peevish mama

Isn’t this such a kick? Street artist, Slinkachu, sets up and photographs these fanciful little scenarios that play with perspective. I found this on Unearth, a site that collects street art from around the world. I really dig this site. It’s thought and wanderlust provoking – an antidote to boredom and cynicism. When I feel sick in my gills from what I’m reading in the news and media, a little shot of art is a no fail way to restore my faith in us. All is not lost. Our kids are not doomed. The earth is not screwed. There is beauty, whimsy, humor and heart all over this hot little planet if we’re just willing to look. And even if we are screwed and doomed (which we are, holy shit, we are), it’s good to put that away and see the good, only the good, from time to time.

I found these pictures late this summer when the coalescence of my anti-climactic 41st birthday, Devil Baby’s impending leap into kindergarten and a general end-of-summer antsiness sent me into a tailspin. If you were anywhere within a two block radius of me the last couple weeks in August, you would have been alarmed at my state: alternatively weepy and manic, confused, verbose, morose, fretful, paralyzed, nervous and freaky. Deaky. Apparently, this identity crisis of mine was like a far off train whistle rapidly approaching over the last few months. Lady Tabouli reminded me that I was having these – um – thoughts back at our book club weekend in February. After too much wine, I confessed my angst to the ladies and said something about the fact that I can’t just be this aging party girl who goes to see concerts to feel alive. I needed a PLAN. I had completely forgotten. The ladies don’t forget.

Months, weeks, days. The words weighed heavy on my chest. Bounced around between my ears. Spelled themselves out behind closed lids like Sesame Street letters: WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO NOW?

WHAT THE FUCK?

DO I DO NOW?

So here’s what I know: 1. I don’t know the answer to that question, 2. I am not alone – many of us are wondering the same thing, 3. It is ok to take a moment, take a breath, take some time to figure some things out.

You see that number 3 there? That’s where Slinkachu’s pics come into play. Little does he know that a Minnesota mama saw his pictures at a time in her life when the confusion and angst rivaled that of her early twenties. I was amused by them. They stayed in my head. I went back to look at them a couple more times, showed them to Supergirl early one morning and finally found my message there. I felt it open like a flower in my throat: perspective.

Take a step back from your damn self, sister! (This is me talking to myself in my best Florence from The Jeffersons voice.) Get your head outta your fanny and open your damn eyes! You still the mama and those babies need you more than ever. Step back, girl. Step back.

And so I am. Trying.

Hey ho! After being the shadiest writer alive all summer, I managed to squeak out a post for Simple Good and Tasty about the beautiful bodacious eggplant. Check it out here, homeys.

http://www.dailymotion.com/videox1gchrAnd this one’s going out to someone I know who’s in fresh like. You know, dating less than a month, seeing each other every other day, cards on the table, endless conversations, swoony kisses. Love it. So rooting for this. And seriously, is there any one on earth smoother than John Legend? Think not.

I’m feeling it. Best part of summer, baby. Right here. Right now. But it’s flying faster than a newly minted five year old bike rider veering wildly down a hill. Yikes! Feeling slightly out of control, but luh uh uh ving the ride.

You all know how much I love the little lake down the street. We’ve been in, around and on this lake virtually every day this week. Saint James and Supergirl fish almost daily, wiling away hours at a time, coming home with tall tales and triumphant grins. The other day Supergirl hooked a two and a half foot muskie with dark spotted green skin and “shark eyes”. She said her arms were shaking and her knees were knocking before the beast snapped the line and got away. Needless to say, my scared little fishergirl came home more than a little pumped. The two of them don’t even keep count of the sunnies and pumpkin seeds anymore. They’re in it for the big ones now.

We’ve taken dips in the morning, at sunset and in the night. Every time I do, I can’t help myself from swimming out past the bouys and flipping on my back – a watery heart opener to the sky. The water feels so silky compared to pool water – sorry, even with a occasional caress from a fresh water weed, I so prefer lakes.

We’ve listened to music at the Bandshell twice, plopping down on the grass next to our bikes while the kids run around in the dusky night. Saint James practices juggling a soccer ball and last time he ended up in a little juggle session with a very tan hippy boy and a portly dude – both obviously soccer players in a former (or maybe not so former) life. He’s up to 127, in case you’re wondering.

