Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
“I seldom find anything to be happy about “—real life Maxine in a candid moment
What really makes us happy? Do we just wake up and happiness finds us? Are we happy because it’s a sunny day? Because we had peace while we got ready in the morning? Are we happy because the traffic lights were all green on the way to work or because we got a free cup of coffee at the Tim Horton’s drive thru? Are we only truly when the world seems all right for today?
Or is happiness a choice?
We all seem to know people who never seem to smile, who can’t seem to laugh at the absurdities of life or who just have one bad thing after another happen to them. Just how many happy days do we have while fighting with our spouses or feeling ignored by them? Would you really smile with so much tragedy going on around you? Or would you say to yourself, how can you NOT be happy, because there is nothing else to grab for?
I believe happiness is a choice you make. It’s a thought process you have about the way life really works. It’s a glass of half fun or half boring kind of outlook. I know that all of us make this choice on how to look at the world day in and day out.
But we also are profoundly impacted by the reality of life that surrounds us. Again, it’s how we react. I am a sponge. Many people are. Other people are the faucets, spilling out the water for the sponges. The water can be cool, uplifting and enjoyable, or it can be a hotbed of smoldering coals waiting to burn you wherever they land.
Sponges are living, breathing things. Sometimes they just need to remember to move and find the delicious crisp water again, to look for it and find it, day in and day out. Today, I was surprised by some unexpected compliments. I was leaning into the flames of the darkness and was pulled out into the cascading joy of the ocean. First up were just a series of nice compliments all day long about how nice I looked, from people at the health club cheering me on for finally losing 35 pounds and running 4 miles on the elliptical machine, to a co-worker teasing me that my dear hubby (DH) must really like the outfit I was wearing. I thought I was going to have to pour water on him he was so complimentary. Or maybe he was just drunk.
Another series of compliments has come from my dear friends who have all read my blog, supporting me and cheering me on. Mr. Clancy told me tonight my writing was really good, and that if I could channel my energy, would really become the seductive writing millions of people would run and out and buy. Wow, now that’s a fantasy I can dig into Mr. Clancy.
Would you care to watch as I do my channeling?
I think it’s my turn to be a faucet and pour out the water like a rainstorm of joy for others. That’s really the point of this blog. To tell everyone, go after your dreams, keep on fantasizing and find your joy. Do It Everyday. Thanks for reminding me Mr. Clancy.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Say What You Mean, Mean What You Say
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
Say what you mean
Mean what you say
Say what you mean
Mean what you say
Think about the words
That you're using
Speak for yourself
Say what's on your mind
Think about the life
That you're choosing
Whenever you need somebody
Whenever you're looking
For somebody who knows
When trouble won't leave you alone---Lyrics from Moody Blues, Key of the Kingdom Album
Say what you mean, mean what you say, be honest, have integrity, talk to me, explain to me, inform me, communicate with me, discuss. Anyone in the human race spends some time each week being frustrated with the communication does not work out right. If you want to really want to get your panties in a bunch, try talking with a teenager who is hell bent on getting what they want by purposely misunderstanding you. Or better yet, is when they want to claim innocence by omitting certain facts.
This communication problem will be a life long battle with Wild Child I am sure. I don’t know if he’s simply destined for a stellar career in politics or as a school administrator, but most days I lose part of sanity just trying to know where he is going , with whom and for what purpose. I really only get details when he needs me as a chauffeur in the cop car. And even then, the sin of omission most often comes into play when I pick him up to bring him home. Maybe he didn’t call and tell me when to get him, or maybe I arrive and find out I am driving 3 other boys home. Or better yet, I am picking him up. 2 friends are with him, and oh by the way, they are sleeping over. Or maybe the fun I had the other day, when I come from a day at the beach expecting to relax and take a shower, only to find a note “Dad, have Mom pick me up at 520 or 6. She knows all about it.” What she knows is that she told you, no, she would not drive you to and from Lockport for a skating event. Find a ride. Well, he found one all right. Me.
Part of me constantly wants to scream while the other part simply wants to run away to a chateau in France and come back when the kids are 25. “I just want the Brady family” I screamed to my friend, Miss Virginia last night, as I was letting Wild Child receive an attitude adjustment while I calmly walked up and down and up and down the driveway. “Grow up,” Miss Virgina screamed into the phone as I called her again, ranting. “Stop being Catholic girl, no one has the f*$!in’ Brady family! Even Carol was pulling her hair out because Marcia and Greg were doing each other! Everyone has problems, everyone has fights, and everyone gets over them. Just call the police if you can’t take it anymore and I guarantee Wild Child will calm down.”
No, I didn’t call the police. I didn’t even call Miss Manners to complain that my son makes plans with people and doesn’t call to cancel when he can’t go, leaving the family to have to deal with the phone calls as his friends wonder what happened….again. No, I just chock it up to the experience of raising a male. I figure these top notch skills sure to come in handy at work. When the cow excrement gets too deep there, and I can’t send my boss to his room for exiling me to Siberia, I can just picture the Brady family, and try to imagine which child is going to beat the other one up over the toy in the backyard.
See the thing with teenage communication is how you use your coping skills. It’s the same at work. Just imagine a really big crane coming over their head and taking them away. The smile on your lips says it all.
