The Weight and Wait of Parenthood

[Author's note: This post is a little more raw (and long) than most that I put up... I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm trying to "Shake some things out". To all our peeps out there who are going through crazy shit. We love you. The greatest gifts include friends that will not only support you, but turn to you and lean, rely, and/or involve you in their sorrow. The friends that wade around in the muck with you are treasures, but the ones that ask you to be in the muck with them are truly a gift. To all of you who are willing (and even eager) to read the multitude of words below- and read this blog on a regular basis, I hope you know that supporting my writing this way is a gift that I can't really repay except to say, "Thank you for hanging out with me in the muck that my mind creates. I really appreciate it." This post has taken me about 2 weeks to write and another week to "clean up". It's still a disaster and probably not fit for public consumption. HAHA! Enter the Blogosphere... especially after that really sweet thank you that I wrote up there, you're practically emotionally blackmailed into reading the snivel below :)!!!]
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I'm in one of those "things" right now. It's a warm, sunny 65 degrees out. The mild winter has given over to an early Spring. Our bellies are full. Our money is sufficient. Our careers are fulfilling and still full of promise. Our children are healthy and beautiful, talented and delightful. Our family and friends abundantly generous and loving. But...

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play

And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It's always darkest before the dawn

I'm in a tender spot. When I just carried a sleeping Milo from the car to his bed to finish his mid-day nap, I nearly broke apart into tears- tears of happiness, tears of sorrow, tears of worry, tears of heaven only knows what. Carrying him, I couldn't help note the weight of him- symbolic of so much contradiction: He's so big and so tiny at the same time. He's everything we needed to complete our little family, everything we wanted and dreamed of... he's so needy and so independent. At 2 1/2 years, he has already changed me, taught me things I didn't know I didn't know. I went to put him in his bed and stopped and held on. I cradled him close for a few more moments. I thought of our friends and family members who have lost children and pushed that terrible terror back down into my gut and summonsed the happiness and clarity of this perfect moment. His weight and beauty so tangible. This is parenthood, the weight of holding on, the weight of letting go. The joy and grief of holding on to something that you are simultaneously preparing to let go of... Like the very breath in your lungs.

"Waiting for the other shoe to drop" used to be something I did with intense vigilance. But for most of the last 10 years, I've gotten better about it. Be present, be zen, consider the lilies in the field... yada, yada.

I think I've mentioned it here before, I come from people that tend NOT to be superstitious; but sometimes one or two living ancestors will admit that within the core values subtly passed down (especially to and from the women) is embedded a belief that you can somehow ward off tragedy if you put enough effort into preventative forms of worry.

And I've been a fool and I've been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I'm always dragging that horse around

All of these questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I'm gonna bury that horse in the ground
So I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn

The last several months, life for me personally has changed considerably- almost entirely related to changing jobs. I had to say "I'll see you around" to some very fun, lovable, trustworthy friends that I worked with every day. And then I started to spend my days as a stranger on foreign turf with people I don't know well, if at all. I left a position where a lot of decision making authority was in my hands, to take a position where there are several more layers of managers above me, weighing in on decisions that would have been mine at the other shop.

Due to the size of the institution that I currently work at, earning trust, making a good first impression, and doing lot of homework to understand history and context has become the most important aspect of my daily professional life for the past 3 1/2 months. Learning a bunch of new names, systems, and the rules of an odd new game is the kind of roller-coaster excitement my brain thrives on, but the kind of "why am I stuck to the side of this centrifuge?!?" nausea that my intestines just can't wait to be over.

Concurrently, longer work hours mean that the family dynamic has shifted slightly. The boys (who were theoretically equally reliant on both Mommy and Mama) have grown to expect more time with Mama during the work week. The job is going well, Katy has been amazing, but I have to admit all of this has left me to feel a bit vulnerable and somewhat insecure in my roles both at home and in the office.

Frankly this is an unsettling side-effect of what should be a win-win scenario. By all accounts, I am doing well in the new job- getting great feedback about my performance and feeling at least an intermittent sense of accomplishment. Additionally, our family structure is a might bit stronger now owing to the increased money and stability, that accompanies the new job.

It's confusing to just not feel "happy-happy-happy" when all indicators (seasonal, economic, social, professional) indicate that conditions are more than ripe for contentment and bliss...

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

For whatever reason, my reaction to the stress of these "life-changes" includes a heightened awareness of all that can (and does) go wrong in life. And an empathetic desire to run to people that I love who are in heavy-hearted times and wrap them in some magic blanket... Maybe as a way to deflect my own fears and insecurities.

