Top 20 Freakout

ERMAGERD DANCING.

There is nothing below that doesn't address last night's episode of So You Think You Can Dance. So... bye, I guess.

It's possible that I say this every year, but I really mean it this time - I'm so excited about this year's Top 20. So excited. While I do think it's sorta cheap that the producers of SYTYCD always withhold about half of the contestants over the audition process so that when they're cast the audience has no previous association with them, it is nice in a way to form your own opinions about who to root for vs. who the show people want to showcase (Ahem. Alexa. Who is actually good but still). Let's talk about Will, for example. Who is this gigantic hunk of man? I'm looking forward to getting to know him, let's see if he's worth keeping around.

My early favorite is still Eliana, from whom we haven't heard since her initial audition, but she struck such a chord with me, and her futuristic ballet performance last night was undeniable. Love her. I'm also really feeling George, whose audition I had forgotten about and who is just magical. He reminds me of Jakob or Danny, just a thrilling contemporary guy. I'm happy that Cyrus is in, all the hype really worked in making me root for him, he has a great personality. He fills the Legacy/Tadd niche. Otherwise, I'm ready to be shocked and awed. There's nobody I dislike, yet. Audrey should never ever talk, and though I can't take my eyes off Amelia she gets the "Eli Manning Bitchface" trophy for her reaction to Janaya getting picked. But dance-wise, really, let's do this thing.

I'm downright shocked that there is only one hip-hop specialist in the mix, and really more of an isolationist than anything else, if that is a thing. One stepper, which is pretty cool. No b-boys at all. The contemporary jazz bias is overwhelming, but at the same time, from what I saw in Vegas, a lot of the contestants are five-tool players, as it were, using the contemp label as a catch-all, and most of them are really adaptable to hip-hop. It'll be interesting to see who's going to be doing the heavy lifting with that choreography because I saw Tabitha D'umo in the audience of ABDC and she preeeeegnant, so I am only assuming that those stalwarts are sitting out this season. Or, maybe not.

Travis's girls' routine was gorgeous, and Sonya's aggressively contact-heavy guys' routine made my life. Kudos to this show for almost letting the whole thing go without a single comment about whether or not dudes dancing with dudes is gay. Almost. I don't care if you're all about the ladies in real life, it's your performance right now that counts and if you want to be a professional that's all you should care about (in other words, shut up and dance, BRANDON). And good on you Nigel for not taking the homophobic bait, even if it turns out you only held your tongue due to time allowance. It felt like progress.

The biggest news for me, overall, was the return of Mama Mia. That group routine was so good I almost threw up, my response was that visceral, and I'm not kidding. Finding out that she choreographed Rock of Ages has kindled my interest to actually see it.

The question of the night, though: does L'il C wear glasses without lenses? Discuss.

In conclusion, look forward to Thursday entries from here on out. Or don't. But I certainly do. I can't wait to see how it all plays out.

The unexpected (but perfectly logical) side effect of the show is that I get exposure to a lot of new music. Sonya used this song in her routine last night, I recognize it from a commercial for I don't know what, all I know is, I like it.

Brief, Unneccesary Rundown

Today: I'm pretty busy with work things, which is a fine way to spend the day but I have the added challenge of busting through the lethargy brought on by having a cheeseburger topped with deep fried jalapenos and fries for lunch. I'll be damned, there's a reason we don't eat like this every day. It was worth it though.

Tonight: there's an IPA with my name on it, and they're finally announcing the Top 20 on SYTYCD.

Tomorrow: you will hear my thoughts regarding said announcement. Let that serve as a warning, or an enticement.

And just so this post isn't a complete wash, here's a beautiful song that really got to me the first time I heard it. It still gets to me every time.

One Thing's For Sure: Monopoly Is the Worst

These days we've been playing a lot of a little game called "Another." It's a list game. Like Monopoly, it goes on forever. Also like Monopoly, nobody really wins. Not without cheating.

"Another people, Daddy work," HR demands. So I list every co-worker of Mike's I can think of. And when I'm out of people, this does not count as an acceptable reason to stop naming names.

"Another sleepover," then, as in, tell me the details of the sleepover we're going to have with friends. I think we've gone over the layout at least three times from what we might have for dinner up until the last thing we do before leaving. Still, "Another."

