Friday Fun

Last night I desperately need a laugh. I was juggling too many balls and dangerously close to dropping one...or all of them. A good friend rode to the rescue, coming over to make dinner while I drove the kids hither and yon. Sometimes you just need a little assist, you know?

While we were waiting for dinner to cook, we got to teasing my daughter about her affection for Benedict Cumberbach. Affection might be an understatement. It might range more towards obsession, in a way that only happens when you're fourteen. You can read more here to see what I mean. With all due respect to the undeniably talented young actor, we were making fun of both his appearance (an English-boarding-school version of Beaker from Sesame Street) and his name. I usually refer to him as Benedict Cumberbun, but my friend got really creative. By the end, my daughter ran out of the room squealing, "You don't love MEEEEEEEeeeee..."

We do love her, quite a bit in fact. She's just got a flair for the dramatic. Anyway, as a result of all this, my friend suggested an Eddie Izzard clip for our Friday Fun video (and yes, this friend is the source of all my funniest links). Here Eddie describes how Englebert Humperdink probably got his name....

Peace,

Liv

Fourteen years ago today...

Fourteen years ago today, I was 35 3/7 weeks pregnant with my first child. My day job's taught me to be specific about those things - every day during pregnancy makes a difference. My husband and I were planning to go away for the weekend, to have one last fling as a couple before becoming parents. We did, traveling to LaConner, WA, which is a little over an hour away from our home in Seattle. It's a beautiful little town in the valley, and our hotel room had a gas fireplace and a jacuzzi tub, my bare-bones necessities when traveling.

As flings went, it wasn't much. I had started a new job at 27 weeks pregnant (because really, is there a better time?) and I was tired. I spent most of the weekend in bed watching the Winter Olympics. Until Sunday morning, when I woke up, spent some time in the jacuzzi tub, and started having contractions. Our daughter was born four days later.

Which means that in four days, she's turning fourteen. I can't begin to describe the complex mix of emotions that dealing with her brings up in me. I love her, sure, but I'm her mother. Even better, I like her. When she's not making me want to tear my hair out. She's tall - like, two inches taller than me, and I'm almost 5'9" - and slender but not so skinny that I worry. She does a bang-on imitation of Mr. K, her eighth grade teacher, that I try to discourage because it's not terribly respectful but damn is it funny.

She's moving out of the soccer & kittens & puppies stage - her current obsession is Benedict Cumberbach and the BBC version of Sherlock Holmes. Last night the husband and I came  home from a meeting and she was sitting at the table, looking a little droopy. It seems she'd watched another movie featuring Mr. Cumberbach, and he'd died at the end AGAIN. Then she says, "Oh my God, he plays the dragon in The Hobbit. He'll die at the end of that one, too!"

Such is love when you're fourteen.

Did I mention she can sing? She's going to be a Mezzo like her Mama for sure.  ;) And she's an awesome artist. She made the piece that starts this post, using Microsoft Paint. She's going to be in high school next year - and if you've been following along with this blog, you know we're waiting (still) to hear if she gets into her school of choice. And after that, college.

Wow.

Just like every day of pregnancy can make a difference, so have her needs changed as she's grown. I feel like I'm stepping aside, letting her take the lead in her own life, and on some level I know that shift is going to continue. And that's okay. She'll have the chops to be the leading lady in her own drama. I just hope she ends up with someone a little less freaky-looking than BCumberbach.

Peace,
Liv

High School Applications

One morning last week after getting the kids off to school, I took my daughter’s completed high school applications to the two private schools she’s considering for next year. Naturally, one is her first choice and the other is a back-up. She had to write an essay for each, describing why she wanted to start her freshman year in their hallowed halls. She wrote beautiful essays – if I do say so myself – and I believe she’d be an excellent candidate for either school.

But she might end up with a rejection letter. Or two.

My heart breaks a little at the possibility. I’ve had almost fifty years to build up a hide that’s tough enough to deal with rejection. I’ve gotten turned down for jobs and for schools. I’ve auditioned for rock bands that didn’t hire me. Heck, for the last few years I’ve called myself a writer. If that doesn’t teach you about rejection, nothing will. I know that when it happens, I’m going to feel sad for a couple minutes or a couple hours or a couple days, and then life will go on.