At this very moment in time, we have friends that are sick, dying, have cancer, have children with cancer, are on the brink of divorce, trying to forgive a spouse for cheating, are losing their parents, are losing their jobs, are reeling from the suicide of a friend, are trying to recover from depression, illness, injury, addiction, are picking up their lives and moving across the country to follow their dreams... I'm not generalizing here, like, "We mostly likely know people who are going through these types of things..." I mean there are individuals that we care about very much that all of those things are happening to.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone
It's always darkest before the dawn

Oh whoa, oh whoa...

One of the mornings in the last several weeks, both boys were in bed with us- a surprisingly rare occurrence- and Jake, recovering from his 2nd bout of pneumonia in as many months, hacked a junky hack without waking; and Milo put his hand on my face and sighed a sleep-drenched sigh. I reached over and touched Katy with my palm, the underside of my arm resting on the two small heads in the middle. In that moment, I felt so light. Yes, our days were slightly too filled with mucus, yes we are a bit over-tired, and yes, I was awake at the unGodly 3:44 AM... but this was the exact type of moment I yearned for all those years ago when we were ready to have a child, and it wasn't working.

I had this private moment of pure contentment and gratitude and then a few days later, C texted me from CA.

"How's it going?" I inquired which has recently become shorthand for "How's life in the strange, stressful land of baby-making?" (Or Turkey-baster-ville as we're inclined to refer to it with our lesbian friends).
She texted that they had decided to take a break from "trying".
"oh..." I replied.
"It was just a little too sad."

Yup. That wasn't just a text to me. Ugh. The memory of that place is not so far away. It came flushing back like a big wave. Reading that message on my iPhone, I FELT that sadness. It brought all my (current, unfocused, and practically unexplainable) sadness to a sharp point and in solidarity, I wanted to jab that point into my forearm.

Oh, that place of ache- Where you finally put out into the universe what you really WANT and it is not something small or material, but something tremendous and life altering. And you do it in humility with an understanding that you don't always get what you want; but you do it intentionally and you try to be patient in that place of uncertainty and vulnerability... And when it doesn't work, when the pee stick comes up negative month after month, at first it catches like a hangnail on your psyche, and then it starts to feel like something life-threatening. And you don't know why it hurts that much because you look around and your life is pretty damn good. It's confusing to feel such gratitude and such grief at the same time.

The very same hour I received the text from C, I heard this story on NPR. And I just couldn't believe the timing. I had a little epiphany, and got a little closer to understanding it.

I think the reason it hurts so much is because your kids are out there, and you're worried about them even if you haven't met them yet... You can feel these little spirits out there- the ones that are to be your children. You feel their breath on your neck sometimes, even before they exist. You feel it so real it cannot be mere imagination. And you want to trust what you've been told (what you generally believe) that everything happens for a reason... all in good time, etc... but still, ask any parent... being away from your kids is really quite devastating.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't
So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope
It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Looking for heaven, found the devil in me
Well what the hell I'm gonna let it happen to me

One of my best friends from childhood, A, is in the last heat of the parenting Olympic trials. The event is a new one called: "You think you've had a bad year? You should see the shit I've been dealing with for the last 12 months!!!" If you turn on the news on any particular day you realize that she's probably not even in medal contention, because there is no limit to the amount of heartbreak in the world. But last May, her oldest son was convicted of a serious crime. After sitting through a trial during which the police involved contradicted their own testimony and perjured themselves, and the "victim" denied the original accusation on the witness stand, she started to believe that everything was going to be okay. And then had to listen to the jury return a guilty verdict that was beyond the understanding of most of the legal experts in the room. Her son has been in a maximum security state prison since he was sentenced and though it's been nearly a year, there is no word on when the appeal will be scheduled.

The physical, psychological, and societal separation from her full-grown (but-still-her-baby) son has been shocking. Yet, as she walks around, people can't even perceive the sadness she has endured. She's one of the strongest, most loving, generous, resourceful, lacking in self-pity, and rational people I've ever known. In the mean time, her 18 year old (second) son has told her she will become a grandmother in a few months. Not a tragedy by any stretch- but still- could we just possibly have dealt with one thing at a time. Speaking to her on the phone, I'm all like, "Don't buy one, single baby thing without checking with me first b/c we are about to unload everything you need from crib to boppy and I even have a whole bunch of stuff you'll probably wish you never heard of..."