Say what you mean
Mean what you say
Say what you mean
Mean what you say
Think about the words
That you're using
Speak for yourself
Say what's on your mind
Think about the life
That you're choosing
Whenever you need somebody
Whenever you're looking
For somebody who knows
When trouble won't leave you alone---Lyrics from Moody Blues, Key of the Kingdom Album
Say what you mean, mean what you say, be honest, have integrity, talk to me, explain to me, inform me, communicate with me, discuss. Anyone in the human race spends some time each week being frustrated with the communication does not work out right. If you want to really want to get your panties in a bunch, try talking with a teenager who is hell bent on getting what they want by purposely misunderstanding you. Or better yet, is when they want to claim innocence by omitting certain facts.
This communication problem will be a life long battle with Wild Child I am sure. I don’t know if he’s simply destined for a stellar career in politics or as a school administrator, but most days I lose part of sanity just trying to know where he is going , with whom and for what purpose. I really only get details when he needs me as a chauffeur in the cop car. And even then, the sin of omission most often comes into play when I pick him up to bring him home. Maybe he didn’t call and tell me when to get him, or maybe I arrive and find out I am driving 3 other boys home. Or better yet, I am picking him up. 2 friends are with him, and oh by the way, they are sleeping over. Or maybe the fun I had the other day, when I come from a day at the beach expecting to relax and take a shower, only to find a note “Dad, have Mom pick me up at 520 or 6. She knows all about it.” What she knows is that she told you, no, she would not drive you to and from Lockport for a skating event. Find a ride. Well, he found one all right. Me.
Part of me constantly wants to scream while the other part simply wants to run away to a chateau in France and come back when the kids are 25. “I just want the Brady family” I screamed to my friend, Miss Virginia last night, as I was letting Wild Child receive an attitude adjustment while I calmly walked up and down and up and down the driveway. “Grow up,” Miss Virgina screamed into the phone as I called her again, ranting. “Stop being Catholic girl, no one has the f*$!in’ Brady family! Even Carol was pulling her hair out because Marcia and Greg were doing each other! Everyone has problems, everyone has fights, and everyone gets over them. Just call the police if you can’t take it anymore and I guarantee Wild Child will calm down.”
No, I didn’t call the police. I didn’t even call Miss Manners to complain that my son makes plans with people and doesn’t call to cancel when he can’t go, leaving the family to have to deal with the phone calls as his friends wonder what happened….again. No, I just chock it up to the experience of raising a male. I figure these top notch skills sure to come in handy at work. When the cow excrement gets too deep there, and I can’t send my boss to his room for exiling me to Siberia, I can just picture the Brady family, and try to imagine which child is going to beat the other one up over the toy in the backyard.
See the thing with teenage communication is how you use your coping skills. It’s the same at work. Just imagine a really big crane coming over their head and taking them away. The smile on your lips says it all.
Monday, August 27, 2007
What are your accomplishments?
Life Balance: When your life exists in such perfect harmony that the energy force within you is in sync with the heartbeat inside. A feeling of overwhelming strength, joy, laughter, love and intelligence that is older then time itself. The sense within you, that your very soul and spirit and divine wisdom are acting as one.
“Everything you do or don’t do, every class you take, every grade you earn, every activity you join, every detention you get from now on, will be part of your PERMANENT RECORD. These accomplishments will follow you everywhere, to college, and to every job you every have. Choose them wisely.”---Principle at high school orientation
“She’s not tipsy, she’s not on the way to being drunk, she’s accomplished.”—friend commenting on another friend
The calendar may tell us the New Year begins in January, but we all know it begins the day after Labor Day. Summer ends, back to school arrives, new TV show start up and old ones return, closets changes from shorts to pants, the nights get cool, the days shorter, and our expectations rise. Whether you have kids in school or not, we all feel like kindergartener’s waiting for their first bus. We are happy and ready to begin new routines. Give us a new Snoopy pencil case and 50 cents for an ice cream snack, and we are happy, happy, happy. Success can’t be far behind.
Recently, Wild Child went to high school orientation. I of course, had him at age 12, so I felt like a child again myself. Well, the reality is, I thought how did I accomplish this already? Most of my friend’s kids are in college or in the service, some are married. Others have children. My kids are just moving up to middle school and high school, so I was feeling kinda old. Up until then, I was thinking I was the newbie at accomplishing things, but I found out it really was my kids now.
Or is it?
There I was thinking of my accomplishments last week when I recently applied for a second job and completed my performance review at work. Next the principal used the “these accomplishments will be on your permanent record” speech and then I heard my friend’s son use the word accomplished to mean totally drunk Interesting turn of events, from success to drunk in just a few short days.
Let’s hope high school and middle school don’t end up the same way.
What does anyone ever really accomplish in life? What really are the successes? What is on our permanent record of our life?
If you had to sum up your life in 2 sentences, what would it be?
“Everything you do or don’t do, every class you take, every grade you earn, every activity you join, every detention you get from now on, will be part of your PERMANENT RECORD. These accomplishments will follow you everywhere, to college, and to every job you every have. Choose them wisely.”---Principle at high school orientation
“She’s not tipsy, she’s not on the way to being drunk, she’s accomplished.”—friend commenting on another friend
The calendar may tell us the New Year begins in January, but we all know it begins the day after Labor Day. Summer ends, back to school arrives, new TV show start up and old ones return, closets changes from shorts to pants, the nights get cool, the days shorter, and our expectations rise. Whether you have kids in school or not, we all feel like kindergartener’s waiting for their first bus. We are happy and ready to begin new routines. Give us a new Snoopy pencil case and 50 cents for an ice cream snack, and we are happy, happy, happy. Success can’t be far behind.
