Run away, my son
See it all
See the world
#ClassOf2020
If I Knew Where it Was, I Would Take You There
Kids
College Apps with Pete
Lovely, acoustic evening with @peteyorn last night. His “musicforthemorningafter” is still one of my favorite albums. I recently rediscovered it (and Pete), and it was great to see him live again. The very first time that Scott and I saw Pete, our life was about to change in all the best ways, and we didn’t even know it yet. That little baby (who we would find out about shortly after the show), is now working on college applications. So much love, appreciation, and reflection for me during the show last night. Thanks, Pete.
The Everlong of Being a Kid
It was a show that we had no business going to. My husband was building a new deck for our recently remodeled house, and his brother was in town to help. The tickets had been purchased long ago, but as deck work progressed and deadlines of rainy weather loomed, we were prepared to cancel and sell the tickets. My brother-in-law, though, urged us to go, as they would be done for the day anyway.
And so that is how we found ourselves at the Foo Fighters concert at Safeco Field, and for once I was relieved that we had reserved seats instead of GA. Still grungy and tired from a day’s work, we scurried in with just a few moments to spare.
Near the back of the floor section, some fans had moved to an open area that was less sparsely populated. My husband and I spotted her at the same time – a little girl, maybe four or five years old – and had the same thought: it reminded us of our daughter.
With her dad, this little girl was fully engaged and rocking out – dancing and doing air guitar and drums, in a way that our daughter had done so many times, both in our kitchen, and at concerts (“Quiet 13”). Other fans were walking by, and many of them came up to her, giving her a fist bump or a high five. Sometimes, they would say something to her, or to her dad.
If any of them were parents, I wondered if they said what was going through my head. What I wanted to say to that little girl was:
Remember this moment
Keep dancing
Keep your fearlessness
Her dad was filming her moves, and what I wanted to tell him was — show this video to her in about 10 years, when she needs a reminder of the fiery spirit that she has always been. And then again at 20 years, and 30, because we all need a little reminder of that, even as grownups. Except for maybe Dave Grohl. I think he’s already got it figured out.
Big Sky Gratitude
I want to tell you about my girl.
We recently dragged her all the way to Missoula for a Pearl Jam show, which was our third show in the span of a week. With her brother out of town doing camp counselor duties, she drew the unenviable experience of a solo seven-hour road trip with her parents. (Silver lining — at least she got the back seat to herself?)
She playfully joked about going to a concert with “old people”, and, lucky her – the town was filled with us! She marveled about how, all over Missoula, we ran into Pearl Jam fans and had the same conversation — where are you from/did you go to the Home Shows/how long have you been a fan, etc….. At a fan fundraiser for Jeff Ament’s Army, she was a good sport when we offered to share our table with a dad and his son (about her age), who were from Portland. Both she and the son were understandably mortified at this arrangement, but she smiled and politely answered their questions.
I had brought along a few different Pearl Jam shirts for her to choose from, not sure if she would really wear any of them to the show. But she did! (10 Club Analog shirt from 2016; an excellent choice).
We got in the GA line in the middle of the afternoon heat, and settled in with camp chairs, a deck of cards, and snacks. More chatting with fellow fans….more listening to us talk with others about shows we’d been to, and telling others, “It’s her first Pearl Jam show!” She smiled and went along with all of it, nodding politely when asked by strangers if she was excited about the show.
Hours later, we filed in to the stadium. Although I always prefer GA, it is challenging when you are short like me. And she is four inches shorter. My husband and I tried to move her around for a sight line to the stage, but I know that for the majority of the show, she couldn’t see much. Of course, she knew more songs than she realized she would. (All of those years of music in the kitchen and in the car; how could she not?). She danced a little bit, flashed smiles at me when she recognized a song, and raised her arms in the air along with the crowd.
At the end of the show, a woman nearby asked how old my daughter was. She said that her daughter is a few years younger, and that she would love to bring her to a show. Turning to my daughter, she said, “Your parents are awesome for bringing you to this show!” My girl smiled and politely agreed, but in my head I thought — No, SHE is the awesome one.
She had put up with all of this. Never once a complaint, or even an eye roll. She was such a trooper about all of it. (And did I mention that, due to a reservation mistake, our hotel room did not have a bed for her, and she slept on the floor for two nights?).
I later told my daughter how much it meant to me to see Pearl Jam with her, and how much I appreciated her being such a good sport about it. How their music has been such a big part of my life for 27 years, and to see a show with her was beautiful and surreal for me. I think she heard me, but I don’t know that she yet understands.
We drove to Glacier National Park after the show, and my husband flew home early, leaving us on our own for a few days. My daughter and I went on a hike, and when we encountered a dad carrying his young daughter, we talked about how, when she was younger, all of our hikes ended that way too (including one where she begged us to keep hiking, she wanted to go ‘straight to the top’ of Mt. Rainier). But there’s no carrying necessary for this girl anymore, at least not in the physical sense.
On the long drive back to Seattle, now in the front seat, she navigated and played DJ. I got to hear all of her current favorite songs, with commentary on what she liked, and she brought me up to date on all current gossip about the artist.
