In Search of a Purple Shirt

Today is purple-shirt day at VBS. Do you know how hard it is to find a purple shirt for a boy these days? On my way home from work yesterday, I stopped off at Target to look for a purple shirt for Johnny. I saw lots of purple girls' clothing and boys' t-shirts in every conceivable color except purple. At last I grabbed a striped button-up that had the closest thing to purple on it that I could find. Johnny took one look and said, "I hate this shirt," and David said, "That's a pretty big stretch, calling a white shirt with green and blue stripes purple." Great. The search continued. After I took the kids swimming, we all three went back to Dollar General in search for splashes of grape juice and plum wine. No luck at all. The only thing purple we saw was a XXL nurse's shirt, and for a split second, I pondered how I could make it work. Then I thought, forget it. Johnny can just wear blue tomorrow. There's only so much I'll do to make God happy. But then, unexpectedly, God made me happy. There it was: a size 4 purple button-down shirt with green palm trees at the bottom. Or was it purple? Grace said yes and Johnny said no. I asked the cashier what color the shirt was and she said "Blue. Purple. It's bluish-purple." I bought it and yes, it was 30% off too.

I was happy with my find, because, let's face it: how many guys reading this own (and wear) purple shirts? And for those of you with sons, how many of your boys have (and wear) purple shirts? We're flipping around the tv last night and land on the Larry King/Paris Hilton interview. And what color is Larry wearing? Purple.

In Search of a Suitable Yellow Shirt

It’s 7:45 PM and I realize that, oh, crap! I still need to pick up a yellow shirt for Johnny to wear to Bible School tomorrow, because tomorrow is yellow-shirt day. The kids need to be bathed, their teeth need to be brushed and stories need to be read (we can’t skip bath tonight, because they both smell like wet dogs), and we have precisely one hour and fifteen minutes to accomplish all of this as David and I both have important (separate) conference calls to take at 9:00 PM.

Luckily it’s David’s night to do bath and I grab the car keys and rush out the door to Cole Park Plaza to hunt for a cheap yellow shirt. David is against the idea of buying a shirt just to wear for one day at Bible School, but he’s also against the idea of the alternative: me dressing Johnny in a winter Batman vest in 100-degree weather (at least it’s yellow). David can’t have it both ways, and one way or another, Johnny will be wearing yellow tomorrow.

We have a Dollar General, CVS, and Lowes Foods not too far from home. My first bet's on Dollar General, with CVS and Lowes as close fall-backs (respectively), because have you noticed what kinds of non-drugstore and non-grocery store items these places sell these days? Almost all kid birthday party and teacher appreciation gift-buying can be knocked out at CVS, and I’ve been known to Christmas-shop at Lowes (think fuzzy, cozy throw blankets and XXL navy fleece pullovers) while I’m there picking up juice and milk.

But, Dollar General is where I go first, hurrying through the aisles looking for flashes of yellow. I find two bad yellow shirts, but one is slightly less bad than the other. The really bad one says, “Chevy Trucks America” (or something just as stupid) and has these gaudy, big honking trucks on the front. David would kill me if I dressed Johnny in that. The other one is only slightly less ugly with three or four very big Power Rangers on it, but I know it will be a hit with Johnny. I have the Power Rangers shirt in my hand but quickly scan the rest of the kid-racks for bursts of sunshine and corn on the cob. I find some babyish stuff with pale yellow sleeves and decide they won't do on multiple levels. That's when I saw it: a bright yellow shirt, a less-offensive version with a simple black outline of a soccer player. Perfect! Until I saw it was a size 2. I hold it up, eyeball it and determine that even though it says "size 2," my almost 4-yr. old that wears at least a size 5 could definitely squeeze into this for 2 1/2 hours.

It's about 8:15 PM as I take it to the counter and figure the kids are probably basically clean at this point and will be ready for some entertaining stories when I get home with this treasure. The best part (well, actually, the best part came later, it came this morning when Johnny told me that he loves his new shirt--and also that the sun could go to Bible School today because the sun is yellow)--the best part, and I love it when this happens, is that as I got out $6.42 to pay for the shirt, the cashier said, "That will be $4.49." Huh? "It's 30% off."

I love it when a plan comes together.

In Search of the Perfect Genes

I think I've inherited a pesky skin problem from my mom. I remember her saying that her skin started acting up in her 30's.

Dermatologist: Don't worry, it will clear up when you're about 40.

My mom: FORTY ??!!! I'm not even going to care when I'm FORTY!!