I try to talk to her about what she needs, if there is anything I can do. But mostly what I want to ask her is, "How is your heart? Is there anything I can do "mother-to-mother" to help plug up any of the holes in your armor that might leave you exposed and vulnerable?" She tells me nonchalantly that this has taken it's toll on her relationship with her husband. And more pressing, he is finally working on treating his addictions. My heart sinks. Not really surprised at this news, that this has been happening in the background too. I just want to shake a fist at the furies and say, "GIVE HER A BREAK"!!!

"I don't know how you're holding it all together," I tell her.

"As if I have a choice" she says. And then she puts it out there and wraps the truth around both of us: There is nothing that matters as much as these things. This year of razor sharp heartbreak somehow brings with it validity and redemption. Sorrow to better enjoy the sweetness of life. There is no choice but to experience sorrow in life, but if there were, it might not be the best idea to opt out of it.

I do understands what she means. If you've never spent a day clawing out of a cave, or stroking a hand in a hospital room, or anxiously waiting outside of an ICU or a courtroom, it's hard not to pity your innocence. Blessedly rare are those individuals that are able to look upon and recognize actual happiness without the focusing lens of sorrow and heartbreak.

All I can say, to our friends C and L (struggling in Turkey-baster-ville) is, "I know. I'm sorry. Hang in there." I want to leave it at that because in my experience, when you are trying to get pregnant, people offer way too-fucking-much in the way of opinions and advice. But since no one has ever accused me of talking too little (why use 5 words when you can write 2500?) I'll add an encouraging, empathetic, tender-hearted:

"Get used to it".

Barely relying on metaphor, this is the start of parenthood. That negative pee stick, and all the things that will happen before and after you and your children are reunited it's like boot camp for your hearts; for the endurance marathon that follows. Stretch and pull and run, and use ice and heat intermittently to soothe your aches, and start to believe that you can do it, because you can... (but believing that you can is really half the battle).

It's already started, you don't even really have a choice in the matter.
It's both a long wait and a heavy weight.

But you can do it.

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, shake it out, ooh whoa
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

I'm on the edge of Glory

For those of you that don't know, that is a Lady Gaga song... Edge of Glory - a song that our family is a bit obsessed with right now. I have an entire essay (vaguely outlined) inside me about how much I respect and adore Lady Gaga, and how if I can feel this way (as an older, mature, fairly "formed" female) I imagine you can multiply that by a million and barely score the surface of the desperate adoration experienced by millions of 12-20 year old women.

But that's a story for another day. Currently, I live with a (3-days-shy of) 2 year old who may simultaneously be Lady Gaga's biggest, youngest fan... and the ruin of her in my eyes. Milo*** won't let it go. He loves her. Her NEEDS her. And the little monster drives a hard bargain. When it comes to nagging us to play her music, he has the attention span and tenacity of Jane Goodall in the jungle. All he cares to listen to is Lady Gaga. And he is insistent. And I know you are thinking, "How can he know??? What does he really know about it???" But he does and he gets pissed if we try to listen to any other music. He acts heartbroken as if all other music is a compilation of dissonant chords and harmful to his dance-party way of life. For now, his parents are equally stubborn, and when we can't take another 50 rounds or 50 miles of Lady Gaga at the audio helm, we are getting used to listening to all other music with Milo screaming in the background:
LADY GAGA... LADY GAGA... PLEASE, MOMMY, MAMA... NO... NOW... GAGA...GAGA...WAAAAAAAAAHHH

(It goes on and on).

So, the title of the post also relates to my mood these days. I'm a little off-kilter; not sleeping enough; doing my best to balance. Finding myself needing to write more, but not writing. Finding myself needing to eat less, but eating like cRaZy. Finding myself wanting to exercise, but not turning the machine into high gear.

Despite what you just read, I'm pretty damn content with this life we are living right now. I am full of gratitude. I am amazed by my wife and our sons and basking in their glow. BUT... I am experiencing a fog of apprehension, and that familiar angst that comes with waiting too intently for the other shoe to drop.

The summer is fading, but it has been quite wonderful. Despite the fact that we experienced an earthquake (my first) and a tropical storm in the span of 5 days, we've had tremendous weather.

We’ve spent a lot of time this summer swimming and playing (and eating food) with friends and family… Some of that food has been seasonally fresh and healthy, and some of it char-grilled, processed, fried, and yummy (but very much the opposite of “good for you”- unless you are counting the “good for the soul” excuse that I keep coming back to.) We've had some terrific vacations: Ohio in July, Rhode Island in August...

This last week, though has found me in a bit of an angst-y, Don't-look-down-you've got-too far to fall melancholy.

