Peaceful Easy Feelings

This coming weekend will be the opposite of last weekend, activity-wise, and this is a good thing. Don't get me wrong, I love the great times and their unavoidable accompanying chaos, but it's nice to look at my calendar and see, aside from a long-overdue haircut appointment for me, all white space. It's filled in with the this and that of everyday life before you can blink of course, but I don't mind, because it just comes up as it comes up.

I understand that children thrive on schedules, and we have HR's daily routine down to an easy science at this point. But other than that, I have no plans to raise him as anything other than a free-form, free-range kid. I'm laid back to the extreme, and Mike's generally content to go with the flow as long as the important things get taken care of, and it just makes sense that we wouldn't be any different as parents. Maybe when the boy's in school things will take a more definitive shape, but I'm happy as anything to leave lots of room for improv. Sure we'll probably sign him up for soccer or t-ball or some kind of structure-requiring activity, but I just can't see it going too far. It's not that I fear stepping out of my comfort zone, just that it feels right to me to have at least one day of the weekend where there's nothing to get in the way of an impromptu road trip or just working through a pile of books. With any luck, this will appeal to my kid as well. And he doesn't get a say in it for quite some time anyway so score one for Mama.

As with everything, wait and see. It could be that he's going to show himself to require lots of structured time as he gets older and more fidgety. But I know for sure Mike and I are not going to suddenly morph into overscheduled types. And I'm confident that we can work within this frame without making HR miss out on anything. And that concludes my mini-manifesto of the day.

Now to close this week's half-assed musical theme loop (while also referencing The Last Waltz in here for the 500th time). This is a great story-song, and clearly the best version, no offense Joanie Baez.

Marlon Rando

"Pile o' unconnected thoughts I'm slapping together and calling a blog entry" #512:

-Is two weeks after the actual birthday too late to have a birthday party for a two-year-old? Probably, but I think that's when we're doing it anyway. It's not like he's going to know the difference, or care.

-I mentioned yesterday that the sleep situation in our house has improved, and I wanted to elaborate a bit. It's not perfect, but at this point I can pretty happily live with the way it's worked out. He goes to bed easily now between 7:45-8 and we don't hear a peep from him again until the middle of the night, at which point we usually bring him in bed and he immediately falls back to sleep until 6:30-7. On the best nights it's 3 or later, last night it was closer to 1, but things are consistently so, so much better I can't and won't complain. I'm sure we'll go through a million more setbacks, but it's gratifying to have this to look back on because it's evidence of how we conquered our biggest issues and have it in us to do it again.

-I'm almost back to the same running pace and distance that I achieved before I got pregnant and though it's not all that impressive in the scheme of runners the world over, I feel pretty great about it. At this point I honestly don't care if I lose any weight or look any different. I've shifted my focus back to kicking butt. I've already decided I'm still going wear a sweet two-piece on my late-fall/early winter vacation and feel good about it because who cares? Nobody's really looking at me, and if they are and don't like it then kindly look away. Am I right?

-On that note, probably the best thing about aging is the diminishing proportion of time spent on giving a fuck what people think of you. As the years go up, the tendency toward self consciousness goes way, way down. It is a gift.

-It's a quiet kind of day today, good for getting work done. Which is convenient, since I have plenty of that. And so I will take my leave, after a brief set-up for today's musical selection.

The other day I posted "Hurricane" and meant to start a theme of story-songs based on historical events. I didn't keep up with it yesterday, but before I forget again, I'm linking the story-song that, in my opinion, is the best of the best. I'm so taken by the idea of imagining how something happened when there's no way to know what really went down. Like, would the Captain have been able to say, "Fellas, it's been good to know ya?" How do you put to song the concept of knowing you're going to die and just waiting for it? Lightfoot pulls it off so poetically. This song has always given me chills.