Dermatologist: Oh, you'll still care.

If 40 is the new 30, that puts me right around 25. I definitely still care.

And Then Not So Funny

Upon hearing about Grace's "wandering off" incident the other day from the Weaver Street lawn all the way inside Carr Mill Mall, all the way over to Elmo's Diner. At night. In the dark. By herself.

Me: Grace, honey, you cannot wander off like that. It's very dangerous. Do not ever wander off from Mommy or Daddy again. Do you understand?

Grace: Are you have gum?

Me: Grace-look at me in the eye. This is very serious. Do not ever wander off, ok? Remember those bad guys in Home Alone? Well, there are a lot of bad guys out there, and those guys that brought you back to Daddy could have been bad guys.


Grace: But they weren't bad guys, Mommy, they were nice.


Me: Oh, Grace, you are so sweet, I can't stand it. But there's a lot about life that that you don't understand yet.

Grace: My name is Grace Cooley Elizabeth.

Me: (See what I mean?)

Morning Funny

Johnny: I wish my name was REEEEEEEEcky! (?)

It's Good To Get Away

Last week I took an overnight trip to Boone by myself and then an overnight trip to Wilmington with David and the kids. You know what? It's good to get away. You know what else? As opposite as our state's two main tourist attractions are geographically, beach-towns and moutain-towns have surprisingly similar "live and let live" vibes. It's lunchtime at the beach and you stop in the nearest deli for a hotdog and a coke. No shirt, no shoes? No problem. You're turned around in the moutains and need directions to the Blue Ridge Parkway. No teeth, no brain cells left? No problem. Inside living spaces are funkier as people tend to spend as much time as possible outdoors. Both communities sport a slower, more casual pace of doing things, and the senses are super-charged with the sights, smells, tastes and textures of some of nature's finest.

I love spending time in both places, for different reasons. Boone is home, and I love going home. Partly because my family, friends, and roots are there, but also because I love the mountains. I love the fact that it hardly ever gets above 75 degrees in the summer and that people sleep with their windows open. I love the way flower beds and vegetable gardens look in the mountains in the summer--how the hills add a lot of visual variety to a flat bed. I love how I woke up last Friday at 10:15 AM (parents, can you imagine?), in a family friend's house (whose kids I used to babysit for) who my sister was house-sitting for and right there out of the blue in the middle of beautifully-framed photos of their family of five was a picture of my mom and the man who lives there. It reminded me that as I go day to day missing my mom, there are countless others who miss their friend.

I love how carefree I felt throwing on my navy sweatshirt and walking to ASU's Student Union to grab a cup of coffee with my brother, who is the Director of AV Services. And how bustling the Union was with parent orientation in session and how it reminded me of my days working for the Carolina Union, which to this day remains my most favorite job. And how we ran into one of my mom's old professors (whose daughters I also used to babysit for--Boone is like that) who was probably the age I am now when I first met him, but who looks virtually the same after 20 years. He told me how much he missed my mom.

And then how I enjoyed walking by myself back to King Street and playing tourist in a town I know inside and out browsing the vintage clothing shop, the music store and the Mast General Store to look for two small toys for my kids which I promised I'd bring back. Lunch with my dad, walking the dogs with Daniel and Kate and then some more time spent in a special situation with Kate rounded out my short jaunt to the place I still call home, although now I've lived away from Boone for almost twice as many years as I ever lived there.

With no incident on the three-hour ride home, it was a nice reunion with David and the kids as the excitement began to build for going to the beach the next morning. We picked Wilmington/Wrightsville Beach for two reasons: 1.) A co-worker friend and her family were there and invited us over in advance for a big meal and 2.) From front door to beach towel, Wrightsville Beach is the closet beach for us to get to. We had to drive from our house in North Chatham County to Raleigh, but once on I-40, it's only 120 miles to Wilmington. And I really wanted to see if we could be dipping our toes into the water in under 3 hours from leaving our driveway. We couldn't. We didn't time the drive right (it always needs to be in the 1:00 PM range, after lunch, when the kids are most likely to take a nap) and we ended up making way too many stops. And Johnny whined, cried, and complained the whole way there. And when Johnny whines, Grace hits him, and when Grace hits him, I yell at her, and when I yell at her, she cries, and when Grace cries, Johnny whines even louder. Instead of protesting each pit stop for the sake of "If we stop again, we're not going to be able to see how long it really takes to get to the beach from our house," I finally resgined to the fact that stopping-several-times-thus-throwing-off-your-time-of-seeing-how-long-it-really-takes-
to-drive-120-miles, is, unfortunately, how long it takes when you're driving with kids.

