Mi Famiglia

First things first - SYTYCD:
**Best: Jordan/Tadd Vulture contemporary tied with Melanie/Marko Dee Caspary contemporary (cheer up, Dee). I can't believe I'm going to say this but Clarice and Jess have really grown on me - loved their routines last night, he can do just about anything even though he's an irritating baby boy when he's not dancing. Oh, and I actually liked a Tyce Diorio routine, I was happy that Sasha and Alexander actually got to tear into it. Worst: Caitlynn/Mitchell hip-hop. It's not totally their fault, "message" dances make me want to poke my eyes out. Still they could have danced it better. I'm just hoping it won't send them home because I like him a lot and she hasn't done anything to piss me off. I think that Alexander and Ryan should go tonight, though they'll never willingly send their darling Ryan home for whatever reason. I'm so excited to hear about the all-star announcement tonight I can't even tell you.**


ANYway. As vacation beckons, I have gotten to ruminating about my family, as I always do, since we'll be spending so much quality time together. I came upon something I wrote a few years ago after one of my friends saw pictures from my cousin's wedding and remarked about how our smiles might be our best shared family trait. I wrote:


It's true, there's something behind there, like we know something and that we're capable of some intense revelry at any moment. I've decided it basically comes from a lifetime of taking for granted that we are awesome. I don't mean it like, oh man we are perfect and can do no wrong and every bad choice we've made has been unconditionally supported and there's always been someone to fight our battles. Far from it. It's true that none of us have ever felt like we can't turn to our family - knowing that they have our back certainly gives a sense of safety that lies beneath it all. They gave us just enough rope, and so far, luckily, nobody's used it for hanging. We're tough, independent cookies to a one. From the time we were born it was subconsciously instilled that we were loved and that there wasn't anything we couldn't do if we wanted. And something about that produced a generation free from general insecurity. I don't know how our parents managed to make us this way, but I commend them for it and I hope I can do the same for my kids. I know it's a fine line between that and totally spoiled and/or assholishly egocentric.


I think you can just tell by meeting us and how we interact with our significant others how we were raised. It is not uncommon to see us roll our eyes at each other when our dudes get whiny and needy, and I'm convinced it's our family's fault that we have no patience for it. There was no patience for us when we tried it. 


In sum, my family: sacred and profane and aggressively loving and kind of a pain in the ass at times. But we are the most fun you can imagine. And if you ever met our parents, you realize it's not accident. 

I still feel this way, maybe even more strongly now that I know what it's like to be raising a child (though the jury will be out on my own parenting skills for a long time). I have the best examples to work from, so here's hoping I don't screw it up.

Also: Happy 60th birthday tomorrow for the one, the only, Peter Perry. Love you Dad - this one's for you.

Glamoring

I'm going on vacation soon (not soon enough, but still). It is my sincere hope that I come back with a desire to write again. Obviously I haven't been in touch with my writing muse for some time. You never know, she may choose to visit as soon as tomorrow, but I'm not counting on it. In any case I'm hoping that today you won't notice that I've not written an entry at all but razzle-dazzled you with an extra song in lieu of coherent thoughts. A good, old-fashioned two-for-one summer jam special, courtesy of the Cherry siblings.

Neneh rocked it first (and clearly best) back in the olden times...



And Eagle Eye brought it home all smooth and folk-like just before the turn of the century.



The combo makes me want to jam out barefoot and drink a cheap beer in a paper bag. Join me?

Heart & Soul D-D-Dance

HR started swimming lessons this morning and I'm not going to lie, it made me tear up a little bit watching him and Mike bobbing around in the pool. By the time he has his first day of school I should be in top form if this is already happening. He seemed to really love the water bit, but every time he remembered I was there he got all whiny and started reaching out for me. Next time I'll have to watch from a hiding place or actually get in the pool. Today it was so sultry in the pool room I should have just jumped in clothes and all.