Tradition! And Passed Hors D'ouevres

So the Bar Mitzvah, where to begin? The young man of honor was amazing, so laid back and confident as he recited his torah portion and other things I don't have the true concept of, but appreciate. Knowing my nephew as I do, I can't say it was a surprise that he was so natural under pressure. Still, that's my little boy up there! (Apologies for the poor photo quality).

What happened to him? How could he really be a man? It was mighty impressive to me how much he's learned over the past couple of years. I realize I don't talk about religion a lot. I'm not a religious person by any means, but I have no problem with other people being religious as long as they're not using it as a means to oppress people or be hateful in any way.  From my experience, Judaism gets this right a lot of the time, and it was pretty cool to be a part of this rite of passage that is so meaningful in the lives of half my family. The preparation for something like this is daunting, whatever I had to do for my Catholic confirmation was not even close to the same league. He deserved the big party that followed.

And about that party - holy hannah! My sister-in-law outdid herself with the shindig, the food and drink were copious and top-notch, and though Mike did not appreciate the music (he is not as enamored of current Top 40 dance jams as I am) I sure did and had a cadre of cousins and sisters-in-law with whom to cut a rug. Plus the kids seemed to be into it, and really isn't that the most important part? One thing that really warmed my heart was that my nephew and all his friends--I think there were like 500?--were on the dance floor the entire night, boys and girls. (Behold, the official boys' uniform for evening affairs. I didn't get a good one of the girls, but just imagine a lot of strapless and you're halfway there.)

They didn't exactly dance with each other, but they all danced and I hope they keep it up into their teens and beyond. Because dancing is life! If I would have known in my formative years that dancing with kids on their special occasions was a paying job (per the pretty impressive dancers employed by the DJ company), I might be on a very different trajectory right now. Yet another missed calling on my part. Oh well, next life.

It was great to see so many family members over the weekend, some getting to meet HR for the first time. And we had lots of fun relaxing in the hotel. It was a bummer we couldn't take the little one in the pool due to the leftovers from the virus, but as long as he didn't know it was there, it was no problem. He had a blast hanging out with his aunts, uncles and grandparents and was in his glory in the company of his big-boy cousins. While he sat out the more formal parts of the weekend (with thanks to my sister and her husband for his care), he was very much a part of it all.

And apparently he was really happy to get back to his own room after all the excitement because the sleeping has been tons better the last couple of nights. (No jinx!)

Two years until the next one, give or take. I'm getting my dancing shoes shined up now.

Wallop

Well shoot, here I am with all this to write about and no time to write about it. In short, it was an amazing, hectic, family-filled weekend. My nephew was an absolute rock star, my boy held up pretty well under the combined conditions of being relocated, babysat and bombarded with strangers, and two deeply held about me truths emerged:

1) There's never been an occasion on which I've been able to say I danced too much

2) There's never been an occasion on which I've been able to say I danced enough.

There's lots to say about the whole experience of the weekend and I'm hoping to do it justice tomorrow.

I'll leave you today with a song that tells a story. It may not be unbiased or 100% accurate, but it can hold you in its spell for five minutes and that is no joke. It's one of my all-time favorites and the one that put a little-known singer-songwriter by the name of Dylan on the map for my childhood self.

To Life, Even the Spotty Parts

Jiminy Crickets, is today over yet? I'm not normally a wish-the-time-away kind of person, but following a night that can only be described as ROOF as HR recovers from this stupid virus, and the dogpile of insanity at the workplace besides, I'm ready to turn off and gets to celebrating.

I honestly can't believe that my nephew will be making his Bar Mitzvah this weekend. I've known him all his life, he was just a clump of zygotes in attendance on my wedding day, and now for all intents and purposes he is a man. Strangely enough, this will be my first ever Bar Mitzvah. I didn't know many Jewish people growing up outside of Seinfeld and Judy Blume characters, there were maybe two or three families in my rural enclave, so it wasn't until I grew up and moved to the Big City (I like to say that with my thumbs tucked into my suspenders) that the world opened up for me, diversity-wise, and I realized that Bar and Bat Mitvahs were a wonderful part of life, milestones that happened all the time and weren't just an exotically confounding plot point in Blubber. I'm thrilled that my first big celebration of this sort is for someone I love and know so well. Also, we're gonna party like it's 1999. Fitting, as it is the year in which he was born.

