It's Clearly Fundamental

We were in Los Angeles when the attacks happened.  And the first thing I thought was, "Who the hell hates NORWAY??"  I was sitting in the cafeteria at St. Vincent's Hospital and saw TERROR ATTACKS IN NORWAY!!  I was interested (wouldn't find out the specific horrendous details for quite some time because even though it was a big monumental event - I was sitting in a hospital because my kid has a brain tumor so everything's relative and Norway is Really Far Away).  But I was puzzled by it.  Who would attack Norway?  I just couldn't see a Big Operative Plan involving Norway.  I'm an American, after all.  So I consider other countries, especially physically small ones, to be rather unworthy of Big Attacks. 

So, who attacked Norway?  Was it a Muslim Extremist Group?  I mean, they used the word TERROR and everything. So it must be a Muslim Extremist Group.  Uh....no.  It was a Norwegian Right-Wing Christian Fundamentalist.  Now before you think I'm going to go all Liberalie Hippie Dippie on you (which I kind of am), let me just say I'm One Of You.  If you're a hypocrite, that is.  If you're not a hypocrite...good for you.  I'd prefer most people be Just Like Me, which is just one of the ways in which I'm a hypocrite.  Anyway - let me 'fess up.  While standing in the security line at LAX, Jules and I were looking around.  And over against the wall, a Very Angry Looking Middle-Eastern Sort of Individual, in Full Middle-Eastern Sort of Garb, was being held up, detained, whatever you want to call it.  He had been pulled to the side and they were calling for other Security Personnel, etc. and everyone was kind of glancing back at him repeatedly.  Now I felt all indignant and outraged for this fellow. That's racial profiling!! I thought.  And immediately following that thought was this one: Jesus Christ, I hope he doesn't get on my plane.  **He did...last guy on...having been detained and all...and we didn't blow up.

The Right-Wing Christian Fundamentalist Terrorist Suspect (yes! I said it again! 'cause that's what he is!) looks like a movie star.  Seriously, have you seen his picture?  Why does he have an Actual Head Shot?  Do all Norwegians have Glamour Shots Photos of themselves if they're not teenage girls or members of the Actors Guild?  Is that a Norwegian thing?  I know so little of Norway.  As I said, I'm American and I'm not much concerned with places that are Not America. Anyway, the Right-Wing Christian Fundamentalist Terrorist Suspect, Anders Behring Breivik, is perfect for the part.  I mean, if you were going to cast a Bad Guy in a 007 Movie, and this guy's head shot turned up on your desk, you'd be like, "This is our bad guy! I don't even care if he can act!"  Seriously.  He is the Icy Cold Sharp-Shooting Norwegian Bad Guy.  Only, this wasn't a movie.  This was for real.  And my heart is breaking for that country, and especially for the families of the slain teenagers.  Because in the end, it all comes down to individual tragedies.  I got that as I sat in the cafeteria of St. Vincent's Hospital, looking at my own teenager, who was sound asleep with his head resting in his arms on the table, his hospital bracelet peeking out from under his cheek.

It is hard to understand why a crazy person does something.  It is nonsensical.  But whenever the words Extreme and Fundamentalist are in the equation, you have the potential for Extreme and Fundamental Nastiness.  Now then, I know that this attack was politically motivated, but part of his political problem is that his religion doesn't allow for the Muslim immigration that is going on in his country.  Or his view of his religion, anyway. I bet that every time I say Right-Wing Christian Fundamentalist, all my Christian buddies are cringing.  I don't blame you one bit.  And you're (rightfully so) wanting to yell at me through the blog and say,  Hey! We're not all like that!  In fact, VERY FEW of us are like that!  He is EXTREME!!  He is crazy! He doesn't represent the rest of us and our peaceful beliefs and our good deeds!!

And you'd be right if you're wanting to yell that at me.  And most people are going to agree with you.  Even non-religious people, for the most part, are going to readily admit that terrorism isn't what Christianity is all about.  This guy is clearly a fringe-nutter who totally doesn't "get" Christianity. 

Now then, what if this guy weren't a good-looking blond with icy hard eyes?  What if he were Middle Eastern, and was identified as an Extreme Muslim Fundamentalist?  And what if the Muslim Community in...oh, I don't know....let's say New York....were to say, Hey! We're not all like that! In fact, VERY FEW of us are like that! He is EXTREME!! He is crazy! He doesn't represent the rest of us and our peaceful beliefs and our good deeds!!  He clearly doesn't "get" Islam.

Would most people readily agree and nod their heads, much as we're all doing in the case of this latest Christian Fundamentalist Terror Attack, or would we maybe boycott the building of new mosques within a certain distance of the attack? 

Now don't go all crazy on me.  I understand that we haven't had any Right-Wing Fundamentalist Christian Terrorist Attacks here in the US except for Timothy McVeigh, a self-proclaimed Christian who was convicted and executed for the Oklahoma City Bombings. Oh well, actually, after a brief google I've discovered that presumption is wrong.  The Southern Poverty Law Center lists over 90 attacks or planned attacks by Right Wing Extremists, and if you begin to individually google the perpetrators and accused perpetrators you quickly see a Christian trend developing.  Yet, nobody is afraid of Christians.  Even though the KKK wasn't out burning Stars of David and McVeigh wasn't carrying a copy of the Koran. Nobody is boycotting the building of new churches.  Including me. 

Because that would be wrong. 

But it wouldn't be wrong because this is a Christian nation.  It would be wrong because this is a democratic nation. Now then, I hear some of you starting up about this being a Christian nation founded on Christian principles and let me just say this: If this IS a Christian nation, what are we to do with all the non-Christians currently living, voting, serving in office, and serving in the military?  Where are we going to bury this guy?

What are we to do with these people?  Just let them continue living, voting, serving in office, and serving in the military out of Christian Charity??  Or should we do as some Christians wish?  Ever heard of Dominionism?  Just sayin'. 

And seriously.  If we got rid of the non-Christians, wouldn't you guys miss the hell out of me?  And Steven Spielberg?  And the Red Hot Chili Peppers? Because founding guitarist Hillel Slovak was also known affectionately as the Israeli Cowboy. Don't you love it how I can slip RHCP factoids in on basically Any Discussion? And don't you just want to say to the Dominionists....Come on, people.  THINK.  Your cardiologist is probably Jewish. As was/is JESUS HIMSELF.   

While we're speaking of Religious Extremism and Fundamentalism and its Propensity to Lead to Violence Within and Among the Three Monotheistic Faiths ('cause that is what we're speaking of), can I just say that the Big 3 seem to be the most troublesome?  The 3 Monotheistic Faiths seem to be the ones In The News.  When is the last time Pagans attacked anybody?

I think it is that whole One God Idea that is the problem.  It seems great in theory.  But if there's Just The One, (I love this title for God, by the way.  I picture a Jewish God...much like that picture I have of my great-grandfather rabbi in Russia...long-bearded and God-like...and he's waving his hand and smiling modestly and saying...I'm Just The One...) Anyway, He's Just The One and He's got to divide His attention among many...in this case, among the Jews, Muslims, and Christians, and if you're a warm and fuzzy religious person you're even thinking he is paying attention to The Others, as well, like little old Sardine Mama over here.  And I can totally relate to His predicament.  I most surely can.  Because even Sardine Mama is overwhelmed by her children and accused of playing favorites from time to time.  But so far, no Actual Explosions have resulted.  You get my drift, though, don't you?