"Another people, Maine," this time. Oh, this should be cake - my family is huge. He'll get bored before I run out of cousins, before I even get to my cousins' kids. Ha. HA!

I haven't gotten to the point where I've started inventing people, but I have gotten pretty creative in who falls in what category. Aunt Judy if anyone asks, you're now from Maine. And dogs count as people.

But I sort of love it. It gets repetitious of course, the endless listing, and it's hard to explain that when the list ends, the list... ends. But it makes me happy that my kid is so interested in knowing things. I'm enamored with the curiosity phase so far. Our party trick is asking HR what people's "real names" are. He's great at this, from Mike and me to his grandparents to his cousins, he even knows Great Gram's first and last name. I can't remember how old I was when I became aware that people had names other than what I called them, he's probably on the normal course, but he seems to have grasped the concept without us ever harping on it. Plus it's just so damn cute to hear things like "Kay-dee PARE-ee" coming from his mouth.

So there's a peek into the latest, developmentally. Maybe tomorrow I'll write about something non-motherhood related. But no promises.

Ah, this song.

Pollyanna Complex

A year ago today, my sister was getting ready to be married, Kevin Youkilis still played for the Red Sox and HR was barely walking. Now the no-longer-newlyweds are celebrating their first anniversary, Youk changed his Sox from Red to White and my kid is a fully mobile imp. I wonder what a year from today will bring, but I'm just as happy that I don't have the ability to know.

This was a weekend of extremes: beautiful weather and mighty storms, chaotic togetherness and calm solitude, rocking out until late and going to bed early. In all, as close to perfect balance as it gets. And halfway through this day, I'm still marveling that once again it's all behind me. That's all part of the balance too, I suppose. You need the week to exist before you can have the week-end. Unless you're the Dowager Countess or of other independent wealth, and really wouldn't that just get dead boring after awhile? (Um, no, actually, but these little lies keep us working folk going.)

To continue in that vein, today there's a bunch of stuff in the news that's reminding me more than usual about the ways in which the world, this country, can be an ugly place. And it all angers and scares and disappoints me, but as always I react by grasping at what makes it worth holding on (it's one of my more annoying tendencies, but it's probably the me-ist thing about me, so if you are indeed annoyed by it you've probably moved on long ago). Anyway, I'm talking about what shines through in defiance of the senseless hate and tragedy and callousness and negativity, like raucous family celebrations (even though I had to miss a big one yesterday, I was there in spirit and I'll catch up with you all next month). And first anniversaries. And Youk's awesome run with the Sox (I'll miss you, buddy). And to magically growing imps and their freedom to chill out with pals in the altogether, eating ice cream like it's no thing, on the weekend and every given day.

Is there anything more symbolic of a high five from life, I mean, at least until you get to trade up to cocktails?

Pavements Are Burning

This morning some blueberry cake came out of nowhere and launched itself into my mouth. And lo, it was delicious. Not as good as my grandmother's blueberry cake, but that goes without saying, and that applies to just about any food. But the memory of that cake in particular, and blueberry pie, and blueberry muffins and strawberry rhubarb pie and zucchini bread and apple tart and--I think I'm establishing a theme here--is a big example of what I hold dear from growing up. It got me thinking that, thanks to the people who cooked for me in my formative years, I was part of the locavore movement before there was any such thing. Berries grow in the summer, you make use of an arseload of berries that maybe came from Aunt Fannie's yard. Your neighbor's zucchini problem is out of control, bingo bango, scrambled eggs with zucchini (YUM, dudes). Of course it wasn't a conscious thing, and we didn't eat fresh local foods all the time (I thought cream of mushroom soup was a food group, didn't you?), but what was available in any given season was a major part of our diet, and now that I have such fond memories of seasonal eating, I hope to pass the same off to my son. We forewent a CSA this year, but Mike and I are still pretty committed to getting what the best each time of year has to offer, agriculturally. I know it's a matter of making a big effort now, where in the past it was just necessity. But it makes sense. And besides, peaches in November are no good, and I won't even bother with a tomato before July. A good tomato is as rare and valuable as a diamond, in my opinion.

Oh, summer. Now that you're officially happening, it's time to make a list of what I'm all about this summer, besides food.