I pretended to be offended by songs with cuss words and racy lyrics. But the truth is, I loved every single mile.
My People + My Girl
Really looking forward to sharing this show with my girl! Let’s do this, #PearlJam! #PJMissoula2018
Talking to Tweens about Sweat
Keith Sweat, that is.
His mellow grooves just happened to come on the radio recently, as I was picking up my son from the movies. It was one of Keith’s slower numbers — so you have to turn the radio up and sing along, right? My son hopped in the car and started to talk to me. I pretended to listen at first. But then I couldn’t hear Keith.
“Sorry, I can’t pay attention to what you are saying right now. Wait until the slow jam is over”.
Reading the name on the radio display, my son said: “Keith SWEAT? What kind of a name is that? That can’t be his real name. And what’s a slow jam?” [So yeah, try and explain a slow jam to your almost-13 year old: “well, son… it’s music you would listen to if you were having someone over to…study”.]. I elected to interpret his question as theoretical, and did not respond.
The next day, I’ll be darned if Keith Sweat didn’t come on the radio AGAIN. (what is the universe trying to tell me?) This time, my son’s friend was in the car. My son joyfully pointed out the name scrolling across the radio – “hey, check it out. Keith SWEAT. My mom likes him”. I started to explain that it’s not that I really like him, it’s that it makes me nostalgic…..but then I gave up. The kids were mocking me by then, anyway.
If I had felt like being really mocked, I would have told them how I went and saw Keith Sweat in concert a few years ago, with a friend who I hadn’t known in my earlier hip-hop/R&B days. We met each other when our kids were in preschool, and somehow discovered that we shared an affinity for Keith Sweat back in the day. So when we learned that Keith was going to be in concert at the Emerald Queen Casino, it was an obvious choice for an adventure.
I think in some ways we both were not sure it would really happen, but we did it — we made it out of our houses on a rainy Friday night, which is a feat unto itself. Not only that; we made it all the way to Tacoma! We arrived at the casino/venue, ate a dinner of fried food and drank bad wine while we took in the scene. The crowd was 90% ladies, which was not a surprise. However, we also learned during the course of the evening, that, in addition to still being a master of the slow jam, Keith was also the purveyor of a book on relationships, and has a dating website. And, if we had happened to momentarily forget about the book or website, fortunately there were several reminders throughout the show. So that was a relief.
For the lucky ladies near the front of the venue, there were abundant opportunities to join Keith on stage for the purpose of serenading and/or public adoration. One concertgoer seized her moment, grabbing the mic and letting us all know how she felt about Keith, yelling, “I’LL SUCK YOUR BALLS OFF!!”
Keith was not happy about this, instantly grabbing the mic from her. In all fairness, however, he had advised us all earlier: “If you want it, get up ON it”. So really, in her defense, she was just taking the initiative. And for that, I applaud her.
In the end, Keith must not have been too offended by the Pacific Northwest concert crowd. My friend emailed me recently with news of another upcoming show at the casino: “He’s baaaaaack……”
The Kids Are Alright
This vignette recently took place in the back seat of my van, and it made me smile:
My son (“J”): “Oh man, you should see this album cover that my mom has. There’s this baby on it, and he’s totally naked, and he’s swimming after a dollar bill.” [the preceding conversation must have concerned either baby brothers, or general nakedness; I wasn’t really paying attention].
His friend (“A”) [emphatically, matter-of-factly]: “Oh, I’ve seen that! I know that band. I know that band. They’re good.”
J: “Yeah, I think it’s Nirvana.”
A: “Yeah. They are like, a really good band.”
J: “Yeah, they are.”
[and…..scene. The conversation likely then returned to either Minecraft, baseball, or hamburgers].
I’m Still Alive, Middle School version
Have you ever looked at a picture that filled your heart with so much love that it made you catch your breath? This is mine. THIS is my boy. THIS is his essence. This is a moment that I want to hold forever in my memory. My boy, at the last of our weekly coffee dates that we’ve held for four years.
The Spring has flown by, and my thoughts have been so disorganized that there has been no moment to write about everything going on. I’m so caught up in my head that I’ve even found it hard to lose myself on a run. I’m not enjoying myself, I’m just compiling another To Do List in my head.
It’s like this every year for the last few weeks of school, but it still catches me flat-footed. I’ve told my son to just take it all in, and enjoy the last few weeks at our beloved elementary school. But I haven’t taken my own advice. We’re in triage mode, in “drink from the firehose” mode (my favorite saying from my friend Morgan). We are in “check another event/meeting/party off the list” mode.
And today was possibly the one item on the list I’ve been dreading the most – the last time my soon-to-be middle schooler and I would go on our weekly coffee date, our standing one-on-one time that we’ve enjoyed for four years. (“Oh, There is My Mind”).
It’s not a sad event. But it’s a melancholy one. Things are changing, and I believe you should acknowledge and appreciate the change as it happens. So I knew it was on the calendar, and I ticked off a mental countdown of our remaining coffee dates as they winded down.