But best of all this week was Supergirl’s idea that we take our meager two hour window while Devil Baby was at art camp and rent a canoe. It was sheer joy to be out in the middle of Lake Harriet with my middle child. We paddled, we idled, we chatted, we sighed. It’s just so pretty, she kept saying. Indeed. This has been a hot, fast, sometimes frustrating, sometimes wonderful summer. Out of all my moments, this is the one I will always remember. I hope she does too.

I’m excited to see this documentary. As an experiment, people were asked to submit video footage from their day on July 24, 2010. 4,500 hours of footage in 80,000 submissions from 140 nations was received. That art or truth can be distilled from that much youtube-ness, is an interesting premise. I’m a sucker for this kind of thing and I can already tell it’s going to make me all teary and goosebumpy.

On Wednesday night Doctor Dash and I got a sitter and went on a bike date. We rarely go to movies anymore, especially in the summer, but I had a bee in my bonnet about seeing Buck and so we did. I love documentaries and I love horses, so it was kind of a no brainer for me, but you don’t have to be a horse person to love this movie. Buck Brannaman has a heartrending backstory (which I won’t share here because you’re going to go see this movie) but manages to turn himself into a good man with an uncanny ability to see into the hearts of others. His easy, even, deft touch with horses becomes a metaphor for how we should deal with not only animals, but spouses, children, strangers. Buck comes from a place of kindness and non-judgement and that is the key: to teach, to heal, to love – you have to have an open heart. The movie is beautifully filmed and edited – just a joy to watch. And it ends with this Pearl Jam song that never fails to chills up my spine: Just Breathe.

Photo by Steve Cohen – Metromix

It has been a while since I’ve woken up with the need to dump the contents of my heart on the floor and sort out all the pieces like legos. If you had asked me yesterday at five o’clock whether I was excited to be seeing U2, I would given you a not entirely convincing yes. I just haven’t been into U2 as much in the last few years – there has been so much other music. Somehow this show seemed like an over blown event that absolutely every one I knew was going to, and call me peevish, but I tend to not like being part of a hoo-ra-ra. If only I could hear myself. I sound like an a-hole.

But I had forgotten one thing: U2 is U2. For people our age, and those a little older and a little younger, they are, for better or worse (and today I argue for better), our defining band. I was completely unprepared for the surge of emotion as the four of them walked on that incredible stage in the softly darkening night. It turns out I have deep, latent reserves of affection for those lads and for the beautiful music they have given us through the most turbulent and raw parts of our lives: our early adolescence through our early adulthood. Not to mention the fact that Dash and I have had big love for Bono ever since we spotted him outside the Four Seasons in Boston and he held baby Saint James, said something about missing his little guy and let us take a picture. Look at these. I’m mean, come ON!

They started with ‘Even Better Than the Real Thing’ and I could have fainted. It’s hard to overstate how amazing the sound stage was, a giant claw being one of those ideas that might have sounded ridiculous on paper, yet worked as a cool and strangely unobtrusive way to frame the band and the incredible 360˚ video screen that has been all the hubbub. The acoustics were great – from where we were sitting I could feel Larry Mullin’s drums and Adam Clayton’s base pounding in my ribcage. Possibly my favorite physical sensation in life, as you know. Bono introduced the band and I kept leaning over to Dave, yelling in his ear. On Larry: (I used to have THE HUGEST crush on him!), Adam: (Ohhhhhh, I have SUCH a soft spot for him!), The Edge: (AHHHH! I LOVE THE EDGE!!!) Poor Dash. I am such a fiend. He just nods, smiles and massages his ear drum. (But he kind of looks like Bono, so . . . mmmmm . . . he’s the one I love the most, hands down.)