Recently, Wild Child went to high school orientation. I of course, had him at age 12, so I felt like a child again myself. Well, the reality is, I thought how did I accomplish this already? Most of my friend’s kids are in college or in the service, some are married. Others have children. My kids are just moving up to middle school and high school, so I was feeling kinda old. Up until then, I was thinking I was the newbie at accomplishing things, but I found out it really was my kids now.
Or is it?
There I was thinking of my accomplishments last week when I recently applied for a second job and completed my performance review at work. Next the principal used the “these accomplishments will be on your permanent record” speech and then I heard my friend’s son use the word accomplished to mean totally drunk Interesting turn of events, from success to drunk in just a few short days.
Let’s hope high school and middle school don’t end up the same way.
What does anyone ever really accomplish in life? What really are the successes? What is on our permanent record of our life?
If you had to sum up your life in 2 sentences, what would it be?
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Heavy Metal Momma the Sequel
Life Balance: When your life exists in such perfect harmony that the energy force within you is in sync with the heartbeat inside. A feeling of overwhelming strength, joy, laughter, love and intelligence that is older then time itself. The sense within you, that your very soul and spirit and divine wisdom are acting as one.
“Mom, it’s not heavy metal. It’s acoustic Christian Rock, I mean its techno screamo.”—Heavy Metal Momma on the way to concert NO. 2.
Shortly after concert number 1, Wild Child started bragging to all his friends that he went to his first concert….and it was HIS MOTHER who took him. All the kids were amazed and stunned, and positive that I must be the stupidest mother on earth to take him to hear what their mothers call “that music.” They were all thinking I must not really know the lyrics, and the Wild Child had really pulled off the biggest prank of the year. His stock went up immensely in their eyes. His chest swelled with each retelling of the hot June concert. What was a 4-hour concert, became 7 hours just last night. It will soon become a weekend event in the 25th retelling.
While I really appreciated the artistry of bands throwing their heads down and slamming them back up while flipping their hair and the jumping up and down so sweat pours out streaming like a fire hydrant, I wasn’t really keen on reliving the experience. I told WC another Mom could drive next time. We could schedule someone else for the part-time gig. Wild Child immediately burned a new CD of a “Scary Kids Scaring Kids” (SKSK) and started the music appreciation lessons during the car rides again. Fun, Wow!
WC smiled while he said his friend Soccer Boy (SB) and Hot Soccer Coach Mom (HSCM)would be taking them this time and circled the date, August 24 on the calendar. Excellent, off the hook! As the date pulled closer, I started to hear a scary phrase from SB's mouth, “My Mom wants you to go, she’s afraid to go by herself.” Oh man, here we go again. Fine, I’ll go, it’s good to break in another virgin Mom on the skills necessary to live thru the experience. Fortunately, the band was playing at the Ikon, a cool little nightclub in Buffalo….that has a bar. Great, we had all we needed. I thought, Hot Soccer Coach Mom can drive and I can drink. My Godson decided he wanted to tag along on the concert, so 3 days before the gig, I am informed he will becoming over for HIS first concert and staying….maybe a few days. Fine. The more the merrier. Wild Child usually refers to Godson as his cousin, since he calls Godson’s father “Uncle” but now WC makes up the term “GodBro.” It’s amazing how rapidly the language flows. I get a little excited, since now we have me, Wild Child, Godson, Soccer Boy and Virgin Hot Soccer Coach Mom driving. I thought I might actually enjoy getting to this gig.
WRONG.WRONG WRONG. HSCM did not want to drive down there. Cops kinda get called outside of this place on a regular basis. Fine. I pick everyone up in the Crown Vic (“Vicky”), large enough to seat 6 screaming teens as necessary. We get lost a little turning for the road, but manage to find the place next to the burned out building and behind the really large black bus. (Hint: probably the bands bus). I have no idea where to park, but just go down the street and park there. Soccer Boy's Mom informs me that no one will steal “The Cop Car.” Great, my little Vicky has a new name.
In we go, getting our little wrist bands, escorting the 3 hormone banks with stomachs. We scope out the place, trying to see where to stand. No speaker banks for me this time. I would like to lean to the side on the main area so I can see at all times. HSCM instead heads to the bar and decides to lean there. It’s 88 degrees and the sweat is already flowing. I get a beer and she gets a double Jack with diet Pepsi. I sense I might be in for trouble. It’s 6:30 and already about 50 people are in the nightclub.
The first band up, “Piercing the Vail” has a nice lyrical style that I sense may turn into something greater as they get more experience. I like the artwork on their CD’s with a crumpled wedding dress and bloody wedding rings….I sense some anger and someone feeling the rage of divorce. We order up another drink each, since we have a good 3.5 hours to go with this. The Second band, “Dear Hunter” has a lot the running around and slamming of the head. The acoustics aren’t working too well from my point of view, and the crowd wasn’t moving very much.
