peevish mama

So hey, looking through my list, I’m thinking not too shabby. We had a great weekend and for the first time in a long time, I feel kinda sorta on top of things, although I’m sure I’ll be back on that hamster wheel as soon as the school bell rings tomorrow morning. The week-end stretched and yawned, accommodating new plans, unexpected rain and the yen to be still.

1. get our pumpkins One is even shaped like a Frankenstein head!

2. go to an apple orchard. We left this until Sunday and it was just too damp and intermittently rainy to go. Maybe next week end. Or next year.

3. rake the damn leaves Go Dash, Go!

4. make waffles

5. square away Halloween costumes for the little peeps. Anyone know where I can get a chicken costume that doesn’t cost 70 bucks?

7. work on Supergirl’s book puppet project Done. Cutest Ralph the Motorcycle Mouse ever.

8. go see the Minnesota Stars play in the Championship Series on Saturday night – along with the pre-game Joy of the People soccer frolic and tailgating. We bundled up, brought tons of blankets and had a blast watching the Stars dominate the Ft. Lauderdale Strikers. Score was 3-1 and the Stars scored all the goals, even their own. Eeek! You guys, there are a lot of soccer people in this town. Lovely to huddle into bleachers with all of them. Shine On, Stars!

9. make pizzas Go Dash, Go!

10. go to the farmers market (always) Since it was so damp on Sunday morning, I buzzed over by myself. Red kale, regular kale, garlic, squash, skirt steak, eggs, spinach, donuts, done.

11. have people over Sometimes a last minute, impromptu fest is the best way to go. Mixed up some peeps who didn’t know each other, included the chitlins, and braised up a big pork butt from Clancy’s. It was a hilarious night (and delicious, I think).

12. go for a hike.

13. pull the dead flowers out of the damn window boxes I was a BEAST in the garden on Saturday. I pointed some speakers out the windows and went to town. Not only did I clean out the window boxes, I weeded the whole garden and planted 70 tulip bulbs. I did it people! I finally did it! But listen, planting bulbs is some hard-ass work! Now I’ll need to watch Bravo TV for two days to recover. Phew.

All the kids got a couple play dates each and we also finally tried out The Anchor Fish and Chips before the soccer game on Saturday night and fell head over heels. Cool vibe, great food. And on Sunday, after a lazy brunch at Sun Street Breads (we are all crazy for the egg, bacon and cheese biscuits) I took the brood on a surprise visit to Sugar Sugar at the suggestion of Supergirlfan. What an adorable candy shop! I’m not even a candy person, but the owner has such a beautiful aesthetic and collection of old-timey and pretty candy, that I was completely charmed. This place is a little jewel, so if you haven’t been, Go! and go often, so she sticks around. Lovely.

Here’s that handsome Ralph.

Boy, am I ever excited to see this documentary by Cameron Crowe. It looks so gooooood. I can’t help but think of my friend, Saucilicious who loves and adores Eddie Vedder – always has, always will. Wish we could watch it together with a couple bottles of wine, but she’s in Pennsylvania. Instead I’ll watch with Dash and I’m thinking Saint James too. The boy goes completely still and hyper-focused whenever we catch any concerts or music documentaries on TV. These days I’m all about people who turn their loves into their lives. Both Vedder and Crowe seem to have managed to do that and it’s completely inspiring.

Here’s a little bonus for a lazy Sunday. I’m just besotted with this. Watch and enjoy a young and adorable Rod Stewart. And holy skinny pants! What a bunch of dandies! Damn. I love the part when they try to kick around a soccer ball. The guy in the little white stacked heel booties wasn’t able to play. Were they the first ones to do this? Because Rivers Cuomo busted out a soccer ball at the Weezer show this summer and I believe Justin Bieber does this too. Is this a thing? Who was the first? Anyone know? How odd and yet awesome.

All these years in, and I still manage to be taken unawares by MEA weekend. The kids have four days off – most people go somewhere. Me, I just wake up surprised to not have to make lunches. In fairness to myself, usually Dash is working so trips aren’t an option. This time, however, he’s got time off too. We briefly entertained a jaunt to a cabin – somewhere we could take Foxy, but we didn’t get our acts together. And you know what? I’m happy to be sticking here. We’ve been going going going – no time to breathe, no time for anything, so to be here with four days yawning before us feels as luxurious as a spa. Well, that’s overstating it for sure, but it feels good. Here’s what’s on my very loose, open to tampering list:

1. get our pumpkins

2. go to an apple orchard

3. rake the damn leaves

4. make waffles

5. square away Halloween costumes for the little peeps

7. work on Supergirl’s book puppet project

8. go see the Minnesota Stars play in the Championship Series on Saturday night – along with the pre-game Joy of the People soccer frolic and tailgating.

