Anger and The Mother

Hey all.  
Thanks all for the sweet comments about my sister and her situation.  She’s feeling great, and I’ll be sure to keep you posted on what happens with the girls.  As of right now, they’re still with us. In fact we’re packing up this weekend for a big- HUGE- family camping trip to celebrate my brother in law’s birthday.  There’ll be 8 adults, 12 kids, and 5 tents.  

You can wish us luck after you stop laughing.  

So, tonight I’d like to write about something that I’ve been thinking about for a while: anger.  It’s not talked about often, but I’ve noticed it’s a theme among mothers.  At the park, at playgroups, at Girls’ Night Out, in our conversations, in our rants, and even in our jokes, anger is often the bottom line.  

I remember waaaaaaay back in one of my college Sociology classes, the professor mentioned something about a formal study that found that women who identified their occupations as “mothers” reported feeling more angry than any other occupation.  I guess I made note of it, because I still remember it being said, but I didn’t think much about it beyond class because, well, at the time I wasn’t a mom so my attitude was all “Who cares?  When is he going to start explaining the male psyche?  That’s information I could use.”  

So, obviously now I’m a mom.  And I care.  And I know we’re not supposed to talk about it because moms are supposed to be all sweet and quiet and nurturing and long suffering.  Don’t worry, I’m all those things too, but I’d have to ask you have to throw anger into the mix as well. Let’s face it, I can’t be all those things without being a little pissed off about it.

It’s taken 5 years of stay at home mommy experience, but I think that I may have got the anger thing figured out.  I believe that what makes moms crazy is the simple idea of input vs. output.  You see, generally, when you spend time and energy on something, you do it because there is going to be a payoff.  You scrub counters so you can have a clean kitchen, you clean floors so your feet don’t stick to the tile,  and you do laundry so you can get rid of the pile of dirty clothes (I freely admit that I do laundry purely for the sake of getting rid of the pile.  Clean clothes are just a side benefit).  

Now, I can’t speak for all the stay at home mother’s out there, but I can tell you what my experience is.  I clean the counters and inevitably some little person comes along and spills a juice or dumps a Crayola mega pack all over the place.  Or it’s time for another meal. Or playdough project. Or snack.  I will spend a full 45 minutes sweeping and mopping the 1000 square feet of tile in my house, only to have the dog come in and shed all over the place, followed by the teenager walking his bike through the kitchen to the garage, followed by 6 little dirty feet who were just playing in the muddy yard.  It takes me 2 days to do laundry for this family of six, and no sooner will I put the last sock away in a drawer do I turn around and see that the laundry basket is already half full.  

It doesn’t sound so bad as it’s put in the above paragraph, but you have to understand that this stuff happens day in, day out, for weeks, months, and now years.  

Didn’t someone define insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?  No wonder moms feel crazy.  I clean, I clean, I clean- and while I’m cleaning I’m having circular conversations about why we have belly buttons and I’m scheduling naps and cooking the next meal and helping with homework and I’m being nurturing and patient through it all.  Then I’ll see a little person wipe their macaroni and cheese covered hand on a wall and I’ll go ballistic because OH MY GOD I WILL NEVER GET CAUGHT UP THIS HOUSE WILL ALWAYS BE A DISGUSTING STY THEY’RE ALL WORKING AGAINST ME AND TRYING TO MAKE ME INSANE.

Not everyday.  But there are many days like that.  

And I love the older people who tell you that you shouldn’t worry about housework so much.  They’ll say that they made that mistake and now their children are grown and they realize in hindsight that they should’ve spent more time enjoying their children.  I appreciate their wisdom and insight, and I do make it a point to enjoy my children, but the truth is that they’ve forgotten about the circular conversations about bellybuttons and homework help.  If they could go back in time and do it again, they would be forced to care about housework because the truth is, stepping in a pile of crunchy cereal that was left on the floor while in the midst of all kinds of other craziness is enough to send a person over the edge.  

You may be asking why I don’t just have other household members help, and the answer is I do.  I’m a big believer in autonomy and independence.  Once my kids are big enough to handle a chore, they more or less do it.  Furthermore, when my husband is home, we split the work and help each other.  But it’s still my show that I’m running.  I’m the one that is responsible and therefore, I am the one that feels the craziness from the never-endingness of it all.  Mr. C feels it sometimes, but mostly he’s baffled about why I’ll start yelling at him when he tries to put a perfectly still-clean pair of jeans into the laundry.  

