The Music (Mother, May I? class, day 4)

When my younger sister, Elia, was four, she met Emily Hill, also four, whose parents taught art at the university in my hometown. The Hill family soon moved, but not until after all of us became best friends with all of them. None of us ever again lived in the same town, but our bonds have only strengthened, and, more than 30 years in, we still spend holidays, weddings, hard times and happy ones together.

My Dad and Jim (the Hill patriarch) go camping each year, have a “tickle for Dickel” when they get together, and the eight of us once made and ate nine pies over the course of one Thanksgiving.

My parents listened to the the Oldies, 60s and 70s tunes they grew up loving and, even though the 80s and 90s were “my” and my sister’s music, we always knew that our parents’ soundtracks were infinitely better. I still have Sam Cooke, Aretha, Mary Wells, Judy Collins, the Supremes, Stones and so forth on my main playlist.

We used to have epic dance parties, without the Hills and with them. Sugar, Sugar, and Windy never failed to get us grooving, and just when we thought our pounding hearts would expire from the intense cardio, Smokey Robinson would start crooning The Tracks of My Tears, our pace would slow and we could catch our breaths.

My mom and Elia loved Sonny & Cher’s I Got You Babe and, after a concerted, joint effort at deception, convinced Emily Hill that Mom was the oboist who'd played the critically important oboe background - the pitched 'punh-punh'- throughout the song. Mom had been in the recording studio with Sonny & Cher! With an oboe! An instrument she had never and has never held in her life!

A great old classic... I Got You Babe Sonny and Cher Top of the Pops 1965

Emily believed them for years, and I doubt that when in the same house, when I Got You Babe played, Mom ever failed to pop up “punh-punh’ing” oboistically.

In 2010, Emily Hill got married, and Mom and Elia planned to perform I Got You Babe during the reception. I was given the job of sitting offstage but in clear sight to manage the flashcards, should nerves shoot blanks into their memories.

By the time we were up, I’d had plenty of champagne and was feeling festive as all get out. I sat down with the giant posterboards of carefully printed lyrics and felt in control and collected as the opening beats strummed.

They say we’re young and we don’t know
We won’t find out untiiiiiil we grow
Well I don’t know if all that’s true
‘Cause you got me, and baby I got you

I don't remember which was Sonny and which was Cher

Babe
<Oboe punh-punh>
I got you babe
<Oboe punh-punh>

Mom’s popping up and down with her vocal oboe beats, and Elia is laughing but trying to stay on point, and I just couldn’t remember if I was supposed to put the completed cards at the end of the stack, or was there a discard pile somewhere? I couldn’t let go of any card for too long because the large stack was awkward and weighty and what if the cards fell? And while I thought Mom and El knew the words, we were all tipsy and celebratory and at a wedding in a dark reception room with approximately 8 zillion eyes upon us expecting something, and who knows what that could do to memory.

Not everyone knew the back story, and part of me wondered what they thought of these Louisiana women, two singing and one sitting as gracefully as she could in her silk shantung strapless dress in a chair with giant cards unsure what to do with the spent ones.

They say our love won’t pay the rent
Before it’s earned, our money’s all been spent.
I guess that’s so, we don’t have a plot
But at least I’m sure of all the things we got…

Mom and the oboe bit…

So I just started dropping the cards alongside my chair, and each catches a bit of air, you know? And they’re slip-sliding all about, Mom’s oboeing up and down, Elia is a professional actress so she’s trying to keep everything together but is laughing too, the insiders are cracking up, the ones not in the know have rather blank but sweetly bemused stares (most of them), and I just could not keep up with the cards.

“Why are there so few words on each damn card?” I think, nearly doubled over in hysterics about both the pressure I felt under and also how hilarious this all was.

Meanwhile, Sonny and Cher got flowers in the spring, he got her to wear his ring, she says his hair is NOT too long, and they, hand in hand, know they can scale any peak.

