Second Blooming

Spin Cycle: A Family Drama

Despite the fact that I am an actress, I have never been a drama queen. Though some of my friends think I am highly dramatic, I don't enjoy, create or ask for any added drama in my life. And I was raised in a basically calm, easy-going household.

Jimmy on the other hand...

Oh my.

Jimmy was raised in a household in which drama and crisis was a daily event. Virtually everyone in his family has a BIG personality. Sicilian-American New Yorkers for which everything is an event, everything is an issue, every problem is the biggest problem. Poor Jimmy was essentially raised in a Scorsese film. And while Jimmy's immediate family is small, the extended family is HUGE. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, third cousins twice removed. There are people who Jimmy's calls his cousins to whom he has no idea how or if he's actually related.

The family dramas are epic. Throughout Jimmy's life there was constantly some branch of the family or another that his people weren't speaking to. Someone would have an argument or someone would feel slighted and "bad blood" would erupt between factions of the family. Then suddenly, after maybe 10 years of not speaking, something would happen that would bring the sides back together (usually a death or crisis) and suddenly the "bad blood" was gone and they would hug and kiss and be the best of friends. Very confusing for a child.

Many of these dramas are very good stories, though some of the most dramatic are unbloggable, because they were actually tragic. Others are just crazy. Like the time Grandma Laura ran into the kitchen in the middle of a family argument and tried to off herself by drinking a bottle of vinegar. Or the time Uncle Bill went to take out the garbage and didn't come home for three days because some friends lured him into a card game. Or the time Aunt Anna stuck her head in the oven, but forgot to turn on the gas.

But to me, the greatest family drama of all, involved Jimmy's own parents. And I must say...it's a doozy.

In 1977, after 20 years of marriage, Jimmy's father, Pop, left Jimmy's mother, Mommy, for another woman. We'll call her "That Woman", because that's what she was always referred to (for a Dramatis Personae of the in-laws click here). A much younger, and much...dare I say...trashier woman. To say this was a family crisis would be to grossly underplay it. It was earth shaking. The entire family went into crisis mode. Much screaming and hysterics from everyone. Pop was "talked to". Mommy was consoled.

Because this kind of thing simply wasn't done in Jimmy's family. If you were bored with your wife, you got a cumare (anyone who watched The Sopranos know that's a mistress). But you'd never actually LEAVE the mother of your children. You'd never break up the family.

One of Jimmy and my favorite movies is "Lovers and Other Strangers". It's basically the story of an Italian-American wedding. There's a great scene in which one of the sons is telling his parents (played by the brilliant Bea Arthur and Richard Castellano) that he is divorcing his wife. When they ask him why he would do such a terrible thing, he tells them he's not happy.

POP (RICHARD)

Happy? Who's happy? You see me happy?

MOM (BEA)

You see your father happy?

POP

You see me dancing in the street?

MOM

You see your father dancing in the street?

SON

So, you and mom aren't happy?

The parents look at each other for a beat.

POP AND MOM

We're content.

MOM

Richie, don't look for happiness. It will only make you miserable.

And that just about sums up the feeling for most of the family.

But not for Pop. Pop is nothing if not melodramatic. Pop was ahead of his time. He wanted to follow his bliss. If you ask me, he was following a certain body part that wasn't attached to the top of his neck.

Everyone's behavior was highly questionable. Pop decided to rent an apartment AROUND THE CORNER, and move in with That Woman. Rumor has it that Mommy got a big knife and ran around threatening to kill either both of them or herself. Poor Jimmy and his brother Tony were caught in the middle. Pop wanted them to share in his joy, Mommy wanted her boys to shun their scumbag father.

Pop continued to live with That Woman for 20 years. But strangely, never divorced Mommy, or stopped taking care of her financially. Because that would have been...the wrong thing to do.

This is how things stood when I first came into the mix. Jimmy and I would stay with Mommy in the family house. But we were expected to visit Pop and That Woman, even though Mommy was not to be told about it, because it would upset her too much. We'd go out to dinner with Pop, but pretend we'd gone out with "Dave and Beverly". And we'd have to get our details straight in the car on the way home, because Mommy would grill us. "What did Dave have for dinner?" "The lobster ravioli." "Did he like it?" "Yes, he said it was delicious." It was very stressful.