9. make pizzas

10. go to the farmers market (always)

11. have people over

12. go for a hike

13. pull the dead flowers out of the damn window boxes

Lucky 13. We’ll see how much of this we actually do, but it helps to have a list. Happy long weekend, all. May it be as busy or restful as you need it to be.

This band just played at the Turf Club and I missed them. A little Blondie, a little Go Go’s, I very much dig. Enjoy a little leggy glammy girl action.

When someone asks me why I continue to write for Simple Good and Tasty, I’ve got lots of reasons, but one of the big ones is that my editors have always been awesome. I wrote a post about roasting ugly ass tomatoes for soup and I wasn’t sure whether that was going to fly. It flew and it makes me chuckle to have written what is by all other accounts a straight piece on using up late season tomatoes with the term ugly ass sprinkled throughout. Like a little kid who just got away with something, it just kind of makes me happy. I love all words equally, and sometimes those black sheep are just what you need to make a point.

I’m a lover, not a fighter. Except that I’m a fighter too. Who isn’t? I love this piece in Esquire by Tom Junot on the role of fighting in a marriage. It’s a wise, blunt, realistic and in the end, romantic essay. Dash and I fight (sometimes epically) about stupid stuff and as Junot points out, the same stuff as always. I’m no walk in the park, I tell you. Often I think it’s because we’re lucky enough not to have more serious issues lurking, making us feel like we’re on thin ice. The house is solid, so we have a certain degree of freedom to stamp on the floors and pound the walls. But it’s good to be vigilant, to be careful, to make sure to keep it clean – even at its dirtiest. This was a good reminder that we can fight for all sorts of reasons  - but not to win.

I want to give a little shout out to Soul Daddy for having slipped the delectable Mr. Hawthorne onto my plate. He was so silky smooth last night at First Ave, we could have eaten him up with a small plastic ice cream spoon. In an upside down move, Dash and I skipped the main act (Chromeo) and swooped in for Mayer Hawthorne, shook it, went to dinner at Tilia and were home by eleven. It was a Tuesday night, after all, and it has been a ridiculously busy week, after all, and although I’m super intrigued by Chromeo, the little I do know of them indicates that they are a PARTY band to be enjoyed as close to the stage as possible and with a succession of giant Coronas in hand. Fending off the Tuesday night pull of the couch, we stepped out to see this boy and he was hugely entertaining. He’s unapologetically sexy smooth, but a little tongue in cheek. His falsetto makes me weak in the knees. He clearly draws from the old Detroit crooners, but he wears that dapper blazer lightly. The mojo is very much his own and his sneakers are firmly planted in the now. He did a cover of Snoop Dog’s Gansta Luv that made my week – or made me weak. Both. Yes. Oof. Is it getting hot in here? Take a listen. Y’all, it is HARD to do better Snoop than Snoop and Hawthorne just might have done it. The lad has got two speeds. I like him slow.

On Sunday night we went to see the Minnesota Lynx play game one of the WNBA finals against the Atlanta Dream. They’re the best team going in Minnesota right now and it was such a blast. LOUD music, rowdy fans, plentya hootin and hollerin, and complete, unabashed GIRL POWER. Damn!

I can’t decide if it was better for my girls to see that or my boy to see that. GO LYNX!

p.s. secretly, I’d love to go back with a bunch of ladies, drink a ton of beers and then go dancing. Maybe the Lynx would like to come with us?

Y’all know I love street art. This is a neat peek into the work of two ladies (Olek and Swoon) who are pushing the boundaries of contemporary art. I especially love what Swoon says about her art being an attempt to construct a space for a certain kind of connection, a certain kind of wonder, a certain kind of unlikeliness and for the things that you think that there isn’t room for or time for in the life that we’re living.

So picture this. A bare bulb – the old kind, with one of those little metallic pull strings hanging down. As I watch this, it’s as if someone reaches into the dark space above my head and pulls the string. Maybe it’s because I’m such a word person, but to me, listening to artists talk about their work is equally, if not more, fascinating than the work itself.

