DadaMama

Here Is Your Happy Thought

Joy

Today was a shitty day. I don't like to use that word, but there it is. I mean, today had its high points but mostly it sucked and so I leave you with this:

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

--Sylvia Plath

The Last One

Will: Mom, you should get a girl baby.

Me: Where would I get one of those?

Will: At the baby store.

Me: What if they're out of girl babies and I have to get another boy?

Will: They don't have any boys, we got the last one.

(WORD.)

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” --Martin Luther

Four years old, bobbing for apples.
 

The Best Imitation of Myself

She was the last person you'd expect to see at a Ben Folds concert: an awkward, gangly teenage girl dressed for church in a carnation-pink dress and white cardigan. The hem of the dress is gingham and printed with cheerful green frogs and butterflies--it's a dress that could easily belong to a six year old. The hem is just shy of being too short, and the whole outfit makes her conspicuous amongst the hipsters in aviator glasses and sorority sisters in club gear. I think she's here to see Ben with her mom.

Dashing Husband and I take our seats to the left of the stage, and I watch as The Girl in the Frog Dress takes a place on the floor. I leave to get a concert t-shirt and find myself in line behind The Girl in the Frog Dress. She has an enormous white bow in her hair; I imagine it's a sail. Like me, she is there for a concert t-shirt, but it's impossible to imagine her wearing something so...normal.

The show begins and I continue to watch The Girl in the Frog Dress. She knows all the words to every song, even the most recent releases. When Ben comes to the left side of the stage, she screams and jumps up and down and waves as if she's just seen the Beatles. I love him too, but my love is nothing compared to this tennage hero worship. I watch her hold her camers way over her head and fire it in the direction of the stage, something she does numerous times.

She sways and waves and tugs her cardigan back over her slender shoulders, the giant bow on her head sailing far above the crowd. I watch her sing along and cover a shocked "O" mouth with her hand when Ben says, "fuck."  She giggles and turns to her mom, the happiest fan girl in the world.

Facebook Killed The Blogging Star

I admit it. I spend way more time on Facebook than I do on this blog. For the first time ever, I completely forgot about NaBloPoMo. I suppose I'm not in the running for anything fabulous now, but I'm back nonetheless. Watch this space, there's more to come ...

This Boy

He is six years old, almost six and a half. His hair is spiky and his shoes are scuffed in that very particular way that shoes scuff when you spend half your day kicking holes in the dirt. There is a handful of freckles scattered across his nose, and he is missing one bottom tooth. He knows the things a first-grader knows: 2+2=4, cat is spelled C-A-T, and dinosaurs are extinct. He knows that it isn't nice to call names or talk with your mouth full or snatch toys from your little brother. He is six years old, and still fresh. If you look carefully, the baby he was is still there just beneath the surface of the boy he is; vibrant, melodramatic, wreathed with an air of studied bravado. 

Today he wandered around the block with his friend. Around the block is a forbidden place; the great unknown. I expect it's very much like our side of the block, but because it's out of eyesight and earshot, the boy is not allowed to go.

The boy thinks this is unfair. The boy thinks he is bigger, stronger and smarter than his parents. He has the small boy's tendency to think that nothing and no one will hurt him. I wish that was true.

This afternoon, the boy's little brother came in and said that the boy was playing with a kid he didn't know, a kid with a brown football. The boy's father slipped out the door to find him. The boy returned dirty and crying, walking the walk of shame just behind his father. It seems that there was a football game on that side of the block, and that the sixth graders running the game bullied him, seeing him as nothing more than fresh meat to cut their teeth on.  

The boy had been tripped. He'd fallen to the pavement and landed hard on his knee. His elbow was skinned. When he stood up, the sixth graders invited him to punch the kid who'd tripped him. The boy knew this to be wrong--both his parents have told him not to hit. So the boy walked away.

He walked away. This was an act of bravery that left him shaking, breathless and terrified. I cannot tell you what it cost him; I can only tell you that I am so very proud of him.

I look again at this boy; grubby, disheveled, tears smeared across his face. I see that his lip is quivering and his ears are red, and notice how his shoulder blades look like fragile broken wings under his brown t-shirt. He is so small, so defenseless, I feel that I should scoop him up and cradle his head against my neck, like I used to do when he was a baby. But I cannot stop the press of time, the years hurtling forward and away from all of us. I look again at this boy and I see the man he is becoming.

Meet My Baby

As you may have noticed, I have been absent for much of the summer. Why, you ask? Because I have been working on this. Or rather, I have been begging people to let me photograph them while my lovely and talented husband does all the programming. I've built up something of a portfolio and am now unveiling my baby to you. You can read more about it here. If you live anywhere near me (and by "near me" I mean within a reasonable driving distance, say three-ish hours) you might be interested to know that I am currently recruiting families to photograph, and I am practically working for free. Also, if you know anyone who needs an insanely cheap wedding photographer--well, I'm your girl.