Do I sound terrible and high strung?  What kind of person goes nutso over spilled juice or dirty laundry?  I hate this anger and I worried for a long time that I was the only one, but then I had a friend- who’s also a neighbor- come over.  She was sitting at my white ceramic tiled island counter and she asked how I felt about it (the tile), since she has the same kind in her house.  I casually replied “I don’t like it much.  Too hard to keep clean.”  To which she nodded solemnly nodded, narrowed her eyes and said, “Tacy, some days I want to take a bat to it.”  

Hallelujah, I ain’t the only one.  

Anyway, there is a point to this post beyond me bitching about housework.  I, my friends, have found a pretty good outlet for my anger.  Wednesday night my friend and I walked into the Coachella Valley Boxing Club.  This was hugely intimidating because a) We were one of the few women in there, one of the few white girls in there, and definitely the only mommies in there. b) It was a boxing club.  People hit each other.  For fun.  

So, once I got over the feeling of how stupid I looked and felt, I enjoyed the workout.  The only bummer was that our trainer didn’t let us use the bags this time.  He said we need to go get our own gloves.  So that’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to go buy a pair of pink Everlast boxing gloves and every Monday and Wednesday night, you will find me there, at the boxing club, hitting a bag as hard as I can.  Over and over and over again.  

This mama’s gonna knock you out.  

(Not really, but it seemed like a good way to end this post.)

You all have a good night.  

A Mother's Day Story

You all know how much I love stories.  I love to read them, I love to hear them, I love to watch them, I love to write them, I love to talk about them- you get the idea.  I also love to think about the idea that everyone and everything alive has a story- there’s something so attractive about that to me.  The idea that people make choices based on what’s happened in their past and that this shapes their future and other’s futures, and that this is how stories are made- I find it so powerful.  I may even go so far as to say that if everyone stopped and listened more compassionately to each other’s stories, this world may be a more peaceful place to be. 

So now that I’ve found the answer to world peace in the first paragraph of my post, I guess we can all go home now.   

Kidding.   I don’t want you to go yet, because I have a story for you today that has been silenced and I want to share it with you now.  I’m interested in telling this story mainly because the person in this story wasn’t able to talk about what she was going through for various reasons; some that were understandable, and some that were (in my opinion) just plain stupid.   Whatever the reasons, this person kept her focus, swallowed anger and vengeance, and just quietly kept her faith.  I think she deserves to be recognized.

So now I'd like to share her story with you.

The main character in this story I’m talking about here is a girl I know.  She’s been wanting to have a baby for over 5 years.  She comes from a large extended family full of girls, and when her sisters and cousins began marrying off, she was right there with them.  Yet when pregnancies started to be announced and nieces, nephews, and more cousins began to be born, it was she who stood alone at the end of it all, childless. So, she went to doctors and specialists and had blood drawn and did scans and charted and mapped and wondered and waited, and then they told her that she and her husband would probably never conceive.  This was sad news for the girl- while she loved being around her nieces and nephews, she wanted a baby of own.  Silently, she dealt with the painful fact that she’d never get to experience a pregnancy & childbirth of her own. 

Then she and her husband decided to adopt. 

Her well-meaning family and friends asked her the same question over and over again- “Why don’t you just try in-vitro fertilization?”  to which the girl had to reply over and over again, “Because I’m feeling in my heart of hearts that I’m supposed to adopt.”  This was fine, except that the girl started getting the impression that people didn’t feel like an adopted baby was as good as having her own baby.  This was hurtful and frustrating, but because she knew people were only trying to help, she remained silent about her feelings.   

Nonetheless, the girl and her husband moved forward with the adoption plan.  They found an agency, took out a loan for $25,000, submitted a portfolio, and then they waited.  They waited and waited, and finally one day they got a call informing them that a mother out in Florida wanted to give them her unborn baby.  This girl and her husband met the mother over the phone and liked her.  The woman liked them too, and so they agreed that in March they would fly out to Florida to be there at the baby’s birth. 

The next 9 months they spent getting ready for their new baby.  They painted a nursery, they bought clothes, they told their families.  They spoke with the biological mother on the phone each week.  Every time she assured them that, yes, she was ready to give them her baby. 

March came, and then it happened- The Big Call.  The mother informed them that she was going to be checked into the hospital for an inducement on Sunday.  This was Friday.  The girl and her husband excitedly called their families to let them know they were on their way to get their baby.  They packed 3 suitcases: one for the girl, one for her husband, and one filled with blankets, diapers, and teeny tiny clothes for the baby.  Then they drove to the airport, got on a plane, and flew to Florida. 