-Turner Classic Movies - old movies are good for what ails ya any time of year, but there's something about watching musicals that means summer to me, especially when it proves to be too hot to even leave the house. My cable company mysteriously withheld TCM from me until recently, but now that I have it, I sha'nt squander. First up, fittingly: Summer Stock with Judy Garland and Gene Kelly. COME ON.

-A really good IPA - I'm back into beer as my summer refresher. Last year was all about the sparkling rose, which I still adore, but now that I have learned to avoid heartburn when indulging in IPA (the trick: limit consumption to two at a time, genius), I've been really back into crisp, cold, hoppy beers like I haven't been in years.

-Reading the crap out of Rookie online. Thanks to a hot tip from my friend, I'm obsessed with this bit of wonderful, and feel like, finally, Sassy has a rightful heir. Or more accurately, if Sassy were still around, it would have morphed into this multimedia celebration. I'm too old for the whole lot of it, and I'll never be ashamed that I'm still reading. It gives me hope.

-Getting sun-tired. The post-beach or post-pool feeling - there's nothing like it, and I'll be chasing it until Labor Day rolls around.

All right! Enough sun-dappled daydreaming while I chill up in the A/C, I'm ready to start doing. Let's go get some fried bivalves and corn on the cob already!

Start The Clock

Suddenly, it's summer. And I realize our mega camping vacation commences in just over a month. How does it sneak up like this every year? I'm excited for it, as always, but there are a lot of unknowns to temper the excitement. For one, we'll be staying in a part of the island we've never really seen before. Add to that the challenges of exposing the toddler to the elements - the sun, the rain, mosquitoes and ticks (as we learned the hard way last year), poison ivy, sand that never comes out of certain crevices, the packing - oh the packing. And thinking about how HR nearly didn't recover from the shake-up in his sleep pattern last year... it's enough to make you want to say, eh, let's go get a hotel instead.

As if! Even with all the worries and inconveniences, I'm way more excited for the good part of the unknown, seeing how our boy will react to things in his walking, talking, information-sponge state, what memories he'll start to form with this crazy gaggle of family, what he'll take into his adulthood as we all did. We could be looking at a fortnight of a little boy screeching for youtube clips, but my gut tells me there will be a lot more positive surprises than negative. Like always, we'll keep it flexible, and do what turns out to be best for all of us.

For those to whom it might be meaningful: in the tub last night HR talked about "Small Point" several times. I don't think he quite knows what it means--and the exquisite irony is that he learned the phrase from my mother, of all people--but it thrills me to no end. But before we get to that, we've got a lot more summer to cram in. Beginning with getting some work done before my brain fully melts.

Musical treat: I am downright scandalized that I've not heard this cover until now. It's all my favorite things.

The Good Guys

Back at it, and raring to go! Historically Tuesdays are my most productive of days-- the weekend has worn off, the inherent Monday-ness of Monday has passed, and I hit my stride, at least in the workplace. At home I always manage to be simultaneously on top of things and not at all on top of them, no matter what the day. One thing in my favor right now is that, after a week of good sleep but unfortunate 5 a.m. (or earlier) adamant-start-the-day wake-ups from the toddler of the house, we've experienced the favored combo of good sleep until 5, followed by more sleep once he gets into our bed. It indeed makes a difference.

And now to recap the weekend, which happened a year ago, feels like. My sister threw a belated surprise 30th birthday party for her husband (surprise! You're actually 31!) and we went up to her neck of the woods for the occasion. HR is getting to be ever so much better of a traveler, thankfully. He slept pretty much the whole two-hour ride to Portland, and was so exited to wake up in Maine and to see his Auntie straight away. We met my sister for lunch while the birthday boy was off on a golf boondoggle, not realizing that our predetermined rendezvous point was smack in the middle of Portland's gay pride parade. Luckily there was minimal parking inconvenience and the atmosphere made our lunch date that much more fun. After that we went to my mother's oldest friend's place where my parents were staying, and where my mother would be taking care of HR overnight while the rest of us went to the party. It was great to spend some time there with Aunt Maria (who is not really my aunt but is my godmother). I even got to take a little nap while my kid basked in all the attention from his grandmother and "Mia," as he calls her, which was supremely lucky since it had been one of those 4:30 a.m. mornings, and I knew I had a long night ahead. HR barely even noticed when we kissed him goodbye for the night, and I was so grateful to know he was in such good, loving hands. I'm at the point where I can go out and don't even think about him anymore or worry about how he's doing, and that is a gift.