It seems we have a fundamental (scary word) problem.  And it is simply this:  We can't all be right.  And if we are all right (like the feel-good tree-hugging type of hippie Christians say we are) - then what does being right even mean? It means that we can all choose our own Truth and believe in it, and at the same time, acknowledge everyone else's right to their own Truth.  But that idea, while very lovely and sweet and warm and fuzzy - doesn't really make much sense.  Believing in All Truths pretty much negates Any Truth.  Which is why most religious people reject that idea and stick with the I'm Right and You're Wrong idea.  And then?  A very small percentage of them....a minuscule percentage, actually....begin stockpiling explosives and weapons. 

It's a problem.  And I certainly don't know the solution.  But might I ask that while you pray for the victims of Norway and their families, that you also consider...just for a moment...the fact that some of the folks praying with you are Crazier Than Hell?

Be Aware.  They tend to look perfectly normal. 

I promise not to blog about religion for awhile.  I realize it can be considered rude in some circles.  And blogging, the word itself, sounds rather rude, doesn't it?  Like something you should say Excuse me after.  So if you combine blogging with a religious discussion, it could be misconstrued as doubly rude. And I'm just a Southern Girl, after all.  Sipping on a Mint Julip and gently fanning myself in this Effing Triple Digit Heat that is part of a Natural Warming Trend and not Anything To Be Alarmed About.

And now I'd like to end with this.  Because another tragedy occurred over the weekend - having nothing to do with religion and everything to do with the demon of addiction. God, how I'll miss Amy Winehouse. This isn't my favorite Winehouse song - but I love the video because it shows many sides of Amy.

The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie and the Awesomeness of a Fleet Foxes Funeral Finale with a Bit of Frusciante For Good Measure

Looking back over the past few blog entries, I see that I've tackled:

1. Politics (if Sarah Palin Entertainment can be counted as Actual Politics and unfortunately, I think it can).

2. Impermanence

3. Attachment Parenting and the Fostering of Independence

4. Religion

Don't you think it's time I drop all the fluffy unsubstantial blogging for something REALLY important? And judging from the title of this blog post, which is probably the longest blog post title ever in the history of blog post titles, can you see that I'm about to talk about something monumentally imporant? Like...oh, I don't know...The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie? Yes, my Sardine Peppers....today the brand spanking new Red Hot Chili Peppers single was released.  It is a few days earlier than expected, so boo-yah! Sardine Mama woke up to an unexpected pleasant surprise instead of the kinds of surprises she's used to waking up to, which are more of the I think I'm gonna throw up! variety.  Or the Jasper just dumped an entire gallon of milk on the floor! variety.  Or the Mom!! I have to be at work in five minutes!! variety.

You can listen to the single, if you want.  But you don't have to.  You and I don't have to be on the same page for EVERYTHING, after all.  Or anything, for that matter.

I do not count myself a citizen of the Insane Chili Peppers Community. I'm not one the millions of (surprisingly young) people who spend hours commenting on discussion boards.  The threads on these boards have titles like Will Anthony Shave His Mustache? It seems that there are a lot of people very concerned about the Chili Peppers front man's facial hair.  Like REALLY CONCERNED.  They're all rolling around on the floor in orgasmic bliss right now because of this single.  Unfortunately, I am not in any kind of orgasmic anything that I know of.  But I am really excited.  But not as excited as the Crazy Fans on the Discussion Boards.  I love it that I'm not as crazy as they are.  There is a Them (crazy fans) and there is a Me (normal fan) and there is a rock solid line between us.  I mean, after all, I don't spend hours commenting about Anthony's mustache.  I just spend hours reading the comments about Anthony's mustache.  This clearly makes me Normal.  Clearly. Normal. Look it up.

Anyway, I am thrilled and excited and after listening to it 40 or 50 times, I have decided to come out in favor of The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie.  It's catchy.  But it's missing something.  And his name is John Frusciante.  John, my favorite Pepper, is not in the band anymore.  He's been replaced by a fine young man named Josh Klinghoffer. And I'm like totally cool with that.  I am.  Not. Really. Cool. With. That.  Because even though I claim not to be obsessed with the Chili Peppers?  I must admit to a somewhat casual no big deal or anything like that very small and tiny little obsession with Frusciante. 

I have a small little tendency towards ridiculous obsessions.  I have a small little tendency towards not really grasping the idea of moderation. You know, I couldn't just have one or two kids, I had to have five!  I couldn't just homeschool, I had to unschool! I couldn't just breastfeed a baby, I had to breastfeed toddlers! That's the Sardine Mama you know and love (or are at least mildly curious about)....but my All Or Nothing personality doesn't stop at parenting.  Unfortunately.  Let's just say it's a good thing I never did Real Drugs.  I can't just casually like a band, product, person, or philosophy.  I wish I could.  Casual Liking, it seems, would take up far less time that Complete Devotion.

So I'm devoted to Frusciante.  Everybody needs a hobby.

Fortunately for me, I do have a Fellow Frusciante Buddy...and fortunately for me, I'm married to him.  And fortunately for me, he often plays John's songs on his guitar.  I don't think Jeff's interest in Frusciante extends to where he was last seen and what he was wearing, as does mine (even though I'm not crazy).  But still, he appreciates him.  I'm thinking a lack of appreciation for Frusciante would have been a deal-breaker for me.

My kids? Do not appreciate Frusciante.  In fact, I'm pretty sure they're a little bit jealous.  Like, who do you love more, Mom?  Me or John Frusciante?  Before you become alarmed by this, let me just say that I hardly even had to think about it.

John has crazed fans.  I'm not even in the same universe as some of these people, many of whom claim he is Jesus. He has just sometimes looked like Jesus, which is clearly not the same thing as BEING Jesus.

He has also, at times, looked a bit like Edward Scissorhands, and he currently looks like a cross between Ben Stein and Grizzy Adams.  None of his looks (and he's had so many) define him.  He's undefinable.

Many claim to be in love with him.  They want to marry him, have his babies blah, blah, blah.  I am NOT THAT OBSESSED.  I do admit to a 1:00 pm John Adoration Hour where I like to watch videos...but that's not EVERY DAY.  It's only the days that I'm home at 1:00. I'm not in love with him, I don't want to marry him, and I certainly don't want to have his babies.  I'm just his soul mate.  That's all.