My daughter turns fourteen in just about a month. She’s played for no-cut sports teams and sung with audition-free choirs. Other than the bumps and bruises that go along with being  a middle school girl, she has very little experience with getting turned down for something she really wants. I just hope she doesn’t have to learn this lesson till she’s a little older.

I might be more nervous than she is, because I KNOW what disappointment feels like. It sucks, but it makes you stronger. She should hear from both schools about the same time as her birthday. We’ve got a back-up to the back-up plan if the worst happens, but at her party I want to hear an excited bunch of girls talking about how they all got into the schools they wanted, my daughter included. And if you’ve got a minute, send some positive energy our way.

Peace,

Liv

This is not a love song

Back in about 1991 Prince and Madonna recorded a duet called Love Song that appeared on her Like A Prayer album. Listen to it, and you'll hear them repeat the phrase "This is not a love song" a whole bunch of times, while the verses describe their complicated relationship. Which can be tangentally linked to this post. This is not a New Years post.

Sort of.

I've read some lovely blog posts in the last two days, particularly one by my friend The Freeway Diva, where she dissects the last year and finds some pretty wonderful things. I'm more in the mood to dissect some of the recent pictures of Prince that I found when I was looking for the video of Love Song (the link's in the first paragraph). He might have had some work done. D'ya think?

On New Years Eve I sang the 5pm Mass and blew the dust off the Marian Litany, which isn't something you've likely heard unless you're a total Gregorian chant nerd. It's a meditative, possibly monotonous, chunk of chant, and I meant it to be a little pool of peace for those who were heading out for a night of champagne and fireworks. I'm still holding on to a bit of that peace, and hoping the Peeps from the Pews are too.

Then New Years Day I got to take the puppy out before I left for work. At 6 o'clock in the morning, the back yard was so quiet it made my ears ring. Even the freeway - which is a mile or so from our house -  barely made a hum. Of course, I had to divide my time between wallowing in the quiet and wondering why in hell the puppy won't pee in the grass if it's at all wet. We live in Seattle, dog. Get over it.

So that's my life on this New Years Night. The sublime - the family and friends and moments of beauty - and the monotonous, the ridiculous, the puppy. Not necessarily in that order.

Wouldn't trade a thing.

If I was the type to take stock, I'd marvel at the fact that people are interested in my writing and that my husband and I are still married and that my kids are so tall and strong and beautiful. But I'm more the type to buy the newest issue of People Magazine, to figure out how all those people lost half their body weight. I need some of what they're having. And I hope you and yours are safe and warm and laughing this New Years Night.
Peace,
Liv

The Summer of my Discount Tent

A couple months ago Groupon offered two nights at the Cannon Beach Hotel for $175. I hit the 'buy' button without any firm plan for when we'd go. Then I came up with the idea that we could all go the day after Christmas. Checked with The Husband and he was on board with it. The kids were generally in accord, and over the last few weeks we've all repeated the phrase "but on the 26th, we get to leave". Over and over again.

And on the 26th, we did leave. All four of us packed into The Husband's new car, arguing over which satellite radio station to listen to and who got what out of the bag of Christmas cookies. (For the record, my fave Siruis #50 The Groove was the consistent looser.) We got to Cannon Beach just in time for a blast of wind and rain - the picture above shows the kids trying to run into a 40mph gust.

Which prompted The Husband to tell us about the summer he and his buddy decided to drive from Seattle to Alaska in his buddy's old Toyota with a Shell gas card, $100, three cans of tuna and a loaf of bread. Oh, and a leaky tent they bought at a discount place. That's over 2000 miles, most of it on two-lane roads. And they survived. And then I married him. If I had to guess, most of the $100 was spent on beer.

Our family trip wasn't nearly that adventurous, although we did have a very good time. There was plenty of laughter, which is what really counts.
Peace,
Liv