Once we got there, the effort was worth it (pretty much) as the kids were beside themselves with energy and joy splashing in the water and digging in the sand. What I love about the beach, in addition to the ocean being free, is the way the sun gives me enough color in my face to where I don't feel the need to wear much make-up, and the way the saltwater dries my hair with a hint of wave in it that looks way better than spending any time fixing it. I love getting all the way wet and the feel of the sun slowly drying my skin. I love playing with my kids and having them remember beach games that I made up last year that they remembered but I'd forgotten--and how fun it is to get 'whip-splashed' in the salty, shallow foam. Making castles and drawing pictures in the sand and remembering the year spent on the beach when David and I first met. And how intense that last wave was on Sunday--the one that took Johnny and me under with pressure so fierce that it knocked my bathing suit bottoms to my knees and left tiny shells sticking to Johnny's private parts. A wave with such gusto that it had us both gasping for air and him ending up in tears and asking if he could sleep in the living room and watch tv that night, like he gets to do when he's sick or sad.

The beach and the mountains. Two of my favorite places. One where it's fun to wear as little as you can get away with and one where it feels good to bundle up to the max. One where it's exotic and far-away and represents the year I fell in love and the only year I ever had a tan. The other a place for which I will always be homesick and from which I will always come. I wasn't born there and I haven't lived there for seventeen years. But it feels natural now and feels like it will always feel natural: when people ask me where I'm from, I say, with great affection, "I'm from Boone."

Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,

Father's Days are not over and family is not a lie. Today's not about going over what I wish you'd done differently; it's about thanking you for what you did right. I cannot deny the influence your parental hand has had on who I've become, and I wouldn't want to.

You taught me the right way to do things like pay people back in full and on time, not to interrupt conversations, and to clean up my own messes. You taught me to turn the lights off when I leave a room and to pull electrical cords from the piece with the prongs, not the cord. You taught me to 'measure twice and then cut' and to always 'keep my eye on the ball,' on and off the field. You taught me to love (or at least appreciate) Bach, and Mozart, Shakespeare and Flannery O'Connor, the Beatles and the Beach Boys. You taught me what makes bluegrass bluegrass (it's the way the banjo is played) and why the "Ballad of Beautiful Words" I wrote in the sixth grade wasn't a ballad at all (It didn't tell a story). You exposed me to history and literature and the best music around. And even though I sat in the car and refused to get out at Harper's Ferry a long time ago, I still thank you for taking me. I understand its importance in our nation's history, and I plan to go back with my kids one day. You taught me how to write, how to speak in public, and how to get around in New York City.

Years ago you said that the beauty in life is really about the many little wonderful moments. Let's not ever forget those moments that we've shared--just the two of us and as a family. I remember the Ohio State basketball games you took me to and going to the first Star Wars movie with you. The weekly TV nights watching the "A-Team" and "Family Ties" and you doling out M&Ms to us three kids. Your insistence on sitting down as a family to eat meals (even when they were "FMs") and spending at least thirty minutes with us each day after school before we were allowed to go off and play with our friends. We had "Bad Fun" and Blockhead and the you-know-what card game that provided endless rounds of laughter and fun. In 37 years of birthdays and Christmases, you have hand-selected personal gifts for each of your children for each holiday, and I don't know of many fathers who do that. (I'm not saying we can actually use every gift you give us: I mean, let's be honest, the 30-hours-free AOL CDroms became obsolete in our household years ago; but it's the thought that counts). There was my Cheerwine softball team you helped coach where one year we didn't win a single game and the next year we were undefeated. (Actually, I'm not sure if the seasons went the other way around, but that's how I'd like to remember it happening). There was Community Band and then just us playing the piano and drums together to "New York, New York" in our living room. Of course there was New York--with Faye Chin, PJ Clarke's, Conan O'Brien, "Grease," and me spilling my pizza on the lady's suitcase in the restaurant at the Twin Towers. And then that local bar where we were watching an NBA basketball game and some local fan said that the shooter had about as much chance of making the shot as a stranger coming in and buying everyone in the bar a drink and then you saying, "Hey everyone, the next round's on me."

There's no one I'd rather watch a UK basketball game with or call on the phone from Franklin Street after Carolina beats Duke or wins a slot in the Final Four. I'll miss watching episodes of the Sopranos with you, but luckily there are plenty of Real World, Road Rules, and Gauntlet-type shows to gab about incessantly.