I would like to hang out and be his muse.  Don't you think I would be a good muse?  I could inspire him to write beautiful music.  Because don't you think I'm inspiring?  He might also find me amusing.  Ha! Did you get that?  I made like a little pun-thing....aMUSE....get it?  I'd be an awesome muse.  Unless, of course, he'd want to be like writing music All The Time. Like, spending hours and hours locked away being all boring and writing music.  After awhile, I think I would cease to be amusing and start to be needy.  I'd be all like Come TALK to me....I'm feeling LONELY....You don't pay enough ATTENTION to me.... I have been known to be um...emotionally needy (at times).  And if I weren't all emotionally needy, I'm afraid I'd become physically needy, and John would be all like trying to write a song and I'd be all like, John, I'm hungry...fix me a sandwich!! Can't you see how well that would work out?  See why he needs me?  Let's see....what was I saying?  Oh yeah.  About how I'm perfectly normal and Not Like Those Other Fans who are clearly Not Perfectly Normal.  Like I am.  Normal. Ahem...

I have most of John's solo albums.  And I like to listen to them in the car but I have to FIGHT FOR MY RIGHT to listen to John Frusciante.  Sometimes we Rock/Paper/Scissors for it.  Rock, paper, scissors!  I win, Mom! Taylor Swift it is!  Whenever Camille wins it is either Taylor Swift or Justin Beiber.  I'd prefer a little Beiber, myself.  But Camille sure loves Taylor.  When she hands me the CD, I say, "What do you say?"  And Camille says, "I don't need a boy to make me happy!" That's right. I refuse to pop in the Don't Leave Me Alone or Break Up With Me or I'll Die a Thousand Deaths-themed CD until Camille has recited this particular mantra.  Sometimes she decides to be a smart ass and says, "You don't need John to make you happy, Mom!" And then I say, "Yes, I do. Mommy has reached middle-age and she's not at all comfortable with that and loving John makes it more bearable and adds meaning to my life and I'm entitled to a little joy, after all, and...." and then she walks off.  See? All. Completely. Normal.Over. Here.

Joel can't stand the Chili Peppers.  He says By the Way, in particular, reminds him of childhood family vacations, which I thought were all pretty swell but apparently give Joel nightmares.  Whatever. He doesn't have much of an opinion about John one way or the other.  But he supports my right to my obsession.  When you die, Mom, I'm gonna have you cremated and sprinkle your ashes on Frusciante's lawn.  Then you can become a PART OF HIS LAWN.  No wait!  I'll sprinkle your ashes on his George Foreman Grill and you can become a PART OF HIS STEAK and he'll eat you and you'll become a PART OF JOHN FRUSCIANTE.  You'll freaking BECOME John Frusciante. 

I think he's teasing but it is a lovely idea. 

Speaking of when I die (because I don't know if you noticed but it seems I've subtly changed the subject), Joel and I have Big Plans for my funeral.  I have a Funeral Play List and it is Rocking Awesome and it is a shame I won't be there to hear it.  One of the songs that shall be played at my massively impressive funeral attended by thousands is Fleet Foxes' Tiger Mountain Peasant Song.  It is SO DANG BEAUTIFUL.

Joel and I were discussing it and I was like, "Just picture it....me in the coffin....this song playing beautifully and everyone crying and weeping, but wait a minute...Joel, dude, you know we have to cut that song off before he gets to the end where he says, "I'm turning myself to a demon," because that would be inappropriate, in a way, and you know, quite possibly upset the church-goers amongst my fans..ahem...I mean, the people who have come to my funeral."

And then Joel is like, "Oh no, Mom! That would be AWESOME. I'll tie some invisible strings to you and when it gets to that part of the song I'll pull on the strings and you can SIT UP IN THE COFFIN."

I must admit, this idea does hold a small amount of appeal for me. It would almost be worth dying for. Listen to the song and tell me you don't agree.

Well, this was another one of those posts where Sardine Mama revealed just a tad too much about herself and lost a couple of followers, but whatever.  It's my blog, after all.

I'm worse than a Tax Collector? Really?

So, I'm trying not to let this thing bother me.  It's a little thing.  A little thing that was done with no thoughts about me.  A little thing that was not intentional...certainly not done to hurt me or upset me in any way.  I'm usually pretty good about not taking offense where none was intended.  Life's too short to get your feelings hurt when nobody was even out to hurt them, right?  Life's too short to get your feelings hurt by something that was done thoughtlessly. 

I'm quite certain that I hurt people or offend people thoughtlessly.  I'd apologize, because I hate to be responsible for bringing negativity on someone else, but you can't apologize if you don't know.  That's the frustrating thing about thoughtlessness. It's just like insanity.  If you freaking KNEW you were being insane, you'd stop, but that's not how crazy works.  People who are crazy don't know it. And people who are thoughtless don't know it.  If they knew it, that would imply thought, which would thereby take them out of the Thoughtless category altogether, moving them on over to the Intentionally Mean category.

I don't think I'm hurt by this unintentional thing that was done.  I mean, it was done by someone I don't even know.  By someone who doesn't know me. There's no target on my head - nobody is being mean "to" me or anybody else.Yet, I'm bothered.  Annoyed.  Pondering. Ugh, and probably a little hurt, after all.  Because this has to do with children.  Inadvertently, with my children.

Here's the situation:
I moderate an inclusive homeschooling list.  I'd say about 99% of the members are Christian.  If you put Texas and Homeschooling together you get Christian Families. So to me, it makes sense that if you are Christian and you have your choice of ninety billion Christian homeschooling groups - and you choose to join the only inclusive group in the area to join - you are saying, "Hey, I'm Christian. But I don't care if you're not.  I don't care if your kids aren't religious.  We joined an inclusive group and we freaking EXPECTED to meet a few non-Christians and we're cool with that."

Now before I get to the actual little incident that's nagging at me, let me just say that most of the co-ops and organized activities that are discussed on this list are Christian in nature.  They'll say things like, "We're going to be using Christian themed lessons, or a Christian Worldview, or Evolution Will Not Be Discussed...." yada yada.  And that's okay, right? Because the next person might post that their group is going to be doing things from a Buddhist perspective.  That's what inclusive IS.  Of course, I've yet to see that happen...the Buddhist thing...but people know that it could happen, and wouldn't say anything if it did.  The groups that post are letting you know what you're going to get if you decide to attend so you're not surprised and uncomfortable once you get there. There are non-religious families doing things with religious groups within this inclusive list, believe me.  And it's not a problem. I personally do not attend these types of groups/events because they do tend to make me uncomfortable and I can do my socializing with the Christians in settings where it's the things we have in common that have drawn us together (of which there are usually plenty), and not the things that might tend to separate us. 

Last week someone posted an announcement that seemed different to me....a little out of place for an inclusive group....even though definitely acceptable according to our guidelines because hey, we have to include them, right?  Even if it's an openly exclusive group.

A woman posted a message about a teen homeschooling group.  It was a long message of the We're Going to Have So Much Fun!! variety.  She listed the things they'd be doing and they did, indeed, sound like typical fun teenager-ish things to do.  The types of things my kids and their friends do.  And even though I wasn't really interested in the group, because quite frankly, we've just got enough to do and enough people to do it with, I still became....offended? Irritated?  Hurt?...when the message ended with something along the lines of..."There is no statement of faith but..."