To be fair, it's about to be autumn and I have a history of angst-y autumns at various times in my life. At this latitude, in this hemisphere in September and October, there is a very specific change in the angle of sunlight. The time of sunset sprints back toward the afternoon. It is still “summer” during the day, but the temperature plummets 20 degrees by a few hours after dark. You can close your eyes and smell the air (before more than a dozen leaves have changed color) and know you are breathing the first breaths of autumn. You could be in 80 degree sunshine, but know that shifting glare on the horizon means that the summer warmth will dissipate after dark.

Today is September 11th. I just finished watching the season finale of True Blood (a totally f'd up TV show that I can't quit) and about 2 hours of 9/11 "never forget" coverage. And I can't help but wonder, who is that slogan for? Isn't forgetting required a little in order to heal. I got my first glimpse of the WTC memorial and I just sort of burst into tears- it was the visual of the pools- water plunging down into the footprint of the original towers. I couldn't help but think of those people that jumped. I'm not one to get overly sentimental, but something about firefighters dying will always cause me to come a little unglued I think.

It's not just Sept 11th...

Last week, a 4 1/2 year old boy (a friend of a friend's kid) drowned in a neighbor's pool. The parents are a lesbian couple. The kids were with a sitter at the time of the accident. Feel the weight of that devastation for a moment.

Next week, the trial is about to begin for the second man who was caught in the act of, and then confessed to, robbing, pummeling, sexually assaulting, and murdering our friends one summer night in their own home FOUR years ago. But until the end of this trial we have to keep saying he "allegedly" did these things. His team of lawyers seems even more desperate and untrustworthy as he has shown himself to be. I know they have their job to do. But this guy is the one that is going show himself to be some kind of real SOB and I know you are going to have to put up with a little ranting from me in the coming weeks...

Then, there's Jake*** and Milo*** with their impressive, end-of-summer tan lines, and their ever-expansive brains and sharp observations of the world, and their little perfect bodies growing out of toddler-hood and baby-hood respectively. I know they are still young, but they are already growing up. And it's hard to imagine how we will continue to keep them safe when we know so much about how things can go wrong in the world.

There was a festival in town this weekend- food, fun, crafts, music (sorry, Milo, that the Marching Band, did NOT have any Gaga). One tent set up by a local insurance company was producing "kid ID kits". While you waited there, they took photos and fingerprinted your children. I wanted to do this because I can't imagine anything scarier than needing this data and not actually having it available. The entire time I was under this tent (probably 20 minutes for both boys) I felt like I might burst into tears. It was so anxiety producing to complete a kit that would help us if one of the boys disappeared, that it was actually hard not to mutter "never mind" and just run away from there. I felt as if someone was choking me and telling me a really sad story at the same time.

But you should see Milo*** in gymnastics class... and you should see Jake*** in ballet and tap and t-ball. It's a trick of the mind to worry about what bad might happen, when there is so much good happening all around. And I think it's a fool's choice to give into worry, when there is so much celebrating to do. These are the heroic lives we lead- planning a little for the worst, but doubting it will ever come and doing so with such loving intention that, that you make your kids feel all the safety the world may or may not offer.

Pink is Perfect

The boys and I are on our own for the weekend.
We sent Mama off to have some adult time with her Smithy friends.

So, I don't see myself getting a ton of blogging time...

BUT, I would like to say that I started a fan page on Facebook for the GSO, and the fans came through like champs! We had 60 FB "LIKEs" in 24 hours!!! Very cool.
So now we have an official and personalized Facebook address:
http://www.facebook.com/ginsoakedolive

nice.
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For a musical interlude, I present this P!nk video. (hat tip Joe.my.god)

I didn't know that the version of "Perfect" that they've been playing on the radio is an edited version. I like that one. But i really love this one.

In fact, I really love Pink.
This single is typical; and a terrific example of why: strong, solid, funky, fun, tough, real, a memorable beat, an important lesson. I'm not sure she's released a single that I didn't like.
She is tough and hot.

The f-bomb is not necessary to enjoy the song (I'll definitely purchase the clean version so I can sing it to my boys) but watching the video, you realize that the song is not about teeny-bopper issues, it is real and heavy and an f-bomb (or 40) is not going too far.

WARNING:
- This video opens with brief, awkward sex that turns out to be "marital" in nature
- This video contains the word "fuck"; used as a gerund (I think it's a gerund; it may be an adverb, as it is a modifier of a predicate adjective; I think an adjective that modifies another adjective is an adverb... School teachers and editors please weigh in... This will probably keep me up tonight wondering)
- This video contains images of a young woman cutting herself in the bathtub



Pink is HOT!
Fucking Perfect? Right?

blog post - telegram style

So much to write...

