I am now 48.  I know all the characters in "Toy Story", "Mulan" and "Tarzan" on a first-name basis. I can sing or hum almost the entire soundtrack of "The Lion King" including a very moving rendition of  "The Circle of Life." I have wept at the conclusion of "Pocahontas" and debated long and hard over whether or not I should see the live-action version of  "101 Dalmations." I was afraid it wouldn't live up to its cartoon predecessor.

 I am the mother of two elementary school-aged children. Most of my friends have kids in their teens or older. They think nothing of seeing a movie like "Saving Private Ryan." When they attend parties where the preponderance of the guests are over the age  of consent, they discuss the drama, pathos and artistry of such films.

 When I go to parties, the highlight is usually a fast game of musical chairs. I discuss the drama, pathos and the artistry of the movies I've recently seen: "The Road to El Dorado" and "Small Soldiers". I argue eloquently over the lack of believable dialogue in "Cats Don't Dance". I look for character motivation in "Hercules".

 And other forms of entertainment are just as bad. I know all the kiddy songs. I can personally render over a dozen verses to "The Wheels On the Bus". I can name all the Sesame Street occupants, will drop everything to watch the Muppets and managed to gag my way through enough Barney the purple dinosaur to be glad they're all extinct.

 Yes, my entertainment level has grown very basic since I became a mother. I don't enjoy most children's shows, but like death and taxes, I simply can't avoid them. And that's why my friend, Diane, puzzles me.

 She's a movie buff, tried and true, and particularly fond of Alfred Hitchcock. She likes classic movies and can converse intelligently about most of the more serious cinematic works of the past fifty years. It's nothing for her to stay up until the wee hours to watch "Rear Window" for the fifteenth time. She's a committed cinema-aficionado with two almost-grown children. And that's why, when she called the other day upset because no one would go to the movies with her, I was momentarily stunned into silence.

 A chance to break away and see an adult movie! With visions of  Oscar-caliber drama or, perhaps, the latest Al Pacino flick dancing in my head, I decided I would throw caution to the wind and invite myself along. An adult movie! No cartoons! Yes! I could do that! After all, she's my friend and she needed me! What are friends for, anyway?

 "What movie do you want to see?" I asked, prepared for maybe "American Beauty", hoping for Sean Connery or Harrison Ford..

 "Snow Day," she said.

 "Snow Day?" That juvenile movie about a bunch of kids playing dirty tricks on the snowplow driver? A "Home Alone" only without the subtleties? A movie that depends largely on rude noises and sophomoric humor? Diane's my friend. I would gladly give her a pint or blood or clean out my savings for her. But "Snow Day?"

 "I'll see if Elizabeth's busy," I offered.

 What the heck -- with the kid out of the house, I can always put on the "The Lion King" soundtrack and sing along while I scrub commodes. Hakuna Matata!