Ahhh...the But.  If you're unfamiliar with what a statement of faith is, it is a line that people have to sign or verbally agree with that usually states that the person signing or agreeing accepts Jesus Christ as his or her lord and savior.  Sometimes more detail is given as to EXACTLY what it means to accept Jesus Christ as your lord and savior.  In case you were under the impression you had done so but had still missed the mark in some way...like not understanding the terms "lord" or "savior" in the context of Christianity.  In case you've just been walking around mistaken about the whole thing (something I actually did for several years). 

Anyway, so people sign these things, and sometimes...if the group or association is big enough or organized enough to have really cool activities...well, I know a few people who sign the statement even though they don't agree with it.  Personally, I've got no problem with this.  Camille is a Scientologist, after all.  *Long story but let's just say it involves vaccinations and her desire to participate in a group activity that required her being vaccinated and did you know you can actually download a form stating that you don't vaccinate for religious reasons?  See?  I'm not kidding.  I've got no qualms.  Also?  Not that it's any of your business but there are specific reasons why Camille is not vaccinated and she's no danger to your kid if your kid is vaccinated because DUH your kid has been vaccinated so BACK OFF. 

Oh my, that's what Sardine Mama sounds like when she gets a bit defensive...now, where were we?

Oh yeah.  The woman who posted her exclusive activity on the inclusive homeschooling list...she's going on and on about how much fun they're going to have doing all kinds of non-religious types of activities like movies, parties, swimming, skating, games...and then states that there's no statement of faith but only families with Jesus in their hearts should attend. In other words, what she's saying is:  No Jews, Muslims, Pagans, Unitarians, Buddhists, Hindus or Atheists (and in some cases, depending on the particular brand of Christianity and why a statement of faith is sometimes helpful...no Catholics or Mormons) need apply.

Is it just me, or do you think Jesus is offended? I think he's offended. I mean, My God (literally), if this dude sat down with prostitutes and the dreaded tax collectors, don't you think he could stomach a few sardine teenagers at the skating rink?  And, if the stories about him are true, don't you think he WOULD? Like...joyfully?

WHY is this bothering me?  WHY do I care?  I'll tell you why.  Because I have 3 great non-religious teenagers.  I have 3 teenagers who will not make fun of you, talk behind your back, or exclude you even if you have this syndrome/disorder or that. They will not be unkind in any way.  I have 3 teenagers who go out of their way to include kids who might be a little different or quirky, who have been raised by the Golden Rule, and who understand what it means to be a friend, even during stormy adolescent times.  And they're somehow...what..not good enough to hang with these guys?  Not Christian enough. 

What does it mean to bowl as a Christian?  Do Christians bowl, skate, or play Monopoly differently than us? Well, I guess apparently some of them do.  Some of them do it exclusively, with their backs turned and their circles closed.  And that just doesn't seem very...Christian. And yet?  I expect it more from the Christians than I do the non-religious.  I have yet to meet a non-religious homeschooling family that excludes religious families from entering their social circles.  And yet it's the religious folks who own the market on Good and Kind.  Doesn't make much sense, does it?

You might say that parents have the right (and they do) to protect children from dangerous outside influences.  They have the right to protect their children from secular folks who might not subscribe to the same values.  Because we all know that the Christian Stamp means Good People, right?

Well, I don't think most parents are actually trying to protect their kids from Bad People as much as they're trying to protect them from considering that maybe not all non-Christians are bad...or that not all Christians are good.  That's really why they don't want their kids hanging out with mine.  What if their kids like mine?  What if their kids decide my kids are (gulp) good and decent even though they don't have Jesus in their hearts? What if they're forced to actually think about how a good and decent friend who they like a lot is DOOMED to eternal damnation?  And what if they do think about it and it doesn't make sense? And if that doesn't make sense, what if they start to think about other things and decide they don't make sense? What if they become actively engaged in discerning what their spirituality means and how they wish to apply it to their lives?

Okay.  Never mind.  I get it and she's right.  This could lead to all kinds of crazy sh*t. She really shouldn't let her kids skate with mine.  It could end Christianity as She Knows It.

Now if you're a Religious Type or the Church-Going President of the Sardines in a Can Fan Club....no need to comment that Not All Christians Are Like That. I know that already. Most of my friends are religious and obviously, they're not like that.  I get you. I understand you.  I don't always agree with you but I know where you're coming from and it's generally a pretty good place.  No need to defend the faith unless you just really want to, in which case you're completely entitled and feel free to have at it.

I feel much better now. Thanks for listening.
Signing Off as A Non-Christian But Pretty Decent Sort Anyway Sardine Mama

Fostering Independence on Independece Day: But First - A Couple of Stories!

Well, that last post was a tearjerker, if I do say so myself.  I've had some requests for Funny.  "Be funny!" y'all say. 

The funny thing is, I don't currently feel like being funny.  I'm not blah blah depressed or anything, but I'm wanting to talk about thoughts I've been having, lately.  Thoughts about how children and teens are treated within our society, and how the ways in which they are treated are directly at odds with how we wish them to behave.  But then I'm not being funny, am I? Sometimes Sardine Mama is funny, sometimes she's inspirational, and sometimes she's Just Plain Smart - but who likes a smart ass?  Not me.  But still, I'm going to go all smart on you in a minute.  But first I must deal with the funny business you people demand.

Since I seem to be all out of humorous musings, I'll go with good old-fashioned storytelling, instead.  As in, A Funny Thing Happened To Me On The Way To....

You see, yesterday, I unintentionally shed panties in the parking lot of the local grocery store.  How is that, you ask?  Are you laughing?  For me, it was more embarrassing than funny, but go ahead and laugh at my expense.  It's what I'm here for.

How does one unintentionally shed panties in public?  Well, if one wakes up the morning after a late night out at The Cove during Pridefest...and one hastily bends over and picks up the very cute and not as tight as they used to be (yes! i've lost some weight!) dark denim capris from the bathroom floor, and then puts those dark denim capris on to run to the grocery store without checking those dark denim capris for the stray panties that are wadded up inside them, one runs the risk of having those panties from the night before fall out the bottom of the capris to land upon one's foot while one is in the middle of the crosswalk leading from the parking lot into the grocery store.  One might or might not accidentally kick the panties up into the air while strolling, just in case the guys sitting in their pickups at the crosswalk failed to see the panties fall out in the first place.  Then one might say to oneself, "What the hell is that and where did it come from?" And then one might recognize the item as one's very own pair of panties from the night before and feel compelled to snatch them up and act like shedding panties through the leg of one's capris is a perfectly normal thing to do....like dropping one's keys.  "Oopsie!" one might say as she bends over to retrieve the fluttering panties.  "Clumsy me!"  Then one would have two options:

a) Stuff panties in purse and continue into the store.

b) Take panties back to the minivan.

In the spirit of needing a little recovery time, I suggest one choose the second option, whereby one could hope to collect herself and regain one's composure before heading back into the store for a gallon of milk.  Once one has properly collected oneself and headed back into the store for a gallon of milk, one should try to avoid getting sucked into the belief that there are possibly still an infinite number of panties waiting to drop out the leg holes of one's dark denim capris. One should not become fixated on the possibility that there might be panties creeping out the waistband and down the legs of the the dark denim capris, or out the arm and neck holes of one's t-shirt.  One shouldn't do that because then one will find it difficult to focus on the expiration dates on the milk jugs.