I've been trying to teach HR to say "Mazel Tov!" for the occasion, but so far his version consists of flinging his arms up, touchdown style, and saying, "MAMA! To Danny!" Close enough, I say. My sister and her husband will be babysitting him at the hotel during most of the festivities anyway, but it'll be nice for him to get a big dose of his extended family that he doesn't see so frequently, even if he might scare them off as he currently resembles the world's tiniest leper. At least he's no longer contagious, and again, in the scheme of things, this is nothin'.

Now I just hope there's not a full moon...

Cock. Sack. Heh.

So my little bub-eroo picked up the Coxsackie virus from a pal (can you say Coxsackie without laughing? You are a stronger person than I). He'll be fine, just has a gnarly rash, possibly some mouth sores, and a low fever that comes and goes. He's in good spirits and the warmth and sunshine allows his daddy to get him out for plenty of fresh air which can make all the difference. Still, he's not 100% and I feel for him. Also, it seems so typical: healthy as a horse nearly all the time, then when we have a big event coming up, the illness fairy strikes. His fever's already down and he should be no worse for wear for the weekend. I'm being less of a hardass about sleeping right now in light of the diagnosis, but he's not doing too bad considering. At first I was feeling a bit stressed out, it's easy to worry even over the little things with your kid, but I think of how the people I see every day at my job would give anything to be worrying about a common childhood illness and it's like swallowing a giant perspective pill. All will be well, and this will pass before we know it.

As for me, I'm pretty tired due to not being smart enough to go to bed early enough to get in the peak sleep hours, but the weather helps me slap on a permanent smile. I'm trying to cram in a lunchtime mani/pedi, so I've got that to look forward to, assuming our scheduled volunteer shows up for her shift. If she bails, I'll try to make it happen tomorrow. It's not essential of course, but a fancy occasion is always a good excuse to get your appendages attended-ges. Right.

I'm working on a guest entry for my friend Kev's blog, I'll let you know when it pops (at this point maybe not until next week, we'll see). And for now adieu, but not before a song in honor of my little convalescent. For some reason, this is one of his favorites.

Oh the Depths...

This is another post about pinterest, kinda, which makes me feel silly but it's not like silly is an adjective that doesn't apply to me. Hmm, enough negatives for you there? The point is, I realized that of all my dumb but addictively joy-inducing little pinterest boards, the one that's the most populated board by far--obviously my favorite to which I pin things--is the "Crushing" board.

And I'm ok with that. But it bears some examination. On the surface, it appears I've never quite transcended that adolescent phase of boy-craziness or what have you that compelled me to plaster my walls with Michael Hutchence (and god help me Andrew Shue I think?) and other people who are just plain nice to look at. Nothing wrong with that, and undeniable. There are a lot of people I find attractive in real life as well as fake life (celebrities). And with spring and all, the tendency to get caught up in it is ramped up to the nth power.

But there's something to be said about having all these beloved faces together in a personal gallery. I find it inspiring to look upon those I find beautiful in whatever way. What a little enclave, with drag queens and ice skaters and rappers and dead people and funny guys. Some women, some men. Some I am drawn to for purely physical reasons, but the overwhelming majority for what sets them apart in their respective fields, what makes them shine. When I use the word "crush" it's a catch-all word for admiration on so many levels. At the very essence of the practice, there's some component in nearly everyone I pronounce crushworthy--a strength, a talent, a special light--that I want for myself.

And then there's just this:

OK so I actually really adore Paul Rudd for being so funny and good at acting but I can appreciate that he's real purty too.

