Turns Out I'm a Little More Country and a Little Less Rock and Roll

I recently bought tickets to see the Zac Brown Band in October, and I started contemplating all the concerts I have seen over the years.  I thought, based on my ipod playlists, that I had pretty eclectic tastes.  I’ve got Barry Manilow, Hank Jr., the Beastie Boys, CeeLo, Conway Twitty, Def Leppard, Elvis Costello, Gotye, Harry Chapin, Ice Cube, Willie Nelson, Jane's Addiction, Janis Joplin, Juliana Hatfield 3, David Allan Coe, Kid Rock, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, The Byrds, Metallica, Michael Buble, N’Sync, Led Zeppelin, Juice Newton, Neil Young, U2, Neil Diamond, OMD, Ozzy, Paul McCartney, Pink Floyd, Pure Prairie League, Ronnie Milsap, Johnny Cash, Salt & Pepa, Sir Mix-a-Lot, the Sundays, and Taco, to name a few.  That’s eclectic, right? 

Then I started thinking about the concerts I’ve actually attended.  Turns out I’ve got a bit of a “type.” 

Beach Boys – this was my very first concert.

Coolio – ‘member?  He had that song?  I think it was 5 bucks a ticket in college.

Indigo Girls – and this was before I even owned Birkenstocks.

Reba – I’m kinda over her now . . .

Tony Bennett – I went by myself.  Hubby bought me a single ticket (so I actually had a really good seat) because he was promoting his Duets album and he’d be singing with James Taylor.

Free Bird!

Lynyrd Skynyrd – what?  Nobody else is wearing their sterling bead necklace?  This place was like a Jorts Convention. 

Toby Keith – the man can rock a stage and I can rock some Miller Lites.

Brooks and Dunn – we took Large to this concert in the Baby Bjorn when he was about 5 weeks old.  Best.  Parents.  Ever.

Alabama – I knew they were in town when I saw their trailer parked at the HoJo’s where I lived my freshman year of college.  (Long story.)

John Denver – I have great memories of sitting on the lawn at Wolf Trap listening to John Denver and his guitar.  To hear "Rocky Mountain High" live was to be close to God.

Kenny Rogers – he still sounds great but he needs to embrace his age.  Embrace it, Kenny.  Don’t fight it.

Justin Roberts - He's a children's performer, but his stuff is so catchy.  We're total groupies and we're  kinda stalking him.

Justin Roberts.  Hot, in that nerdy sorta way . . . 

George Jones – He showed up.  George Jones fans will understand why this is a big deal.

Phil Collins – I knew the words to EVERY song.  Hello 1988!

Genesis – not as good as Phil by himself.  Totally different vibe and many more old people mumbling about Peter Gabriel.

Toad the Wet Sprocket – College roomies were really into Toad.  If you are cool, you just call them Toad.  Toad.

Barry Manilow -  very sparkly.  Loves me some Barry.

James Taylor – um, I’ve seen him once or twice.  Hehe.  James Taylor is the only concert for which I’ve spent the night outside for tickets. (And it was in the 90’s, not the 60’s!)  I’ve seen him almost every year since 1992.  I’ve gotten his autograph, had my photo taken with him, and traveled to various cities to see him perform live.  I've been to the Today show more than once when he's been a guest.  I even saw him in concert 9 days before I delivered Large, when I was HUGELY pregnant and it poured rain.  I like him.  A lot.

Hello, James.  It's me again . . . 

Ben Taylor – James’s son. 

Kate Taylor – James’s sister.

Steve Miller – I was worried it wouldn’t be a great concert because of all the instrumental “stuff” they’ve got going on, but it was flippin’ awesome.

Chicago – so very 80’s.

Carole King -  it was a package deal with James Taylor.  She made me feel like a natural woman though.

Hootie and the Blowfish - bought the tix for Hubby because I thought he'd be psyched.  Big birthday disappointment.

Kenny Chesney – before he got big . . . I think he was opening for Toby Keith?