OK - well, if you didn't laugh at that you probably cringed.  I actually did both.

It reminded me of a High School Incident (and I'm having dejavu at the moment - so either I'm still sufficiently traumatized or I've already shared this on the blog). Anyway, here is my High School Boy, Was My Face Red! story.  Because the recent Panties in the Parking Lot Incident wasn't quite enough. I was sitting in Geometry, and I reached into my purse to retrieve a hairbrush. I firmly believed that brushing my hair during Geometry increased the blood flow to my brain, which had become completely numb about one and a half minutes into Geometry.  So I yanked out my brush (I fully intended to apply make-up right there in my seat when I was done with the brushing ritual) and began brushing my hair.  The boy next to me watched me and I assumed it was because my Hot Sexiness was thawing his geometry-numbed brain.  Only he didn't really look turned on.  He looked curious initially, and then slightly mortified.  I continued brushing.  I had really thick hair so I only kind of felt the light little tapping of a something or other as it hit my head with each stroke.  Whatever could that be? I wondered.  And then I saw the something or other out of the corner of my eye.  It was white-ish....tubular shaped....and attached to a string that was hung up in the bristles of my brush.  That's right, people.  I was repeatedly smacking myself in the head with a tampon in front of a classroom full of kids who would have watched ANYTHING....absolutely ANYTHING...over the Geometry lecture.  This was way more than any of them could have possibly hoped for in the way of a distraction.  I still occasionally see that boy...he always grins.  I think he's a grandfather now.

Okay - have your funny bones been tickled enough?  Now let me get on with my Important Thoughts.

I don't think I realized, until recently, how much independence we give our kids compared to Most Kids.  I don't think I realized just how much more freedom they have than Many Kids.  I don't think I realized how much faith and confidence we bestow on and have in them, compared to Lots of Other Kids.

We don't speak for our kids, unless one of them is going through the I'll Whisper What I Want You To Say For Me stage.  If one of them is in that stage, we fully cooperate with that tag-team form of communication. Almost all of our kids have been at that stage at one point or another and I see nothing wrong with helping them express themselves over their shyness.  Anyway - I'm OT, as they say.  Off-topic. 

What I'm not used to is parents of teens speaking for them.  Not really FOR them, either, as in, "My child would like me to express this for him..."  I'm talking "this is what I want to express for my child."  And that's totally different.

I recently volunteered at a piano competition for Ellie.  I simply registered pianists, telling them what time they played, asking for music, making sure their measures were numbered, etc.  And in only ONE CASE did I actually talk to the teen pianist.  The parents were the ones who came up to the desk, signed their kid in, flipped through the music to check measures, etc.  Their teens stood behind / beside them, appearing either disinterested or frightened to death.  I didn't talk to them.  I talked to their parents.  It was strange to me.  I could no more have checked Ellie in at her own room than I could have taken Joel's Black Belt test for him.  I didn't know what music she was playing, the order in which she was playing it, or whether or not her measures were numbered.  And even if I did know all of that, I would still expect her to be the one to check herself in.  She needs to hear the information, she needs to be able to ask any questions she might have....it just never occurred to me to do it for her. 

The strange thing is, Attachment Parenting is often confused with Helicopter Parenting. What people don't understand is that we're not hoverers.  We're really not.  We're Emotional and Physical Need-Meeters. The acronym for that is EPNM....which is lame.  If someone wants to come up with a better title and accompanying acronym I am All For It.  Get to work on that, would you?

Anyway, we attempt to meet the needs of and give legitimacy to our kids in infancy and beyond because it fosters independence.  They are in charge of identifying their needs.  Not me.  Who am I to argue with you if you say you're not hungry?  Who argues with me if I say I'm not hungry or I don't feel like sleeping or I'm not really interested in continuing to learn about tarot cards?  Nobody.  So why do parents feel the need to tell their kids things like, "yes, you are hungry - it's dinner time!" or "you can't quit soccer simply because you don't like it! then you're a quitter!  for the rest of your life! i'd rather you develop an intense fear of trying new things!"

Sheesh.  Anyway,  honoring their needs, even if what they needed was to sleep with us for comfort, or continue breastfeeding, or whatever it is that they wanted/needed to do....all of the things that made them look possibly clingy to people who didn't get it, just ensured that they felt worthy of having their needs met.  That's a Huge Thing.  Think about it.  I'm worthy of the things I need. I believe in the legitimacy of the things I need.

Truth be told, I don't have that level of confidence about myself.  I wish I did. 

Kids who are Attachment Parented learn how to express their needs with the complete expectation that value will be placed upon those needs.  It means they can look adults in the eye and speak to them with the knowledge that they deserve to be heard.  Likewise (and here's the part where those of you who believe this results in egocentric and bratty kids lose your leg to stand on), they firmly believe that everyone else also deserves to be heard and that their needs also have value.  Bingo.  Do you realize how many of society's perceived ills are solved with this simple idea of giving worth and value to the needs of your children? Oops! I think I got off-topic again. 

Here's the incident I'm working towards:

Yesterday I had to attend a Parent Meeting for a music festival Ellie's participating in.  There are only five kids in this group, and they spent an hour and a half telling us things that only the participants needed to know.  And yet, the other parents were intensely interested and involved in this meeting.  With the exception of one young man (the only other homeschooler), none of the kids said a word during the entire thing (I'm sure that will change - they all hardly knew each other at this point - and Ellie really didn't say anything, either).  But what I'm getting at is, the parents spoke for their children, and about their children, as if they weren't sitting right there next to them.  At one point in the meeting, the leaders talked to the teens about how they would be attending many receptions with artists and patrons and how they should Speak To The Adults at these events.  Like this was a really Big Concept.  They told them that if they are introduced to their benefactors (all of these kids are being sponsored by patrons of the arts) they should Say Thank You and Maybe Even Something Else Like Nice To Meet You.  They were repeatedly told to take advantage of opportunities to socialize with the professional musicians.  But when you looked around the room, the kids had their heads down and the parents were nodding enthusiastically and speaking and talking and I wanted to point out the obvious, which is that you can't expect kids who are raised as if they are mutes in adult circles to suddenly know how to stand up and take their places as equals...you know...on command. **I don't know these kids and doubt very seriously that they are all raised as mutes by their parents, I'm talking about the Bigger Picture of how our culture and society tends to treat young people as somehow lesser than those who have simply been here longer, as if any of us even have anything to say about the order in which we arrive.

Just a little something to think about.  I'm SO FAR FROM PERFECT, believe me.  And if you don't believe me, I can ask my kids to leave their opinions in the comments section and you will get the Real Dirt on the Subject. 

