How a Toddler Mom Prepares for the Macklemore Concert!

I’ve been looking forward to this concert for the past year, but like with anything a toddler mom does, getting her butt out the door for an 8pm concert takes some work. The breakdown looks something like this:

6:30am: wake up, feed kid yogurt and watch Jake & the Neverland Pirates
7:30am: leave house
8am: dropkid off at daycare
9:30: yoga
12pm: nap
3pm: coffee
3:30 pm: leave to pick kid up from daycare
4:30 pm: pick kid up from daycare and drop off at grandma’s house
6:30 pm: drink a pitcher of beer with Boof at this super awesome pizza place
7:30 pm: hop on the monorail to Key Arena
8:00 pm: squeeze in one more beer pre-show

It was fucking awesome. The combination of 3 time weekly yoga PLUS weekly Friday night dance parties with Mari and her 2 boys, has left me in good enough shape to dance and sing along to all of my favorite songs…for over two hours. Okay, yeah, I was tired. I’m STILL tired, since we didn’t get home until well after midnight (and of course I didn’t fall asleep until well after 1 am…but was up with Potamus at 6:30 like clockwork).

The concert was the birthday/anniversary kickoff weekend. I’m looking forward to two days in a hotel, sleeping in crisp sheets, and having zero obligations to speak of. What was so lovely about the whole concert experience, was being there for his final concert of this tour. And it’s his home town. And it’s my hometown. And when he sings about The Ave and Dick’s drive in and Dave Niehaus, it’s things that I resonate with. They’re my hometown memories too. Not just speaking to an era or generation, but to this very specific niche of the world. I feel connected in a way that I don’t with other musical artists.

Last night I was just me. A woman enjoying a concert with her man. Dancing. Drinking. Singing. For five hours I didn’t have any obligations but just to be there, in the moment, having a fantastic time. And I did.

Both Sides Now- Joni Mitchell is a birthmother

Sometimes my emotions run so deep that words, written, or said verbally, cannot even begin to touch the depth. And in those moments I turn to music, and have been known to listen to the same song (or set of songs) again-and again-and again, until something changes or I cannot cry anymore.

I can’t write more about it. My heart is hurting too much, so I’m sharing my go-to song to express the depth of emotions that I am feeling at the news of a sweet 4 year old being ripped from her tribe, her daddy, her sister and extended family, and thrust into the confusing world of being raised by genetic strangers with a reality that doesn’t match the reality that you know in your heart.

This is a song I grew up with. My dad sang it to me as a little girl, because I loved the imagery of bows and flows of angels hair. I listened to it a thousand times before I knew that Joni Mitchell was a birthmother in reunion with her daughter. And while we may dicker about whether it was really written with adoption or reunion in mind, I’ll say that it cuts to my very soul and makes me feel the complexity of life and confusion seeing the world from the perspective of innocence, and the eyes of the ‘old soul’ who has witnessed far too much in such a short amount of time.

And so, this song is for Veronica.

Both Sides Now
-Joni Mitchell

Bows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that wayBut now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my wayI’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way

But now it’s just another show
You leave ’em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say “I love you” right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way

Oh but now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed
Well something’s lost but something’s gained
In living every day

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From WIN and LOSE and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

What music can you listen to repeatedly? Any mood music (sad/happy/angry/depressed) that is your go to? 

“My city, my city, childhood, that’s right:” how Macklemore’s lyrics are making me feel the love

I’ve been listening to a lot of Macklemore & Ryan Lewis lately. There’s just something about the lyrics of a hometown boy who’s gone platinum without the backing of any major record label. It feels so…Seattle. So Seattle. I know that everyone feels some sort of nostalgia for their hometown, but there’s something magical about this city…the rugged individualism of a pioneer spirit that still exists in this Emerald City. It’s really that Emerald City…elusive, magical, buildings that fade into trees and trees that fade into buildings.

Maybe it’s because we’re relatively the same age, but when Macklemore sings about the Mariners, in My Oh My, I get choked up. While not an overwhelming baseball fan, I remember that year. I remember later years when I sat with my grandma and chewed Double Bubble and watched the M’s play.

My oh My another victory yes, my city my city.
Childhood my life watchin’ Griffey right under those lights

In the sunshine months the city comes alive, with natives and transplants and visitors. The past few days I’ve been listening to Macklemore and driving around the city with Potamus looking for watering holes to splash in. The lyrics “My city, my city, childhood that’s right,” go through my head on repeat.

Beneath the Space Needle, in the shadow of Mt. Rainier, and a stone’s throw from the Puget Sound. I have summer memories of the Pacific Science Center and eating lunch by the fountain. Today we splashed in the fountain ourselves and I felt a part of something bigger. A connection to MY PEOPLE here. The quirky PacNwer’s who make their home in the city or carry it in their hearts when they’re far away. There’s something about this place that changes us.

Every time somebody steps out on the road
They bring a little Northwest soul with them, amen

My city.
My childhood.
Potamus’s city.
His childhood.