Then, in the mid-1990's, something changed. Suddenly, Pop was around more. When we were in town, he'd show up for family dinners. Sometimes, if you called Mommy, Pop would answer the phone. Tony once caught him sneaking out of the house in the middle of the day. At Jimmy and my wedding in 1995, they danced together and Mommy told me that he'd wanted her to stay with him in his hotel room. She giggled demurely, and declined.

One Christmas, Jimmy and I were in New York for the holidays. Pop showed up for Christmas Eve dinner, which he hadn't done in 20 years. He even sat at the head of the table, which confused everyone considerably. During an intermezzo between the many courses of a Sicilian Christmas Eve meal, Pop gave his two sons "the look" and gestured for them to follow him upstairs. Jimmy and Tony curiously followed Pop into Mommy's bedroom, where they were told to sit on the bed. Pop then went into Mommy's closet, and brought out a shoe box, which he placed between them, and opened dramatically. In it was $10,000 in cash.

"I'm leaving That Woman, and this is for the funeral if she kills me."

"But Pop" they asked "Aren't you about to have a knee operation? Wouldn't it be better to leave That Woman AFTER you've recuperated?"

"Well, your mother says I can stay on the sofa in the den after the operation, and she'll take care of me until I can find a place to live."

Mmmm...okay.

So Pop has his knee operation, and instead of going back home with That Woman, he moves into Mommy's den.

A month goes by. Suddenly, we get a mysterious package in the mail. It's an 8" X 10" photograph of Mommy and Poppy on their honeymoon, in a lovely silver frame. Odd. We get a call from Jimmy's Cousin Georgi in San Diego. It seems that she and all her sisters received identical photos. We figure it must be a sign.

Needless to say, he never left. I later found out from Mommy that he'd been moving things into the house for months, one drawer at a time. Suddenly, one drawer in the guest room would be filled with his socks. Then a drawer had his underwear and pajamas. When I asked Mommy how this had happened, she just kind of giggled and said "He just never left."

And we never saw or heard of That Woman ever again.

So there you have it. The best family drama from Jimmy's highly dramatic family.

And Mommy and Poppy? They're living miserably ever after. It seems that there was a reason that they split up in the first place. The sons joke that Mommy has taken this opportunity to get back at him for the 20 years of misery and humiliation he inflicted upon her.

I, though, am greatly relieved that they got back together again before Jude was born. Imagine trying to get the kid to remember what "Dave" had for dinner?

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For more highly dramatic stories, please visit Sprite's Keeper for more Spin Cycle: Drama action.

 

RTT: Plucking, Menstrual Cups and Legos

Okay, I'm feeling like I've almost dug myself out from under the rock I've been hiding under the last two weeks. Between the camping and the trip to San Diego and the choir concert and the laryngitis and saying goodbye to my long-time choral director, I feel like I've been just barely getting along by the skin of my teeth.

I have almost completely ignored ALL my blog reading. My Google Reader is PACKED. I miss everyone. You all know how that is. You miss a day, then another day, then suddenly you need to read three posts for everyone you follow, and suddenly it becomes completely overwhelming and you just throw up your hands and hide your head under a pillow. Okay, maybe that's not what you do, but that's what I do. So today I am going to go in and clear out the whole shebang and start fresh. So, even though I'm sure I'm gonna miss some good stuff, I can jump into the blog commenting pool once more. Thank you all for your patience.

In the meantime, I should be able to come up with some randomness...

Okay, after polling you all about what to do about my terrifying gray pubic hair, cooler minds have prevailed, and you've voted in favor of the simple pluck. Much less dramatic than the Brazilian Wax, but certainly easier, cheaper, and less painful. The offending hair has been removed and flushed. I must say, I was intrigued by a few of your ideas, particularly - 

• Sara's idea to "bedazzle" it. She even very kindly provided this link . Pretty.
• Katherine's idea to color it all hot pink.
• The Bug's idea to just "color it with a Sharpie". Which for some reason, just made me laugh hysterically.