And then suddenly, today was here. He bought his usual donut, and I had my usual latte. We kept it light hearted. We chatted about small stuff. We wrote in the journal that we’ve kept this year. All in all, I held it together pretty well. I thought I would choke up with tears, but I didn’t. That is, not until I dropped him off, watched him walk into school, and I turned on the car radio. And there it was – “Alive”, by my band. There is really no other song that could come on at that moment. And as much as I’ve come to expect it at moments when I’m lost in my head….as much as I rely on the shuffle gods to bring music to me when I need it, I was still surprised. I actually said so out loud – “REALLY?“
My song. Pearl Jam’s breakthrough single, “Alive”. It’s spanned the last 20+ years of my life, as I’ve gone from college student to law student, to lawyer, to wife and mother. (“Alive, Encore Break”). If I was younger and hipper, I might describe it my ‘jam’. But I’m old and the song is too, so I’ve just grown to think of it as my theme song. My anthem. It shows up when I need it.
Of COURSE this is the song that comes on. When I think now about the poignant times it has shown up in the past, the crises of those times seem very far away. Just like this one will someday. Then, as now, I embraced the changes and made it through.
So I suppose that if the (Pearl Jam) universe could answer my question in the car, that answer would be – “Yes, REALLY“. It knew that I needed a little nudge to remind me that everything works out, and that as things change and life keeps moving forward, I’ll always have music to help me through.
Like the Ceiling (and Car) Can’t Hold Her
Even when you know that your kids are very different from each other, it’s still interesting when you see it crystallize in an instant, as they react night-and-day differently. To wit:
Riding in the car last weekend, my daughter asked me to turn it to one of “her” radio stations. My kids have recently taken over the car stereo in a different way than in the old days, when we would pop in a Wiggles CD and know that we had at least 30 minutes of a happy back seat. These days, she has certain radio stations she likes and has proclaimed as “hers”, and if you live in Seattle you can probably guess what stations those are.
I changed the channel. We were in luck! Both daughter and son were happy. It was a song they both liked. (This is significant, I swear. But then Macklemore is the great common ground anyway, yes? At least in my house it is. They always agree on it, and we listen to the [non-edited] album all the time, meaning that – yes, my kids have heard the “F” word. Oops.)
Daughter: “YES! Hey, can we roll the windows down so that everyone can hear what song we are listening to when we drive by?”
Son: “NO! I hate it when people do that. Then everyone would hear us.”
Daughter: “I know. That’s the point.” (with accompanying eye roll)
I chuckled and took a deep breath as their upcoming teen years flashed before my eyes. And although I consider myself to be somewhere at the midpoint of their differing views, I did not, ultimately, roll down the windows.
The Morning Shift
Sometimes things change so gradually that you almost don’t notice the imperceptible shift as it happens. Nowhere is this more true than with kids (“days are long, but the years are short”). Lately, though, I’ve been paying attention with my soon-to-be middle schooler. Things are moving too fast.
The chubby baby face is gone, but he still crawls up in my lap, all arms-and-legs-and-bony-butt. He bowls me over with big hugs and kisses, and his height is so perfect that I can stand behind him and rest my chin on top of his head without having to bend over at all.
But there are little things that tell me that a shift is happening…..his hair is long and messy, and I can’t get him to change his stinky hoodie, nor can I convince him that socks are only meant to be worn once before they are washed. His sneakers are so big that I recently mistook one of them for my own, and brought it to the gym. It fit me.
We sat today at our morning coffee date. Today’s location (always his choice) was a donut shop.
Putting his retainer case on the table, he started the conversation: How many days until Christmas? How many school days left until Christmas break? How many days left until the end of the school year? I realized we are almost at the halfway point. I told him to enjoy the rest of the school year, and his final days at our much-beloved elementary school. Middle school will be different and fun, I said, but it will never be the same as these days.
Then for the first time – I noticed – he is holding his hot cocoa mug differently…..not in the double-handed style of a child, but in a quiet, confident way, sitting back, legs crossed like an adult man, chatting with his mom. I had an instant flash-forward to meeting my future college kid for coffee, in between his classes.
The shift is happening.
If only this epiphany had not been punctuated by a Coldplay song playing in the background. Anyone but Coldplay. I never enjoyed them but used to tolerate them for my husband’s sake, and then their fate was sealed. A Coldplay CD was in our car the weekend that my uncle died unexpectedly. I can’t listen to Coldplay.
Why couldn’t the background music to this parenting moment be something melancholy? (Bob Dylan?). Triumphant? (Pearl Jam’s “Given to Fly”?) Even The Wiggles……just not Coldplay.
But of course, that’s the thing – we can’t choose. We can’t choose the moments, or when we will notice things, or what the soundtrack will be. All we can do is pay attention.
And of course, we can be relieved when our nearly-college-age kid reverts back to 10 year old obnoxious older brother, asking, “Hey Mom, do you think my sister is color blind?” (“No, why?”). “Well, have you seen some of her outfits?”
Corduroy Notes 