And The Band Played On

We have just returned home from Fifth Grader's Springtime Musical Spectacular. And it did not disappoint.

When I say that it did not disappoint, I don't mean that it was a night of awe-inspiring performances. What we had on our hands tonight was a riot of first- and second- year pupils of various musical instruments, with a mostly unvarying lack of control over said instruments. We had our standard program of secular musical selections that I have never heard of before - with goofy (and, I suspect, made up) song titles, like "Tyrannosaurus Rocks" - but which, if you close your eyes and strain your ears and maybe stand on just your left foot with your head upside down, sound a little like other, more familiar musical numbers, but off key and with irregular tempos. In other words, we had your standard public-school-music-program-quality spring concert.

What we did not have on tonight's program was a slew of pained adolescent grade-specific singing. The grade-specific singing is always the absolute worst part of these concerts, because...well, just think back to your own grade school music class days. Did you ever actually enjoy singing "Eating Goober Peas" on a stage in front of all of your classmates' parents? You did? I went to private school and we didn't even have a music program, so I'm not speaking from first-hand experience or anything. But I do remember attending a friend's concert, somewhere around the fourth grade, at her public school where I sat with her parents and listened to her class sing...well, "Eating Goober Peas". I don't so much remember it, actually, as bear the mental scar of the experience. So, kids singing on command and actually enjoying it - not so much.

As I said, we skipped that part tonight. The principal made an executive decision to showcase only the instrumental programs and the chorus this time based on the kids' total lack of enthusiasm for even opening their mouths and pretending to sing at the holiday concert a few months back. This was probably intended to teach a lesson to someone, and it did: skipping the part where the kids are supposed to sing, but really don't, takes about forty-five minutes off the program. Lesson learned.

A second lesson is that apparently, when you tell Band Instructor (oh, Band Instructor) that you have eliminated an entire swath of wasted time from the lineup, he takes this as his cue to throw in a few extra numbers for the band. You know what? That's fine with me. Let the man indulge. Are those new glasses he's wearing? He's doing a wonderful job.

If you need a third lesson, here it is. If you take your eyes of the entire fifth grade class for four months, when you next see them all together again? They look like ninth graders. Woah. There's a whole lot of growing up going on around here. Not so sure I like that.

Oh, it wasn't really all that bad. The band kids are actually all pretty enthusiastic and eager to please Band Instructor. I think even Fifth Grader has practiced more than usual lately in preparation for tonight. And the chorus? I could almost hear them! They might have sounded pretty good, to be honest. And they did a great job of holding those black folders. Maybe the song where they had to snap and clap, while holding their black folders, wasn't completely thought out. But hey. Lessons for next time.

Pathetic. Beyond Pathetic. What Comes After Beyond Pathetic?

I'm going to write this post under the assumption that I have let far, far too much time pass since the last one, and that nobody at all is even bothering to check my blog's vital signs anymore, because why bother? Just to come up empty again? Just to discover that the disappointing void of information on the life and times of moi, Fifth Grader, and Third Grader just continues on into the nothingness, with no signal that I might ever say another word about any of it, ever?

I don't blame you, blogosphere, if you have given up on me. Not one bit. I hope that you haven't, but hey. What can be done?

The truth of the matter is that plenty of stuff has happened over the past few weeks - would you like a summary? Let's see, there was Third Grader's acting performance at the end of April vacation. Certainly blogworthy. There's the whole past month of softball practices, softball games, and all things generally softball-related that have made available a whole array of possible posts. There was our three and a half hour drive to Lake George, New York a few weekends back for Gymnastics Regional Championships, plus ensuing hotel experiences in the company of an entire gymnastics team and its doting parents, plus the three and a half hour drive home at the end of the whole debacle. (The hour I spent poolside in deep conversation with Jane Fonda Wannabe herself would have been tasty material. Indeed.)