Simon & Garfunkel – Saw the Old Friends tour.  They are geniuses, and it’s a great memory because I saw them with my friend “Mary” who passed a few years later.

Bon Jovi – saw them in Vegas when we were on our Babymoon, and I’m pretty sure I got high from second-hand smoke.  It’s all good, man, but puff-puff-pass.

Don Henley -  he was at a charity gala, which is cool if you’re a big fan, which I am not.

Eddie from Ohio – used to see them in local bars.  Now I listen to Robbie Schaeffer on Kids Place Live.  My, how times have changed.

Keith Urban – I’m gonna say it . . . not a HUGE fan. 

Sugarland -  I group them in the Reba category.  A little too twangy and forced for my taste.  I’m more of an acoustic type of gal, and I always feel like I want to give her a lozenge.

GooGoo Dolls – in Seattle when Hubby was on a business trip.  Wore ear plugs.  I like them, but I’m in my 30’s for goodness sake.

Clearly I was born in the wrong generation.  I know all the words to "White Rabbit," but I can't tell you the difference between the GooGoo Dolls and Green Day, and don't get me started on the new boy bands.  I'm still trying to figure out how Justin Timberlake evolved from that curly-headed adolescent geek into the man who brought sexy back.

My Day as a Fat Audrey Hepburn

Recently, some girlfriends staged a cardigan intervention.  Let it be known that one of my girlfriends is spreading a nasty rumor that I have 30 cardigans.  NOT true.  I had 27 at last count.  Just to be clear, I consider any sweater with an open front a cardigan.  So yes, I have the button-up cardigans from Lands’ End, but I also have some sassy flowy cardigans from Lands’ End. 

Anyhoo, in light of our recent conversation, I decided maybe I should break out of my jeans habit.  I have ALWAYS worn jeans.  When I feel like dressing up I wear khakis.  And a cardigan.  I broke out of my comfort zone and made two significant purchases: jeggings and black leggings.  For those of you who are not in the know jeggings are jean-leggings.  

Jeggings = good.  Jorts = bad. 

I had a little fashion show for my Happy Hour neighbor, who is quite the fashionista.  And by fashionista, I mean she hardly ever wears jeans.  She gave me some pointers on how to wear my jeggings (with boots because they’re a tad short) and my leggings (with either boots or flats.)  Yesterday I got all crazy and wore my black leggings with a long cable cardigan.  Tres cute, at least from the front.  I have no idea about the back, so perhaps I should just issue a blanket apology to anyone who may have found themselves unwittingly walking behind me. 

I looked JUST like Audrey Hepburn!

If Audrey Hepburn bought her leggings at Old Navy, her shirt at Target, and her ballet flats at PayLess.  And she also had humidity-induced frizzy hair and, to borrow a line from Steel Magnolias, it looked like “two pigs fightin’ under a blanket” when she took her sweater off.  EXACTLY like her.   

Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?

Ten years ago today, I was just getting to know a new crop of students.  It was my 8^th year of teaching high school English; I had four sections of senior English 12 and one section of English 9.  My English 9 class was a “team” class, which means that there was a special education teacher in the classroom with me as it was an inclusion class.  Some of the students had learning difficulties ranging from ADHD to behavioral issues. 

Hubby and I lived in Alexandria, VA, a suburb of Washington, D.C., which is located about 10 miles southwest of the Pentagon.  It was a prime location for us because we were almost exactly halfway between each of our places of employment; he in McLean, VA, and I in Woodbridge, VA.  Because the D.C. suburbs span such a large area, many people in Northern Virginia hold government jobs, either in the city, or at the Pentagon, or at various military bases.  It never occurred to me that living in or around our Nation’s Capital would pose a security risk. 

Yes, it was an absolutely gorgeous day – one of those days you wish you could spend outside, but I was also filled with the excitement of beginning a new school year.  First period came and went without incident, and soon enough it was time for my freshmen to arrive.  Everything was status quo and while they were busy working on an assignment (diligently hanging on to my every educational word and obediently following my instruction . . . because this is MY version of events,) I told my team teacher that I needed to run to the copy center.

