away?”
Kelly grabs her hand across the table and holds on tight. This is why it’s good to be with someone who understands. “Hey,” she says, “don’t. They’re good boys, you know they are. They’ll find their own way.”
“Well, we didn’t leave them much choice, did we?” Doris asks, still in the grip of her self-disgust. But she leaves it there.
They sit like that for a few minutes, waiting for the emotions to ebb. Then they go back to safer topics: arms dealers on five continents who won’t ask questions; what to do about stubborn tendonitis; whether internet dating is appropriate for widow s of a certain age.
The light fades in the windows of their safe house and they are glad to be together, keeping the loneliness at bay.
Next: Danny and Monroe meet in a bar and discuss appropriate forms of address for your BFF’s mother when she comes back from the dead. “At least she isn’t sworn to kill you and all of your kind,” says Monroe. “I’m not too sure about that,” says Danny.
We enjoyed it. I was sad that they killed off Malia, but pretty happy that we’re going to be seeing more of Catherine. Everyone looked great. Mostly, though, I enjoyed the heck out of Doris it’s-the-name-I-was-born-with McGarrett. I adored that even though she’s been gone for twenty years, she still immediately exercised her maternal right to ask inappropriate questions of her son’s friends (“Is that what my son calls you?”; “Do you think your daughter wants to see you in a committed relationship?”).
Do you think she was like that when Steve was growing up? Asking his little friends about their parents’ divorces and whatnot? (“How’re things going with your parents, Billy? You tell your mom from me; sexual infidelity you can live with, but financial infidelity is a deal breaker-if he’s cooked the books, kick him out. We don’t want her penniless, do we, Billy?”; “Yes, ma’am; I mean, no, no, ma’am.”)-and of little Stevie himself (“And why exactly did you need a twenty- minute shower, buddy?”).
I like to think there’s a world where Doris McGarrett and Kelly Burkhardt from Grimm get together for some unsweetened ice tea and a few diet-breaking cookies.
Let’s call it the Land of Over-used Plot Devices.
They’re pretty glad to have found each other. Goodness knows there aren’t many women who’ve left their teenage children thinking them dead, much less women who’ve walked back into said children’s lives twenty years on. It’s good to have someone who understands.
They start off talking about general things-how hard it is to find a good colorist under deep cover (but a necessity; please, who can live with their roots showing?)-and the kinds of stories mothers always share about their sons (“how many stitches?” and “he did all that with just a roll of toilet paper?” and the thousands of times someone said “ma’am, is that your boy at the top of that ladder/flagpole/pile of small children?”).
They get a bit more specific. Doris rues the day she ever bought Steve those camouflage footie pajamas, and Kelly says, “My Nicky was the same, except it was always cops and robbers with him. I should’ve told him about the Grimms when I had the chance.”
Doris lets her go on for a while about the recent trouble with the Five Families. She’s known about that stuff for years. The Agency had a file on it an inch thick, squirreled away for the day it might come in handy.
Finally, she breaks in. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t know what I was expecting. But somehow I thought that by now, well, the kids would have kids of their own. That I’d have grandchildren.”
“Honey, you don’t look old enough to have grandkids,” Kelly says, pushing the plate of cookies towards her. Doris purrs a bit, and smoothes her hair. “But, yeah, I guess I know what you mean. It would be nice-to know they were settled. ”
Doris snorts. If nothing else, she’s honest. “As if they learned anything about settling from us.”
They’re silent for a moment, but Doris is too irritated to let it go. “I tried to find out,” she says. “Find out if there was anyone likely. But damned if I could. Do you think there’s something he’s hiding? Something he thinks I won’t understand? ”
Kelly shrugs. She’s just as perplexed by the relationships in her own son’s life.
“As if I care whether he settles down with a man or a woman? Maybe in our day, sure-but things are different now-even in the military. Doesn’t he know about Neil Patrick Harris, about that gorgeous Bomer boy?”
Kelly nods emphatically. There’s no cover so deep it hasn’t been penetrated by pictures of Matt and Simon and their beautiful boys.
“It could be both, for all I care” Doris goes on, her exasperation rising. “I knew an agent who made a perfectly good run of that arrangement in Havana. Just. I worry. Children are such a joy. I don’t want him to miss out.”
“I’d love a grand-daughter,” Kelly says wistfully, clearly lost in her own imaginings. “I always missed having a girl, growing up with a sister and all.”
“Be careful what you wish for. I had a girl. Have. Three times the trouble, at the best of times.”
“I’d just love a chance to buy some little pink dresses,” Kelly says, tugging at collar of her tight black shirt.
“Pink shurikens more likely, given your gene pool.”
They laugh. Without warning, Doris finds she’s about to cry. “How can I keep doing it?” she asks, looking up in the futile hope that tears won’t spill over and ruin her makeup. “How can I be so fucking far away?”
Kelly grabs her hand across the table and holds on tight. This is why it’s good to be with someone who understands. “Hey,” she says, “don’t. They’re good boys, you know they are. They’ll find their own way.”
“Well, we didn’t leave them much choice, did we?” Doris asks, still in the grip of her self-disgust. But she leaves it there.
They sit like that for a few minutes, waiting for the emotions to ebb. Then they go back to safer topics: arms dealers on five continents who won’t ask questions; what to do about stubborn tendonitis; whether internet dating is appropriate for widow s of a certain age.
The light fades in the windows of their safe house and they are glad to be together, keeping the loneliness at bay.
Next: Danny and Monroe meet in a bar and discuss appropriate forms of address for your BFF’s mother when she comes back from the dead. “At least she isn’t sworn to kill you and all of your kind,” says Monroe. “I’m not too sure about that,” says Danny.