More than the important lessons in life, the things we've done together, the way you make me laugh--more important than all of that is the memory that I've shared with you before that goes all the way back to my earliest girlhood. And that is the way you explained to me (and Daniel and Kate too) that you loved us more than anything in the whole world, and that, in fact, there were not even words big enough to express how much you loved us but that you did and always would. And I've lived my whole life knowing that and feeling that. And that is what I'm the most thankful for. (Yes, I know I ended that sentence in a preposition). I'm the most thankful that you did the most important part of parenting the very best. Happy Father's Day.

Love,
Bird

On the Road

I'll be on the road crossing the old North State this weekend. This afternoon after work, I'll be driving sans family to Boone to take care of some Lightfoot family biz-ness. Then Sat., the Cooleys will drive the other way to spend some time in Wilmington/Wrightsville Beach. This is a photo of the second house in Boone I grew up in, the one where my dad lives. That's Grandfather Mountain in the background. According to people in the know, having an unobstructed view of Grandfather Mountain is as valuable as beach-front property. And another thing: because my kids call my dad "Granddabs," they call the mountain 'Granddabs Mountain.'

3 Things

1. Grace's first dance recital. Johnny dressed up (hence the tux in the 'Fam Jam' video),but he got spooked when it was time to dance. So he didn't).



2. I got my first MSW assignment and it's a writing assignment. We're being asked to "write a one to two page description of your ideal social work service agency" and "unleash your wildest dreams of what services or approaches could be used by social workers in an ideal world." It won't be graded but used to discuss academic writing. Hmm. I wonder if their definition of "social work" includes the effort involved in making friends on blogger and MySpace, cooking up ways to hook people up via blogger and MySpace, and ultimately planning the reunion with every friend I've ever had. Ever. If so, this assignment is an ace in the hole.

3.

Human Bowling

The other day when Grace and Johnny were jumping on our bed, Johnny made up a game that I call "Human Bowling." I'm going to tell you about Johnny's rules of the game in a Haiku.

Human Bowling

"Here is how it works:"
"Grace, you be the bowling pins."
"I will be the ball."

Surprisingly, they both had a blast.

Beatlemania Continues

For anyone who hasn't read peb's Beatles' albums rankings, it's definitely something to check out:

If you really don’t like the Beatles, then I suspect you probably don’t like music. And only communists and humorless high-school principals don’t like music.

I think the Eleanor Rigby violinst must be a high-school principal AND a communist. And she freakin plays Beatles music.

Also, check this list out. I lost track every time I tried to count but it's over 100. See how many you really know.

Will You Still Need Me, Will You Still Feed Me, When I'm 64?

The experience seeing the Beatles cover band Abbey Road LIVE! on Monday night was quite simply, nothing but fun. Half the fun was the enthusiasm that my old high-school friend Randy generated from up in Gloucester, Mass. as he planned a trip to NC to visit his parents and to introduce everyone down here to his new girlfriend. When he e-mailed his desire to see Abbey Road (particularly fuelled by the fact that he had planned on seeing the Beatles cover band Beetlejuice up in Boston until the frontman--former lead singer of the band Boston--committed suicide), he framed the outing as one for those whose social lives are not constrained by having kids. To this, I thought, "Oh, no he di-n't." I wanted in. Randy made sure we all had advanced tickets and also that we were souped up and in the Cradle well before the first note hit.

And from the first note to the end of the third set (yes, there were three sets--the encore was so extensive, it constitutes a third set), it was nothing but fun. This was a Sgt. Pepper's 40th reunion show, so the first set was the entire Sgt. Pepper's album, which alone would have been good enough for me. But then came the second set with lots of favorites (especially from Abbey Road), a birthday tribute with cake, candles and the audience singing "Happy Birthday" to the drummer (yes, of course, after the band sang "(They say it's your)Birthday") and then the encore that went on and on at at one point teased us with a delightful intro to "Centerfold" by the J. Giles Band.