The first thing they did when they landed was call the hospital.  The hospital said that no one by that name had checked in.  They thought maybe they had called the wrong hospital, so they called another hospital, then another, all to no avail.  They called the mother.  The phone rang and rang.  They called the adoption agency.  The agency claimed to be as befuddled as the girl and her husband.  They drove to the apartment  where the mother had been living (and to where they had been sending her checks for rent and groceries). Her apartment was empty.  The doorman said he hadn’t seen her in days- furthermore, he was surprised to hear that she was pregnant.  

Not even pregnant?  The couple called the adoption agency.  How could the agency sponsor someone without knowing for sure that they were pregnant?  Where was the social worker who was supposed to serve as a liason between the biological mother and the agency?  The agency informed them that the social worker lived in another state- 300 miles away from the client she was supposed to be assisting.  The agency also refused to acknowledge any accountability on their part for the circumstances of this failed adoption.  Furthermore, the couple was told that if they put forth any disparaging comments about the agency in any type of public forum or form, they would be held in breach of contract and their full $25 K (of which the adoption agency got to keep half of anyway) would not be refunded.   The contract protected the agency, it protected the rights of the bio mother, but it did nothing to protect the rights of the young couple.

The couple stayed in Florida for a few more days, hoping for word from the mother- hoping that there had been a misunderstanding.  By Sunday it became clear that there were no misunderstandings, she did not give them the wrong hospital, she had not given them the wrong dates, she had just disappeared. There was not going to be a baby.  So they picked up their 3 suitcases, one for the girl, one for her husband, and one for the baby that was not going to be.   Then they flew home.

When they got home, the girl shut the door to the nursery.  She didn’t go in that room for a very long time. 

One or two years later, when her heart had healed up a little bit, she and her husband got the courage to talk about babies again.  Since they were still paying on the $25k loan that they accumulated for the failed adoption, they decided to this time adopt through the county.  So they took a deep breath and began the process of fingerprinting and taking class after class and signing paper after paper and doing home inspection after home inspection and jumping through hoop after hoop, until finally they got everything squared away. 

Then they waited again. 

On the day the call came, it was not for one baby.  It was not even for two babies.  It was for 3 babies- sisters actually, ages 3 and under.  The youngest was just an infant.  The girl was nervous.  Could she do this?  Should she take this on?  3 children at once!  She prayed.  She talked to her husband.  They prayed together, and then they decided to go ahead and do it. 

The first 6 months were not easy and nothing close to a fairy tale.  The girls were scared.  They were malnourished and confused.  They were terrified of the dark.  They didn’t know how to play.  They had health issues.  They had trust issues.  They missed their mom and dad and yet they were simultaneously scared of their mom and dad.

Some days the girl felt like she was going to lose her mind.  But gradually things started to get better. The girls were less fearful.  They loved playing with their cousins and her family took them in and loved them right away.  There were still things that were hard- the girls were needy almost all the time, which required more patience than most any person has.  But eventually the girl got used to her routine with her new little ones. They started calling her mama.  As for the baby, she knew no other mother.

Then, about a year later, the girl got another big call- this time it was from the county. They said that there had been a bureaucratic mistake and that the girls would most likely be going back to their mother.  This, despite the fact that the girls had been placed in an adoption program, not a fostering program.  Despite the fact that the girls had finally adjusted and had friends, preschool, a routine, and normalcy, they would be leaving- although the county was sorry to tell her that they didn’t know exactly when that would be happening. 

This is where I really would love to give you the background of the girls’ story, so you could understand how emotionally devastating it will be for them to go back at this point- how taking them from a safe environment where they have routines and safety and putting them back into the chaos that was their lives before is unimaginable to anyone who understands a child’s mind- but unfortunately, I can’t. That part of the story has to remain silent for now- mostly for the sake of the girl’s case- but also to protect their bio mother.  To that I say, what about this girl who’s been mothering them for the past year when they didn't have anywhere else to go?  Who is protecting her? 

If there was ever a reason for someone to be angry or resentful or bitter, I would think that this girl has earned full license, yet that’s not what she’s shown the world.  I’m sure she has her days when she’s filled with those negative emotions, but her focus has been on her faith throughout.  It’s been hard for her since now she has to enjoy her time left with the girls while guarding her heart as well.  She still doesn’t know when the county is coming to take them back.

So that’s where our story stands for now- except that while this isn’t a happy ending, something has happened that has made it a happier ending.    

Are you ready to see it?  I can’t wait to show you.