It’s Good Medicine that Chief Sealth would of been proud of
This is our city, town pride, heart, blood, sweat, tears, I-5, North, South side, vibe, live, ride down these city blocks
And never will be stopped

Loss

It seems as though the universe is trying to teach me about non-attachment. I don’t consider myself to be that sentimental of a person, but when asked what (non-people) items I would save from a house-fire, I am certain to include photo-albums and the journals I’ve been writing since I was 14. Everything else could be replaced, but those things feel priceless to me. So imagine my surprise, and shock, and horror, and sadness when I change out my SD card on my camera, put the filled one in my wallet to later transfer to a safe place, only to find that somewhere in the transfer my wallet has fallen open and my SD card is missing.

Big deep breaths.

While it wasn’t the SD card holding the pictures right after Potamus was born, it did hold months 4-7 and if you know me in real life (or on facebook) you would know that SD card held over 5,000 photos of my sweet little cherub that are now…gone.

Well, Boof tries to console me that they really aren’t gone, not all of them at least, thanks to the handy Facebook photo archives and random hard-drive backups…but all of the pictures in high quality are gone.

When I realized this happened, I tried to not freak out. Being able to still see many of those photos online is okay, it means that I can still see them, but the loss of those digital “negatives” is pretty heart-breaking to me.

And then, my backup hardrive went kaput. Yeah. Not only did I lose all of those photos that I had backed up, (some still saved on Boof’s computer), but random documents from the last few years. Things I don’t necessarily need, or even remember, but just knowing that they ARE NO LONGER THERE is sad and disconcerting to me.

But I survived that.

AND THEN our Scrummy-dog chewed up the memory stick that held ALL of my music. I had lost several CD’s after my trip to India, but still had them all this memory stick, which is now a mangled mess of plastic and metal. All of those songs. Thousands of songs. Gone. Now all of it can be replaced, as I could go to Amazon and just buy them all again, but still…the time and energy going into that is ridiculous.

So what am I supposed to learn in all of this? Is there some big mystery lesson or just really really crappy luck?

 

The House that Built Me: A Musical Review

I’ve taken the literal trip down memory lane before, always alone, usually in my car. But after having some lovely jamba juice with an out-of-town friend, up north, I decided to swing through my old neighborhood, break out the stroller and visit my childhood home.

I strolled. I mused. I reminisced. Potamus slept. He also rubbed his eyes and sweated a bit, since Seattle is still reveling in 70 degree days and the long-sleeve shirt I dressed him in was much too warm. I found the quietness of the neighborhood comforting. There was something familiar about the way the sunshine streamed through the tree-branched of the fir I used to climb as a child, though much else had changed. Neighbors we had have moved on, and I’ve kept in touch via Facebook. The swing-set in the backyard is replaced with a garden and fountains and old-lady type decorations. The color is all wrong, blue instead of beige, but the address, the first numbers I memorized are still the same.

The physical act of standing where I once stood as a child was powerful. My body remembered things my mind hadn’t: the lemonade stand on the corner, the bus-stop mornings with rain dripping off the tree branches, the greenbelt we used to sled on the 1 day we’d be off from school for snow, the way the blackberry bushes overgrew the trails with signs that said “private property, no trespassing.” As I strolled past a house I was suddenly struck with the memory of a woman who hosted Christmas caroling parties, who died of a brain aneurysm, and the tedious hours spent babysitting a Power Ranger fanatic 4 year old.

I snapped pictures and realized just how innocuous a mom-with-stroller was in such a suburban cul-de-sac. Nobody batted an eye or flinched when I peeked over the fence into my old backyard, or questioned me when I snapped a few photos of myself with my house in the background. I looked like I belonged.

And I did belong.

I drove Potamus up the road a little ways to “the train park” as we called it, and pushed him on the swings. He smiled and laughed and so did I.

And all the while I kept thinking of Miranda Lambert’s The House that Built Me

I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am, I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these hand prints on the front steps are mine
Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar And I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in, I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

I’m Sensitive: A Musical Review

Oh Jewel, where have you been in the past few years? We need more of these songs:

I was thinking that I might fly today
Just to disprove all the things you say
It doesn’t take a talent to be mean
Your words can crush things that are unseen
So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way.
You always tell me that is impossible
To be respected and be a girl
Why’s it gotta be so complicated?
Why you gotta tell me if I’m hated?
So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way.
I was thinking that it might do some good
If we robbed the cynics and took all their food
That way what they believe will have taken place
And we’ll give it to anybody who has some faith
So please be careful with me, I’m sensitive
And I’d like to stay that way.
I have this theory that if we’re told we’re bad
Then that’s the only idea we’ll ever have
But maybe if we are surrounded in beauty
Someday we will become what we see
‘Cause anyone can start a conflict
It’s harder yet to disregard it
I’d rather see the world from another angle
We are everyday angels
Be careful with me ’cause I’d like to stay that way

When listening to this, my mind splits in two, like those picture-in-picture TV’s, and I see myself as a little girl. A shy girl, with anxiety and depression, who felt things deeply and lived in an almost dream-land. A little girl who tried valiantly to hold onto imagination and tenderness, but was misunderstood and hardened to overcompensate for the overactive conscience and empathy. It’s easy to read Highly Sensitive People information now and see myself in the descriptions. It’s easy to understand that empathy can be used, harnessed even, for a life of work in social services, but as a kid I was sensitive and it was trampled on.