The party was such a good time. It was a pretty intimate affair, with immediate family but also their millions of friends (my sister and her husband are way more social than I am) and there was great pizza and overall it was a big pile of happy. When the rented time in the restaurant was over, the intrepid among us moved to where we always end up, having some beverages and messing around on the patio of our favorite spot in the Old Port while a band of white dudes played reggae covers. And it was a blast. I am not over these kinds of nights, not by a long shot. And thought it's not in me to ever want to leave when something's still going on--it's downright Perry of me, you could say--I decided to follow my cousin's lead and get scarce before last call and it turned out to be a smart move.

On Sunday we got to sleep in at my sister's (past 8 a.m., even), and feeling mostly human, took our time getting into the day and going off to retrieve our boy. By the time we arrived he had just woken up from a nap and was rewarding his grandparents with extreme grouchiness, so our timing was perfect. My godmother and her boyfriend invited us and my siblings and their spouses to stay for a Father's Day barbecue and it was perfect. The food was great, the weather was beautiful, and the company was perfect. HR repeated "Happy. Faddurs. Day!" on demand, which I can't believe I didn't get on video, it was such a delicious novelty. His speech is really blowing up right now, and it was an unexpected present for his dad and grandfather.

I think I could have stayed there hanging out with my full belly all day, but we needed to get back to the city and so we did. HR was a trouper once again, which gives me hope for summer packed with traveling. So that was my weekend, rather a whirlwind for this homebody. There's more mundane detail in this post than I usually like to give, but to me the entire weekend was a highlight. The little things like awesome childcare and a mostly agreeable kid and a rare, full weekend with Mike and quality time spent with family mean a lot to me. And in some ways I paid for it, but I don't think there'll be a time in my life when it isn't worth the price.

I got to see my old bud Jay at the party (he was my friend first, but has more or less evolved into family at this point) and he asked why the hell hadn't I linked this on my blog yet? And I was like, right?

So for those who haven't yet seen this, here's something that's not really a song, but it showcases one of my life heroes and it gives my whole being the hot-cold chills. There will never be another human exactly like Fred Rogers, but I hope there will be lots of them at least a little like him.

Truth

With a sparkling weekend nearly 48 hours behind me... I am still wrung out. And it was worth it. My body may be pulling a full-on Sgt. Murtaugh in response to staying up until the wee hours drinking and dancing and singing along with a fairly crappy cover band, but my spirit will never, ever be too old for this shit.

I really do want to go into detail about how fun was my weekend, how lucky I am to have such a downright awesome family, how surprising and delicious HR is at every turn lately and what a great Father's Day we all had. Today, unfortunately, is not the day for it. Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow will be the day.

Please accept an offering from the amazing Julie Brown as a token of my regret. It's sort of my motto.

WWARD?

It's safe to say I have a healthy self image. Most of the time, I feel pretty good about myself. I don't think I'm physically perfect by any means, though I don't think that even needs to be said. I mean, what kind of fucked up world is it where I think I have to justify feeling happy and comfortable in my skin? I wasn't born this way -- it took a lot of years of struggle and, er, being a teenager and such before I arrived at this place, so I feel like I earned it. That's dumb, though. You shouldn't have to work to love your physical self. But most of us do, with varying degrees of success, it's just how it is. But I achieved balance for the most part in adulthood, and even with that said, I still have my moments. Some of you may remember how I launched this plan to rock nothing but bikinis on my late fall vacation. A shallow goal to be sure, but I'm having fun with it. Whatever keeps you going, right? Anyway, so I went to Target the other day and picked up a couple of suits to add to my collection. I tried them on in the store, I was feeling OK about them, then I took them home and had the brilliant idea to photograph myself wearing them so I could have, I guess, a true idea of what they looked like on me. I did some mirror snaps, front and back, checked out the results, and it was like, "Oh. I... see."