The recent oppressive heat reminds me why summer is such a great time for movies: air conditioning for those without. Not that I go to the movies anymore-- with any luck I will at least get to the Harry Potter before the big holiday movie hype begins. But summertime and movies go hand in hand even in these instant-watch times. I got to thinking the other day about the ancient custom of the "movie song." Old people like me: remember when songs were specifically written for movies and marketed as such? Does this happen anymore? I guess the Oscars think so, but it's not like it used to be. It was just expected in those days that the videos for the songs would contain clips from said movies. I don't think I've seen a movie-related video in over a decade (if I've seen a video at all). Weird how you take things for granted and suddenly you realize they're extinct. Is this how our grandparents felt about 78 records and Brilliantine?

Anyway, today's selection is a summer song extraordinaire and a perfect example of what I'm talking about. I almost went with INXS's "Good Times" from The Lost Boys, but the celebrity cameos in this video won out. A word of warning: most of them will make you sad in one way or the other.

Baby Steps

Big Effing News in Joyberrypieville: HR took his first steps. He didn't even notice he did it, which is probably how he did it without freaking out, but it happened and here we are. It was Friday, on two distinct separate occasions, which is how I know it's for real even though it hasn't taken place but once more since. Time to batten down the hatches.

What a great weekend, sincerely. Beyond the latest milestone, we visited our friends in Maine on Saturday and it was a gorgeous day, a perfect backdrop for celebrating a truly gorgeous person. We didn't get to stay over and we had to leave before the actual memorial (which I think is why I'm still not really processing that Leo's gone, even after going to "his" place) but I'm so happy we got to be part of any of it. Next year--and there will be a next year--we'll do it right. But I warn everyone now all this repressed grief will probably come flooding out. Yeee-ikes.

Incidentally, Saturday turned out to be what was probably the best day of HR's little life because not only was there a dog and a pool at the gathering (two of his favorite things)

but also this bit of heaven.

I did not know that my boy was so into tractors. It's funny how you can just go along raising this kid and being half-assedly gender neutral and he comes out with a raging passion for farm equipment, you know, like boys are supposed to do. Once he spotted that John Deere he did not want to leave its side. Then later in the afternoon, when we got back home, there was a fire truck on our street (luckily not for a fire at our house or any other) and the firefighter waved at the baby as he passed and it was the toddler equivalent of winning the lottery. Life! So crazy good sometimes!

Yesterday we had a baby date with an inflatable pool followed by a cook out and Mike's dad is doing better and we stayed on a pretty blissful roll. I'll take it.

So here's a thing: "Party Rock Anthem" by LMFAO. This whole thing is a joke, right? A band, now, called what it's called and the dudes in it looking like they do (which is cartoonishly awful, like a caricature of a caricature of a hipster ironic wet dream) and the title which might as well be changed to "Generically Generic Radio Hit." And yet, and yet... it's super catchy with the house-y bleep-blurps and it does in fact make me want to lose my mind. Deep down I hope they are subversive geniuses like Andrew WK but even as I know that's not the truth, the song has somehow wormed its way in as my jam of the summer. I'm not proud of it, but it's beyond my control.

Time to Show Up

I forewent SYTYCD last night in favor of baseball, so nobody tell me who was awesome or not. I like to decide for myself. Looking forward to a double shot of dancing tonight- DVR is the best/worst thing in the world for those with an instant gratification problem. I can stop at any time.

On the serious tip, Mike's dad is having some health problems so we're all on edge. And as much as I'm looking forward to seeing some great friends this weekend, the detail that part of the gathering's purpose is to spread our dear departed friend's ashes makes me a little less excited. I haven't seen any of those guys since the last time I saw him, so going to that place and seeing those people without him is going to make his loss real. Really real.

While I'm being emotional, I have avoided weighing in on the Caylee Anthony issue. Not I don't have an opinion, and not because it doesn't break my heart because, you know, I have a heart. It's because 1) I see enough dark shit every day at my workplace and I try very hard to limit the amount of terrible things I let into my brainspace (I'm about as successful at this as you think) and 2) every time I see a picture of this sweet, gorgeous baby girl, it haunts me, but no more than the thought of the many more sweet, gorgeous babies who are missing and dead and we will never know enough about it to get outraged because they are not so camera-friendly (white) and their parents aren't such media draws (pretty, young, white). That's cynical as hell, but prove me wrong.