About half way through the show they were playing ‘Beautiful Day’ (which he dedicated to Gabby Giffords) and her husband, Commander Mark Kelly, was up on the screen in space and for a second I thought it was live and my head was going to explode. Live from SPACE?! In a touching little riff off Bowie’s Space Odyssey, Kelly said tell my wife I love her very much . . . she knows. And then Bono echoed in his inimitable wail. Seriously. I could have sobbed. There was also a beautiful moment when Somali rapper, K’Naan joined Bono on stage to sing ‘Stand by Me’ in order to raise awareness of the famine in Somalia. The thing is, U2 can get away with anything. They can be as earnest and dramatic and florid and shwooshy and tender and hopeful and outraged and uplifting and awareness raising as they want. It is literally impossible to be cynical about them or their music when seeing them live because that band, as a band, has such a lion’s heart. They swallow you whole. She never stood a chance.

And this was just about the point where the magic really started to happen.

The wind picked up, seemingly stirring 60,000 people into a palpable frenzy and I had a total Beyonce moment dancing with my dress and hair whipping around like a banshee. I actually thought: if I get struck by lightening in this moment, I will die happy. Morbid, I know, but y’all, I was ee-mo-shun-al! And then came the rain. The rain. First in teasing droplets and then in buckets – I was soaked to the skin. I could have housed goldfish in my chuck taylors. And my people, my hardy stalwart Minnesotans made me proud, pulling foul weather gear and rain ponchos out of every orifice and singing even louder. Even with the lightening, nobody left.

And this was where U2 showed us how it’s done – why they are such an iconic band. They didn’t miss a beat and charged on through the driving rain. Bono acknowledged the weather and then took it and owned it, making it a part of the show. It looked so cool on the LED screen – I just couldn’t figure out how they could still play their instruments, how their fingers didn’t slip. They were as soaked as we were. And poor Bono in his leather pants must have had the worst case of swamp ass ever. Wait, am I allowed to speculate about Bono’s swamp ass? You take the humidity, add the torrential rains and mix it with the leathah? I’m just saying. He gave no clue as to the conditions. A true professional.

Kidding aside, it felt good to let myself go back in time through their music. It felt good to dance in the rain. It felt good to hug Doctor Dash during ‘With or Without You.’ It felt good to shelve my jaded, wise-ass self for a few hours. No doubt about it, I was feeling the love. I even had an epiphany of sorts about what I need to do next in terms of my professional (non-mom) life. You never know when you’re going catch a good thought (although dancing in the open air with a smile a mile-wide is a good place to start). And today, I feel happy. All that angst about the driving and summer schlepping from a few days ago seems to have dissipated like the steam coming off the stage lights last night. U2’s songs are a really good way for me to track my life and emotional journey and dare I say, an inspiring reminder that I am truly blessed to be on this journey at all.

If nothing else, this blog is testament to the contradictions and vagaries of my life. It’s amusing to me that a mere couple weeks ago, I was fretting about how it just didn’t feel like summer. Now I have my head so far up summer’s ass, I can’t even see straight. Or maybe my head is up my kids’ asses, or my minivan’s ass. Or maybe Edina Country Club’s ass. Or Neutrogena Ultra Sheer Dry-touch Sunblock’s ass. Whichever ass it is, and pardon the vulgar metaphor, I was under the impression that this summer was streaking by and I was helplessly watching from the sidelines. Same blur as a couple weeks ago, different reasons.

And then I located the little cord that allows me to upload pictures from my camera to my computer and as I scrolled through I was surprised to see not just a blur, but actual moments. Many moments. Lovely stoppages in time where I was actually paying attention, at least long enough to stop and take a picture. So maybe my issue is not so much that I’m missing this breakneck season, but rather that I’m forgetting it the second it passes me by.

So some snaps, as proof to myself that we are enjoying our summer and that sometimes I do manage to take a break from turning my kids into super-athletes and simply . . .  live.

Summer started out, as it has the past three years, with Supergirl’s summer streaks at Hair Police. This year she went for fiery red and electric blue. I love this pic of little sis watching big. Stumbled-upon forts are pure enchantment – they can be there one day and gone the next. I love the juxtaposition of human tampering in a natural setting, but to the sweetest end. Our Minnehaha Creek sprouts forts like mushrooms.