Too tired to write.

Been up too late all week.

There's drama at our day care.

JB's getting 2 more molars, but we are still worried about his ears.

He is talking a ton now and has been wearing underwear for 2 days now (except at night) with no accidents today.

ML is Mr. Mellow. We like to rock him to sleep. (we were harder on his brother at this age) but tonight, we wrapped him and let him fall asleep on his own... He did it no problem-o. This kid could win an Olympic award for sleeping thru the night (knock on wood). If he didn't sleep this good, I might be suicidal...

Christmas cards more than 1/2 done.

No Christmas decs up yet.

Snow expected tomorrow.

I stacked a whole bunch of shit miles high to fit our 2 cars into the garage.

It might be worth the extra hundred grand in a mortgage if we don't have to scrape this winter...

I dare you not to smile at this:



:)

nite.night.

Mid-afternoon music montage

Two days now, we have had dance parties in the grannies' living room. We truly rock out and JB has been smiling and enjoying all the moves. We've been trying to teach him to dance with his hands and "raise the roof".
He looks at me like I'm crazy.

Today, we were driving with Kt's dad, and this random mix of music came on the radio.
Some oldies, some not so oldies, but we were singing to JB. It was like music appreciation on wheels. There were about 8 songs in a row that made Katy and me go,
"YEAH! THIS IS A GOOD ONE TOO, JB!!!"

Again, though he was trapped, all strapped in his car seat, we were encouraging him to groove and move and dance with his hands. He smiled intermittently, eying us the way a nervous visitor might glance around a locked ward.

I don't remember them all but some of the songs were:
Walking in Memphis - Marc Cohn
This will be (an everlasting love) - Natalie Cole
I wanna be rich - Calloway
Chasing cars - Snow Patrol
Say (what you need to say) - John Mayer

There's a story that goes along with each of those songs. Stories that maybe one day I'll tell our son... here's one:

When I was pregnant, John Mayer was singing that "Say" on the radio an awful lot:

I'll be honest with you, I'm not even sure wtf that song is supposed to mean. I look at the lyrics (below) and I want to shout,

"JOHN MAYER, STOP TRYING TO BANG SO MANY GIRLS AND BUY A THESAURUS!!! 20 unique lines of barely rhyming prose??? REALLY? SERIOUSLY? DID YOU WRITE IT IN BETWEEN DATES on a Friday night?!?"

There's the chance that song has no intended meaning, was written for no purpose save to score a few presidents or bag a few babes. But, the song unlocks something in me. There's a part of me that fights becoming completely undone and feels flashes of my most vulnerable self emerge when the dang thing is playing. I think that song was playing in the background when important things were happening during my pregnancy. I think that song conjured up events that happened immediately before and more than a decade before. Things that were very wonderful and things that were very sad. Sweet, insignificant moments, and poignant, life altering moments.

Is it me, or is it hard to hear that song and not be the star of your own personal music video playing on a loop in your head?

Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all your so called problems
Better put 'em in quotations

Say what you need to say (x7)
Say what you need to saaaay...

Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead

If you could only
Say what you need to say (x7)
Say what you need to saaay...

Have no fear
For giving in
Have no fear
For giving over
You better know that in the end
It's better to say too much
Then never to say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open... wide...

Say what you need to say (x7)
Say what you need to (x2)
Say what you need to say...

So, I think you get what I mean about the thesaurus, right?

After looking at this, I feel (sincerely) like you can't trust a word out of John Mayer's slick, playboy, CT-grown mouth. But if you could trust him, it does seem like he wrote the song of the same nature and emotional context that I just described above.
Life is too short.
Just say
what
you
need
to
say...

If you're hurting, if you're striving, if you're dying... If you are thrilled, exuberant, evolving, or lost in love... If you have a secret that is eating you alive. If you are thinking about leaving, changing, doing something that might "disappoint" someone... If you are aching with fear or love or life... or just living- trying not to fall into death via the suffocation of suburban or corporate compromise...
speak.
your.
mind.

Today, dancing and singing with our little boy, I realized this is part of the gig.
Every night I put him to bed and thank him for the way he is and the way he has allowed me to see the world. And one of the most important things I will strive to teach him is to find ways to express himself:
Speak your heart, even if it pounds in your chest or your hands tremble or your voice quivers.