Now it gets interesting because a Dad comes over and starts talking to us. Dad #1 is very nice and funny. We are all talking about our kids and how we ended up there, It’s his son’s birthday and they came in from Rochester to see the band. Dad starts talking soccer with Hot Soccer Coach Mom, so I start watching the bands again. The walking hormones come over to get vitamin water and tell us about the band. They thought the band was long winded and wouldn’t leave the stage. As they drink, they notice the Dad. “What’s up with that?” Well, "She's hot" I tell them, so guys like to talk to her. They laugh—a MOM IS HOT. They can’t even picture the word associated with a Mom. As they go back to the main stage, Dad #2 comes over on my side. We all meet and talk about the kids. I really can’t hear to keep on talking during the music, so he drifts away.
Band #3, Boys Night Out, goes on stage. Dad#2’s son wanted to see that group, so he goes to find him in the crowd. Dad#2 is a veteran Dad, having taking his 15 year-old to 2 other concerts. “My wife would never come to this.” I know, it’s a weird bonding thing, and I talk about working on keeping the connection open. His son loves music and does a lot with it, so he takes him to feed the knowledge. “We’re going to see ZZ Top at Casino, so he can see some of MY Music. “ Hmmm, do I think Wild Child would go to Billy Joel or James Taylor with me?”
Finally, the main act, “Scary Kids, Scaring Kids” arrives. I laugh, since I have been telling everyone at work the band is “Scary Children Scaring Children.” They had a lot of energy and the crowd really went wild. The keyboard guy was topless and dancing with the keyboard as he played. The Moshe pit got going. Wild Child body surfed and was dropped. A hot babe was trying pick up Soccer Boy. Godson ran across the stage—clothes on, no streaking—and has the biggest grin on his face. He tried to get a babe to make out with him, but no dice. The hormones had no luck with the babes, but the Hot Mom’s—we each got a business card and email address. Chock one up for the Heavy Metal—no, scratch that---Techno Screamo Moms.
I got the lead singer to sign a card for my cubby—“To the Best Mom Ever” for bringing 3 young fans. And I bought a tee shirt so I can be the appropriate techno screamo Mom next time. NEXT TIME?????
“Mom, it’s not heavy metal. It’s acoustic Christian Rock
Shortly after concert number 1, Wild Child started bragging to all his friends that he went to his first concert….and it was HIS MOTHER who took him. All the kids were amazed and stunned, and positive that I must be the stupidest mother on earth to take him to hear what their mothers call “that music.” They were all thinking I must not really know the lyrics, and the Wild Child had really pulled off the biggest prank of the year. His stock went up immensely in their eyes. His chest swelled with each retelling of the hot June concert. What was a 4-hour concert, became 7 hours just last night. It will soon become a weekend event in the 25th retelling.
While I really appreciated the artistry of bands throwing their heads down and slamming them back up while flipping their hair and the jumping up and down so sweat pours out streaming like a fire hydrant, I wasn’t really keen on reliving the experience. I told WC another Mom could drive next time. We could schedule someone else for the part-time gig. Wild Child immediately burned a new CD of a “Scary Kids Scaring Kids” (SKSK) and started the music appreciation lessons during the car rides again. Fun, Wow!
WC smiled while he said his friend Soccer Boy (SB) and Hot Soccer Coach Mom (HSCM)would be taking them this time and circled the date, August 24 on the calendar. Excellent, off the hook! As the date pulled closer, I started to hear a scary phrase from SB's mouth, “My Mom wants you to go, she’s afraid to go by herself.” Oh man, here we go again. Fine, I’ll go, it’s good to break in another virgin Mom on the skills necessary to live thru the experience. Fortunately, the band was playing at the Ikon, a cool little nightclub in Buffalo….that has a bar. Great, we had all we needed. I thought, Hot Soccer Coach Mom can drive and I can drink. My Godson decided he wanted to tag along on the concert, so 3 days before the gig, I am informed he will becoming over for HIS first concert and staying….maybe a few days. Fine. The more the merrier. Wild Child usually refers to Godson as his cousin, since he calls Godson’s father “Uncle” but now WC makes up the term “GodBro.” It’s amazing how rapidly the language flows. I get a little excited, since now we have me, Wild Child, Godson, Soccer Boy and Virgin Hot Soccer Coach Mom driving. I thought I might actually enjoy getting to this gig.
WRONG.WRONG WRONG. HSCM did not want to drive down there. Cops kinda get called outside of this place on a regular basis. Fine. I pick everyone up in the Crown Vic (“Vicky”), large enough to seat 6 screaming teens as necessary. We get lost a little turning for the road, but manage to find the place next to the burned out building and behind the really large black bus. (Hint: probably the bands bus). I have no idea where to park, but just go down the street and park there. Soccer Boy's Mom informs me that no one will steal “The Cop Car.” Great, my little Vicky has a new name.
In we go, getting our little wrist bands, escorting the 3 hormone banks with stomachs. We scope out the place, trying to see where to stand. No speaker banks for me this time. I would like to lean to the side on the main area so I can see at all times. HSCM instead heads to the bar and decides to lean there. It’s 88 degrees and the sweat is already flowing. I get a beer and she gets a double Jack with diet Pepsi. I sense I might be in for trouble. It’s 6:30 and already about 50 people are in the nightclub.
