Happy Hour

There's a place where your single life, and your life as a mother and wife collide. It doesn't happen often. Sometimes it's a high school friend, a weathered photograph, or in my case an antiquated playlist from a resurrected ipod.

There was a time when I looked forward to happy hour. What was once a time for loud music, libations, and high calorie appetizers, now became known as the "Five'O'Clock freakout." And why not? It's the pocket of time that hangs in the suspense of dinner duties and down time. This would also explain Oprah and Dr.Phil's air times.

It's not uncommon for me to try to recreate this festive atmosphere within the confines of my own living room. My kids get in on the action, and take to the dance floor a.k.a the foyer. But tonight to my dismay and utter disappointment my ipod (and for want of a better word) took a dump. So I fumbled through a mass of co-ax cables and phone lines until I found what I was looking for, my first ipod. Already a geriatric at the mere age of six, it's health took a turn for the worse last year when I went for a run with it on the beach. Honestly, electronics should be aged in dog years.

This was not just my first ipod, but my first playlist. Mr. Wendel by Arrested Development brought my children running from all directions. I love to watch children dance. Good or bad, they are going with it. Kind of reminds you of that crazy AND extremely drunk relative at your wedding busting a move to the macarena.

For the sake of experimenting I left it on the shuffle mode as I spun my kids in circles until they were too dizzy to stand up. Hey, don't knock till you've tried it! The next song was "It's All Been Done", from the Stunt album by the Bare Naked Ladies. I wonder what the hell happened to them? Oh yeah, they suck! Yet, at the age of 23 I thought their music not only spoke to me but inspired me. For me, music is a sort of time machine that transports me to a different place. Tonight I was surrounded by the promises I felt in my youth, and the reality that I am living them.

Birthdays and other hooplas

My son celebrated his 4th birthday this past weekend. My parents who made the trip up from the Florida, were here to celebrate as well. We kicked off our weekend festivities with a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant a 30-minute drive away. Which is coincidently how long it takes to get to any restaurant or even our local Target for that matter. We were welcomed at the door by our usual over solicitous server, and shown to our table. My son had come home earlier in the day complaining of being to cold, which is not uncommon for him since he thinks anything below 85 degrees is too frigid. His aversion to the cold is matched by his dislike for any music that does not sound like Bobby Darin or big band. Sometimes I think he is an 80year-old trapped in a 4 year-old body. I love this about him, as I always wanted a child that was an old soul. Anywho, we were seated immediately and handed sticky menus with the usual fare served in Mexican restaurants. I ordered the number 3, aka the Speedy Gonzalez. In anticipation of a scalding hot plate, piled high with warm substandard ground meat, and iceberg lettuce, I instead felt new warmth pooling on my pants leg. It took me a few seconds to realize that projectile puke had landed on my jeans, the menu and possibly a line cook. It's parental moments like these, where you really feel like you are having an out of body experience. I surveyed the situation, and realized that it was coming from my lap where my son had decided to hang out while ordering. Within 20 or 30 very long seconds, I was running to the bathroom with a crying 4 year old under my arm, my hand cupped over his mouth. My first thought was, "is this shit really happening to me right now?" My second was, "Am I really running through a crowded Mexican restaurant on a Friday night with a blubbering 4 year-old physically holding back puke from spilling on the floor?" Ah!! WTF!! We hung out in the bathroom, which was remarkably clean and slipped out when the coast was clear. By morning Grey was feeling much better, and seemed that he had recovered enough to enjoy his birthday. And I got to enjoy the joy in his eyes from the simpler things in life like a birthday hug, and a chocolate cupcake.

Wax On Wax Off

One little cobweb led to my mass hysteria as I spent the entire day cleaning windows, baseboards, showers.... the works! It sucked. My shoulders are killing me, and I keep waiting for Mr. Miyagi to show me that all my hard work paid off as I was really learning some kick ass karate moves rather than JUST scrubbing toilets. Don't get me wrong this shit needed to be done, but maybe spread out along say....4 weeks give or take. I'm no overachiever, more like the "lazy mans load" when it comes to completing mass to-do lists.

Despite or in spite of my exhaustion, I managed to feed and bathe the kids by 8pm. During bath time, my son's imagination plan took a turn for the creepy when he busted out a low-key scratchy voice. His new pirate character sounds more like Danny from the Shining. Seriously, I keep expecting him to say, "redrum, REDRUM!"

This morning I am feeling a hungover from my cleaning spree. Miyagi say, "drink lots of beer tonight and take motrin, or feel like squashed grape."