Just as promised, this Fab Four was supported by a horn section, a sitar, and a stringed section led by a stone-faced violinist who refused to have fun. Let's call her Eleanor Rigby. How can you not crack a smile during an all-out version of "Good Morning, Good Morning?" There was incense. There was love. There were hugs and high fives and silly costume changes. One band member exclaimed, "I love this town! We didn't know what to expect on a Monday night," and then looking at the full (but not too full) venue, "but this is perfect!" The band played probably something like 30-35 songs, and even if you didn't know every word to those particular 35 songs, I'd bet the majority of music lovers, even just music likers aged, oh, say, 16-76 know damn near every word to 35 Beatles songs they they select from the very long list. (Grace is only 5 and knows at least 3 or 4 Beatles songs by heart). That's the thing about the Beatles: they're music is ubiquitous and you know their songs without even trying. I read that another band member said, "One of the most enjoyable things for me is watching how many people sing along to every word. It's amazing to me that 40 years after this music came out and with all the changes pop music has gone through, the music of the Beatles is still so popular." (and relevant, added Randy's friend).

We grew up listening to Abbey Road. I listened to this over and over on the record player as a kid, and was fascinated with the details of the album cover. My dad must have bought it when it came out Fall of 1969, because I remember him saying that "Here Comes the Sun" was the first song that he ever played for his first-born, his son, in April, 1970. And then in High School when I was hospitalized for a few days with pneumonia, my dad made me some tapes to listen to on my walkman as I lay there struggling to breathe. Abbey Road was one of them. George Harrison is my favorite Beatle, and "Here Comes the Sun" is my favorite Beatles song. It's really hard to pick a favorite Beatles song, but I insisted the group all do so Monday night...and also to pick the Stones or the Beatles and all picked the Beatles except for Uncle Matty who said, "It depends," and "That's like comparing apples to oranges," but he was just being contrary. So for me with "Here Comes the Sun," it's boils down to the fact that there's no Beatles song that I enjoy listening to more. It's a simple, unassuming, beautiful song, full of hope and the promise of a better day. And for me that combination will always be relevant.

Self Audit 6-10

6. Run a marathon after training with Team in Training, which raises money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Foundation.
I have a confession to make: I don't really enjoy running all that much. I mean, I kind of like it, and I want to like it, but whenever I start, I'm all the time thinking about when I get to stop. Walking is different-I literally could walk forever. Running isn't the mind-altering, body-morphing, addiction for me like it is for David. Ever since January, he's gotten up at 5:00 AM, and has run 5 miles at least 5 days out of the week. I literally can't keep up.

I'm unsure about the marathon thing in this calendar year. Not to procrastinate or anything, but there's a Disney Marathon in January, and if I train through Team in Training, my travel and lodging will be paid for. This may be the surest way that my kids get to experience Disney while they're still kids. Grace has taken it upon herself to declare in no uncertain terms that our family is going on a Disney Cruise. Every couple of weeks, her teacher asks me about it, all excited for us, and I have to let her down easy: "There's no Disney Cruise."

7. Get out and hear live music more often. With the Thursday night and Sunday morning music series at Weaver Street, the Bynum General Store Front Porch Music gigs on Fridays, Moonlight Music and Dance at Shakori Hills, Southern Village Sunday Music series, and the Bud Light Downtown Live shows in Raleigh on Saturdays, I think this one's pretty much covered (or will be by the end of the summer)

And, I'll be hitting Cat's Cradle tonight for the Beatles cover band Abbey Road Live for a 40th Anniversary performance of the complete Sgt. Pepper album with strings, horns, sitar and more!

8. Play live music more often.
A gig at a recent music party helped my ratings here, and it was fun singing for a change. I'm looking forward to more backyard and campfire singalongs (W. Otto--when are you coming to NC?) and the annual SwillFest '07 in August.

9. Write more, worry less.
I still have a lot of stories to write up and share (the next installment will be about how a real-live Ninja visited our "Old Neighborhood" in 1984) but I'm not yet so unguarded to write as worry-free as dooce does.

10. Send cards, gifts and thank you notes on time.
Due to the fact that I still have some written but unaddressed Christmas Cards, '06 laying around, I see I still have some work to do. I should get a head start NOW for the upcoming holiday season.

They Say the Sweetest Things

Grace: Move your leg. Move it to a different country.

Johnny: I love you. Even when your breff stinks.

Blue Moon

Wasn't the moon amazing last night? I was going to take a photo to post, but then I remembered the small-world fact that we all look at the same moon and figure most people probably saw it. It threw Johnny's sleep off big time, and we're all going to pay for that today.

Blue Moon

"My eyes just can't sleep."
"Can I watch tv all night?"
"I'm still not tired."

So Kate and David have this phone texting thing going on. She sends him bizarre messages and pictures of her toes. (He's wasn't sure how to respond to that, and frankly, neither was I). Late last night he received a text of a Haiku Kate wrote. She's now in a poetry group and this is what she came up with last night. See if you can figure it out.

(No title)

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