The body I actually have rudely defies being the body I have in my head. And being confronted with that disconnect caused a little hiccup in my normally rock solid sense of being. Part of it is the issue of never quite admitting to myself that my body has been permanently altered since carrying a child. I'm not talking about stretch marks, those have mostly faded anyway, but it seems like no matter what I try, I can't quite put humpty dumpty back together again. Things have... rearranged themselves. And it's an unpleasant shock to come to terms with it. It wasn't that I thought I looked bad per se in the pictures, I mean, I gave up the ghost on a flat stomach a long time ago, I just didn't look like me. So it begs the question, to me, what was I hoping to accomplish by taking the pictures, and was I better off before I saw them? I suppose deep down I wanted to see them to get myself used to the results of the inevitable photographs that should be a part of a memorable vacation, so I wouldn't look back on what promises to be a wonderful time and obscure the memories with my critical eye. I'm always working on this these days because facebook and aging has effed up most of how I look at pictures of myself. And I don't want to be that way. It's pointless.

To the second part of the question, the answer is a yes and no. Yes because in my heart I know that the point for me is how I feel, and when I work out hard and regularly like I've been doing, I automatically feel like a superhero. I don't think that how I look ever really changes, but how I feel about myself does depending on whether I'm getting in my workouts, so it's worth it to keep pounding out the miles and such. I do get a rush from it, which can only be good. The no is because it gave me a chance to think about what residual issues I'm harboring and remind myself, as I do a couple of times a year, that my body is awesome because it is strong and healthy and that I really don't want to lose sight of that or waste any time playing into the image of what a beautiful body is supposed to be. Even if I change completely over time, even if I stop working out or whatever, everyone has the right to feel good and beautiful. That it's ever not a given is one of the saddest things in life.

Anyway, I will indulge in a little psycho workout talk in lieu of psycho dance talk since I didn't watch this week's SYTYCD yet. Since getting back into regular exercising post pregnancy, my run speed, distance and stamina have grown immensely. And, like the old me, I've decided that even if I never lose the equivalent of one pound (I don't weigh myself) or any part of my back fat or love handles, what I've accomplished physically makes me proud. I have always loathed strength training, but I did start doing a regular dumbbell program and for the first time in my life, I've started to get definition in my arms which I never knew I wanted, but results are addictive, aren't they? I'm not going to show anyone my bikini pictures, not now and probably not any ever taken because that's not my style, all that is for me and me only even when I wear them in public. But I will show you my starter guns. Not gonna attempt to lie to you, I'm flexing like an MF. But that dip in the arm muscles? I've never had that dip before. And I'm inordinately proud.

So I've got that going for me.  Here's some advice you didn't ask for: if you can't love all of yourself every day, try and pick one thing per day that makes you feel good and go from there. And when that's a challenge--and don't feel bad when it is a challenge, because it's natural to get down sometimes--I find it helpful to think: what would a rapper do if you asked him about himself? He'd brag and swagger and just take for granted he (or she) was a sexy beast, right? Tell the voices in your brain to back the fuck off ya. I swear by it.

I've Been To What Now?

I'm on deadline today, so my latest body image diatribe will have to wait until tomorrow but here's something that's been sticking in my craw lately: when people say, "This is the best BLANK you'll ever BLANK." I resent that! How do you know what's the best, to me? Preferences are subjective, and I can make up my mind about the best this or that I ever tasted or saw or heard, thank you very much. As you may have noticed, I don't appreciate bossiness in any form. I like recommendations and enthusiastic shares. But don't boss me, bro.

OK then! I'm going to do something I never do and link a song I absolutely hate, because I though I love love itself and positivity and knowing what other people love, I find that dislikes are often more interesting. In my opinion, this may well be the worst song ever written and performed, and even though I love some terrible music, this one is just BAD bad. Even though I have good associations surrounding it. Priscilla Queen of the Desert, for one. And staying at my Aunt Peggy's house in Farmington back in the 80s, I used to spend weekends with her all the time, and I clearly remember being in the kitchen and my aunt or uncle or one of my cousins had made a tape of a radio countdown (remember that kind of thing? If you don't I don't want to hear about it) and it had this and Toto's "Rosanna" on it. Now "Rosanna", that is a good song. I love the shit out of some Toto. Just so we're clear. But for whatever reason, I think I heard the song I'm talking about 50 times in a 48 hour period, and it could be that I only heard it once. It's just that awful. The question remains, WHAT THE FUCKNATION ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT CHARLENE AND HOW IS THIS A REAL SONG?