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I have a new favorite tv show - The Fabulous Beekman Boys. Have y'all seen it? This gay couple, Josh and Brent, have left their urban professional lives in New York City, and bought Beekman Farms in upstate New York state. As they say in the opening sequence, all they know about farms is what they've looked up on the internet. It's pretty hysterical. It's not like The Simple Life, or some such nonsense, they really are trying to turn the farm into a profitable endeavor. They're making fabulous goats milk soap which they sell on their website. They seem to want to be the next Martha Stewarts. But it really is funny and charming. They have a ton of goats, a flock of chickens, two pigs named Porky and Bess, and an extremely dramatic llama. They also have a friend they call Farmer John, who actually knows about farming, and cries when he talks about how much he loves his goats. Too cute.

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This photo makes my brain explode with fantasy conversations...

 

Wouldn't you love to know what they talked about? Women? Rock and Roll? I sincerely hope it wasn't just soccer!

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I love this site - Ransom Note Generator. That, by the way, is a note of my creation. Please play with it and generate one of your own!

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During my ambling around the internet, I came upon this site - The Universal Packing List , and decided to try it out for my last camping trip. You just select certain details of your upcoming trip, and they give you a general list of what you should pack. Mostly, they were pretty much right. Of course, they left out all the wine that we moms took on our trip, but for the most part it was pretty useful. But the thing that most fascinated me, was that they suggested I bring along either tampons or "a menstrual cup". What the hell is a menstrual cup? According to Wikipedia, it is "a cup...worn inside the vagina during menstruation that collects menstrual fluid rather than absorbing it." How can I have menstruated for almost 40 years, and NEVER HEARD of such a thing?!

Is it something that women use in other countries? I don't know where this Universal Packing List is generated. They did spell pajamas "pyjamas", and suggested I bring extra batteries for my "torch". Anybody got any ideas?

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For all of you who feel like your life evolves around all things Lego, you MUST check this out. James May, the guy on Top Gear (the fab car show they air here on BBC America) built a Lego house...

Love it!

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Okay, run over to Keely's and check out other randomly generated posts.

 

Angels of Mercy

One of Jimmy's more endearing qualities is his almost pathological attention to friends in need. You've heard the phrase "fair weather friend"? Well, Jimmy is a "foul weather friend".  He may not have spoken to you for two years, but if there's a death in your family? Jimmy's the first one there, bouquet of flowers in hand.

This quality also extends itself to caring for the sick and elderly. I realized early on, that part of my job as Jimmy's wife was to be accompanying him on visits to see old people. Every time we go to New York, we make our way around Long Island visiting a series of Jimmy's elderly relatives and the elderly parents of his old friends. Even when Jimmy isn't with us, Jude and I are expected to make these little visits to say hello. Jude has actually become incredibly dear about it, he dutifully gives the old ladies hugs and kisses, allows them to kiss him and pinch his cheeks, then does his best to sit quietly while I make small talk.

So when Jimmy announced that our Sunday afternoon family activity was going to be driving over to Westwood to visit a friend of ours in the hospital, I was not surprised.

A week ago, a dear friend of ours, Julie, had a brain aneurysm rupture. Amazingly (and characteristically of Julie), she has survived this, and while she has stroke-like symptoms effecting movement on her right side, she is expected to have a full recovery.

Julie and her husband, Barry, our long-time friends, are a fascinating and original couple. They have both had long careers in stage and film, he as an actor and director, and she as a dancer and choreographer. Their parties are often peopled by a Who's Who of Showbiz. They have a house here in Los Angeles as well as an apartment in New York, which is exactly what you'd imagine a "Broadway showpeople" apartment to look like - walls covered with posters and Playbills of plays they've been involved in. Broadway composers drop by to play the piano while famous actors sing along.

Now, while this hospital visit was something like Jimmy's usual missions of mercy, and technically, Julie is old enough to be my mother, I would NEVER call her old. This is a woman who choreographed the original production of Hair on Broadway! She's slim and fit and full of "piss and vinegar". Very New York. A real theater diva. She'd make a wonderful character in a Woody Allen film.

So when we walked into her hospital room, it was a little shocking to see her looking so small and frail, a tiny little woman with a head full of curly brown hair. She seemed happy to see us, and accepted an enthusiastic hug from Jude. But while she's usually boisterous and talkative, she now has a problem with her speech, as if her words are catching somewhere in her brain, and it's hard for her to actually get them out of her mouth and she was speaking very softly and carefully.