In early June we went to the end-of-the-year student art show at Off the Wall Studio. It was amazing and I could include TWENTY pictures of all the cool things I saw. There is no doubt that there are some talented kids at this place, but what I like best of all is that it feels like a clubhouse. The kids get to be creative and free and it just seems to create a tangible sense of place. This has been a great joy for my Supergirl and something tells me she’ll be going to this club for a very long time.After the Pride Parade, Saint James and G-Dog relaxed in our furniture-less living room. For whatever reason, Saint James had changed into his pj’s on the bottom but left everything intact on top – from the superfly pink shades to the stickers on his t-shirt. I have learned not to ask questions.I went to Michigan with the girls for my sweet little God Baby’s baptism in late June. Daughter of my brother Golden and his wife Delicious Apple, Manzanita is seriously the cutest little butterball on earth. I love the freaky stuffed dog in the background – it actually has puppies that come out of a pocket on the belly and suckle. All of my kids have tried to bring it back from Michigan at different points, but I prefer it living there, sneaking into pictures.
Foxy Brown taking a snooze on the chaise in the backyard. She is getting enviable natural summer sun highlights around her snout. Sweet pooch. Last weekend we were invited to a true blue Mexican Quinceanera party and I was still reeling two days later with all that we got to see and experience. It is absolutely touching and incredible how a girl’s 15th birthday is celebrated in Mexican culture. An unforgettable night for all of us.

Man, it feels good to be part of a team.

I took this picture in a quiet moment when Devil Baby was sitting on top of the picnic table eating cereal. I love the fish tatoo and the sassy side pony – her new go-to hairstyle.

I just may swoon.

Paul Newman is so gorgeous that it took me minutes to register the denim jumpsuit. And, I must say, he is owning it.  He is annihilating that denim jumpsuit. I think I need some smelling salts. And Clint. Good lord, Clint, who was already so awesome at this point and yet, AND YET, had 99% of his awesomeness ahead of him. Check out this tumblr of Awesome People Hanging Out Together. There are so many gems. SO MANY GEMS! Like this –

So fabulous. Oh, and this!

Damn. Just go look. Quick!

And here’s my own personal contribution to Awesome People Hanging Out Together in honor of Maestro de Bife’s birthday today! Maestro de Bife and Devil Baby April 30, 2011, Naples, FLSaint James, Supergirl, Doctor Dash and Maestro de Bife, April 28, 2011, Bonita Springs, FL

Happy Birthday little bro! xoxo

Admittedly, this 41st birthday of yours was lost amidst your week of working nights and a whole hell of a lot of soccer. Just like last year. But also, just like last year, our amusing friends manage to contribute a little levity. Oh, Fox, you crack me up.Dearest Dash, my side kick and fave man on earth: Happy muted, tainted-by-work, birthday. We appreciate every thing you do for us and we love you, you sweet, sweet mofo.

xoxo

In light of New York’s legalization of same-sex marriage a couple days ago, I was feeling extra frothy to get down to the Twin Cities Pride Parade today. As expected, it was an exuberant, silly, happy, naughty love fest. I saw all manner of fabulous drag queens working it out in their fanciest Sunday frippery, old lady lesbians dancing with fluttering fans, guys in black latex kilts and dog collars, a cute and burly rugby team, a group of marching gay Hmong teens, the Minnesota Roller Girls in the flesh, a couple dudes on stilts, rescued pitbulls in tutus and my favorite moment: the mayor, in his little aqua polo shirt, riding on the back of one bad-ass mama’s motorcycle, leading the Dykes on Bikes motorcade.

Devil Baby and I scored a primo spot right across from the Saloon where we got to shake it to the blaring dance music while we watched for Supergirl and Saint James to march by. Yes, they got to march – and I must say I got a little misty seeing them and their buddies bedecked in rainbow tie dye shirts (from Carondelet Catholic School, ironically) and sparkly beads, collecting candy and waving to the crowd like they’ve been supporting gay rights their whole lives.

In fact, they were completely flummoxed by the notion that gays aren’t allowed to get married in Minnesota. They just couldn’t understand why, and Saint James was all about  finding the loopholes, asking if a couple from Minnesota could go to New York on vacation, get married there and just come back here to live. They get it and if other kids their age get it, then there is hope that we are heading in the right direction.