Without further ado, I give you:



Bring all your haterness to me, if you're so inclined.

I Have Stopped Counting His Age in Months, Too

Around the time HR turned one, I stopped keeping a baby book. It wasn't a conscious thing, I had just filled up the one I had with his first-year milestones, and everything kept coming so fast and furious, so it fell to the bottom of the pile. His life's been exhaustedly documented through pictures (the cell phone camera is a particularly helpful tool here), but I realize that my only catalog at this time is this here blog. Which is cool by me, I mean it might not last forever, but I think I can find a way to preserve what I get down in here for some type of posterity. But as my child grows and changes, there's so much that never even makes it into here. In an effort to catch these fireflies before they go out of season, here are my favorite things about two-year-old HR.

-He is still a mighty cuddler, both accommodating my not infrequent requests for hugs and offering them voluntarily. I don't expect this to last forever, but I really hope it does.

-His little voice and ever-expanding vocabulary. Someday I might worry about his speech, but for now I love every mispronunciation. I always say, "Hi buddy!" or "Hi honey!" when I see him, so he's started repeating it back to me, combining it sometimes into "honeybuddy." I love the way he names things, either repeating something we've said or bringing it up from his own interpretation of information. Right now his farm animals are his most cherished toy ("fumm emmuls"), and his "small animals" ("fmall emmuls" - tiny pigs and bunnies), not to be confused with his "fmall guys" which are just miniature Thomas trains. The other day we returned from an outing and he was thrilled to get back to the toys we had left behind. It made me crack up the way he shouted "small animal time!" like that was a thing (excuse me, "fmall emmul dahhhhhhm!"), and he got to work lining them up on the stairs for reasons only he can know.

-Witnessing independent play like the animal line-up, and hearing him babble to himself after he's in the crib for the night. I can already tell I'll be keeping that video monitor active far too long - my kid is just too amusing to warrant privacy.

-The information gathering stage in full effect - he wants us to make lists for him all the livelong day: lists of his friends, his family, who works with Daddy, who works with Mama, never accepting when we run out of answers. He likes to hear each day's schedule, who he'll see and what he'll do. I love that he's curious, and he's also pretty skilled at remembering people. Part of that is because we've drilled loved ones into his brain since birth - we have a LOT of photo books and he's always loved looking through them. But part of it is that he's smarter about things than we're ready to accept.

-The surprises, every day. Saturday morning all three of us were shocked when he made his first #2 on the potty - I do not believe that potty training is imminent, I'm not in a rush at all, we just keep giving him a chance to try, and make a big deal when he's successful, so he starts making associations. He's really quite good at puzzles and matching objects, he counts to 20 almost perfectly (not a big fan of the number 5 for some reason, and everything from 14 to 19 is pretty much the same word), and since neither of us made a major effort to make him learn, it's cool to see what he's internalized.

-Finally, and knock wood eternally, Mr. Worst Sleeper Award is sleeping consistently well. He always ends up in our bed at some point, but the norm now is much closer to daylight than it used to be, and as much as I look forward to 8 uninterrupted hours of sleep (if there is such a thing?) with just Mike and me in the bed, I know I'll miss the closeness of that few hours of sleepy snuggling. I really will.

I honestly didn't write this to brag on my kid, I do not believe HR is extraordinary or gifted in any way, I mean compared to other kids. He's extraordinary to us because, hey, we made him, and he delights us every day. Sure he has plenty of not-great moments, but who cares? Who wants to look back on the difficult moments?  I just wanted to get down the little details, because soon they will be replaced with other ones. And what can I say, I'm just smitten with my own creation. It's how it's supposed to work, I think.

And thus concludes today's installment of "Cherish Party." Tomorrow: a meditation on the insidious dickery of body image. Stay tuned!

We're sort of going through a family Bob Marley phase right now. 