Dance with your feet and hands and eyes because if you really listen to lovely things in life (like people and music) it usually means allowing your body to move with them and toward them and respond physically.

Listen to music - wherever you find it - to the harmonies, melodies, percussion, lyrics, and the silent parts behind the music that inexplicably turn a key and release something in you that you didn't even know was locked up.

SWYNTS: I think this is the secret to happiness and the trick to life if you want to be smiling when you're reviewing your own personal, imaginary music video at the end of it all...

just sayin'...

Now I'm goin' to bed... hope you enjoyed the music :)

I'm Jean Valjean and I approved this message...

Perfection.

Back in the day, I was intensely addicted to Les Miserables. I feel like this video is where the past intersects with the future. :)

(hat tip: Joe)
Blog post title also "borrowed" from Joe.

While we were in high school, he played the pirate in Pirates of Penzance. Now, directing a video for Coldplay:





Seriously, treating diabetes is SO much more glamorous.

Yes we can...

This is old news now... I've seen it on several blogs and heard it referenced on the local news, but today after I watched it for the 3rd time (it was the first time that I watched it with not a crying baby on my shoulder, but a sweet, sleeping baby on my shoulder) I decided I wanted to post it here too.




There is some criticism of artists and "famous" people playing a role in politics as if they aren't also citizens. But in my mind, this type of art is why being a free people matters.
It looks like it was fun to make.
It feels good to let your guard down and experience music and words and a spirit of collaboration.
It feels good to be inspired.

If you have the opportunity to watch this video while your sleeping 4 month old snores a congested, peaceful, rhythmic bass line innocently into your ear, I highly recommend you do so... but keep a tissue handy

Mr and Mrs Rich Taylor

Last night, we went into NYC for a wedding.

Since the DJ introduced the couple into the reception for the first time using the wrong last name (not hers and a mispronunciation of his) and an incorrect variant of his nickname, I feel their identities are protected enough to blog about their nuptials :)

These are seriously two of the kindest and hippest peeps I know.

I initially expected one of those picture perfect, high-society events where every detail has been infinitely obsessed over. When on Christmas Eve I heard a rumor that the groom had not yet finalized a tuxedo rental, I thought little about it... so what if he ended up wearing powder blue ruffles!?! (He didn't, btw.) Though traces of the newlyweds' laid back preparations ruled the night, this is par for the course with the groom's family (a family Katy and I consider an extension of our own.) Last night proved that throwing a wedding together in 2 months is bumpy, but not impossible.

The church ceremony was intimate and sweet, and had the guileless characteristics of a final rehearsal before the full dress rehearsal. There were last minute adjustments in blocking for the wedding party during the ceremony and a missing reading that the minister had to go "back stage" to retrieve before the words could be delivered.

When we arrived at the reception, the table assignments and place cards weren't yet coordinated. And the first few of us that arrived looked like a team on "The Apprentice," scampering about in formal wear, trying to complete a timed challenge.

The bride's physical beauty was overshadowed by her inner grace and non-plussed attitude, as items on the "to do" list were checked off in real time. For example, she ran up to the DJ to deliver a list of "special songs" about 12 seconds before the 1st dance, mother/groom, and father/bride dances.

We joked that the DJ might have been hired that very afternoon, and he did his best, playing an eclectic assortment of tunes, at ear piercing decimals. Dancing happened before and during dinner in the only 6 by 8 foot area that was unoccupied by dinner tables. The space happened to be next to our table and was also the main concourse for the bathrooms, the wait staff, and the only access most guests had to the cash bar.

At a certain point in the night the word cluster-fuck popped into my mind. I tried to immerse myself in the spirit of the night and bobbed my head to the alternating beats of dance party USA and Luther Vandross, while flashes went off all around me capturing images of the spirited dancers to the immediate right of my seat. Early in the night, I was over: Over-tired, over-hungry, over-stimulated. And I developed one of those headaches where your body thinks that if you puke, you can get rid of the cranial throbbing.

It kind of sucked that I had to bow out early, but I tried not to beat myself up considering what we have been through in the last several days weeks. Katy tried not to seem too excited or relieved that I was the one who was begging to get back to the hotel (She tires of being the half of our couple who usually is ready to leave a party first.) Though I know she was about 10 seconds from demanding I get her to a place she could lay quietly and unwind, she played the part of doting wife well, "I have to get Tracy home, she has an awful headache."