Intent on my task, I walked into the copy center and was focused on getting back to class quickly.  But then I noticed the attendant staring at the TV on the wall.  I glared at the TV when she said, “someone just flew two planes into the World Trade Center!”

My first thought was that some jackass had been flying too close and didn’t see the giant building in front of him, or that the pilot was someone who had the GED equivalent of a pilot’s license and should not have been flying in the first place, a la John Denver.  (God rest his soul.) 

“Was it an accident?” I asked, even as I tried to grasp the concept that TWO planes had crashed.  It just didn’t make any sense.

“It couldn’t have been an accident,” she replied, still staring at the news footage that was repeating images of the fireballs emanating from the buildings. 

I walked back to class, stunned.  I walked into my classroom and held my papers to my mouth, all stealth-like, like football coaches who know the Jumbo Tron is focused on them and don’t want lip-readers to figure out their next move. 

“Two planes have just crashed into the World Trade Center in New York,” I whispered. 

“My daughter is in New York,” she gasped. 

We kept the students busy at their desks while we huddled at my computer and pulled up cnn.com.  My email was already up and running (which I know is no surprise to many of my colleagues) so, using my email account, we emailed Debbie’s daughter at work in New York and anxiously waited for a reply.  Luckily, within the hour, her daughter responded and said that she was okay, but that they were evacuating and she’d be in touch as soon as possible.  Of course, we didn’t know at the time that communication would come to a stand-still as people all over the country tried to reach their loved ones. 

My department head and good friend, Lisa, stopped at every classroom and announced that we would be getting out of school early.  I remember calmly telling my students about the planes in New York and that we had recently found out the Pentagon had also been attacked.  One student, whose name I will never forget, said, “I don’t mean to be mean, but who cares?”  I thought to myself, one day when/if he matures, he’ll regret EVER saying that.

“I do,” I said.  It’s the human way to feel, I thought, but all I said was “some of your classmates may have family or friends working at the Pentagon.”  Still, though many of them were shocked, they were generally excited to be getting out of school early.  This reaction bothered me at the time, but in hindsight I realize they didn’t know how to feel.  Nothing like this had happened in my lifetime; it certainly hadn’t happened in theirs.  Once they were released, the principal came over the loud speaker and told his staff to “go home and be with your families.” 

I worried about Hubby, as I wasn’t sure if he was in his office in McLean or at a client site in the city.  Finally he emailed and said he was leaving the office in McLean and he’d meet me at home.  I drove home in stunned silence while listening to news coverage.   Traffic began to get increasingly heavier as I traveled 95 North towards home, and I noticed as traffic slowed that all the other drivers on the road had the same somber expression.   As I approached my exit I stared at thick black smoke above the trees in the direction of the Pentagon.  This is really happening, I thought. 

Raising the flag at Capon Springs, WV with P&P's sons
(an important rite of passage the year children turn
5-years-old and can understand why we respect the flag.)

Later that evening, we gathered at the home of our good friends, P & P.  What was once planned as a birthday celebration with close friends was now a group of us sitting around the TV in their kitchen, sharing stories of office evacuations and soldiers with assault rifles along the highway commute. 

Normally I am an emotional nightmare.  I can’t stand to see other people cry and my family teases me about being a pillar of strength in times of crisis. 

I didn’t cry for days.

I watched television footage every hour I was awake, and though my mind was spinning, I did not cry. 

Upon returning to school a couple days later, I learned that one of my senior’s mother was missing at the Pentagon.  Oscar came to school every day ... his family was one of profound faith and his father wanted his sons to maintain as much normalcy as possible.  Days passed.  Then a week.  Finally his mother was identified and they were able to lay her to rest.  I so admired his strength and perseverance, and I think of Oscar and his family often.

Then my meltdown happened.  (And it was way bigger than my normal quarterly meltdown.)  I sobbed uncontrollably and could not reign in my emotions.  I cried for Oscar.  I cried for ALL those people in New York.  I cried for first responders, and caregivers, and families who were seeking loved ones; I cried for my country and for what once was; and I prayed my president would have the strength to lead in a time of absolute crisis.  I questioned whether I wanted to start a family, even though Hubby and I had been discussing it for some time.  Is it fair to bring a child into a world where so much evil exists?  I hadn’t realized . . . I mean really realized, that EVIL is a real thing and it exists. 