Here it is- she’s pregnant!  

That’s my niece or nephew, due to arrive next fall!  The girl is my sister and I am so proud of her.

Sis, not many moms get to earn their heart for mothering before they even hold their firstborn, but you have- 10 times over.  I love you and I love that little human inside of you.  However things end up with the girls, you have done the best you can by doing what you did- just loving them.  I know that's a story they'll hold close to their hearts forever.  

Teacher Talk Tuesday, Edition: Creativity. It Rocks.

It's been a while since I did a Teacher Talk Tuesday and you should know that it's not because I don't think about it.  I do think about it- alot.  In fact, when I can't sleep at night, one of the things I do is lay in bed and design imaginary lesson plans.  If that doesn't tell you that a) I have a passion for teaching and b) that I'm a big nerd, then I don't know how else to prove it to you.  

Actually, I guess you could peruse the archives of this blog.  There's some pretty solid evidence there too.  

Anyhoo.  There's been a lot of stupid stuff in the media about teachers this year, and I've held my tongue for most of it- surprisingly.  You'd think that when things piss me off to a phenomenal level like the whole Wisconsin Teacher Union thing did this past winter, I would have written about it.  For whatever reason I didn't- probably because of the funk I was in.  It was easier to sit on the couch and complain to Mr. C about the lameness that was on the tube in front of me, instead of getting up to assemble coherent thoughts and then relay them to you guys.  Besides, Mr. C held the kettle chips hostage in the living room.  I stay with the kettle chips.  Always.  

However, getting back to my point, (sorry!  It's the kettle chips- they always distract) this week happens to be Teacher Appreciation Week.   I decided to get on here and shine some positive light on you teachers out there, but mostly on one particular teacher, my favorite one- Mr. C. 

Mr. C is a digital photography/imaging/animation teacher at Cathedral City High School here in our desert.  His kids are part of the Digital Arts & Technology Academy (or DATA for short, which you should pronounce as I do- with your two front teeth protruded over your bottom lip and your eyes crossed.  I love to make fun of the nerdy name).  Mr. C though, he LOVES his job.  Don't get me wrong, some days the self centered, lazy, all knowing shittiness that is teenagers gets to him and he comes home cranky.  But most days, he is fired up to be in his classroom.  Here's why:  he loves creativity.  He loves to point out (and I love this and use it all the time too, because I know it to be true), that there are some kids who would not get up in the morning and go to school if it wasn't for the art classes.  Or the music classes.  Or the dance classes.  Or whatever class you can think of that isn't on the traditional "academic" spectrum.   

Luckily, Mr. C has the support of the district (not financial, everything they have comes from a grant that  he and the other DATA teachers applied for) and the parents.  He's done an amazing job finding opportunities for his students to participate in.  This year they've shot  runway shows during fashion week, participated in Art Festivals, interned with our area's most popular photographers, shot concerts, and entered multiple contests.  This last week, he went to San Diego for a conference with his Skills USA team, and his student won the Gold Medal for photography for the state- which means that next month he'll be flying back east with said student to participate in Nationals.  

Here's what I want to point out:  all this stuff that he does with his kids is on his own time, unpaid.  Besides the amount of time that just basic teaching takes; the meetings, the grading, etc., he's giving up evenings, weekends, vacations, entire weeks to be gone. While he's doing that,  I am holding down the fort and slowly loosing my mind while taking care of 4 kids.  Um, did I sound bitter there?  I'm not, really.  (Well, maybe just a little- usually while I'm in the midst of a week without him and so exhausted from being on duty 24/7 and knowing that he's in a nice quiet hotel room somewhere.)  But mostly I'm proud of him and I'm proud of the service he's giving to his students.  I only sound bitter when I have to listen to certain idiots out there who believe that teaching is a part time job.  Gets me hot under the collar.  

Anyway, last night we went to the Palm Springs Unified Digicom Awards.  Schools across the district submitted various short films and documentaries around the theme of "Making A Difference".  Mr. C and some of my old work colleagues were there to receive an award for their project "Pandora's Box." If you want to see the project for yourself, you can follow the links.  Click here to see the creation of the project, and click here to view the finished product.  

I was just excited to see it because it was a collaboration with 3rd graders from the elementary school that I used to work at.  Really, you should look at it.  I think a lot of people still think that classrooms should be a place where desks are lined up in rows and teachers pace the aisles with the answers from the teacher's manual in their arms.  See for yourself what classrooms look like when dynamic learning is taking place.  