Sometimes I have to remind myself to pay attention to and honor the needs of my littler guys (not so much with the bigger ones....I have a problem treating the little guys with the same respect as I do the bigger ones....I'm a Work In Progress).  Sometimes it is something simple, like Camille will say she doesn't like something and I'm tempted to say, Yes you do!!  And instead of thinking she just doesn't know what she's talking about, I'll force myself to believe that she absolutely does.  And then I just keep on doing it the rest of the day.  Not just giving in, but believing in what she expresses to me.  It makes me see her differently.  It makes me honor her, respect her, and yes, love her, differently.  It makes me value her differently.  And then? It makes me value everyone a little differently, myself included.

I'm more likely to believe my own needs deserve to be met when I can see that simple truth in the needs of others. 

OH MY GOD.  I think I just bestowed the Golden Rule upon you people.  I told you I was going to be all smart!  Just did it in my usual Wordy Way. 

Happy Independence Day!

And Then The Past Recedes

We were riding in the car. Actually, it was our old blue Mitsubishi Montero.  It only had one seat in the back - very different from the enormous, Nasty Big Boy Van I drive now.  But we only needed the one seat, because we were the typical American-sized family at the time.  We were the obnoxiously proud parents of exactly two children, and Ellie and Joel rode in the back, ages four and two. 

We were driving through the country....Jeff was humming to the radio....in my mirror I could see Joel with his brows drawn together as if he were thinking about something.  When Joel thought about something he tended to use all of his facial muscles to do it.  Ellie was just hanging out in her booster seat.  A particular sense of melancholy rode along with me. I was happy, but feeling the pangs of impermanence. The details of this trip in the car...where were we going? I can't recall....I only remember the details of those few seconds.  But I remember them so clearly.  I knew I was in a living snapshot....I had this sense that nothing was real - nothing was permanent - we were images captured but for a moment. Nothing was any more solid than the dream you wake up from in the morning.

Joel and I seemed to be on the same wavelength because he said, "Someday we'll be two mommies and two daddies driving in this car."  He couldn't say his R-sound...so it sounded like caw.  I smiled, clinging to that mispronounced R-sound.  Because I knew it would change...it wasn't real and solid and something I could hold onto.  I remember I actually grabbed the door at that point - I wanted to feel something firm and hard and solid to remind myself that it was all real....at least for the moment. 

Joel, at the age of two, grasped the concept that things were going to change...that things were, in fact, changing as we drove along that country road.  Two mommies and two daddies...mommy and daddy being his euphemisms for grown-ups.  So he understood the change of growing up...he understood he was going to get bigger and turn into an adult...but he didn't grasp the enormity of it.  He didn't grasp the hugeness of the change, or the implications of it.  He wasn't just going to get bigger, he would be reborn a thousand times over...he'd become a new person with each lost tooth, each new skill, every new discovery...and with each rebirth, there was sure to be a tiny...death.

To Joel, this enormous truth was processed in the only way his two-year-old mind could do it. He would get bigger. His sister would get bigger.  Mom and Dad would stay exactly the same because they were already big. And the four of us would forever drive along that road together in the blue Montero...Mom and Dad in the front, and Joel and his sister, all grown up and riding in their usual spots in the backseat. 

I smiled at the vision.  It was such a sweet one.  And I remember trying to imagine what they'd look like when they were all grown up. I couldn't do it.  The young woman and young man of the future were total strangers to me....their images drifted just outside of my mind's eye, blurry and remaining stubbornly unfocused.  Yet, they were as real to me as the two children in the backseat, which is to say, not very real at all. That's how I felt at the moment.

I'm feeling that way again.  As if my life and the people and things in it are made of mist.  I want to hold on...to keep things just as they are...us driving along the road with this new, bigger family....in our Big Church Bus, as the kids call it.  I want us to just stay like this....but we, as we are right now, are not solid enough for me to grasp. We're not solid at all.  The only thing constant about us is our unending metamorphosis.

Joel has his first summer job as a lifeguard.  He takes on as many hours as he can...both because he is in the process of buying Ellie's old car, and because he loves being with new friends and co-workers at the pool.  He's having the time of his life.  He opted out of a recent family vacation, along with Ellie, who was at a music festival.  And the rest of us drove to South Padre, a set of parents and three children....three children who were unseen, unborn, and unbelievably absent from my life that day in the Montero. Try to hold on to that thought with any level of understanding.  It's impossible.

Joel hugged me out of the blue last night.  He's so much bigger than me, now.  He'd been at the pool all day.  He smelled like chlorine.  His arms were strong, and he squeezed me tightly.  He rested his chin on the top of my head.  I wanted to cry, but then he began rubbing his chin across the top of my head very hard (it hurt), saying that he was an expert in chin/scalp massage.  So I laughed instead, and he let go, and casually walked away.  Always walking away. 

Ellie is mostly gone nowadays, too.  She's busy going to lessons, teaching lessons, leaving for days at a time for music festivals and competitions, getting ready for college and wanting to see her friends.  She senses the instability of the moment as well, but I don't think I'm often among the concerns about the things in her life that are changing.  Which is as it should be.  But last night she came home from a friend's recital in the city.  And instead of barging through the door to hit the piano (even though it was late at night) or hit the study to get on skype with her boyfriend....she came back to me, where I sat quietly trying to cling to my life, chasing it in my mind like little balls of mercury.

"Hey," she said.

"How was the recital?"

"Good."  She sat down, picked up the nearest guitar, saw some printed tabs sitting on what used to be a meditative fountain of mine but has since been claimed by Jeff as a music stand and pick holder.  "Ooh," she said. "Dad's been playing John Frusciante."  She gave me a little sexy glance.  She easily began strumming, little delicate brows scrunched up with the effort of figuring out the tabs.  For a kid who doesn't play the guitar anymore, she plays really well.  She used to play the guitar all the time, but then she decided to do something else and that was that.  She's better at letting go than I am.  I'm a look-behind girl, and she's a look-ahead girl.  And it isn't because she's young and I'm old.  I've always been a look-behind girl.

She chatted back and forth with Jeff, who was already in bed, about this note or that and this fret or that, complaining about the tabs, which they decided weren't quite right....and plucked away at my one of my favorite Frusciante songs, The Past Recedes. Strangely appropriate.

"Sing the chorus, Mom," she said. "I can't remember how it goes."

I did. Badly.

"Ahh....and here's the part where John plays the solo..." she made some noise on the guitar and that face she makes when she's being a little bit silly.  She waved her hands around to indicate there was no way in hell she could play it....made some noises....and set the guitar down.

We talked.  For almost an hour.  I can't remember about what, none of it really mattered. What mattered is that the whirlwind had stopped for a moment, and we'd become a snapshot together.  And I clung. 

While she talked, I focused on her beautiful face.  It was the grown-up woman face that had eluded me that day in the Montero.  More beautiful than I could have imagined. 

I looked into it,searching for the face of the four-year-old.  But she was gone. Vanished.  I reached for the arm of the chair I was sitting in....solid.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she said suddenly, standing up.

"Ellie," I said.  "Thanks."

She smiled her huge smile, looked at me in a way that let me know that it had, indeed, been a gift to me....this little chat of ours. She wasn't going to deny it.  She knows my world is an earthquake at the moment....the ground constantly moving beneath my feet...as she and her brother get on with this business of growing up.

"You're welcome, Mom."