We had been sitting with her for about a minute, when she suddenly told us that we were going to go outside. This is very Julielike, she usually just sort of tells you what to do. She got into her wheelchair and instructed Jimmy that he was to wheel her out into the hallway. Mmm...okay.

So we wheeled her out of her room. She told us softly that we were going to go outside, and pointed the way down the hall. We asked her if she thought that would be okay with her nurses, and she kind of dismissed us and emphatically pointed the way.

She clearly had a plan in mind. She directed us out of her ward, down a hallway, down an elevator and out of the hospital into a courtyard. I assumed that she simply wanted to get a little fresh air.

But no. She kept pointing. "We'll just go down there." she said softly. The next thing we knew we were headed down the street to a nearby shopping area. I tried to make small talk about how she was feeling, and the details of her daily therapy, but between her softspokenness and the sound of the traffic, I couldn't really hear her.

On and on we went, occassionally, Jimmy would shoot me a questioning look. When we asked Julie where we were going, she just sort of smiled mischievously, and said "just a little farther". On we went. I was wearing these chunky sandals that were NOT meant for hikes. Jude started to whine "I'm soooooooo hot, Mama. How much farther are we goooooiiiinnngg??" Julie continued to point. To the left, another block. To the right. I swear, we pushed her 10 blocks. And remember that this is a woman in a hospital gown! With a hospital bracelet, and that IV hookup thingy in her arm!

Eventually, Julie revealed that we were going to a "coffee place". Ah, there was one on the corner! But no, she said "that's not the one." On we trudged. I started to limp to avoid my sandal rubbing the blisters that are forming on my feet. Jude started grumbling that he's thirsty.

Now you've got to understand that Jimmy is NOT a patient man. He doesn't like anybody telling him what to do, and he has no tolerance for anything like a wild goose chase. If anyone else had done this to him under ANY other circumstances, he would have flipped out. But no, this was one of his missions of mercy, so he was on his best behavior, dutifully pushing the little wheelchair.

Finally, after going I swear to God at least 3/4 of a mile, Julie pointed to a little sign at the end of the block. A tiny, charming little coffee shop, very New York. Very Julie. We rolled her in, and she told us to buy her a latte. Which we did. It was, in fact, a REALLY good latte. When we were sitting there sipping our coffees, Jimmy asked her if she was really supposed to be drinking coffee. She sort of smiled and giggled.

When we finally got her back to the hospital after our walking tour of Westwood, I checked the time. The outing had taken TWO HOURS. And amazingly, no one at the hospital seemed to have noticed that she was gone. Which is worrisome. We kissed her goodbye and hightailed it out of there as fast as we could before we got in trouble with some nurse. Isn't there some rule against that? Stealing a patient from a hospital and taking them on a joyride in their wheelchair?

And what does Jimmy say as we're leaving the hospital room? "We'll come back and visit you next week!"

God bless him, but that man better rub my swollen and blistered feet, or I'm going to be the one he's wheeling around in the chair!

Camp Mama 2010 Week Two: Speechless

Okay...

Remember last week, when I told y'all about Jude and my big kick off to Camp Mama camping trip? And I suggested that I may have set the bar a wee bit too high and the rest of the summer would just be a "slow slide into boredom"?

Well...

Yes. That's what seems to be happening this week. I have been so wrapped up in the preparations for my choir's Annual Cabaret Concert, that I haven't exactly had time for entertaining the kid. For those of you unfamiliar with our Annual Cabaret Concert, read this. For those of you too lazy to click the link, I can sum up the entire experience in one word. Guffman. Middle-aged church choir members singing pop music and show tunes. Jazz hands. The school cafetorium. But despite it's high camp element, it is actually quite fun, and spirited (spirited in many ways - often mass quantities of Apple Martinis are consumed). It's a labor of love. And since this is Rodger's last time functioning as our choral director, it should prove bittersweet.

And I am always in charge of a silent auction that goes along with the concert, which is our main fundraiser of the year, and requires a ridiculous amount of busy work and management.

Thus the whole no-time-for-the-kid thing.