We dropped Jake off with friends (his second night without us ever) at noon on Saturday, ran (literally) to make the 12:55 train to grand central, and were back to pick him up by 10 am today. We were gone for 22 hours and I had the above mentioned headache for the last 12 hours of the odyssey. But I wouldn't have changed anything. The train ride in with my wife, parents, sister, and Bro in law was full of comradery, loving laughter, the cleansing exhalation that follows a few days of holding your breath and tongue. Not to mention the the sensation of gratitude that you experience when you can finally swallow the lump in your throat.

We are lucky and immersed in blessings, that even the saddest and most trying times could be followed or interrupted by this type of weekend together.

Congratulations R and K! We look forward to watching your family (and therefore our family) grow.

I finally get it

Yesterday, I ran to the store to "get going" on the holidays. Katy had come home from her teaching gig and offered to watch the kid so I could "pound out" some shopping before the snow really started and before she had to go to job number two.

SIDE BAR: Yesterday, job number two involved going to a Christmas party with her office staff. I'm blogging about this even though I made her promise not to tell our parents that we went out into the storm to get ourselves to said Christmas party... Since we all got home safe and sound, I'm hoping it's okay to admit that we made such a stupid decision (one that put us on the road for 4 hours to travel less than 10 miles. When we could have been sitting home drinking cocoa and tea, we ventured out to eat a crappy, comped meal in under 30 minutes b/c we were late and everyone, rightfully, wanted to hit the road and get home out of the storm.)

So, before the party, I left the baby and my Boo, to shop. Even though the snow had all ready started coming down pretty hard, I was all relaxed and "happy-adrenaline." I was psyched about the snow storm, about our all wheel drive vehicles, about being alive. I was drunk on love, on purchasing power, on the blessings of the last few months. I was also pensive and feeling cosmically lucky; like a woman who has landed safely after jumping out of a plane and spending several moments in panicked free fall unable to open the parachute.

I am lucky. LUcky. LUCKy. Lu-u-u-KEYYYYY.

I was thinking of the juxtaposition of our life now and of the summer. Of the people that are not here to experience Christmas this year, and the childless dad they left behind. The sad insanity of that paradox made me wanted to run outside in the blizzard until there was a snowbank to stick my head into. I turned the radio on and Katy had this song cued up on her CD player.



And.
I.
CRANKED.
it.
up!

I turned it up so loud, the pavement under my tires vibrated and my ears strained to hear all the sounds at once. The reverberating beat was healing, cleansing, and the tiniest bit painful.
It hurt so good.
I don't even know what the hell that song is about, but it was the right song at the right time, and I felt no conflict in the complete self indulgence of the moment.

Later, I thought about all those times I've been at a traffic light and someone else's music was vibrating my tires and hurting my ears, and how cranky that made me at those moments.
I kind of smiled at my cantankerous, too-young-to-be-acting-this-old self getting all, "TURN DOWN YOUR MUZACK, SONNY!!!" And I was glad to gain a new perspective: Maybe what I have considered "noise pollution" all this time has been a necessary outlet and expression of emotion for those drivers/ disturbers of my peace.

Another day, another fucking growth opportunity (AFGO.)

Indigo Girls Rock the Tent!

Hesitantly, we traveled to Hyannis last night for an Indigo Girls concert. We were all three "quietly hesitant" as in - we didn't mention it until we were on the way home b/c 1) How many times can you see the Indigo Girls? 2) When do you "out grow" their music? 3) $65 to battle traffic and summer humidity in a buggy tent???

Anyway, fears unfounded. The concert was awesome. The $ well-spent. The opening act (Girlyman) was the best opening act I've ever seen. They must have released some tickets at the last minute, b/c 2 days before the concert, we bought 4th row seats near the revolving stage on Ticketmaster-dot-com. I could see Amy Ray and Emily Salier's facial expressions, jewelry, sweat-beaded brows, and excited spittle. It was only the girls and their guitars, no band, nothing fancy... pure music! The venue was packed- a crowd of about 2400 most of whom knew every lyric to every song.

The bean was rocking -out inside of me - going nuts!!! He either loved or hated his first concert, but he was jumpin', jammin', and slammin' all around his little womb-condo. I went home to find skin abrasions where my soaked, cotton bra had been rubbing against my flesh during the festivities (a result of my dancing around not his.)

Other highlights:
1) Dr. Brokeback's 20 minute diatribe throughout the extended remix version of Chicken Man. During which she revealed her theory that this song's prominent position on the Indigo Girls' concert play list is the reason for the pair's much discussed "strained relationship." ie -

Emily: I just can't do it again... "Chickenman, chickenman, chickenman hold my hand" I just can't go out there and do it again
Amy: You have to... the crowd loves it... it's my best song
Emily: No, it's not. No they don't. They just humor you... no one even understands the song... I just can't... I swear, I'll quit the band...