Now I'm just rambling.  I'll go ahead and leave you with a pic of Mr. C and our crew last night before they went into the awards- before they saw their dad's students go up again and again to the podium to be honored, before they were inspired by the creative interpretations that kids- sometimes their own ages- gave about "Making A Difference, before they saw why their dad does what he does.  

That was before they saw it, but now they know.  And they couldn't be prouder.     

Sneers, Jeers & Cheers (and now I'm gonna go drink a beer)

Hey all.

Sorry bout that silly title.  This has been a really difficult post to put together.  It's taken me a couple of days, so I'm a little loopy.  The above mentioned beer is definitely deserved.

Let's get started, shall we?

I've been a reader of mommy blogs for about two years now.  I read other varieties of blogs too... I read teacher blogs and food blogs and gossip blogs and fashion blogs.  Sometimes I even read finance blogs, but that's only because I have this false vision of myself as a well rounded person so I force myself to try to care about things like finances and stocks. (Which, by the way, never works.  After years, I still don't know what NASDAQ stands for and I'm still not totally confident that Dow Jones isn't a person.)

ANYWAY, in my 2 years of blog reading, I've noticed that somewhere in their archives, most mommy bloggers have a post that either proclaims or rejects themselves in relation to the term "mommy blogger".  It seems that the term carries a negative connotation- like we're all just a bunch of silly smitten mommies who feel a need to share with the world the mundane routine of life with our wonderful snot nosed brats.

So, mostly because I am a smitten mother who feels the need to share with the world the mundane routine of life with my snot- nosed brats, I don't have a problem with the term mommy blogger.   In fact, I'll go ahead and piss off a couple of feminists and say that in my opinion, it's partly the fault of the feminist movement if people perceive modern day mommies as bubble headed martyrs.  I'm not sure when it happened- maybe when more women began entering the work force,  but I believe that it started becoming so that just being a mother wasn't good enough anymore.  I think it became this larger than life thing and mommy martyrdom took over.  Maybe it was because the traditional stay at home mothers felt excluded when mothers began entering the work force.  Or maybe it was because the feminists felt that the stay at home mothers needed validation. Or maybe the feminists and all the working mothers wanted to include the stay at homers.  I don't know.  All of a sudden it seems that parenting was being defined, and studied, and theories were built on it, and there were books and magazines and methods and kids no longer just played at each other's homes, no, they had playdates and parents had to worry about quality time versus quantity time and blah blah blah blah blah.

I think it's all silly.  If you know me, you know that the only method I follow is the KISS method- Keep It Simple Stupid.  I feed my kids, I bathe my kids, sometimes I play with them, sometimes I tell them to leave me alone, I laugh with them, I take them to school, I help them with their homework, and I keep my fingers crossed that I am raising polite and pleasant children who will hopefully become happy and productive members of society.  I do all this with the knowledge that it's all a crapshoot anyway, because you know...... The Butterfly Effect and all.  My power is limited.  My control is limited.  It's in another's hands.

Anyway.  Back to my point.

Since the term didn't bother me, I wasn't going to write a manifesto-like post defining myself as a mommy blogger or not.  But then I read this post at HerBadMother, and I am telling you, this woman always makes me think long and hard about things.  She pointed out that historically there has not been a public forum for women to discuss their experiences of motherhood- in most cultures it's been silenced in one form or another.  She pointed out that when people sneer when speaking of mommies and mommy work, it's because historically this was not usually work that was revered.  It's been labeled as silly, mindless, endless, not life important- just necessary.  And I started thinking, "Hey!  Yeah!  What is up with that?" I thought about all the times that the "sneer" is obvious- from snarky radio dj's to people in the grocery store rolling their eyes at me when I'm trailing a load of kids, to the most loathesome reference to kids that I've ever heard: "crotch droppings".  (Actually, that'd be kind of funny if it wasn't so derogatory.)     

So, for the sake of standing up to the sneer, it looks like I'm writing that post after all, the one where I claim the term "mommy blogger".  Here I am.  I am a mommy blogger, but don't you dare sneer at me.  You can sneer at my content, that's fine.  But don't sneer at who I am.  Because this is really the hardest work I've ever had to do.  It requires the most patience, the most risk, the most fear, the most willingness to, as the quote says, "let your heart go walking around outside your body".  I'll spare you all the speech about what parenting takes out of you, partly because most of you have kids and you already know, and then partly because those of you who don't have kids don't need the whole martyr speech.

I hate the martyr speech.  