I was thinking of creating a pie chart a la Becky that would tell you the pathetic and wasteful way in which my son has spent his time this week. But Becky is so much wittier and more eloquent, that I'm not going to try.

But I will say that his primary activities have been -

1. Whining that he's bored while riding around in the back of the car on my errands.
2. Whining that he's bored and getting under my feet while I'm trying to clean the house.
3. Whining that he's bored and getting under my feet while I'm trying to work on the computer.
4. Whining that he's bored and getting under my feet while I'm pretending to work on the computer, but am really working my farm on Facebook.
5. Watching old Three Stooges shorts that subversive daddy Jimmy TiVod for the boy.
6. Whining that he's bored and wants to watch more Stooges when I tell him to "Turn that damned TV off and play outside or something!"

I have been reduced to "doing deals" with him.

30 minutes of freeplay outdoors and out of Mama's hair = 30 minutes of playing Candyland with Mama. 

30 minutes of cleaning his room = 30 minutes of playing the Wii.

30 minutes of reading in his room = 30 minutes of Phineus & Ferb.

So this was the beginning of the week.

And then tragedy struck.

I have lost my voice. I mean really lost it. I open my mouth to sing, and nothing comes out but a deep croak.

Imagine if Bea Arthur and Harvey Fierstein had a love child. THAT'S what my voice sounds like .

So in an attempt to heal myself before the weekend concert, I have been put on strict "voice rest". Which basically means that I am not to speak. At all.

Jimmy thinks this is HILARIOUS! For some crazy reason, he seems to think that I talk too damned much. And watching me struggle to get my point across with sign language and hand gestures and little notes is high comedy in his book. I can't call out to him in my usual way, which is basically shrieking "JIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMYYYYYYYYYYY" at the top of my lungs until he he shrieks back "WHAAAAAAAAT?" Instead, I have to either clap my hands and stomp my feet really hard, or say "PSSSSSTTT". He keeps pretending not to hear me, and I'll be standing there like an idiot pssting and clapping until he finally starts giggling. Damn that man.

But I have to say (or not say, actually), that the man has risen to the occasion and taken charge of Jude for this last half of the week. Lots of father/son time and outings to Denny's while Mama sits VERY quietly and does her work for the auction. And so lately he has been the one to whom Jude has been whining and getting underfoot. He even took a bullet for the kid and took him to the new Karate Kid movie. I may have to grant him sexual favors as payback.

So the concert is Friday and Saturday nights. Wish me luck. Think good, positive, healing thoughts for my throat so I will in fact appear in my concert, and not Little Arthur-Fierstein.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have made a horrifying, and possibly life-altering discovery. Something that has shaken the very core of my feelings about myself as a woman.

I have...oh this is hard...

Huh, huh, huh...deep breath...

I have found...

A GRAY PUBIC HAIR!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, I'll stop screaming.

After freaking out and running around in circles for a bit, I have decided that I have 4 possible options.

1. Just leave it there, and try to accept my fate as a grizzled old woman.
2. Pluck it. And then keep checking my hoo-hoo daily, living in constant fear of it's return, and of the appearance of it's ugly little friends.
3. Dye it. I am reminded of the episode of Sex and the City in which Samantha makes a similar discovery. She decides to color it herself, but since she is unfamiliar with do-it-at-home haircoloring, she accidentally colors her pookie bright orange, and much wackiness ensues. I, however, know the ins and outs of Miss Clairol, and could probably find an attractive shade of Dark Ash Brown, which would fit nicely.
4.  Go for the Brazilian. That's right, take it all off. Go the Full Monty.

I have decided to let you, dear readers, decide my pubic fate. Which of these options do you think I should choose?

Okay, wait a minute. I have just reviewed the options, and decided that Option #1 isn't really an option at all, it's just too pathetic. I've never been one to just accept my fate. Let's take that one off the table.

So...which should I do? 2, 3 or 4. I will go with whatever you decide. And then I will share about it. I will not, however, vlog about it. Aren't you relieved?

Alright, my fate is in your hands.

Hipstamaniac

I have a new obsession. My Hipstamatic Camera App on my iPhone.

"What" you ask "Is a Hipstamatic?"

Ah, my poor unhip friends, let me share it's utter and complete coolness with you.