I laughed so hard I nearly pee'd my pants...

2) Katy using our pregnancy for the first time to secure a primo parking space... "My wife is 33 wks pregnant. Is there a place to park where we are not trapped in the lot?" Sure, park right here near the exit...

crooked spout

Thanks to my good friend ERD I was able to experience Norah Jones a few weeks ago. It was fantastic. Nothing compares to live music and she does not disappoint. I highly recommend her new album, especially "Be My Somebody". Talk about groovy percussion and a sexy song. Excellent.

And although we did have to endure a very drunk, chauvinistic, loud man in front of us, it was quite enjoyable. M. Ward opened and, wow, can that guy jam on guitar.

Click here for ERD's (more poetic) review for the Hartford Courant.

Playas play on

Having spent many adolescent summers at Friends Music Camp, I sometimes sing in the car dreaming that I could sing certain songs with a group of musicians from that time. I'll leave the actual names to your imagination, but they include a guitarist (or 3), a pianist, a cellist (or two), and a trumpet player.

We would sit in a circle and just play and sing like we used to before collection.

My first choices are Ghost (Indigo Girls) and Top of the World (Dixie Chicks).

If you're one of the musicians, or just someone who woudl be listening to the songs, feel free to post requests in the comments section.... (or if you're shy you can email them to me and I'll post them anonymously).

Pearl

I guess it's better to turn 29 than 30, or at least how it seems from the 29 side. My mom and Anna very generously got me a piano for my birthday. And she is simply beautiful.

I've nicknamed her Pearl. (The name is totally unoriginal - the manufacturer is Pearl River)

Part meditation-assistant, part computer game stand-in, part musical addiction, I am so excited to have a piano! Needless to say I haven't played in a long time and lessons will be needed to achieve previously attained skill.

First up: Moonlight Sonata, my favorite piece of all time.

Hot chicks hit back

New music from the Dixie Chicks... kt and i think it's a powerful, rockin' tune. (Strings bring in the crescendo- SNAP!) It also seems the perfect response to the death threats and censorship they faced for speaking out against the president. I'm not sure i get the imagery of the video, but i love Not Ready to Make Nice on so many levels.

Then there's Pink. She's getting a lot of press lately- saw her on Oprah, the Today Show, etc. Dear Mr President is simple and fluffy in both lyric and melody if you ask me, but there's no denying this chick has pipes and EGGS.* There's nothing soft, cuddly, or demure about Pink; and it's kind of sweet of her to reclaim a color that has been thrust by society on my gender as a way of emphasizing our supposed pretty-sweetness over our strength and intellect.

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* For those of you who don't know, TT learned from Bitch and Animal that the female genitalia shouldn't be used as an insult. When you think about it, doing something courageous could just as easily take "eggs" as it could take "balls."

From backpacks to Burberry

My parents are in town. They come to visit us a few times a year and generally get roped into helping fix something or other on our house. Or, for those of you who have seen it, creating a masterful garden that nearly grows and prunes itself, merely creating the illusion that you yourself are doing anything to help it. (This garden is no joke: it even blooms at seemingly preset times during the summer so there are no weeks without some kind of new flower) But this trip was planned so they could see a concert in Boston. My parents adore a group called Hesperion XXI. The last time I heard this group it was during a movie called Tous les matins du monde, which was set sometime in the 17th century. Needless to say, I was happy to drive them to Boston, then find a place to sit and get a drink while they went to the concert.

After several generous offers, however, Tracy and I decided to give it a try. It could not have been a better decision. The concert was phenomenal. The instruments were interesting, the vocals were superb, and the crowd LOVED it. Which brings me to the explanation of this entry's title. There were hundreds of people crammed into the Jesuit Urban Center on a Friday night. It was bitterly cold and windy. And yet, there were an amazing assortment of types of people excitedly running for their seats. There were people with cloth backpacks that I swear had hand-sown patches on them, people with coke-bottle glasses, people with more hair on their face than I have on my head (and that's saying something), people speaking several different languages that resemble Spanish, and people with Burberry scarves and long expensive black coats that were dropped off in front by a limo. It was a truly amazing sight.

The music was grouped into four-song packets, and the audience could barely contain themselves between them. There is something very inspiring about being in a place where there are nearly a thousand people sitting on the edges of their seats and begging to be given a chance to applaud.

Also, note to self: don't knock new (well, old) music til you've tried it.