The first band up, “Piercing the Vail” has a nice lyrical style that I sense may turn into something greater as they get more experience. I like the artwork on their CD’s with a crumpled wedding dress and bloody wedding rings….I sense some anger and someone feeling the rage of divorce. We order up another drink each, since we have a good 3.5 hours to go with this. The Second band, “Dear Hunter” has a lot the running around and slamming of the head. The acoustics aren’t working too well from my point of view, and the crowd wasn’t moving very much.
Now it gets interesting because a Dad comes over and starts talking to us. Dad #1 is very nice and funny. We are all talking about our kids and how we ended up there, It’s his son’s birthday and they came in from Rochester to see the band. Dad starts talking soccer with Hot Soccer Coach Mom, so I start watching the bands again. The walking hormones come over to get vitamin water and tell us about the band. They thought the band was long winded and wouldn’t leave the stage. As they drink, they notice the Dad. “What’s up with that?” Well, "She's hot" I tell them, so guys like to talk to her. They laugh—a MOM IS HOT. They can’t even picture the word associated with a Mom. As they go back to the main stage, Dad #2 comes over on my side. We all meet and talk about the kids. I really can’t hear to keep on talking during the music, so he drifts away.
Band #3, Boys Night Out, goes on stage. Dad#2’s son wanted to see that group, so he goes to find him in the crowd. Dad#2 is a veteran Dad, having taking his 15 year-old to 2 other concerts. “My wife would never come to this.” I know, it’s a weird bonding thing, and I talk about working on keeping the connection open. His son loves music and does a lot with it, so he takes him to feed the knowledge. “We’re going to see ZZ Top at Casino, so he can see some of MY Music. “ Hmmm, do I think Wild Child would go to Billy Joel or James Taylor with me?”
Finally, the main act, “Scary Kids, Scaring Kids” arrives. I laugh, since I have been telling everyone at work the band is “Scary Children Scaring Children.” They had a lot of energy and the crowd really went wild. The keyboard guy was topless and dancing with the keyboard as he played. The Moshe pit got going. Wild Child body surfed and was dropped. A hot babe was trying pick up Soccer Boy. Godson ran across the stage—clothes on, no streaking—and has the biggest grin on his face. He tried to get a babe to make out with him, but no dice. The hormones had no luck with the babes, but the Hot Mom’s—we each got a business card and email address. Chock one up for the Heavy Metal—no, scratch that---Techno Screamo Moms.
I got the lead singer to sign a card for my cubby—“To the Best Mom Ever” for bringing 3 young fans. And I bought a tee shirt so I can be the appropriate techno screamo Mom next time. NEXT TIME?????
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Heavy Metal Momma
Life Balance: When your life exists in such perfect harmony that the energy force within you is in sync with the heartbeat inside. A feeling of overwhelming strength, joy, laughter, love and intelligence that is older then time itself. The sense within you, that your very soul and spirit and divine wisdom are acting as one.
“I took my 13-year old to a heavy metal concert…and lived to tell about it”—Lunatic Mom on the Edge
21st century Moms often try to relax the tight standards they grew up under, in an effort to “bond’ with their children. I believe I crossed the line with this, when I agreed to accompany my son and his friend to a Rise Against Concert.
It all started innocently. After a stringent 2 months grounding and probation period for video taping kids on the bus, my son was desperately trying to suck up and get his life back. He was setting the table without being asked. He vacuumed and picked up the living room. He handed in his homework and didn’t get detention for 3 whole weeks. And then he said “I love you” to me on the phone. We seriously checked him for signs of drug use when he got home that night. We were worried he had crossed the line and we didn’t know how to get him back. He was acting normal. We couldn’t understand the change after the sullen, defiant, lazy child we had lived with for 3 years. We were investigating boot camps to pull him in line. I was calling places on my lunch hour to see who was open for the summer.
Then all this nice behavior didn’t make sense….until he slipped in a CD he burned into the radio when I was driving him to a friends house. Serious bouts of screaming they call music. “Turn it off, “I screamed. “No, Mom, give it a chance. Please. These are the groups I want to go hear in a few months.” What? Go to a concert? “Yes, they are playing close by. On a Friday night. And it’s only $20.” Please? If I pass all my courses, then can we go?”
I remember vaguely nodding yes. It was 2 whole months before the end of the year. This kid was not motivated by anything other then loss of computer IM time. It would never happen….but it did.
I waited until the last minute to buy tickets, hoping the concert would sell out. It didn’t of course. The day came. I was forced to go. It was 95 degrees out. I prayed for air conditioning. The Gods would not listen. It was a cheap remodeled retail store pretending to be a nightclub. I waited in line, listening to the PETA people sign up everyone. Now, I believe in causes….as long as they don’t inconvenience me. They were signing up people for chicken rights. Chicken. As if my $1000 per month food bill wasn’t enough. Really, it took lots of restraint in the 95 degree heat not to jump on them. But I remembered my motto, “You will not embarrass you son, behave.”
We move up the line to pick up the tickets, show our reservation and my credit card. The boys get big X’s on their arms showing they can’t drink. “You staying,” As if most Moms’ don’t bother. “Yup” and I got a fancy wrist band to show I was over 21 and free and white. Whoopee. We go inside, and scope out the area. 20 feet beyond the stage is a split rail fence with 2 slats. Behind the fence, on either side, are large cases to hold speakers, except they are empty. Terrific, Mom has found her spot to sit her carcass down for the 4-hour concert. The boys go front of the fence, away from Mom, so they can be “cool.” I have warned them about straying away from my eyesight. They can do it if they want, but there will be no more concerts if they do…and they are only 13.