Here's the part wherein I defend my musical selection of the day. Let me go on record saying that I've never been a fan of Mr. Sean Combs or any of his alter egos--Puff Daddy was half responsible for the terrible fate of hip-hop in the mid-to-late 1990s (the other half having been molested by Limp Bizkit and all the other rap-rock monstrosities)--but I kind of like this song. It feels honest to me, and a tribute to The Notorious B.I.G. that the truly terrible "I'll Be Missing You" tried to be but fell very, derivatively short. I might have gone to far with this one, but no turning back.

Success. Knock Wood.

Big news: the boy went to sleep at 7:30 last night, and I didn't hear a peep from him until almost 3 a.m., which is undeniable progress. It's the best night we've had in ages, and I know it's because I've been taking the hard line on bringing him into our bed. It's not pleasant when you're going through it, I won't lie. But it's not actually that bad, and the results take a short time to show up. Someone please remind me about this next time I go off on an incoherent sleep-deprived rant. And thank you everyone who weighed in with support and advice. He doesn't seem to hold the nighttime battles against us. Things are good.

Oh, so good they are. We had a terrific, terrific weekend, and the spectacular weather probably did its part in making it so great. HR is so much fun to be outside with now. He's so full of wonder, and so active and curious. This is the best, best, BEST age. We spent a lot of time at the park and just bumping around the neighborhood, color-spotting (Elmo! Oscar!) and looking for cats and dogs and birds and babies. Hopping off of curbs is a new favorite pastime. I consider myself extremely lucky that my kid doesn't take off on me, he's getting to be more of a daredevil, but is quite conscientious about holding hands, and that's essential when everywhere we walk is heavily trafficked. For an always-loveable but frankly high maintenance little baby (though aren't they all, in their own ways?) HR turned into an agreeable, easy kid and he makes us laugh and smile constantly (he's been doing this thing where he'll say "Mum. Mum. Mum." and "Dad. Dad. Dad," over and over again, testing out the new titles to see if we think he's being impertinent, I think). The improved sleep is the olive in the martini, so to speak. I could never, would never ask for more.

Yesterday was one of the days you always imagine life will be like when you have a child. We woke up not too early, had a great time at the park, he gifted me with a stellar nap so I could catch up on some Game of Thrones, and we went to meet Daddy for an after-work "bee-ah" (apparently my child was born Australian?) when his shift ended. Dinner, bath, bedtime, then the blessed 7-hour stretch of sleep. If only they could all be like this, but when they happen it makes all the ones that aren't so wonderful worth it. You know? You know.

Friday morning we got to spend time with an old friend of Mike's who lives on the West Coast. We got to meet his bride and their gorgeous infant for the first time, and it made me miss my old friends because the dynamic is just the same. You don't see them for so long, and when you do it's like no time has passed. Which is great. But I still need to make the effort to stay in better touch. That's a real weak spot for me, and it makes no sense.

Anyway, here's a song for sunshine and sleep and old friends and a decent Monday to begin a week that will culminate in a big party. YAY. And also, YAY!

Here We Go Again

If you were keeping score of things mentioned in this blog, "baby sleep woes" would probably show up streets ahead in terms of subject matter, followed at a distance by awesome things about babies, food and/or booze, tv shows I watch, things about my marriage and family, musical theater and some miscellaneous evidence attesting to my personal brand of lameness. I'm about to add another point in the sleep category, so kindly jog on if you can't bear to read about it yet another time. I don't blame you. I don't want to be writing about it, but it's affecting my life so intensely that it would be a lie not to address it.

Things have gotten bad. HR hasn't woken this much during the night since he was an infant, and his initial stretch in the crib as of this week has averaged under two hours. We do our routine, I put him down without much fuss, he goes right to sleep and without fail he's standing in his crib, wailing, before I can digest my dinner. I know I'm at fault for this - following a hard fight to get him back to putting himself down after the hubbub of the winter holidays, once he remastered that skill I was content to take him into bed with me when he had his first waking because he'd usually go right back to sleep and sleep until what passes as morning. I just let it slide because it was easier and we all slept. But now it's not working so keen. For starters, there's that ever-shrinking window of reliable baby's-down-for-the-night time. And he's gone one better and started to be a pill about going back to sleep even after pulling him into the formerly foolproof family bed. (For the record I never wanted a family bed - it was borne of necessity. I'm all for other people co-sleeping if that's what they choose, and I do love cuddling my boy--I'll never tire of that--but the crimp it puts into the quantity and quality of our overall rest is not quite worth it).