The Hipstamatic App gives you a digital camera that recreates the analog look, feel and beauty of those old plastic cameras of my childhood - right in my beloved iPhone. Behold...

My friend Laura posted some of her Hipsta shots on Facebook, and now I've gone Hipsta crazy!

You can buy the App for $1.99, and then you can add more options for additional moolah. The app comes with 3 "lenses" that you can change with a swipe of your finger -

The John S...

The Jimmy...

and the Kaimal Mark II...

 

and then you have the option of adding more lenses -

The Helga Viking...

The Lucifer VI...

and the Roboto Glitter...

Each lens giving you a distinctly different, but equally groovy vibe.

You can also swap out the type of "film" you use and the type of "flash". I will spare you the many sample photos of my squirmy model.

I can't stop Hipstaing! These are from our cousin gathering in San Diego on Saturday...

 Of course, it doesn't hurt that the cousins are all dressed like retro hipsters. And yes, that is Jimmy in the background of the first shot, sipping his wine and looking like he just stepped out of a Fellini film.

For those of you without the joys of iPhone, I'm sincerely sorry for torturing you.

For those of you WITH the joys of iPhone - cough up the $1.99 and head to the app store!

 

 
 
 

RTT: Bucket, Miracles and "Little Hummingbirds"

My God, I'm exhausted. After three nights of camping, then an overnight to San Diego for a family function, I am fried. And on top of that, I seem to have some kind of wicked sinus infection thing going on. And on top of THAT, I have my choir's annual Cabaret concert this weekend, and I'm running/organizing our silent auction. I know, yada, yada, yada, whine, whine, whine.

Still...somewhere inside my brain I'm bound to be able to cough up a few random thoughts for you. Let's see what I can do...

I'm seriously thinking of doing a Camp Mama blog meme/carnival thing next summer. So others can add in their own weekly Camp Mama posts and link them all up. What do you think? Maybe I could get t-shirts, you know, like..."I survived Camp Mama 2011" or "Please send wine in a care package!" Anyone want to design a graphic?

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And speaking of t-shirts...I absolutely love this site - One Horse Shy . Some of my favorites...

  
 

And since this last one is true...buy me something!

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Remember that bucket that I said I peed in in the middle of the night while camping?...

...well, I just used it to mop the kitchen. Do you think that's wrong?

DON'T TELL JIMMY.

What?! I washed it!

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An amazing phenomenon happened today.

I went to the Target to purchase one item. And I purchased...

One item.

Can you believe it? I've never once in the past managed to extricate myself from the Target for less than $100. I'm not sure what came over me, but I'm not going to question it. Just try to accept the amazing feat.

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I saw this commercial on TV the other day and was absolutely struck dumb. You have to watch this. This is no joke. It was actually on television...

 

Heehee!!!! "It feels like a little hummingbird is just...loving you!"

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Okay, that's not much, but it's all I've got. Please click the little purple button up there and visit Keely for more Random Tuesday Thoughts.

  

Camp Mama 2010 Week One: Into the Wild

Summer 2010 started with a bang. Not literally. But I do fear that I may have set the bar too high, and the rest of the summer will be a slow slide into boredom.

On Monday morning, I packed up a tremendous amount of camping gear into my ridiculously small, but earth-friendly car...

...and headed north up Highway 101 to Lake Casitas Campground, just outside Ojai, CA.

11 moms +  22 kids (ranging in age from 3 to 10 years old) X 3 nights = TONS OF FUN.

On our first night together, I told all the moms that I was hoping some kind of crazy, bloggable wackiness would ensue. Some hilarious disaster that would make a great story for me to share with you all. Unfortunately, absolutely nothing went wrong.

Well, nothing aside from being awakened in the middle of one night by the crazy sound of what I thought for sure were howler monkeys, but we're pretty sure were just raccoons having freaky raccoon love.

Well, and my friend Jamie being awakened in the middle of the night by her daughter, Mary, vomiting due to excessive s'more consumption.

Well, and the time Wendy (who was perhaps a wee bit tipsy at the time) decided to show us how one of the many gopher traps around the bathroom area worked, and when she pulled the trap wire out of the hole, a nasty dead gopher was attached, sending us all screaming in the other direction.