So the concert proceeds. The first act is okay, but mostly they live to talk crude. Probably still virgins at the ripe old rock age of 40, but they sure can talk about having sex. Fine, nothing new. I just sit on my box and keep an eye on the Moshe pit. It’s moving around good, but the boys are staying clear. Good. People come and go on the fence or next to me on the speakers. I would love a beer, but don’t dare give up my spot. Next group, more of the same, slightly trashier, even older. Fine, nothing new here. I am drenched in sweat by now. The boys are just jumping up and down and yelling, drenched in the vigor of youth. They are having fun. I just smile and strain to watch them.
People surround me in tattoos, body piercing, leather and tight clothes. I didn’t even know you could pierce the back of your neck or get so many different tats above your derriere. Everyone is sweating, the Moshe Pit is going wild and water is flying. I am in my own little cocoon. Two older guys, with wrist bands, probably about 22, have taken up residence on the fence in front of me, I am thinking for good. One sits to the left of me on the fence, the other leaves a space for me to see the band, and then stands. They are a nice block for the Moshe pit, so I am glad. They have fun pushing obviously wasted kids that fall on them, back into the pit. It makes them laugh. A girl runs around taking pictures. She puts her camera in her back pocket. Next song, it’s of course on the floor. She moves on and doesn’t pick it up. The guy sitting on the fence hops off, and picks up the camera. Before I know what he is up to, he drops his pants and takes 3 pictures of his butt.
It’s been decades since I saw a prime 21 plus butt….Very nice. He does the front also, but alas, I miss out. Mom’s never get a break.
The main group, Rise Against, finally goes on stage. They sound very good, compared to what I have been listening too. I would like to actually enjoy them even though I am now drenched in sweat. The crowd goes wild, and the Moshe pit goes everywhere. It is sucking everyone in. I am grateful for the speaker stand. There is lots of room on the speaker stand, and throughout the night, people, mostly women, come sit next to me. This is fine, I don’t bite.
The Moshe pit is really in a tizzy now and everyone is acting wild. A guy grabs his girlfriend and starts gyrating his hips on her while dancing. Finally, he decides to pull her down on top to him, while lying next to me on the speaker. He is kissing her like wild, and I am sensing immediate danger. I am calculating how quickly I can swing my legs around and push the 2 of them off of me, when the Moshe pit finally pays off, and suck them into the crowd.
This heavy metal Mom was never so grateful for wild and crazy teens. The concert goes on, and finally ends at 11. I am dying, and I can just imagine the boys. It’s the encore, when my son’s friend Marc slowly goes around and grabs my arm. He is soaked. His voice is hoarse and barely audible. “Water, water, we need water. “Okay, let’s go. It’s over anyway.” And then barely crawl to the car. They sleep on the way home. And I laugh, and say “Wow, I lived through it.”
“I took my 13-year old to a heavy metal concert…and lived to tell about it”—Lunatic Mom on the Edge
21st century Moms often try to relax the tight standards they grew up under, in an effort to “bond’ with their children. I believe I crossed the line with this, when I agreed to accompany my son and his friend to a Rise Against Concert.
It all started innocently. After a stringent 2 months grounding and probation period for video taping kids on the bus, my son was desperately trying to suck up and get his life back. He was setting the table without being asked. He vacuumed and picked up the living room. He handed in his homework and didn’t get detention for 3 whole weeks. And then he said “I love you” to me on the phone. We seriously checked him for signs of drug use when he got home that night. We were worried he had crossed the line and we didn’t know how to get him back. He was acting normal. We couldn’t understand the change after the sullen, defiant, lazy child we had lived with for 3 years. We were investigating boot camps to pull him in line. I was calling places on my lunch hour to see who was open for the summer.
Then all this nice behavior didn’t make sense….until he slipped in a CD he burned into the radio when I was driving him to a friends house. Serious bouts of screaming they call music. “Turn it off, “I screamed. “No, Mom, give it a chance. Please. These are the groups I want to go hear in a few months.” What? Go to a concert? “Yes, they are playing close by. On a Friday night. And it’s only $20.” Please? If I pass all my courses, then can we go?”
I remember vaguely nodding yes. It was 2 whole months before the end of the year. This kid was not motivated by anything other then loss of computer IM time. It would never happen….but it did.
I waited until the last minute to buy tickets, hoping the concert would sell out. It didn’t of course. The day came. I was forced to go. It was 95 degrees out. I prayed for air conditioning. The Gods would not listen. It was a cheap remodeled retail store pretending to be a nightclub. I waited in line, listening to the PETA people sign up everyone. Now, I believe in causes….as long as they don’t inconvenience me. They were signing up people for chicken rights. Chicken. As if my $1000 per month food bill wasn’t enough. Really, it took lots of restraint in the 95 degree heat not to jump on them. But I remembered my motto, “You will not embarrass you son, behave.”
We move up the line to pick up the tickets, show our reservation and my credit card. The boys get big X’s on their arms showing they can’t drink. “You staying,” As if most Moms’ don’t bother. “Yup” and I got a fancy wrist band to show I was over 21 and free and white. Whoopee. We go inside, and scope out the area. 20 feet beyond the stage is a split rail fence with 2 slats. Behind the fence, on either side, are large cases to hold speakers, except they are empty. Terrific, Mom has found her spot to sit her carcass down for the 4-hour concert. The boys go front of the fence, away from Mom, so they can be “cool.” I have warned them about straying away from my eyesight. They can do it if they want, but there will be no more concerts if they do…and they are only 13.