We've tried keeping him up later, we've tried moving the nap around, making it earlier, waking him from it earlier, running around in the evening to tire him out, everything intuitive and counter-intuitive. I'm not opposed to putting him to bed earlier which is supposed to work somehow, but I don't even get home until 6:30 so I really don't care to give up the scant half hour I have with him at the end of the day. What I really want is for the magical sleep fairy to come and tell me what to do. If I know it's the right thing, I would stick with any plan, within reason. But I know these things are so varied, kid by kid. At this point it's merely a matter of picking a method that I know works and sticking it out. Which means not taking him out of the crib when he wakes up. I can be in the room, but he can't be in mine. And it'll suck, but it needs to be done. It's time to get real, now. It's our job to teach him how to sleep better. We owe it to him, and to ourselves. And when I say "we," I mean "I" because I'm a little tougher when it comes to the crying. Mike can't handle not going in, he's a fixer.

OK enough of that mess. This is the part where I resort to my annoying tendency to hammer out a bottom line: in his waking hours, HR is growing and healthy, an all-around energetic and preposterously happy kid. If he's like that in the most messed up of sleeping environments, I count us extremely lucky. But the lack of sleep (and of all-important grown-up time, including setting our bedtimes at will) is beginning to wear on me. And HR needs the best Mama and Daddy we can be, meaning, rested. So again I'll say: I'll do my best to get him back on track sleeping because it's the best thing for all of us. But if I fail, it can't really be considered a failure. I mean, how can the word "fail" ever be associated with this guy (unless you count matching fail, which I don't, since that's not his fault)?

It could be that I just don't have a good sleeper. But I know, based on past evidence, that he is capable of being a better sleeper. He's going to turn two, I thought we'd finally turned the corner on this on his last birthday for crying out loud. So once again I'll give it my best shot. It ain't gonna be pretty, but whatever. Neither am I with these bags under my eyes. I'll report back obviously, win or lose.

Thanks for getting through this, if you did. And if you didn't, too bad you missed out on this song, which I only thought of after I titled this post, and only two people will appreciate it anyway. You know who you are.

It's Not Plagiarism If It's Your Own Writing. I Think.

Sometimes when I'm in need of inspiration I revisit the archives of my old blog. Today is one of those days, and, conveniently enough, something I wrote on this date in 2008 really resonated with me. Last night was a terrible night in our house, sleep-wise, and I realize I've gotten astoundingly bad at keeping up with household chores like dusting and I run and run and increase my speed and distance and incline and I'm no closer to my bikini-wearing goal (though I have gotten faster and increased my stamina, which I can't deny is really the point but bear with me). My frustrations were multiplying and conspiring to take over. So it was very helpful to be confronted with these particular words from my past. So much has changed in four years, but only in the little details. The overall picture remains comfortingly the same.

Here's an excerpt from the entry so you know what I'm talking about (original text in italics, 2012 notes in regular text):

I'm at this point in my life where I think I really, really get it: nothing is perfect. Everyone's got their troubles and headaches and I am no exception. That's never going to go away. So here's what you have to do to have the best life possible: stop waiting for it all to magically go away. Change what you want to change, to the best of your ability, but everything else, just eh, you know? Who really cares? When you take a handful of your life and examine it and say oh yeah, in the back of my mind there's always that feeling that once this thing or that thing is taken care of everything will be perfect? It's a fallacy. That's stuff's there, but it's just stuff. It's OK to be happy even with all that. I have a crushing mortgage (a little less crushing now thanks to Obama) and pervasive job dissatisfaction (that was a big thing with me back then but I've since taken the reigns and figured that out) and three years later my house is still largely undecorated (mezze, mezze) and these are all things I plan to address at some point but it doesn't mean I can't be happy while they exist. It's not either/or. And it doesn't meant that I won't always want more out of life. I'm a restless spirit and a bit of a chaos junkie, it can't really be helped. 