I cried when I watched the news.  I cried when I saw an American flag.  I cried when I heard stories of how my country was mourning.  And though I never talk politics and I feel very strongly that each citizen is entitled to his/her opinion regardless of how anyone else feels about it, I must say that I supported my president.  Hubby and I are a bipartisan family and we vote on different issues.  But in a culture of divisiveness, I placed my faith and my respect in my president and his decisions.  (Even though I didn’t vote for him and I think Will Ferrell impressions are hilarious.  The end.)

For the past few weeks, my boys have been asking about 9/11 and we have tried to explain as best we can without being too sensationalistic or the-world-is-coming-to-an-endish.  Helping my children understand has made me realize just how much our country has changed in the past 10 years. 

To Large and Medium, airport security has always been intense.  (One of the greatest joys in life? Going through security with an infant in the baby Bjorn and carrying-on all the accoutrements that said infant will need on a flight.  You can’t wear the Bjorn through the scanner, and security personnel are not allowed to hold your infant for you.  Good times.)  To them, schools have always required photo identification for visitors and museums have always checked Mommy’s bag. 

On the flip side . . . and I have to believe SOME good can come out of this situation . . . I love seeing flags hang outside my neighbors’ homes, and though a military funeral is always tragic, there’s something beautiful about the ceremony and reverence afforded our veterans.  I feel such respect and gratitude when I see a flag-covered coffin carried by white-gloved hands.  Our boys know and sing the Star Spangled Banner.  They don’t get all the words right and their tone is at times, um, deafening, but they belt it out with pride.  And I have to say, seeing my babies remove their hats and put their hands on their little hearts gives me goose bumps EVERY time. 

God bless America, today and every day.

What Happens When Two Straight Girls Hit South Beach?

I apologize for being out of commission for so long, although, strangely enough, I didn’t receive any complaints . . .

Knock, knock, knock - Is this thing on?

I got back from Miami, then we had Small’s birthday festivities, and then Hubby left town for 4 days.  I’ve said it before: I have the UTMOST respect for Military wives and single moms.  It’s tough knowing reinforcements are not coming.

Anyway, my trip to Miami with BooBoo (my sister-in-law) was fun and we made a lot of new gay boyfriends.  I hope that no one finds that offensive, because I certainly mean no disrespect.  I realize homosexuality is a hot topic and people have different opinions, but this is MY blog.  I don’t believe it’s necessary for me to point out that there are plenty of gay men and women who treat marriage and partnership with a tad more reverence than certain celebrities.  (I'm talking to you, Porn Family Sheen.)  But I’m not here to debate.  I know what I believe, whom I respect and support, and who I may have let feel me up at a bar simply because he was not a perv and because he had a genuine appreciation of the girls.  Take THAT, 9^th grade boyfriend, who had to wait, like, 7 months to get that far!

We left Friday evening to head to the airport, as we had a 7 am flight out of Baltimore.  I was WAY tired, however, because the nice doctor at Patient First gave me some very special medicine to help with the Bronchitis AND Strep Throat I contracted two days before our trip.  FOUR days before our trip, Small’s pediatrician gave me prophylactic Tamiflu to prevent me from catching Small’s flu, since, in her words, “Mommy NEEDS her Girls’ Weekend.”  BooBoo started complaining before we even hit the highway.  Granted, she was complaining about my running commentary regarding her driving skills, or lack thereof, but it was unnecessary and downright hurtful for her to threaten to call Hubby to “take his side” regarding Travel With BoyMommy.