So the concert proceeds. The first act is okay, but mostly they live to talk crude. Probably still virgins at the ripe old rock age of 40, but they sure can talk about having sex. Fine, nothing new. I just sit on my box and keep an eye on the Moshe pit. It’s moving around good, but the boys are staying clear. Good. People come and go on the fence or next to me on the speakers. I would love a beer, but don’t dare give up my spot. Next group, more of the same, slightly trashier, even older. Fine, nothing new here. I am drenched in sweat by now. The boys are just jumping up and down and yelling, drenched in the vigor of youth. They are having fun. I just smile and strain to watch them.
People surround me in tattoos, body piercing, leather and tight clothes. I didn’t even know you could pierce the back of your neck or get so many different tats above your derriere. Everyone is sweating, the Moshe Pit is going wild and water is flying. I am in my own little cocoon. Two older guys, with wrist bands, probably about 22, have taken up residence on the fence in front of me, I am thinking for good. One sits to the left of me on the fence, the other leaves a space for me to see the band, and then stands. They are a nice block for the Moshe pit, so I am glad. They have fun pushing obviously wasted kids that fall on them, back into the pit. It makes them laugh. A girl runs around taking pictures. She puts her camera in her back pocket. Next song, it’s of course on the floor. She moves on and doesn’t pick it up. The guy sitting on the fence hops off, and picks up the camera. Before I know what he is up to, he drops his pants and takes 3 pictures of his butt.
It’s been decades since I saw a prime 21 plus butt….Very nice. He does the front also, but alas, I miss out. Mom’s never get a break.
The main group, Rise Against, finally goes on stage. They sound very good, compared to what I have been listening too. I would like to actually enjoy them even though I am now drenched in sweat. The crowd goes wild, and the Moshe pit goes everywhere. It is sucking everyone in. I am grateful for the speaker stand. There is lots of room on the speaker stand, and throughout the night, people, mostly women, come sit next to me. This is fine, I don’t bite.
The Moshe pit is really in a tizzy now and everyone is acting wild. A guy grabs his girlfriend and starts gyrating his hips on her while dancing. Finally, he decides to pull her down on top to him, while lying next to me on the speaker. He is kissing her like wild, and I am sensing immediate danger. I am calculating how quickly I can swing my legs around and push the 2 of them off of me, when the Moshe pit finally pays off, and suck them into the crowd.
This heavy metal Mom was never so grateful for wild and crazy teens. The concert goes on, and finally ends at 11. I am dying, and I can just imagine the boys. It’s the encore, when my son’s friend Marc slowly goes around and grabs my arm. He is soaked. His voice is hoarse and barely audible. “Water, water, we need water. “Okay, let’s go. It’s over anyway.” And then barely crawl to the car. They sleep on the way home. And I laugh, and say “Wow, I lived through it.”
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Let the music out inside you
Life Balance: When your life exists in such perfect harmony that the energy force within you is in sync with the heartbeat inside. A feeling of overwhelming strength, joy, laughter, love and intelligence that is older then time itself. The sense within you, that your very soul and spirit and divine wisdom are acting as one.
“Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, either way you are right.”---Henry Ford
Sometimes we have things inside us that we keep bottled up for years. Periodically we pull out the idea, dust it off and wonder about letting the genie out inside, to see if our wish can be granted. We start to have a happy fantasy about that idea and what it might be like to actually do it. Maybe it’s quitting your job and staring your own business. Maybe it’s becoming politically active and trying to make a change by backing a favorite candidate. Maybe it’s doing a craft you love and trying to sell it for profit. Maybe it’s adopting a foster child.
So we keep on fantasizing, but we don’t often take it to the next level. We start to see reasons why we can’t. I don’t have the time, I don’t have the money, “She won’t let me”, “He thinks it’s a stupid idea”. We remain afraid to even make small changes to get us there. A friend of mine likened this to being the teenage boy in the basement, playing his guitar, waiting to be discovered by the Rolling Stones. If we want to be in the band, we should join a band and jam, we should write songs and let people hear them and give us feedback, we should start working around bands to get in the atmosphere, we should take lessons to improve ourselves, we should buy the best equipment we can. We need to act like we are choosing the right band to play with instead of waiting for someone to read inside our heads and choose us.
Still, we muddle on most days not letting the genie out of the bottle even for a minute. But God keeps jabbing us in the back, trying to get our attention.
Did you ever have days where you brain just seems to be on fire? You have a million things on your plate and you are whizzing through them at an astonishing rate. You can’t believe how good you feel and how much you are accomplishing. You write lists, send emails, make phone calls, figure out whole new organization systems and solve problems your brain has been ticking away at for months. And in the middle of this Olympic-caliber performance, your brain sends out some hare-brained idea to make something, call someone, go somewhere or be on a new path. It’s as if this idea, or this calling, defines you. And then you see that maybe all you needed was to think you can, instead of thinking you can’t.
Will you keep playing your instrument in the basement, or go outside and let the world hear the music inside you?
“Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t, either way you are right.”---Henry Ford
Sometimes we have things inside us that we keep bottled up for years. Periodically we pull out the idea, dust it off and wonder about letting the genie out inside, to see if our wish can be granted. We start to have a happy fantasy about that idea and what it might be like to actually do it. Maybe it’s quitting your job and staring your own business. Maybe it’s becoming politically active and trying to make a change by backing a favorite candidate. Maybe it’s doing a craft you love and trying to sell it for profit. Maybe it’s adopting a foster child.
So we keep on fantasizing, but we don’t often take it to the next level. We start to see reasons why we can’t. I don’t have the time, I don’t have the money, “She won’t let me”, “He thinks it’s a stupid idea”. We remain afraid to even make small changes to get us there. A friend of mine likened this to being the teenage boy in the basement, playing his guitar, waiting to be discovered by the Rolling Stones. If we want to be in the band, we should join a band and jam, we should write songs and let people hear them and give us feedback, we should start working around bands to get in the atmosphere, we should take lessons to improve ourselves, we should buy the best equipment we can. We need to act like we are choosing the right band to play with instead of waiting for someone to read inside our heads and choose us.
Still, we muddle on most days not letting the genie out of the bottle even for a minute. But God keeps jabbing us in the back, trying to get our attention.
Did you ever have days where you brain just seems to be on fire? You have a million things on your plate and you are whizzing through them at an astonishing rate. You can’t believe how good you feel and how much you are accomplishing. You write lists, send emails, make phone calls, figure out whole new organization systems and solve problems your brain has been ticking away at for months. And in the middle of this Olympic-caliber performance, your brain sends out some hare-brained idea to make something, call someone, go somewhere or be on a new path. It’s as if this idea, or this calling, defines you. And then you see that maybe all you needed was to think you can, instead of thinking you can’t.
Will you keep playing your instrument in the basement, or go outside and let the world hear the music inside you?
Friday, August 17, 2007
I once was a Size 6 and I can prove it
Life Balance
Life Balance: When your life exists in such perfect harmony that the energy force within you is in sync with the heartbeat inside. A feeling of overwhelming strength, joy, laughter, love and intelligence that is older then time itself. The sense within you, that your very soul and spirit and divine wisdom are acting as one.
“I know I’m going to lose all my weight now that I got rid of all my 6’s and 8’s. I just threw out 110 suits, my kids counted them”—frustrated dieter
Women judge themselves successful by the clothing they own, especially clothing in tiny little sizes they have not worn since the Reagan years. Even when we are busting out the doorways with a size 22 butt and bosoms to match, if we own size 6 Gloria Vanderbuilt jeans from 1982, then we are beautiful. We are part of the club that has been there once and that’s all that matters in life. We have the potential.
So we stuff our closets with beautiful clothes, some with the tags still on, for that size 6 body. It’s as if the body we used to have will magically appear one morning and we must have something on hand to fit the 24” pre-kids waist size. The Girl Scout inside of us won’t let the clothes go. Or maybe we keep the clothes around as a trophy, a permanent upturned middle finger gesture to one-up all the women who had never even been near a size 6 (me included).
I don’t know why it’s a truism, but just about every woman will tell you that started losing weight right after they decided to give away their “thin” clothes. It’s like the clothes were taunting them with loud chants of “Fatty! Fatty!” and they needed to suffocate the voice. Then, and only then, was it quiet enough for their brains to think and hear their true voice. The one that says, “You are beautiful, even now.”
For me, purging of the old clothes equals purging of the old thoughts, the old ways that don’t work for me anymore. It’s a way to get in touch with the woman I am NOW and to see her boundless potential going forward. And that’s the way it should be.
Life Balance: When your life exists in such perfect harmony that the energy force within you is in sync with the heartbeat inside. A feeling of overwhelming strength, joy, laughter, love and intelligence that is older then time itself. The sense within you, that your very soul and spirit and divine wisdom are acting as one.
“I know I’m going to lose all my weight now that I got rid of all my 6’s and 8’s. I just threw out 110 suits, my kids counted them”—frustrated dieter
Women judge themselves successful by the clothing they own, especially clothing in tiny little sizes they have not worn since the Reagan years. Even when we are busting out the doorways with a size 22 butt and bosoms to match, if we own size 6 Gloria Vanderbuilt jeans from 1982, then we are beautiful. We are part of the club that has been there once and that’s all that matters in life. We have the potential.
So we stuff our closets with beautiful clothes, some with the tags still on, for that size 6 body. It’s as if the body we used to have will magically appear one morning and we must have something on hand to fit the 24” pre-kids waist size. The Girl Scout inside of us won’t let the clothes go. Or maybe we keep the clothes around as a trophy, a permanent upturned middle finger gesture to one-up all the women who had never even been near a size 6 (me included).
I don’t know why it’s a truism, but just about every woman will tell you that started losing weight right after they decided to give away their “thin” clothes. It’s like the clothes were taunting them with loud chants of “Fatty! Fatty!” and they needed to suffocate the voice. Then, and only then, was it quiet enough for their brains to think and hear their true voice. The one that says, “You are beautiful, even now.”
For me, purging of the old clothes equals purging of the old thoughts, the old ways that don’t work for me anymore. It’s a way to get in touch with the woman I am NOW and to see her boundless potential going forward. And that’s the way it should be.
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