Oooh, yes child. 

But I don't live with pent up anxiety. I can sit here on a random Friday morning in March being annoyed with my coworkers and digesting half a brownie and wondering when I'll ever ever get to be a mother (that last one was an old recurring question of mine that has obviously since been answered) and still, still, I can't help but embrace the moment. Everything is just so damn good. We're making a great dinner at home tonight and I'll play laser tag with my nephews tomorrow and I nailed bakasana this week (oh, I fully intend to do this once again) and my brother started a scrabulous game with me on facebook and I'm really looking forward to Skye's wedding (Skye's long married and has a gorgeous little boy and now I'm looking to my aforementioned laser-tag-playing nephew's bar mitzvah) and I've been disciplined with my writing lately (er) and it's these little shining grains to be plucked out of that whole overwhelming handful that matter. This is how I am how I am.

I mean, it's all pretty obvious. I'm not telling you anything you don't know. And I think I am also one of those lucky people who is wired to be in touch with my happiness. But it's just so freeing to say it to myself. And to re-read it at just the right time.

I had no intention of getting this philosophical, but come to think of it, I never do. Philosophy happens.

Now let's all take a moment to go dance around to some prefab pop trash. 

Now, as ever: YEAH.


 

The Horror

I haven't watched the entire episode yet due to WTS (waking toddler syndrome - it's acute these days), but one of the plotlines of last Sunday's Family Guy concerns Stewie being traumatized by the album cover for Queen's "News of the World." ME TOO PAL! I thought I was alone, but someone in Hollywood feels my pain all these years later. My Uncle Tony had this record and if I ever accidentally caught sight of it, I would flip out. It still presents as epically creepy.

See also: Billy Joel's "The Stranger" (which belongs to an entire fear subset that I have involving anything that has eyes but can't see. Blind people being the exception), Jethro Tull's unsettling "Aqualung" and Spooky Tooth's "Ceremony" which I don't even know why I ever saw as I'm pretty sure I've never heard their music. If you're not familiar with what I'm talking about, or just want to relive the horror, I dedicated a pinterest board so you can find all these turrible images in one convenient location.

I had a lot of phobias as a child, but this was maybe one of the weirdest - I used to avoid record stores (aw, "record stores" - remember those?) like the plague for fear that I'd see something that would put me over the edge. To this day I'm a little uneasy even in museums, I'm just very sensitive to visual images, particularly if I'm in an enclosed space. It's hard to explain.

Anyway. I wonder, what will scare children now that cover art is a thing of the past? Oh, everything else in the world? Right. I just remember I accidentally won the mother of the year award on Sunday afternoon when I let HR watch a little bit of Babe when he was waking from his nap. He's obsessed with farm animals, so I thought it would be right up his alley but the scene we happened upon was very chaotic and there were dogs chasing sheep and the pig was trapped and I looked over at my boy and will never forget the look on his face, he was just horrified, while tears streamed out of his eyes. Poor buddy.

On the heels of yesterday's entry regarding the dark subject matter I've been voluntarily consuming lately, I had my first round of murdery nightmares last night. Things that scare me don't usually manifest themselves in my dreams like that, so I thought it was interesting (once I woke up and chilled out a bit). Interesting, but not very welcome. Go away, murder dreams. That's all I'm going to say about it.

Let's end on a happy note, shall we? Way back in 2001, who knew that Pink would emerge as a totally legit talent? This song has such a fun, frothy pop feel to it. And damned if it's not one of my favorite songs of the early 2000s, period.

In Favor of Illegitimate Spring

As IF I'm going to talk about Daylight Savings.