Go and be happy, I thought.  And then a scene from Kung Fu Panda II popped into my head.  I HATE it when that happens. I didn't like that movie, by the way, and slept through some of it....it wasn't bad....I'm just not entertained by children's movies like I used to be.  Anyway, there is a scene that made me cry right there in the theater.  Because it was My Scene.  My Life. My World At The Moment. In it, Po is leaving his dad to go fight the bad guys.  And his dad, Mr. Ping, is just a hand-wringing, sniffling mess about it. 

But what if you don't come back?

Dad, I'll be back.  But first, I have to go save China.

I smiled as she walked away. 

Fine already. Go save China, Ellie.  

Do NOT alert the Lame-Stream Media

Hold onto your seats and don't you DARE contact the lame-stream media.....Sardine Mama is soon to take a little va-cay-cay. That's right! Just like Sarah Palin, I'm blowin' this joint. With several of my children and my husband. But it still counts as a va-cay-cay because there is no dishwasher to unload.


So yeah....ME....a small-town married American woman of five children with little to no work experience in national politics and a hot husband.....ME a former beauty queen high school drum major who is highly prone to quitting jobs after about two years (I get bored easily), is taking a little breaky-poo.....a Bus Tour, if you will. Okay, actually more of a mini-van tour - I'm not like Joe Plumber and the Rest of Middle Class America who own a tour bus and work for FOX News.  It isn't like I have managed to snag my own reality TV show YET.  But one is in the works.  It is called Sardine Mama's Texas.  I'm gonna ride a horse and rope a bull.  Or maybe I'll ride a bull and rope a horse.  We do both of those things here and you'll learn all about that on my show. 

Anyway, where was I?  Oh yeah - my trip. Don't you DARE FOLLOW ME AND PUT ME ON TV AND ASK ME STUPID QUESTIONS ABOUT THE ALAMO THAT ANY THIRD-GRADER COULD ANSWER. Gotcha! I'm not going to tell you when I'm leaving, or where I'm going, because I don't want you to be aware of my schedule in any way or be waiting for me any place while all I'm trying to do is educate poor Piper Camille about the Alamo (I freaking love the name Piper and I am kicking myself over not discovering it sooner). Not that I'll BE at the Alamo. So please don't be waiting for me there. If you want to know where I'm going and what I'm going to do you'll have to FOLLOW ME and that will make me angry because I'm just trying to take a little va-cay-cay, after all, in a business suit.

If I were to go to the Alamo (but I'm not so don't SHOW UP THERE WITH NEWS CAMERAS) I would take a guided tour with my family because don't string me up....but gosh dangit.....I've never taken them to the freaking Alamo.  We drive past it all the time and someone will say, "Look, there's the Alamo."  So it isn't like they haven't SEEN it.  One time we drove past and Jules said, "Look, there's the Alamo."  And then Joel said, "That's not the REAL Alamo, you idiot."  And Jeff looked at me like, Seriously, Sardine Mama? And I looked at him like, Oh, you think this is easy?  You wouldn't last 24 hours, buddy....it is HARD being a famous non-famous person hounded by the lame-stream media while not-really-raising five kids and not-really-being-governor anymore!!

Anyway - so if I WERE to go to the Alamo and the lame-stream media tried to toss a gotcha' moment at me with a Lame-O question about John Wayne or David Bowie.... I would be totally prepared!!  Because everyone knows the story of the Alamo where we fought the horrible Socialist Mexicans.....half of whom were born in Africa!!  David Bowie (this was before his singin' career DUH) was fresh from the Country of Europe, having rushed to the aid of Other White People in defending the Christian Mission San Antonio de Valero against that Muslim, Santa Anna.  WE WON.  If we hadn't won, all our kids would be forced to speak Mexican and wear sombreros.  There's a wall around the Alamo and that's to keep the Mexicans OUT (unless they're custodians).   But if you stand on your tip-toes, you can peek over the wall and see Mexico, just like I can see it from my house. And I'm keeping my eye on it, too.

If you don't believe this is the true story of the Alamo, you can go look it all up on Wikipedia.  If it doesn't match up, well, wait a few hours and try again.  I have some folks working on that as we speak.  They're called the Texas State Board of Education. They're good people and we're on the same page.

Well, I've gotta run.  So much to do.  I've gotta pack the sunscreen, the camera, and call Rick Perry to see if he'll be my runnin' mate for the election I'm NOT participatin' in.  You remember Rick Perry, right?  He's governor of Texas, which we all know, is no big deal.  ANYONE can be a governor.  Especially for 2 years.  But Rick Perry has been governor of Texas for ten years!!  Ten years!!  Oh my god it's been Ten Freaking Years.  Anyway - yes! Ricky as my runnin' mate!  Of course, first I have to talk him out of running for president.  'Cause rumor is, he's Actually Thinking About It and that frightens me to death because the last not-very-bright-Texas-governor who made me giggle by sayin' he was fixin' to run for president ACTUALLY WON.  Twice. 

Rick's a true Texan and a real American (unlike other people who were born in Texas and vote and work here but who do not agree with The Right and who are therefore - duh - Wrong and UnAmerican).  An example of his patriotism was his proposal that Texas SECEDE FROM THE UNION.  "Let's just freaking secede!  Secede!  Let's just quit the union!  Let's just NOT BE AMERICANS ANYMORE because I don't like the current president and that makes total and complete sense and is a very logical way of dealing with my disappointment! When I'm elected president, we'll rejoin the union!  And then if I'm not re-elected....we'll secede again! And thus forth and so on!"

With Rick Perry at my side, how could I lose?  How could ANY of us lose?  We are the very definition of a Winning Ticket and if you don't believe me, look it up in Wikipedia. 

Okay - well - I'm off to see the world!  Because I will Totally Rule It Soon.
Sardine Mama.....well, that's Madame Mama to You People.

Whereby My Week is Predictably Anchored by Weekends on Both Ends

The weekend is upon us.  And I haven't even recovered from last weekend, yet!

Last weekend was a Big Weekend for two of my kids, Camille and Joel.  Camille is a dancer.  She really is. From a very young age, all she wanted to do was dance or watch other people dancing.  She was especially drawn to ballet - and even at the age of 2 and 3, would sit and watch an entire ballet spellbound.  The same went for opera.  She's only been to one live opera, but has seen several on television and she is always sucked in, quite literally, to that world.  Even if it is in Italian and she hasn't a clue as to what is being said, she knows what is going on.  "That's the bad guy! There's the princess!"  And always....jumping up in between the action to expressively dance the story, or what she thinks is the story.  And can I just add that she'll dance with anybody?  At one time her most willing partner was Jasper.  Not so much the case anymore.

When Camille was three, she started dance lessons in our little town with Miss Erin, who looks, walks, and talks like a dancer, so Camille worshipped her.  She loved it immediately, as expected.  She was one of the more social little girls in the class....so she often didn't know what steps she was supposed to be learning...but when the music came on she danced anyway, and she wasn't bothered at all by the fact that she was often doing completely different steps from the other girls.  It was all rather adorable.