Summer Me

The schedule we're pulling together for the summer impels me anew to figure out a way to be self employed, if for no other reason than there is so much I want to do, and only so much time I can take off, even with my pretty generous workplace allotment. Camping for two weeks! The Cape! Up to the homestead! Hippie campout! Now, Rhode Island for a couple of days! We can make it all work, but frankly how great would it be to zip off to P-Town for a couple of days in the middle of the week when traffic is less of a nightmare, or head out for a bit of quality time at Grandma's with no occasion, just to chill? All I need is something that doesn't require my physical presence at a given time. I want my laptop to be my place of employment.

Yes I know, first world problems in the extreeeeeeme. But a woman can have her dreams, and if other people can make theirs come true, why not me? I don't want things, and I never did. I just want enough to sustain us so we can make the most of our time with family and friends. Travel and good times, fulfilling the pursuit of those is my heart's desire ambition, always has been. I've got no problem with working for a living, I don't expect the world to support me, and I didn't come up with any sense of entitlement. I just want to do it on my own schedule, and I know this is possible. I just have to hustle to make it happen. Though once school starts for the booger--which is not actually as far away as I think--the whole concept is rendered moot as we'll be tied down in a whole new way (I'm not against homeschooling for other people, it's just not for us). But there will always be summer. Consider this the official statement of my rekindled writerly aspirations, brought about in service of owning my time as much as possible (I'm aware of things beyond my control and things like deadlines, not to mention the bevy of sacrifices that come with a career switch, I'm just talking in general). That and I'm still taking a gall-bath in the fortune made by the 50 Shades series author. I have no intention to argue the merits of something I'll never read, I don't care what other people spend their money on. It's just, if she can take her sloppy fan fiction to the bank like the Monopoly Man himself, there's got to be a way for me to use my keyboard tappa-tappa tendencies to support my L-I-V-I-N habit.

The thing is, at the heart of it, I have everything I could ever want in my life. I am truly, endlessly grateful every single day. And in some ways I feel like I have no right to ask for a drop more. But I always will, it's human nature and that hungry aspect is what gets shit done. So now's the hard part: doing the shit.

Funny I started this post in a very negative headspace stemming from some unpleasant workplace by-products (not worth going into, or I may tomorrow, we'll see) and I feel invigorated, instead of frustrated. Energized. Inspired. Insert seminar-speak synonym here. If nothing else, I'll go to the grave as a master of the self-pep-talk, and that's not nothing. Now, who wants to pay me?

In music news, I didn't think I liked the band Passion Pit but now I have to reconsider that stance. 

But Not For Me

Last night I not only tricked Mike into watching SYTYCD with me, but he voiced opinions about the contestants. My work here is done. Not too many comments on the show, since they actually focused on talent instead of stupid novelty jerks (some of the bits were drawn out, but all in all it was preferable to "Sex" versions 1-5), I was spoiled by great dancing and as such nothing really stood out. OK the belly dancer was great, because belly dancing is wonderful and she was incredible to watch. Oh and the bacon girl, loved her. Also: Dragon House. I can't imagine more than one making it out of Vegas, but their auditions were a treat. Oh and Debbie Allen sweet jesus. I could watch her forever. Oh, and where the crap are the ballroom dancers this year? But really that's all for the dancing for today.

And for... everything else too I guess, I'm already spent and I have some detail-oriented work that needs my attention. So bye, and here's the song I have chosen to share. I am old as the hills and you cannot possibly blame me for loving it.

Yeah, Boyyyy

I guess the parenting goddesses approved of my sentiments from yesterday's post, as I was rewarded in the form of a child who 1) slept through until morning in his crib and 2) peed on the potty for the first time ever. He proceeded to pee on the floor five minutes later (hardwood flooring - best decision ever), but hey, it was something.

I have a small clarification regarding what I wrote, first though, thank you for all the feedback. I love that my overall take resonated with people because I really do feel that way. I may disagree with the way people do things as I'm sure I'm not a poster child for mamahood from other people's points of view, but it doesn't matter because as long as what we're doing is loving our kids, who cares how we do it? It's all about personal choice, and being confident and feeling supported in those choices. What I want to clear up is that I didn't mean to single out and pick on one person who wrote a book that I've never read. I've actually heard rave upon rave about "French Kids Eat Everything" from people I respect, I guess I just took the mania surrounding it to serve as a jumping-off point to air my thoughts about how mainstream media is a big old field of parental-guilt landmines, and there are ways to avoid losing a limb out there. "Don't believe the hype" is the banner of House Joyberrypie, and I fly it with pride, even when I stumble.