Can I just end also by saying that I live everyday with the full awareness that someday the children in my life are going to grow up and leave?  I know that this is just what I'm doing now. In the long term, this is just a little precious piece of time.  I know I have to keep in touch with that other person inside me, the one that was there before the kiddos came along.  The one that likes to read and think and be creative.  She's really the reason why I write- and she's the reason why I don't just write gushing posts about my kids.  I write about cooking and books and faith and loss. But yes, I write about my kids too, because they happen to be my job (my heart) right now (forever).  But when they leave I'll need that other me around.  Until then, I feed the beast with the writing of these stories.  So don't sneer at this mommy blogger okay?  Because there's nothing sneer worthy about motherhood, just like there's nothing sneer worthy about any job that anyone takes to their heart.   If it's in your heart, then the story is worth telling.

I think that's my new motto.

You all have a good night.

Wish You Were Here

Hey all.

You know, this last year I've been thinking a lot about how lucky Mr. C and I are to have the people and connections in our lives that we do. When my oven breaks, I have a grandfather who (even at the age of 86) will come over, lay flat on his back on my kitchen floor, dismantle the innards of my oven and diagnose the problem as a broken ignitor, thus saving me hundreds of dollars and a call to the Maytag Man. When my brakes go bad, I call my brother in law who works for a mechanic and my problem is solved at a third of the cost that the dealership would charge.  I have a friend and my mother in law who both happen to be hair stylists, so it's rare for anyone in our family to pay for a cut and ahem, color.   And then there's my best friend who happens to work for AEG- an international company in the music industry who own concert venues all over the world.  That's how Mr. C and I go to Coachella every year.   And this last weekend, that's just what we did.

We had fun, but I got the impression from people at times who I told we were going to Coachella that they thought we were dumb- like we were too old to go and trying too hard to hang onto our youths. Or maybe that's just my insecurities reading too much into people's reactions.

My insecurities are annoying that way.

At any rate, if that in fact really was what a few people thought, then oh well.  I don't worry about them because they don't get it.  It's my friends who do get it that I was thinking about- the ones who understand that it's the variety of music, and the sun, and the food, and the famous people that you see, and just the party in general that make Coachella something to get excited about.  If this is you, if you are one of the ones that get it, then you should know that I really did want you there with us so badly.   Truly, I thought of so many of you (you all know who you are) and wished that I could share my fun.

If you were there with us, then you would've been there to see the dude from Cage The Elephant wearing a dress and stage diving:

We actually left the show a little early because I was nervous that he was going to try to dive on our side of the stage.  I didn't want to drop him.  Mr. C just didn't want a sweaty dude in a dress jumping on him.

Maybe you would've been braver.

You could have also watched The Black Keys, Kings of Leon, and Bright Eyes from right in front of the  main stage, cuz you woulda had a V.I.P. all-access wristband pass. This would have also let you go backstage to the artist lounge and see lots of famous people.  Now that I think about it, it actually would have been better if you were there with me, because it wasn't until after I was home browsing the internet that I realized I saw a ton of famous musicians without even knowing that they were famous musicians.
I know.  I didn't deserve that wristband.

Anyway, you would have been with us when we were totally taken by surprise at the energy that Mumford and Sons got going.  That band threw a PARTY that we didn't see coming. They are now one of my new favorite bands and it's on my bucket list to see them live again.  

You would've been there to witness the beautiful sunset during Duran Duran's set: 

That picture doesn't do it justice at all.  This one is better:

You also would've been able to experience this beef short rib burrito from the Koji Taco Truck.  The flavors in that burrito were poetic, man- and I don't throw that word around a lot.  (Mainly cuz it sounds cheeseball. But trust me when I say, that it's the best adjective for the job in this case).

You woulda been able to relax in this pretty spot while waiting for Flogging Molly to come on:

Actually, no.  This was kind of a romantic.  You woulda had to get lost.  

Kidding.  

Finally, you would have been able to see The Strokes perform this song.  It's one of mine and Mr. C's favorites, since it's from the soundtrack of that first summer we were hanging out together.

Untitled from Tacy Cauthron on Vimeo.

And finally, you would have missed my most favorite memory from the whole weekend.  I'll give you a hint:  My favorite thing was not seeing The Strokes, or The Kings of Leon, or Damian Marley, or any of the bands.  It wasn't hanging around famous people.  It wasn't even the Koji Burrito.

It was this guy: 

Tell me this.  If you were there with me, would you have run up and thrown yourself against him with all your might?

Because I had to seriously repress the urge.  