Camille also read about ballet through picture books and some little chapter books that Jeff read to her every night, and when she was 7 she asked me when she would get on pointe.  I explained to her that Erin's students didn't dance on their toes and she sort of freaked.  "But it's my life long dream!" she said.  Now let me just explain something to you about Camille at the age of 7.  SILLY GIRL.  Goofy, giggly, funny, and silly girl.  And here she was crying about her life's dream possibly slipping through her fingers.  "If I don't start training soon, it's all over!" she cried.  I was like, what???  But I did a little research and it turned out she was totally right.

Well, it would have been quite easy for me to blow this off....really really easy to talk about how unlikely it was that she would become a professional ballet dancer and the futility of it all....but I'm a sucker for life long dreams.  And we didn't blow off Ellie when she said she wanted to be a concert pianist, and guess what? She's well on her way to becoming a concert pianist. So even though Camille's personality and nature were the opposite of Ellie's in every way, I still thought she deserved a chance at a real classical ballet education, although I absolutely expected it to be short-lived.  I figured that as soon as Camille was told to be quiet, or forced to do something uncomfortable or difficult, we would be right back with Miss Erin.  But at least this way, there would be no regrets over what might have been in regards to a life long dream.

San Antonio has a professional ballet company, and Camille now takes with its academy.  It has been almost two years since she started there, and there is no indication that she's losing any of her initial enthusiasm. There are rules against silliness, talking, and even yawning, if you can believe it.  The classes are long, repetitious, and consist mostly of strength-building and technique-perfecting drills.  There is no booty-shaking behind the teacher's back (one of Camille's former favorite tricks).  She loves it. After the first class, Camille had come out with her little legs shaking.  She was sore the next day.  And even sorer the next.  But when it was time to go back the following week, she packed her little dance bag and got in the car.  And she's been doing it ever since. 

I'll never forget the evening I picked her up to find her standing quietly in the lobby, looking quite stunned.  I thought maybe she'd gotten in trouble, or someone had been mean to her....something had obviously happened.  "What's wrong?" I asked.  "I've been promoted," she whispered, clearly not believing it.  So now she dances with Big Girls Who Have Bras And Everything.  And she goes more than once a week, which is a sacrifice for me in the driving department, but one I'm happy to make.  Camille, after all, is doing the hard work to justify it.
So: Back to the previous busy weekend.  Camille's ballet academy holds a year-end demonstration.  No sparkly costumes or any of that.  It is simply a demonstration of skills learned before they begin summer lessons.  Camille takes two classes at the academy, jazz and ballet (she's adding lyrical next week).

Her jazz demonstration was on Friday.  Here she is with her teacher, and yes, you do have to be gorgeous to teach dance at this particular academy.  Or at least that seems to be the case, anyway.

The next morning found me dropping Joel off at the crack of dawn for his black belt test.  He's been working toward this goal for years.  He had to write an essay about his journey to get to this point in Tae Kwon Do, and it was beautiful.  I don't think I realized how much it meant to him until I read it.  Of course, it was Pure Joel so there was plenty of goofy business in it, as well.  In fact, when he handed it in to his teacher he made her promise she wouldn't read it unless she was playing Journey's Don't Stop Believing in the background. 

Joel was a pre-pubescent kid when he started....a little on the cuddly/fluffy/not-quite-chubby side....and now....well, he runs at least a mile each day and he's big and tall and has a super low voice and here he is putting on his brand new black belt after a grueling day of testing that included running a mile on what ended up being the hottest day of May (98 degrees or so....).



He didn't want me to stay for the test (what is it with my kids and the Please Go Away Now thing?) but when I came back for the presentation ceremony I got to see him do this:





At this point he was so tired he could hardly stand up straight, but he did break that dang board with his head.  He also fought 3 black belts at once (I missed that but I'm told his strategy was to run like hell and that it worked brilliantly for a while).

Here he is with the other candidates.  The gorgeous blond in the middle who looks like one of Charlie's Angels is his teacher - she's the mother of 7 and a grandmother several times over.  It really raises the bar for the rest of us who were just kind of looking forward to granny rockers on the porch.

My dad had a busy weekend, as well, seeing as how he is a glutton for punishment and likes us to drag him around everywhere.  Here he is posing with Joel....he was trying to show off his hands as weapons but I think his steely gaze was more effective.  Jeff snuck in the back with a Kung Fu Panda Face.

No rest for the weary, we threw everyone in the car and headed back to the ballet studio (an hour away) for Camille's ballet demonstration.  It would have been entirely too convenient for her jazz and ballet demonstrations to have been on the same day.  So here she is with Miss Sally...who comes with the added bonus of speaking with a lovely British accent.

We ended the weekend by going to see The Hangover II which was predictably funny....but so predictably funny that this time it wasn't quite as funny.  But it still had this guy in it, which made the whole thing Worthwhile.

Technically, he's Bradley Cooper.  But he's also known as The Cute Guy From The Hangover.  Jeff didn't know there was a cute guy in The Hangover.  "Which one is the cute one?" he asked, thereby proving once again that he's not gay.  If you google Cute Guy From The Hangover, Bradley's face pops up.  There isn't any first runner-up or anything like that.  There are several guys in The Hangover, and one of them is cute. That's all.  And he's very cute.  I appreciate the heck out of his cuteness.  What I don't appreciate?  Is the fact that multiple morons brought their kids to see this movie.  What is wrong with people?  I just don't get it. 

Memorial Day found us grilling and gardening and doing yard work and entertaining and taking Joel to and from work life guarding at the city's pool.  And by us, I mean Jeff.  I mostly recovered from the previous two days by reading non-stop. 

Now THIS weekend has already gotten off to a busy start.  Last night Ellie was supposed to meet her boyfriend at a wedding, only her car was having problems so we drove her into the city and dropped her off at the wedding.  As in, WE ALL DROVE HER.  All of us, plus Joel's girlfriend (pink-haired little doll in the back seat). Ellie loves it when we take her places.  You can tell by how happy she looks sitting there next to Jasper.  Camille also seems to be trying to get as far away from him as possible.

After dumping Ellie we headed to the movies where we split up.  I took the two littlest kids to see Kung Fu Panda (not The Hangover) and Jeff took the older 3 to see the latest X Men movie.

Today finds Ellie packing while her boyfriend and his dad (a mechanic and boy has this come in handy considering Ellie's unfortunate luck with automobiles) work on her car.  In an hour or so we'll take her a few hours away to leave her for a week....she's one of 25 kids accepted from around the world to attend an International Piano Festival.  We'll also be getting Joel to and from work and doing the other usual things that will hopefully include my curling up with a book or two or three.

So there are lots of things weighing on my mind right now.  I'd like to blog about them. But since this blog is mostly my own journal, I find it necessary to occasionally record the day by day happenings of our lives. The things you might not find very interesting, but mean the world to me, nonetheless.  I know that years from now, these will be the posts that will bring me the most joy to read.  Opinions come and go, as do thoughts about this or that....and nobody misses them once they've been expressed and put away....but the small moments and events of my family's lives just run through my fingers like water....and this blog is my small attempt at catching some of them before they evaporate into hazy memories.