My "inner child" grew up on me

If you are ever unsure of your place in the world of demographics and marketing, simply take a stroll at your local shopping mall. These large enclosures, with their even larger "hub" department stores stand as a beacon to consumerism, illuminated by sunlight and greed. Ok, maybe I am being a tad too harsh. I mean come on, every once in awhile you HAVE to accept the fact that purchasing anything material can and does lift your spirits. What woman can deny the affect that a new pair of shoes can have? Even my most "natural" and "granola" of friends love a new pair of comfortable shoes or a good bag even if that bag is made from hemp and meant to carry rutabagas.

Personally, with the exception of the holiday season, I very seldom patron the mall. As a teenager, I was never "dropped off" to hang out with my friends at this larger- than-life hormone mecca. Maybe it's because my mother was not a BIG shopper, and if anything, had to drag me and my siblings through the now defunct Monkey Wards (that's Montgomery Wards to you.)

Yesterday, me and my family found ourselves caught up in its world of neon, food and apparel. My son immediately darted over to the "Great American Cookie", a franchise that sells,......well they sell cookies. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he picked out each treat that he planned on devouring in seconds. Luckily, malls are designed to keep you distracted so it was easy to move him away from those sprinkled snacks.

The magic of marketing had begun to cast a spell on all of us, as we ventured into a store called Hollister. Those of you over the age of 30, with teenage nieces, nephews, and offspring, have no doubt bought a few gift cards to this establishment. Maybe, you have even done a "pop wheelie" trying to get your stroller onto its steps for a peek inside its dimly lit interior. From the moment you walk in, the place smells, looks and feels like raw youth. Remember the old footage of funhouses from the 1920s, where one false step would send a whiff of air up a woman's skirt? At this apparel store, that whiff of air is their signature cologne, which also smells hip and young. And the lighting concept I mentioned earlier? Well, it is meant to draw your attention to the dark denim cropped jeans, and tight t-shirts which hug every curve of the size 0 mannequins. I felt 10 years younger from the moment I set foot in there. Even my 4 year old was captivated by flat screen televisions, fashioned to look like you are staring out through a window at the ocean. And there are speakers tucked into unassuming spaces blaring what sounds like a Green Day tribute/cover band. Which came in handy, as it drowned out my daughters impatience. Of course, I purchased those cuffed jeans, AND the t-shirt feeling like electric sex was rockin' through my veins.

Honestly, it just felt good to connect with my inner child (which I think is around 20 years old) that has been clawing at my mommy jeans to get out. Except this time, I am legal to drive AND "score" my own beer!

Banging Cinderella

Last night I decided to treat my kids to a movie night at home. I would like to call this a tradition, but I am hardly vigilant about baths so for argument's sake we will just call it a movie night whim. So as the popcorn was emitting possible deadly fumes from it's microwaveable bag, I went through our Disney movie collection. I was doing this in the hopes that my son would pass right over Cinderella. Not a chance! For the third time in a row, he reached for that worn case with it's popular princess on the cover. I tried distracting him with Shrek but to no avail. As I popped in the tape (yes, I said tape as in VHS tape) it occurred to me that he might want to BE Cinderella rather than just BANG her. My mind flashed to scenes of us walking with arms locked giggling about men. He is trying to talk me out of purchasing "old lady shoes" and gingham kitchen curtains with patterns of roosters on them. Not a bad vision to have except for the rooster curtains. If I have learned one thing from the gay people that are in my life, it's that "being gay" was not a choice for them. It was just the way they woke up from puberty.

By the end of the movie, all he could talk about were the animals, and how pretty Cinderella was. And all I could talk about was how much therapy she might need after living her whole life unloved by her step-mother and step-sisters and how running off and getting married to staive off the pain of her Father's death would come back to bite her in the ass one day. My son gave me a puzzled look, and I pretended like I didn't just say that. It's amazing to me how very different our perceptions change as adults. All this time, I had him pegged for wanting to be a princess and he just wanted to see some mice sing, dance, and dress humans. As of 4pm today there has been no mention of Cinderella or her rodent friends. Tomorrow, who knows. Sleeping Beauty anyone?

Now that's what a call a playgroup

Yesterday was playgroup, so I rounded up the kids and headed on over to my friend Gina's for a little socializing. She had the usual staples found at most playgroups such as juice boxes, crackers and cheese sticks. But my favorite was THE BEER! What a mom! It was one of those early spring afternoons, soft white clouds floating on a bright blue canvas of sky. With both my children engaged with their peers, I sipped (ok guzzled) my cold longneck and swapped stories with the other moms. Now, that is what I call a playgroup!

Blog to return April 21st

Dear Readers:

Thank you for your continued support. I will be out of the country all of next week, but will return on April 21st. So tune in then, for some more adventures in parenting! Take a peak at my new blog link below.

Best Regards,
Motherhoodintheraw