And that's why I don't want to write about it any more. Nobody needs to be reminded to hug their little ones extra hard these day, I think. Anyway, there's so much horrible in the world. Luckily there's also this.

Oh, Futility!

As I get older, I find summer to be more and more overrated. I'm more sensitive to the heat, I don't get a three-month vacation, I appreciate air conditioning but don't actually like it, the sun can kill you for real, blah blah blah. There are a million things to love about it of course, like milkshakes and swimming and corn on the cob and fireflies. The shortness of the season really drives up its stock, and I think that's why I get so excited about its arrival every year. But now that I'm an aging mama, I realized I'd rather it just be fall all the time, unless of course I'm on vacation at the beach. If I could be on vacation at the beach for extended periods of time, then by all means leave the sub-80-degree weather to the simple folk. As circumstance would have it though, I am one of those simple folks, and with having to go to a job and live in a house and cart around and slather sunscreen on a rugrat, I have fully turned into one of those people I never used to understand. And I'm OK with that. It is what it is. And before I know it, what is will be ten feet of snow and I'll be cursing yet another season. But only just a little, I don't like to waste too much time bitching about things I can't control. I'd rather save that energy for applying my various salves and yelling at neighborhood ruffians.

Anyway. This song brings me back to a hot, brief summer of my early childhood. This video I found of it lends credence to my theory that life is no more or less astounding at any given time, it just shows up in different ways.

Pop Pop!

This 4th of July was probably one of the best of my life. For sure because we had a rare day of family time, but also because I hate loud noises and pushy crowds and having a kid who goes to bed before dusk makes a pretty good excuse to forego the fireworks mishegas. I was just as happy to exercise my freedom to retire to the couch with my husband, an ice-cold tallboy and Showtime On Demand. I love you America, but the blowing things up part, not so much. If my boy wants to see the fireworks when he gets older, I'll go along (I don't want to predispose him up to be afraid of anything) but I'd never pressure him. Growing up it seemed to me that there wasn't much sympathy for kids who didn't want to go to the 4th of July display, like it was encouraging bad character if you let your child skip the festivities. For some reason my similarly sensitive brother and I were chided by adults every year, like maybe they were saying we were not patriotic? More likely, that it was silly to be afraid and we should face our fears. But screw that. I don't know why anyone else would have cared to begin with, but I'm grateful to my parents that they never made us go. I don't see the point of standing around being miserable when it's supposed to be a celebration.

That said, we celebrated by getting out and enjoying the beautiful weather and the virtually empty cities of Cambridge and Somerville. It was like a ghost town all weekend, which is a neat novelty. We got a late lunch and sat in the park and people watched. HR is so much fun lately. You know I have loved him as fiercely as a person can love from the second I saw his little heartbeat, but the liking of him didn't come right away. That sounds terrible even to other people who have kids, I suppose, but I think there are parents who understand what I mean. For what seems like such a long time in the beginning they're just your babies and you're learning about each other and worrying and attending to basic needs. Then one day they sprout these personalities and you start being excited to just hang out together. HR is such a funny little chap. He's a cuddlebug, so loving and sweet and happy. He's also a total diva in some ways. We sat on the grass in the park yesterday and even with a blanket down he was like, "SCREE! HOT LAVA!" He could not have climbed up my body fast enough to avoid the green earth. Oh, my city kid.

Watching him grow and learn at a lightning pace is a gift, and it is blowing my mind. We're pretty sure he's been saying "turtle" which, as a first word, strikes me as hilarious. And his hair is a mop to be reckoned with. My new-ish camera throws out some mean red lights that makes him frown so I can never get the perfect picture of his bedhead and heart-obliterating smile, but just know I wake up to that every day and suddenly being conscious at 5:15 is forgivable. That's my idea of a light show.

Summer's really rolling now. Happy, happy y'all.