Enjoy!

A Meme

This meme is via my lovely friend Tia on Facebook. I thought it was a good idea: 15 plays I've seen/read/been part of that will always stick with me. (I am not an actress like Tia, more like a theater wannabe, so I'm not sure I can come up with 15. But I will try)

1. Phantom of the Opera: My mom took me to the Bob Carr Performing Arts Center when I was a kid (11 or 12, maybe? I think I was in middle school?) and it blew my mind. When the chandelier fallsfrom the ceiling as the phantom hits that huge note? I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I have always loved a good musical, but this pretty much sealed the deal. I listened to the soundtrack pretty obsessively as a teenager, much to my sister's chagrin.

2. RENT: I saw this with Jerky Ex-Boyfriend. He took me for my birthday. Despite the company, I loved every minute of it. "Seasons of Love" is a reason to go on living. Seriously.

3. CATS: I also saw this with Jerky Ex-Boyfriend when we took a trip to NY. It was still in the Winter Garden Theater then, and we sat kind of off to the right side of the stage, where we could see the actors coming and going. Rum Tum Tugger winked at me and I almost died of FanGirl Happiness. "Memory" is kind of overplayed and obnoxious in most settings, but live? That woman brought. down. the. house. I walked out of that theater with chills.

4. Hysteria: This was another I attended with J.E.B., who at the time was taking some college psychology course or something. The professor was giving extra credit to those who saw the play. The premise--Salvador Dali meets Sigmund Freud (and hilarity ensues)--was so outlandish that I couldn't help but love it.

5. Bat Boy: The Musical: So, the Weekly World News has always had a special place in my heart. Because it's real! news! The recurring stories about Bat Boy were turned into a wacky, tasteless, completely-over-the-top musical that I adored. Even better: a few years later, Dashing Husband and I were at a cabaret dinner theater in Maine (where the waiters and waitresses performed live musical versions of beloved Broadway songs) and it turned out the piano player had just come off a production of Bat Boy. He knew all the songs, and played "Hold Me, Bat Boy" when we tipped him. That pretty much ruled.

6. The Diary of Anne Frank: I'll be honest and say that I wasn't jazzed about this play, and that I only went because I needed the extra credit in my History of the Holocaust class. But I ended up liking it because it pushed me out of my comfort zone, which I think is an important element of drama and live performances. I knew how it would end, which didn't make it any easier to watch--but I've never forgotten it, either.

7. The Crucible: My dear friend Marnie had an extra ticket to this one at our local community theater, so I went along. I'd never seen or read it ... and I came out of the theater feeling all crawly. Arthur Miller makes me squirm. I was so thunderstruck by this play that I didn't even really want to talk about it when it was over.  I won't forget this one, either.

8. Peter Pan: This was another local playhouse production. While the acting was phenomenol, I'm not overly fond of the story. The reason this play will always be memorable, though, is because of what happened afterwards. We entered the lobby and all the actors were there, shaking hands. My children swore allegiance to the Lost Boys, eschewing the dastardly Captain Hook--and Peter Pan gave them fairy dust of their very own. Now we can fly anywhere.

So. That's my list. It is dreadfully short, so my next project is to see more live theater. Thanks for the idea, Tia!

The First Day of School

Today is the first day of school. It's the end of the freedom we've very much enjoyed this summer, but it's also the beginning of more time for me to Get Stuff Done. As wonderful as my boys are, and as much as I like to be with them, I'd be lying if I said I was sad about the first day of school. I'm not.

Instead, I'm looking forward to having a clean-ish house again and grocery shopping with just one child. Oh! And maybe! When I clean the bathroom, it will stay clean for more than 5 minutes. Don't say it, I know what you're thinking. My Life is riveting.

I'm also looking forward to the time this will afford me to work on my blog and pursue my photography business. Plus, I like picking happy kids up from school. I think it's good for some of their adventures to not include me.

Gus is in the first grade this year. He's pretty sure they're going to learn myths there. His genius mother forgot to pack his scissors and erasers this morning, and we couldn't find the bike lock, but it's all good.

 

Will started VPK. "Mom," he said on the way in this morning, "I just CAN'T BELIEVE they have Legos at my school."  Me neither, kid.

 

Four

It turns out that if you're four, and old enough to have a mohawk, you're also old enough to ride your bike without training wheels. Yesterday, we finally took the plunge and bought Will a real bicycle (he already has a real one, but it's so small it's practically a doll bicycle) so he can keep up on rides to school in the morning.

He agreed to try it without training wheels, and ten minutes later--with some coaching from his Dad--he was off. He can turn it, he can stop it, and pretty soon he'll be riding it off a ramp (not because his mother wants him to). I'm not really surprised--I mean, the kid has been riding a scooter like a professional since his third birthday.

He loves his bike. "Mom," he said, "I'm a lucky kid because you got me this awesome bike." And I am a lucky woman, to be his mother.