As much as there is some serious flamboyance at this parade, I loved being there with my kids. It’s sort of a no-brainer from an entertainment standpoint, with the feathers and the glitter and the rainbows and the dancing! Those creaky old vets from the 4th of July parades ain’t got nothing on a marching band playing Born This Way. Afterwards, Supergirl was tittering into her hands as she told me about the guy who was naked but for a well-placed fig leaf. So she saw some buns, so what? Nothing wrong with an occasional bun sighting, I say.

It all boils down to this: different strokes for different folks – and the sooner we all understand and embrace that, the better off we’ll all be.

For some cool shots after the NY decision, check out this NY Times slideshow. And remember these gals? I wonder what they’re doing today?

are just – awesome.

Hey,  yo! I’ve got a new post over at Simple Good and Tasty which includes all of my favorite things á la Julie Andrews. Sigh. I love her. I love spring. I love farmers markets. I love puttanesca sauce. And when you put it all together? Double, no – triple sigh. The recipe is a keeper, so scurry on over there to check it out!

So, we’ve been on the Foxy Brown channel pretty much 24/7 here in our house. Every morning, I jolt out of bed, remembering the poor girl hasn’t peed all night. I have to withstand a half hour or so of her wild puppy energy, nipping at my ankles, pouncing on my slippers, until Supergirl wakes up and feeds her and takes her outside again. She can barely fit a tennis ball in her mouth, which doesn’t matter because she doesn’t seem to have the instinct for fetching. She’s always looking to be in physical contact with us. When I’m cooking, she’ll lie on my feet and when I move she gets up and lies on my feet again. I find myself stretching and reaching so as not to disturb her sweet little slumber. She’s still little enough to carry around like a baby and man, will I ever rue the day she gets too big to pick up.

I find myself outside with her at times I never used to be outside. Six a.m. when everything is dewey and fresh, I see a whole other breed of people out and about: early morning joggers, ladies doing boot camps in the park, dog people who are not in their pajama bottoms spilling coffee as they walk (note to self: get it together, because people talk to people on the other leash-end of a cute puppy). At night, after dark, I walk with senses awakened. The dark trees whisper and rustle down at the creek, the scent of the cherry blossoms seems to form transparent pink clouds, the houses look inviting and lived in, with glowing windows that signal the winding down of another day.

Doctor Dash has set the DVR to record The Dog Whisperer and I see him channeling Cesar Millan’s white toothed, Jedi mind tricks. Yesterday he was purportedly weeding in the garden, but every time I looked out the window he was using his say-everything-with-a-firm-touch touch on Foxy to keep her from chewing the rebounder net.  It cracks me up and reminds me of when Saint James was a baby. We were off-kilter, unsure of ourselves, learning how to do everything. We laughed a lot – probably due to a combination of nerves, the joy of discovery and our own ineptitude. Maybe we’ve been getting a little too savvy, too blasé – like, we’ve got this parenting thing down, mo fos. Tantrums, sleeping, potty training, swimming, reading, manners, moods – BRING IT!

Foxy has got us scrambling again – running to see what she’s up to in the next room before she pees or chews on something. She’s got us potty training again – waiting for poos with baited breath and cheering those little turds like they’re solid gold. She’s got us preening again, like proud peacock parents, we take her around, we show her off, we smile when people gush. She’s got us guessing again – Is she still hungry? Are we giving her enough food? Why does she keep going back to see what’s in her bowl? What did the pediatrician, I mean, vet say, again? Is her nose too wet? Too dry? Is that a tick? Can she see with all that hair in her eyes? What if she goes blind like those fancy chickens?

Time has slowed down. Foxy has forced us to slow down. We pay attention to half hour increments now for potty training. We have to remember to bring things for her when we take her to a soccer game (bags, water, leash, chew toy). We hang around our house more, sitting on the floor in the kitchen or in the backyard watching her romp in the grass and wreak havoc in the garden. It’s hard to blame her for using the tulips as her own personal screen to bust through because, well, for a pup, that’s quite an entrance. And she is Foxy Brown, after all.

It’s nice to go back. It ’s fun to remember what it’s like to welcome a new little being into our lives, to see one another anew, each of us suddenly shifted to a somewhat different position, cast in a slightly new light.