Connection. Wonder. Unlikeliness. For the things we don’t have room or time for in this life.

Amen.

There’s a Richard Linklater film series at the Walker and I plan to catch as many as I can. Dazed and Confused is possibly one of my favorite movies ever. It’s a stoner coming-of-age story, but ever so much more. By turns dark and hilarious, it manages to tell the story of a group of Texas teens with a light hand but huge insight, even affection. Not much happens, it’s sort of a day-in-the-life, but man, are you ever taken there – sitting on the warm hood of a car, shooting the shit with your buds. And Matthew McConaughy is brilliant as the affable, slightly post-peak BMOC. I just love it. Dash and I saw it in a crowded little theater in Boston, a place where it wasn’t out of the question to see a mouse scurrying for cover as you found your seat. More than any other director, Linklater felt like one of us, making movies about us. Like our lives at that point, his movies are short on action and long on conversation and ideas. I swear that I spent most of my early twenties just walking and talking. Nothing about that period of time is as vivid as the rambling. We were young, we needed to be moving, but there was so much to talk about. So we did both. I’m curious to see whether I’ll still find these movies compelling, now that I’m old-ish. I’ll soon find out. I’m suddenly in the mood for a good ramble, though.

Incidentally, if you have elementary school age kids and haven’t watched School of Rock with them, do it pronto. A more recent Linklater movie, it could have been stick-your-finger-down-your-throat saccharine, but it’s quite the opposite. It’s hysterical and uplifting and sorry, but Jack Black can sort of do no wrong in my book. So good.

Sometimes, when one goes dancing with one’s betties, and the music is really good and the beers are 2 for 1, one loses one wits – a bit – and one leaves without closing out the tab. On Thursday morning I woke with a start. Damn. I was going to have to drive back down to Clubhouse Jager to get my credit card. Big Red, Lunch Lady Rocker Chick and I had gone to Transmission for LLRC’s birthday. I can’t give any details, but fun was had.

Wednesday nights at Jager are, hands down, the happiest place to be in all of the land with DJ Jake Rudh spinning 80’s New Wave and all sorts of lovely music-heads of all ages and stripes geeking out and dancing with wild abandon. Seriously. The moves I can bust out in this environment are high school bedroom mirror material. It is the most free, chill, friendly, goofy scene. My favorites from Wednesday night: a pretty pale girl with a pompadour and a white polka dot dress who did not stop dancing for even one second – formidable!, a tall skinny Tim Burtonesque dude with plaid pants and freaky awesome moves, another tall skinny dude sporting something between a mullet and a rat tail who was way smoother than he should have been, and a foursome of pudgy, gender ambiguous, bespectacled girl/boys.

We don’t, can’t, go to this dance party every week, but once a month is turning into a doable, even dare I say, salutary occurrence. Despite the many PBRs, I wake up with enviable vim and vigor after a night of this. Except that driving back downtown to the scene of my shenanigans with my two little girls in tow to pick up my forgotten credit card seemed like a whole new kind of walk of shame. Unfortunately they don’t open until 4, so I had no choice but to wait until school got out. Damn. I picked Devil Baby and Supergirl up with Foxy Brown in the car, passed back some snacks and vaguely mentioned we had to drive downtown.

Supergirl: Wait. Why do we have to go downtown again?

Me: Forgot my credit card.

Supergirl: Where did you forget it?

Me: That place where I went dancing last night.

Supergirl: Is it a bar?

Me: Yes.

Supergirl: Was there a band?

Me: Nope. Just this great DJ.

Supergirl: How late were you there?

Me: Midnight. [small lie]

Supergirl: Was it fun?

Me: SO fun.

Supergirl: Do you want us to wait in the car?

Me: That would probably be good.

. . . a few moments pass . . .

Supergirl: You know, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a bar.

. . .

Ten minutes later we’re all inside and I’m paying the tab, having been assured by the lovely redheaded bartender that I was NOT the only one to have forgotten my card last night. Jager looks downright homey in the light of day, with slanting sunlight and the smell of comfort food wafting out of the kitchen. I’m half tempted to stay there for an early dinner with the girls. Supergirl spins on her barstool cooly assessing the hipsters partaking in happy hour and appetizers.

Supergirl: Mom?

Me: Ya?

Supergirl: I just thought of the BEST name for my soccer team!

Me: What?

Supergirl: THE BLOODY MARY’S!

Me: . . .

We were most definitely NOT staying for dinner.

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.