Oboes, cards, punh-punh, thirty years. It was great. And to this day, every time that song plays anywhere, I can't stop myself from air-playing that background beat.

These boys

Our neighborhood hosted a community yard sale earlier today, and not only was it a glorious, glorious morning, but also my sweet boys ably and enthusiastically manned their lemonade and cookie stand and raised a whopping $40 for donation to The Fresh Air Fund. 

Aren't they darling and dear? I'm so proud of them. What a difference a day makes, eh? ;)

Look at that face

And then the tides turn

Shit.

Just when I'm certain we're finally all coasting on the same smooth path, the sidewalk ends, and we tumble into a dark and mysterious crapstorm in which I find it hard to see the boys' inner lights.

Sometimes this happens with one child but not the other, but on extra-special occasions, like today, we all fall together. 

It's possible this started yesterday when the exceedingly loose tooth Oliver's had for weeks now went down his gullet. I'd been warning him of the possibility of swallowing or losing that bad boy if he didn't let me pull it, but no dice. And then one bite on a Nutella-coated breadstick, and away went the tooth. 

Sobs wracked his body. "How will I get the tooth back? Can I use a baby potty and look in my poop? Let me call Poppy."

Now Poppy, my dad, is a gastroenterologist, and so really, it was wise of Oliver to think of calling Poppy to discuss the possibility of reclaiming the tooth. I'll give him that. But...

"Hi Poppy, it's Oliver. Can you tell me how to strain my poop?"

I swear to y'all that was the actual telephone conversation opener. Poppy said he could send a strainer but I refused delivery. I don't need to indulge this craziness, y'all. That tooth is gone!

Additional Nutella-crusted carbs plus one of his best buddies being over to play (and, might I add, looking rather askance as Oliver wailed about poop straining) plus the excitement over his class play being this morning helped appease the tragic feelings. He was cast as Gorilla 1. 

Hours later, Jack could.not.sleep. and so I ended up reading Belly Up (Stuart Gibbs, natch) to him until nearly 10. This is all well and good except that Jack is a hangry bear when he's sleep-deprived, and so I reckoned I (and he) would pay for the late night today.

I was right. 

The boys were wild animals from the time I picked them up at school until the time I stormed downstairs hours later and told Tom he best leave the grill to me and DEAL with those children. Our neighborhood is hosting a multi-house community yard sale tomorrow, and I spent a huge swath of time today organizing, cleaning and pricing things AND making a preposterous number of extremely delicious chocolate chip (milk and dark) cookies for the boys' lemonade-and-cookie stand. They want to earn some money and donate a third of all their proceeds to The Fresh Air Fund, and I fully support their endeavor. 

But still, y'all. Those cookies don't make themselves. And a mad-eyed fatigued child who will not put down the giant branch that fell from the tree during yet another rainstorm but instead waves it about like a poky javelin and has zero awareness of just how much of said poky javelin is flailing behind him, nearly decapitating you, is really not the optimal icing on the cake.

Long story short, it is the whiplash feeling I experienced between Monday-Thursday and today that I tire of and which blindsides me in the worst way. It's exhausting. Parenting is so inconsistent and yet so consistently taxing, and really, that is a tough and often disappointing energy suck. It is for me, at least.

I give my kids my all every day, and sometimes, it's hard to keep going. It really is. I don't remember the last time I had a real break from parenting in any significant way, and that is awfully wearing at times. 

Did I mention that I also found out today that my identity was stolen last weekend and used to purchase more than $2000 worth of goods at J.C Penney and Toys "R" Us? What morally bankrupt asshat pretended to be me?

Anyway, this scrumptious meal and a decent amount of wine smoothed out this feisty Friday. 
*While you might think "butt" when you see that darling potato in the bottom right corner, I want you to see "heart." Just that.

The sun actually showed itself which was exceedingly remarkable given that it has been in hiding most of the past sixteen days. I joked recently about my grass turning, alchemically, into slugs, but I today found that for real, two of my doormats are sprouting like chia pets. It has got to dry up!