The other screen is the view of my sweetly sensitive son, who reacts strongly to tone of voice, and who loves snuggling on both mama and dadda’s lap. There may be a day where he has to harden himself against portions of the world, but it is my wish, my intention, to surround him in beauty, to tell him how good he is, to remind him that he is an amazing human being, and to do my best to not crush his sense of self.

Godspeed: A Musical Review

In high school I had the pleasure of seeing The Dixie Chicks open at The Gorge for Tim McGraw. My dad was in radio, and he got us tickets that summer, where we sat in 100 degree sun on folding metal chairs feeling hoity toity (and sweltering) compared to the minions up on the grassy free-for-all seating. While we were there for Tim, I was blown away by The Dixie Chicks and have loved them ever since. One summer, at camp, we did a skit to “Earl’s Gotta Die,” which I still laugh about with my friend to this day. So driving down the road, listening to that aforementioned burned CD, I was startled to find a Dixie Chick song that I hadn’t heard before: Godspeed, another song that made me cry, with the lyrics that cut right through all of my warrior walls:

Dragon tales and the “water is wide”
Pirate’s sail and lost boys fly
Fish bite moonbeams every night
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

The rocket racer’s all tuckered out
Superman’s in pajamas on the couch
Goodnight moon, will find the mouse
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

God bless mommy and match box cars
God bless dad and thanks for the stars
God hears “Amen,” wherever we are
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Godspeed
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

The imagery takes me forward twenty something years, imaging myself dancing with Potamus at his wedding. I’m somehow both a young mother and an old mother at the same time, both recognizing the sweetness of the moment now, where I breathe in his fading baby smell as he sleeps, and aching for the stillness of his brand-newborn days. I project myself into the future, twenty, thirty, years, with maybe a bigger pouchy stomach, but an even more tender heart from the millions of moments of mother-love that will change me. And I imagine it just being Boof and I in the house again, Scummy the dog long dead, Potamus grown with a partner of his own, maybe children or dogs or neither, and I miss this moment, the one I’m in right now.

Godspeed little Potamus.
Sweet dreams little Potamus.

 

I Love You Sweet Baby: A Musical Review

Since becoming a mother, I’ve let so many of my walls come down. In years past I would fight off feelings of sentimentality that might result in tears, but now I find myself rushing headlong into sappy moments. Now that I have been consistently commuting in the mornings, I have been trying to find alternatives to the lame morning shows full of prank calls and celebrity gossip. My favorite news station doesn’t have its morning show on until 9, well after I’ve already arrived at my office, so I’ve begun to dig through some music and came across a CD that a graduate-school friend burned me for my baby shower. The first track:  Kimya Dawson’s I love You Sweet baby, which promptly made me burst into tears and smear my freshly applied mascara. Here are the lyrics:

“I Love You Sweet Baby”

The first thing in our list of things to do
Is to wake up right next to you
Second thing that we have planned
Is to kiss both of your handsThird thing that we’ll do today
Is look you in the eye and say
I love you sweet baby, I love you sweet baby
I love you more than anythingThen we’re gonna change you
Then we’re gonna feed you
Then we’re both play peek-a-boo
Then we’re gonna read to you

Then you have more milk and have some water
And we’ll smile at you and tell you we’re so glad that you’re our daughter
Then you’ll fall asleep on daddy’s lap
We’ll watch MacGyver while you take a nap

When you wake up we have more plans
Say good morning baby and kiss your hands
Then you’re gonna make a pee
In your little green potty

Then we’re gonna eat our lunch
Mash apricots for you to munch
Then you’re gonna nurse again
Then we’re gonna call our friends

Then we’ll dump out all your toys
Singin’, dancing, make some noise
Then we’re gonna take a walk
Down the street to the park

We’ll play on the see-saw, play on the slide
You’ll get tired and rub your eyes
Then we’ll go home for more nursing and sleeping
Bouncing and nursing and waking and peeing
Crawling and bouncing and dancing and hitting
Nursing and peeing and kisses and seeing

You’re an amazing human being
You’re an amazing human being
You’re an amazing human being
You’re an amazing human being

Then we’ll all cuddle in our bed
You’ll nurse to sleep, we’ll kiss your head
Good night sweet baby, I love you sweet baby
I love you more than anything
Good night sweet baby, I love you sweet baby
I love you more than anything

The first thing in our list of things to do
Is to wake up right next to you
Second thing that we have planned
Is to kiss both of your hands

Third thing that we’ll do today
Is look you in the eye and say
I love you sweet baby, I love you sweet baby
I love you more than anything

I love you sweet baby, I love you sweet baby
I love you more than anything
I love you sweet baby, I love you sweet baby
I love you more than anything

I love that this song references nursing, that it recognizes and names the fact that babies/toddlers/preschoolers/little kids/children/teenagers are all amazing human being

, and ends with the lyrics “I love you more than anything.” . Potamus isn’t amazing because he DOES something special, he is an amazing human being just for being him.