It was a pretty great weekend, overall. I made the mistake of reminding HR early Saturday morning that he had the last of his waterbabies classes that day and he whined, pointing at the door, from then until his 12:30 lesson. The ecstatic smile on his face the entire time he was in the pool made all the whining worth it, though. For some reason he's not loving his bath lately, but he's still quite the little fish when it comes to the pool. Plus when his hair is wet his curls stretch out halfway down his back and it looks hilarious. I'm sure the other parents were wondering why we let our little girl go in the pool with just trunks on. Oh we are the worst, but I just can't bring myself to get him a haircut yet.

The rest of the time was taken up by regular house-y stuff, also a lovely date night during which we took in the best barbecue in all of greater Boston (Sweet. Cheeks. Buddies.) and watched Being Elmo. You'd think that more Elmo is the last thing we'd seek out in light of our toddler's all day, every day Sesame Street obsession, but we were both dying to see it. A word about this film: it's short and sweet and fascinating and rather inspiring. And I cried no fewer than three times. I recommend it on the whole without reservation, but be forewarned there's some tear-jerking stuff afoot.

On the flip side, I'm deep, deep into The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest and it's occupying every nook of my brain. It's all I can do to not disappear to a corner of the workplace to finish it up, but if I do that I may never resurface. These books are so brutal and horrifying (frankly the writing itself doesn't thrill me, and sometimes I'm wondering if the author just cut and pasted from an Ikea catalog. Also, do Swedes really drink that much coffee? Petra, help me out here) but I am hooked because the mystery element and pacing are so well done. Lisbeth Salander occasionally walks an almost Mary Sue line because dudes love her so much, but as characters go, she's won me over. Between all the Scandinavian darkness and my Game of Thrones binge, I think my brain will soon need a detour to the valley of the cute and fluffy bunnies. At the very least I'll need a palate cleanser before The Hunger Games comes out.

Apparently we're just going to skip to May now? No complaints whatsoever, I'm just used to March being about 35 days of slog to get to a glimpse of spring. It doesn't feel earned, after this non-winter but again, not a complaint.

In terms of pure cheesiness, I could probably do a lot worse for my 1990s bubblegum pick, but I love this song so dearly to this day (and can't guarantee I haven't already linked it but am too lazy to do an archive search), so I'm giving it the crown.

So Much Drama in the OBC

Happy, happy birthday to my old man, the best old man, who is 40 today and could use about 40 days off for a present. He'll have to make do right now with last night's dinner and drinks, and a toddler's everyday adoration (and is right now showing his adoration by refusing to nap). Sounds like an even trade!

Mikey, we couldn't love you more if you were pumpkin pie. We'll have a proper celebration in Mexico in December, and if you don't want to observe your age until we get there, that's A-OK with me.

Nonagenarian In The House

My grandmother turned 90 today. I spoke to her this morning, and she was getting ready for a busy day of appointments, a birthday lunch, and an evening of receiving phone calls from her many admirers. She is nothing short of marvelous, never forgetting a single one of her children's, grandchildren's, or great-grandchildren's birthdays or those of her longtime man-friend Joe (and I'm sure when her first great-great-grandchild comes into the world any day now he'll make the card calendar). She is proud of every single one of us and keeps track of our comings and goings-- woe befall any of her sons or daughters (who range in age from their 40s to 70s) if they don't let her know when they've arrived at their destination during traveling. I tell you, if I'm half as with it when I'm her age--if I'm lucky enough to make it to her age--I'll be more with it than a lot of people. So happy happy birthday to Memere, we're so blessed to have her with us and thriving (not to mention thrilled to have a share in her genes).

Tomorrow is a similarly big birthday for my own longtime man-friend and one-and-only baby daddy, and we're going out tonight to celebrate. True to form we have no solid plans outside of leaving HR (or "Baby Emma" as he's taken to calling himself - it makes sense if you know my last  name) in the care of my cousin and her husband with nary a backward glance. I'm very much looking forward to the official grown-ups' birthday date, where we actually go and what we do being beside the point. Should be good no matter what.