Seems like a perfect segue into a Public Enemy song. And who am I to overlook a perfect segue when it presents itself?

Ready? OK!

You know what I could give a fuck about? How the French raise their kids. Seriously. I am a HUGE francophile, Paris is my favorite city in the world (that I've been to thus far), I love the cuisine and the cinema and the language and the culture and even the pretty way they write their numbers. Overall, I love me some French-ery. But the huge popularity of the "French people do everything better especially raise kids" movement makes me insane. Mostly because I don't ascribe to the idea that one faction of anything-nationality, generation, philosophy practitioning--is getting it right while I'm failing. I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it. So I guess I'm not sorry, then.

Obviously there are parts of Karen le Billon's  hugely popular "10 rules" that make a lot of sense and are attractive to me - insisting on family dinners, exposing kids to different flavors, I mean, I don't think that's intrinsically French to begin with. That fits into my own ideal. But nobody will ever convince me that I shouldn't let my child snack. I snack to get through the day, how am I going to tell my windmill of a boy he can't have a string cheese at ten in the morning? Pfft, stick it in your oreille. I know I'm stubborn and chafe at rules by default, but I'm reasonable when it comes to seeking and accepting advice when it comes to the welfare of my child. And this just seems like so much emphasis on nothing.

As with anything in parenting, if you're into it, if it works for you, rock on. And everyone has their huge THING in their family. Mine so far has not been on the eating front. Not that we do things perfectly by any means, just that getting HR to eat isn't a struggle and I have no desire to make how we approach food an issue. We've got plenty of other issues, and considering we've got a happy boy in excellent health, even those aren't so big.

I never commented about the whole stupid "Are you mom enough?" brouhaha that everyone with half a brain could tell was a ploy to sell magazines anyway (can't really blame the mag, the newsstand is not exactly a hotspot these days). But along the same lines I just want to go on record with my opinion that it sucks, the line that they are feeding us. And we don't have to take it. We can all support each other and our choices and feel good about them, you know? I think most people feel this way. All the pressure to be one thing or another, for what? Moms and dads being stressed out about whether they're perfect is going to be a lot worse for a kid in the long run than an occasional pop tart in front of the TV. We love our kids, we ask for help when we need it, we should all be feeling pretty great overall, don't you agree?

I'm not trying to say that I've got the answers, obviously, we're just doing it how we're doing it and so far we're doing ok. I just feel like a lot of times parenthood--particularly motherhood--is set up as a battlefield when really it should be a co-op. A friend circle. A hootenanny for everyone who has a remote interest in doing right by their kids. Let's be cheerleaders for each other. You don't even have to try out or wear a uniform.

No hard feelings, France.

Fairly Typical

This weekend I:

-attended a lovely surprise 30th birthday party on a boat. On a Saturday night! With my husband!

-ran nearly 8 miles (though not all at once)

-cashed in my one-hour massage that was a Mother's Day gift from last year and was super psyched in the afterglow to remember that I have one from this year to be used any time I want

-got to hang out with my family a lot, take advantage of their presence to do things for myself while they spent time with HR, and enjoy seeing him interact with those who love him (feeling incredibly lucky and grateful all the while)

-ate doughnuts and nachos and egg rolls and greek salad and cake and drank wine and iced coffee and a lot of other wonderful stuff I don't remember - I like foods and things (you think?)

-woke up to a happy little boy who, instead of whining right off the bat as he is wont to do, pressed his cheek to mine and said, "Hi, Buddy."

Ah, life. Now to get back to work life, which is busy life. But before I do, the story of today's song choice. At this stage, HR hasn't been interested in much music that isn't Old MacDonald (may I never hear this ever again...) or songs from his Music Together class CDs, but this one came on the Classic Alternative station the other day and he really responded to it, yelling "Hey!" at the chorus and asking for it again. Funny I don't remember it at all from the 80s, but it's a favorite of Mike's and apparently impossible to purchase unless you buy vinyl. So as always, I'm thankful for ethical sketchiness of youtube.