But other than that, it was just fun, fun, fun...

We had a cool creek...

A nearby water park!...

A lake...

And lots of cute kids...

And it was extremely educational.

Jude worked hard on his rock skipping...

Made his first s'more...

and learned how to eat Cheerios without a spoon...

And I learned that peeing in a bucket is a much more efficient method of relieving your bladder in the middle of the night than the Solo cup method I utilized during Cub Scout camp.

And the mommies had some fun too.

Every night, we put the kids to sleep and all went out and drank around the campfire! Remember that box of Target wine I brought with me? Well I learned a lesson about that. Never leave a box of wine in a cooler full of melting ice, unless you want it too look like this...

Luckily, the wine was still drinkable, even though when you take the bag out of the box it looks like you're drinking out of a catheter bag. But we were hearty outdoorsy types, and weren't daunted by such a thing.

And oh, looky at us here...

That's right. On our last day of camping we mommies managed to locate a bit of civilization...

We are in California, after all.

I'm afraid, however, that I will be recuperating from all the fun for at least a week. All that tent pitching and firebuilding and creek hiking and wine drinking and blowup mattress sleeping is pretty damned exhausting for an old Mama.

After we had packed up the car and were driving out of the campground, and I was feeling satisfied with an entertaining and successful Camp Mama Week One, Jude says to me from the back seat "Mama? When can we go to Disneyland?"

Sigh...

 

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Photo credits: All of the really good shots courtesy of my friend Carol.

Spin Cycle: Anger Management

I have been harboring anger lately. I have held it in, and let it stew, and not mentioned it to anyone. So when Jen at Sprite's Keeper handed me "Anger Management" as my randomly assigned Spin Cycle topic this week, I decided it was some kind of a sign, and it was time to let it out.

You all know how much I love my choir. It's one of the things in my life that I hold most dear. It's one of the things in my life that gives me the most joy.

Well...our brilliant choral director, Rodger is leaving us.

Sigh...

I understand why he is doing this. He is going to be getting his PhD from USC. Something he absolutely, totally and completely should have. And what's more, the fancy-schmanzy high school that he is the choral director for is going to pay for it. I see that there is really no way he could turn down this opportunity. And there's simply no way that he could have a full time job as a high school choral director, be a full time student, and be a full time church choir director as well.

But still...I'm mad. I feel like a little kid. I feel like he's abandoning us.  So after our annual Cabaret Concert next weekend, when we go on our usual summer break, Rodger will not be coming back. We have no idea what our choral future will be. So far, they haven't been able to find anyone to replace him.

I'm not normally an angry person. Sure, I shout at idiots who cut me off in traffic, and I get mad at irresponsible politicians and examples of social injustice. But generally, in my personal life, I don't harbor anger. I believe it's a waste of energy.

In fact, I believe that in most instances, when people act out in anger, they're really feeling other "negative emotions", and are just expressing them as anger. I often see this in Jimmy, he'll rant and rave and stomp around. But what he's really feeling isn't anger. It's fear or hurt or disappointment. And I find that if you're able to slow down and identify your true feelings, the anger will evaporate.

But here I am...angry. And not talking about it. And not thinking about it. I haven't expressed it at all.

At church on Sunday, Rodger announced that the following Sunday we would be singing some special, favorite pieces. Because that Sunday would be his final Sunday as our director. My heart skipped a beat. I won't be at church next Sunday! Jimmy's family has a big family reunion/cousin's 60th birthday gathering in San Diego, that I simply can't miss. But now I would be missing the very last Sunday that my choir would be singing together as a whole.

Suddenly, the flood gates opened. I started to cry. And cry. I cried through rehearsal. I cried through mass. Just absolutely embarrassed myself. Most people didn't have a clue what I was weeping about. I tried to pull it together, but I just couldn't. Slobbery, runny-nosed crying. Not attractive.

And I realized that what I'd been feeling all along hasn't been anger. It's been hurt, and tremendous loss. And fear of what is to come. And tremendous love for my choir and for Rodger. And the loss of them is so tragic that I can't handle it.