I really do wish you all were there.  Mr. C and I had fun like we always do, but this year I really missed my friends.  So here's what we're going to do:  start saving your change and I'll start cleaning my house.  By the time you have enough money for a ticket, I should have my house ready for guests.  Mr. C will get the pool ready for you, I'll make some kick ass guacamole, and we'll have a great big Coachella party at my place next year before riding over to the festival.  What do you say? 

Have a good night!  

Rejecting Reality

You know, I have never had a lot of luck with Spring Break. When I was in high school and too old to be satisfied with laying around in my pajamas all day watching soap operas, I begged and begged and BEGGED my parents to let me go away for Spring Break somewhere. I mean, with all the vast experience I had at the ripe old age of 15, I would have been okay- right?

Uh, yeah.

So you'd think that when we moved to Palm Springs after I graduated from High School, I would have had had plenty of opportunities to frolick in the sun and party it up with college kids from all over the nation.

Uh, no.

That year happened to be the year that Mayor Sonny Bono decided to put an end to the infamous Palm Springs Spring Break party. He closed down Palm Canyon Dr. and declared the week after Easter "FAMILY FUN WEEK". Hundreds of Spring Breakers drove in to discover a Ferris Wheel and kiddie rides set up on their main drag. Sadly, my bikini clad, baby-oiled self was left standing in the dust as they drove off and continued on to the River.

It didn't matter, anyway. Throughout my years of college, I had this thing called a J-O-B that I had to attend to. I worked through most of my Spring Breaks. There was only one year when I actually went away with a friend to Lake Havasu. It was a good time for a while. We met boys with boats. We met boys with Seadoos. We laid in the sun. We drank. We drank some more. Then we drank even more and THEN I got alcohol poisoning. For a souveinir that year, I ended up bring home some gnarly scars on my knees (that are still there) that I got from crawling all over a rocky beach because I couldn't stand up and walk. Attractive.

Long story short, that pretty much took the wind out of the Spring Break sails for me. (And that's without me telling you the cold cuts story from that trip. Don't ask. Ever.)

This year, my bad juju with Spring Break continued. For starters, Mr. C's district and the 4 nuggets' school district couldn't make things easy and just coordinate their vacation time. Nooooooooo. Mr. C was off the week before the kids. So while yes, this meant that I got to take advantage of him being home with Roo to get some Spring Cleaning done (oh, YAY), it also meant that the following week I would be left alone to entertain 4 kids ages ranging from 2 to 14.
all. by. myself.

Plus, it meant that any spring cleaning I accomplished would be immediately undone by said children in their time "off".

So, what did I do? I planned. I planned a trip to the LA Zoo. I planned a trip to my parents' cabin. I also planned a trip to the water park.

And what did Mother Nature do? She literally peed all over my plans because IT RAINED. It rained on zoo day. It rained on water park day. And yes, it rained down here on cabin day but up there in the mountains it was SNOWING. I don't drive in snow.

Just so you know.

Anyway, end result was we had a pretty boring Spring Break around here. We had one movie day and I tried to let the kids have friends over often. We squeezed in a trip to my grammy's, but all in all, it was a pretty uneventful week.

Then, this morning while the kids were eating breakfast, all that boredom must've really got to me, because something took over my brain and turned the conversation into this:

Me: So what are you going to tell your teacher was your favorite part of your vacation?

PG: I think going to M's birthday party was fun.

Me: Oh yeah! Are you going to tell her about the cake that they had there that was 40 stories high? And how we got to climb all the way to the top of the cake so we could dive off into a pool of strawberry whipped cream frosting?

PG: Whaaaaaaaaat?

Me: You don't remember? I can't believe you don't remember. What about the day that we went to the beach and saw that whale. Remember? Remember how we single-handedly saved it and got it back into the ocean? I bet your teacher will want to hear about that.

PG: Mom, what? No-

Me: And then they threw a parade for us and everyone was cheering and we got to ride on elephants that were borrowed from the circus. You made friends with the trapeze artist and she showed you how to do tricks on the trapeze. You don't remember?

PG: Because it didn't happen! (J, by the way, is looking both doubtful and hopeful that all this really did happen)

Me: It did. Remember? Then while you guys were in the parade, two talent agents from a big Hollywood agency saw you and decided that you had to be in the next Ironman movie. You guys did a whole scene with Ironman. J, you got to to fight Ironman! Tell me you remember this.

J: (grinning) Nooooooooooooo.

Me: (sighing) I don't know why I take you guys to do anything fun. You don't remember a darn thing.