She also made several snide comments regarding the size of my luggage.  Is it NOT general knowledge that I am a princess?  I’m no Ginger; I’m more of a MaryAnn.  But I have a habit of spilling and I have a propensity for wearing white shirts.  Spillage + White = Spare White Shirts Clothing.  BooBoo packed a small duffel bag, and I would not be able to testify in court on her behalf if asked if she even changed underwear while we were gone.  After all her eye rolling and sighing when we had to check my bag, guess which one of us got stopped by security?  It wasn’t me.  You know why?  Because I am smart enough to travel without my pocket knife.  My rocket scientist SIL, who likes to "pack light," didn’t check all the bag’s nooks and crannies before borrowing it from her teenaged son.  

Sucka.  I’ll just wait for you over here while you get molested by the well-meaning TSA agent.

We arrived in Miami after enduring a packed flight.  (Side note, I sat next to a very nice gentleman who flagged down the flight attendant for extra napkins when I SPILLED my beverage on my WHITE SHIRT before we even landed at our destination.)  As we waited patiently for my suitcase at baggage claim, I made the following observations:

1. cruises are frequented by older people who speak loudly and wear “sensible” shoes.
2. the state uniform of Florida is apparently an embroidered shirt paired with jorts.

Once we got to the hotel, we checked in at the front desk and it was clear that we were in the minority.  The Gay and Lesbian Task Force was having their annual pool party at the hotel, but it was about 95% Gay, 4% Lesbian, and me and BooBoo.  They gave us wrist bands when we checked in.  Wrist bands meant we could gain access to the party, but it also meant . . . cheap beverages. 

We spent the afternoon at the beach.  I am serious about my sunscreen.  In fact, “serious” does not do justice to how I feel about my sunscreen.  While BooBoo spent the day lounging in the Florida sun without anything to protect her from harmful UV rays, I slathered on SPF 70.  SEVENTY, folks.  That’s a sweater in a can.  Guess what?  Still got burned.  We ordered a few beverages from our beach attendant, Juan Carlos, but the drinks were mediocre at best, AND I think I offended him when I kept calling him Juan Valdez.  He pro’lly peed in my drink.  BooBoo went back up to the hotel to “visit the powder room” and met some friends, so we decided to call it a day and go party. In the elevator on our way back up to the room, we ran into some nice boys who invited us to a bar so that we could be privy to their Drag show.  Hell to the yes.

BooBoo went to the lobby and I agreed to meet her after I changed from “hot mess” into “hot mess with a strategically placed barrette because surely those gay boys won’t notice my dirty beach hair.”  When I arrived in the lobby, however, BooBoo was nowhere to be found.  Turns out, she got suckered into escorting a 350 lb. Black man to the Ladies Room.  It seems he had partaken of some wings that had “done messed him up,” and he really needed to skip the line that was forming at the Men’s Room, but since he was not a guest at our hotel he needed BooBoo to escort him.  She was like the Foreign Diplomat of the Facilities.  Line to Men's Room, 20 deep.  Line to Ladies' Room?  Step right up!  Welcome to our world, fellas.

We made our way to the bar and we met a group of boys who happened to be discussing Midgets.  As you recall, we had been told that a Midget Convention was in town, but I had my doubts.  (We did NOT see any Little People while we were there.  One might say there was a shortage of Midgets.)  (Hehe.  I’ve been waiting all week to say that.)  Naturally we felt a kinship with this group of six gay men who were heading to the same establishment.

The rest of the evening was a bit blurry.  There was beer, boys, drag queens, boobage, and a HILARIOUS walk back to the hotel.  Hilarious because it was raining, and apparently I found this to be can’t-stop-laughing hysterical.  We hadn’t eaten, so we saddled up to the bar at the hotel before we went to bed.  According to BooBoo (and my vague recollection) I voiced my appreciation of the bartender’s “nice rack.”  Because I’m full o’ compliments, and I’m starting to think I might be a little obsessed with boobs. 

The trip was fun.  It required a lot of effort to get there and return home, but it certainly was nice to enjoy some sun and warm weather after a gray, cold winter.  I missed my boys, and I was met with hugs and homemade “welcome home” cards – so maybe Mommy’s being away was refreshing for everyone.  Hubby did a great job with the boys and the house while I was gone, but he was ready to get back to work!