At the end of mass, Rodger called the choir together. He told us that he would like to stay for one more Sunday, and asked if we could all make it. He told them that I would be gone, and he wanted us to all be together for our last mass. It was one of the greatest gifts I've ever received when they all immediately agreed to postpone our summer break so we could all sing together for one more week.

And my anger was gone. Replaced by love and deep appreciation for these people who I've shared so much with. And gratitude to Rodger for all he's taught me over the last 10 years. And excitement for him, and the journey ahead of him. And hope that my choir's future will hold a new leader, who loves us all as much as Rodger has.

Please click this link to hear my choir singing one of our favorite pieces...

Cantique de Jean Racine - rehearsal

 

Best of Camp Mama: Tales From the Netherworld

Today is Jude and my last day of camping. About now we should be packing up camp and bidding a fond adieu to our fellow campers. Hopefully, we have managed not to get lost in the woods, or eaten by wild animals, and I will manage to get a new post up by tomorrow (Spin Cycle?).

Until then, here is one last rerun of last summer's Camp Mama. It's all about my pubic hair. Which is always such a hilarious and tasteful topic! So certainly, you won't want to miss it...

Originally posted August 8, 2009, for your reading pleasure, I offer you...

 

Camp Mama Week Nine: Tales From the Netherworld

Well, it was bound to happen eventually. All my friends have been expecting it. It was just a matter of time.

I am now going to blog about my pubic hair.

First, I must explain…I have virtually no hair on my body. Arms, legs…nothing. Look…

No hair.

All of my hair is concentrated in two areas on my body – the top of my head, and between my legs (well, and that one weird one that grows out of my chin, but lets not talk about that). My long standing joke is that I have an old Bulgarian man living between my legs. The word “bush” is an appropriate euphemism.

Needless to say, care and maintenance of this abundant thatch has been a lifelong issue for me. Shaving is out. It looks okay for about 24 hours, then the entire area erupts into a horrible red, painful, itchy rash. And truly, I don’t need a bunch of recommendations of how to remedy this, I’ve tried everything. Every kind of razor, shaving cream, pre-shave cream, post-shave cream. Nothing helps. Depilatories work, but after only a couple of days, Mr. Tsvetanov has returned. The only thing that really works, and lasts and makes me feel all pretty down there, is a good bikini wax.

About a year ago, I was having a bit of a bikini wax emergency, and was forced to take Jude with me on a waxing appointment. I go to my friend Tessa, who is a wonderful esthetician. I had set Jude up in the waiting room with a game, and strict instructions that he was NOT to interrupt Mama and Tessa. Well…guess what? The kid walked in right when Tessa had her head in my crotch and was in mid-rip. Horrifying. It took me quite a while to explain what the nice lady was doing to Mama’s “bottom”. I swear to God.

All of that said…

The other day, Jude and I decided to go hangout at the public pool. I was in pretty dire need of a waxing, but was saving up to get it done right before we left to go to New York on vacation (much more on this topic later), and I figured “What the hell? It’s just me and the kid. Who’s looking at my crotch?” So while we were sitting next to the pool in our swimsuits, Jude looked down, made an “icky” face, and said in the most incredulous and disgusted tone, “Ewww Mama. Why did you not cut the hair on your bottom?” I immediately made an appointment with Tessa.

Unfortunately, the only way I could make this appointment was by taking Jude with me again. So this time, I was determined to avoid disaster. I sat the kid in the waiting room with his DSi with TWO games, my iPhone, and TWO snacks. That should hold him. And sure enough, no problem. I managed to get myself thoroughly epilated without further damaging my child’s psyche.

Next stop? The chiropractors. I have a chronic issue with my tailbone. I’ve broken my coccyx THREE times, which is just bizarre, and makes me believe that something in the universe is trying to tell me something. Is there some kind of a chakra down there that I need to deal with? So anyway, occasionally it gets really sore and out of whack. So following my success at the esthetician, I figured it was safe to take Jude with me on a doctors appointment, right? Once again, I set him up in the waiting room with his DSi, my iPhone, TWO snacks…

And when does the child walk in this time? Right when the chiropractor is in the middle of manipulating what is essentially Mama’s asshole. I swear to God. I’m thinking that if I open a small CD now, it will have grown nicely in time to pay for his therapy. It’s the least I can do.