You all think I'm crazy- and I totally am. But my kids know my sense of humor and they know when I'm messing with their heads. They were entertained and left the breakfast table with smiles on their faces. Me, I'm not sure what lesson I may have been teaching them. Maybe that lying is okay? Attempted brainwashing is entertaining? They should embrace insanity?
If anything, what I hope they got is that imagination is key to turning around a boring moment/boring life.

"Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you anywhere."- Albert Einstein

You all have a good night.

Coffee With Jesus

Those of you who read me last year know that I've got me some religion.   I wrote a whole post about my "coming to Jesus"story (it's ridiculous and not in the least enlightening, but if you want to read it go ahead and click here).  Religion- or rather, spirituality- is something that I've carried with me for almost my whole life.   Um, actually if we're being honest, sometimes I've carried it and other times I've put it down and walked away, though never completely.  I usually stop and sheepishly inch back towards it, biting my nails and throwing furtive sideways glances the whole time before picking it up again and hurrying along on my way.

However, I can't quit it, because when you get to the bottom of it all, I've seen beauty in terrible things and I know there's order in the world's chaos and I've witnessed "coincidences" that I know were not coincidental but divinely designed.  I know that the bible says to help each other and to love each other, and I know that when humans practice this, good things happen.  I believe that all this is God.

But that's just me.  You can do your thing, and that's fine with me.  Maybe it's the public school teacher in me, but I don't have a problem with people having different beliefs.  As a Facebook friend of mine put it, "Leave children and animals out of it, and we're cool".  I think that philosophy, combined with the whole "actions speak louder than words" thing, is a good way to go.

Anyway, (I've gotten way off course)  I didn't sit down to write about Jesus tonight.  At least not directly.  What I wanted to write about tonight was faith.  Here's what I want to say about it:  it's hard.

I mean, it's really hard.

Here's the thing:  I love God, but you know, life is often confusing and I get frustrated sometimes at how elusive and invisible this guy is who's running the show.  Why can't he make an appearance once and a while and let us rest assured that he's definitely there and watching over us?  What's with the big mystery?  Here's what I would like.  I would love, love, love it if he would come down every once and awhile and have a little meet and greet with me, one on one.  We could meet up at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.  He'd order something clean and pure, like a White Jasmine Tea and although I'd really want something like a White Chocolate Mocha, I'd downgrade it to something less sinful- like a coffee of the day.  He'd do that miracle thing and refill my cup when it was empty, and by the time we finished chatting I would feel equally enlightened and caffeinated.

This is what I would ask him:  How am I doing?  Am I a better person than I really think I am, or am I worse?  Am I doing any permanent damage to my kids?  Is it really THAT big a deal that the kids eat their vegetables, because the daily fights at the dinner table are killing me.... so can I lay off those?  How am I doing as a wife?  Did I choose the same guy that you chose for me?  If I didn't, is the whole universe going to be affected somehow?  Thank you God, by the way, for my kids.  They are amazing.  I am learning so much and I really do get that they are gifts from you.  How about my stepson?  How am I doing with him?  How much more should I worry?  Or should I stop worrying?  Tell me what to do with him.  Have I been a good enough friend?  I haven't, have I?  I'll get right on that.  Can you help me learn to listen better?  I talk about myself too damn-oh sorry- too dang much.  One last thing Lord.  Tell me, really- what does happen to those lost socks in the dryer?

I realize that I might've taken on a flip tone here.  Truly, my intention is not to be blasphemous.  I'm just trying to relate to you the difficulty I have with faith.  And to point out that we all need encouragement.  We need pep talks.  It'd be nice to know which of what we're doing is right and which of what we're doing is wrong.  The guesswork can be exhausting.

This whole thing reminds me of this really beautiful quote from the movie "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button".  It says "Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards."  To me, that's a really eloquent way of saying "figure it out for yourself".  A huge part of the human experience, that part that shapes our character and our choices, is the fact that we're moving forward blindly, not knowing how things are going to play out.   And I suppose, if I was to be really honest with myself, I'd have to admit that to know all the answers ahead of time would be to grey out the colors, the feelings, the emotions, of our daily life experiences.  It'd be like reading the ending of a story and missing out on the weaving of the tale.

So I guess what I've learned through this whole little rant of mine is that Faith is a gift, also.  Jesus doesn't show up for coffee because (duh) he's letting us learn and grow and experience life on our own.  That's fine.  Doesn't mean I don't want that chat anyway.  I really would like to know what happens to those socks in the dryer.

You all have a good night.