And now my bubblegum pick for the 1980s, from what is probably my favorite "boy band" of all time, the inimitable New Edition. The moves, the fashion, the pre-deadbeat Bobby Brown, it's all there.

Pop-POP

HR had a much, much better night last night, and so did we all. While he was getting in the first leg of his peaceful slumber (aka the part where he stays in his crib), I utilized one of the most beautiful features of being an HBO subscriber: series On-Demand. As Season 2's premiere is imminent, I finally decided to see what all the hype was about regarding Game of Thrones (or more accurately, Game of Banging Your Sister and Beheading the Everloving Shit Out of Some Dudes). Though I don't usually go in for constant brutality, I'm a sucker for anything that remotely resembles Middle Earth, and I do believe I'm hooked. Like somehow more TV is what I've been missing. And now I suppose I'm going to have to read the books. WHY IS MY LIFE SO HARD? Right?

I was inspired--based on a Facebook conversation I got into this morning stemming from my puzzlement over liking a recent pop song--to dedicate my musical selections the rest of the week to the great bubblegum teeny-bopper gems of popular music, one for each decade I've been alive. This will do nothing to improve McQueen's esteem in my taste in music, but clearly I don't give a rat's ass about that (Hi Chris!).

I was going to go with "I Was Made For Dancing" for the first pick because that's sort of the groove for me, even though the irony is clear. Leif Garrett was made for... anything but dancing. Even pre-junk. He was not a funky homo sapien. It's funny I never had a crush on Mr. Garrett, I think I assumed he was a girl, he was so pretty. But I digress, the phenom of the 1970s that captured my young imagination was Shaun Cassidy. Sigh, Shaun Cassidy.

Everyone Agrees

It's so frustrating when I have a perfectly lovely weekend and it ends poorly and that's where I shift my focus. It wasn't even anything so bad, just that I'm showing signs of coming down with my annual cold and our poor boy is teething HAHHD and it made for a miserable night for the whole fam-damily. That's just part of life sometimes, I can more than handle it, but it annoys me that I'm letting that bit of sustained misery overshadow a couple of days of pancake eating and 5 o'clock beers and dancing around to stupid music. HR can almost jump, and the almost-jump is about the most hilariously adorable things I've ever seen. Those are the parts I want to take away, so why let the ragestorm--which I know is brought on by sinus pressure and lack of sleep--rob me of them?

Tomorrow I'll be better, but even if I'm not, I'll fake it, so you'll never know. Eh, you'll know, I'm not good at faking. But I'm hopeful that I won't have to.

Good lard I love this song.

Moderne Tymes

ETA: I wrote this hours ago but forgot to publish. Oh well, I'm back, it was a lovely time. So la-di-da, la-di-da.

I'm about to go meet a friend for lunch, a very talented photographer and writer I've known for years but never actually met. He's not a local but will be passing through town, so we made plans to get together for a pow-wow. Isn't it amazing to think that not long ago this was considered crazy and unusual and now people meet through the internet all the time? Some of the people I know and love the most I've met through online communities, and I don't think it's weird at all. It makes a lot of sense for me actually since I am super shy and have always expressed myself better in writing, at least initially. (Don't worry Ma, etc., I am very careful and always make sure to meet with a group or in daylight in a public place and Mike knows where I am and all the SVU-approved guidelines.)

I'm just looking forward to meeting in person after all this time. Because even in this day and age, though a person can be real to you on paper, they're not actually really real until you know how they fit in a three-dimensional capacity (ETA we almost unknowingly met way back in October as he works at the burger joint in midtown Manhattan where we ate before our friend's wedding during that crazy blizzard - what a world!). I can't imagine how that could change. So if you're reading this and haven't met me, you're probably bound to one of these days. And yeah, I'm am shorter than you might think, even. (Though my friend today did tell me I was taller than he expected - thank you Frye boots!)

Now if this rain would just stop. At least we're not snowed in like everyone else. YET.