There was the day that Fifth Grader and her female classmates had to watch "The Movie". You know the one. Oh, and Mother's Day. Mother's Day would have been a great post. And then there's Miami. Yeah, I just got back from Miami. Yesterday, actually. Miami over Memorial Day weekend is a week's worth of posts, easy...and will I write extensively about Miami over Memorial Day weekend? Will I take the time to paint a detailed picture of a loving couple, trying to get away from it all for a few days in a sunny location, finding themselves unsuspectingly stuck in the middle of the annual South Beach Hip Hop Festival? Are you curious about how that went? Because I have stories...oh yes, I do. But will I tell them to you?

Honestly, I'm going to say I probably won't. Because let's face it: I spent seven months enthralling you with my parental observations during gymnastics meet season and then completely BLEW OFF the chance to post about Regionals.

All I can say is: if you happen to see my mojo lying around somewhere, please let me know. 'Cause I'd really, really like it back.

Miami is, of course, still fresh in my mind. It could happen. But it ain't happening tonight. This is all I can muster tonight - this laundry list of prime material that I have allowed to lay, wasted and unused, at my fingertips - before I bid you good night, blogosphere, so I can chase those girls into bed.

If I'm Posting, It Must Be Monday

I don't know what it is right now, but the only day of the week that I seem to have the mental capacity to write is Mondays. Probably has something to do with my deep, internal struggle to balance my business career self, as it returns to the office, with my artistically longing self, which seems to be getting completely lost in the shuffle.

Either that, or I'm getting enough sleep on the weekends and thus can form coherent thoughts again.

I don't know that I really did get all that much sleep this weekend, actually. But I had a damn good time. It was freakishly hot out. Fifth Grader accepted back-to-back birthday party invites on Saturday, leaving Third Grader and I to devise a plan of activity for ourselves. So mini golf it was! There's not much in the entertainment world that can compare to whacking golf balls through shrunken covered bridges and teeny, tiny barns while the scorching sun beats down on your ever-so-pale arms and neck. I got myself a most interesting looking patchy sunburn, and Third Grader's freckles joyfully resurfaced after a long winter hibernation. Love those freckles. On her. My own popped back up as well, but they are decidedly less cute now then they were at nine years old.

Anyway, once we wrapped up the back nine we headed indoors to the arcade for a bit. This is the part where my elfin little girl thought she would show me a thing or two. "Mama, how about this game?" she innocently asked as she sidled up to Dance Dance Revolution. I confess I tried to squirm my way out of her challenge, not really wanting to totally humiliate myself in front of whomever happened to be around. But she would have NONE of that. So? I whooped her little butt instead. That's right, little lady! Mama still knows where it's at! Mama's got some moves! Mama...totally lost Third Grader's interest when I didn't let her win.

After shuttling Fifth Grader from party #1 to party #2, we still weren't quite ready to cash it in, so we capped our Saturday with a little girl time. Pedicures, manicures, a little shopping, a little TGIFridays. We're a couple of wild ones, aren't we? Out on the town on a Saturday night until 9:30! Woo!

Sunday, also a scorcher, involved fetching Fifth Grader, taking Third Grader to softball practice, and watching Boyfriend paint my garage. Definitely not my idea of how to have a good time on a hot Sunday, that whole garage painting thing. And yet, words cannot describe the look of pride in his eyes at the sight of his completed project: a clean, clutter free, whitewalled garage with a painted floor. I'm positive that I did not sufficiently gush over his handiwork, and for that I must compensate. He also fixed my broken garage door, which did make me feel all gushy because I hate large broken things that I have no hope of fixing on my own. Plus I got a little excited this morning when I saw the painted garage with fresh, next day eyes. So I definitely owe Boyfriend some gushing.

Here we are now, back at Monday again. It's vacation week for the Tornadoes. Third Grader is perched on my bed at the moment, script in hand, trying to memorize her lines for this week's acting camp production. Fifth Grader just darted in to inform me she is going to practice her flute until DWTS starts. I think someone forgot to tell them they're on vacation. Personally, I would love to skip DWTS and go to bed. This is not likely to be allowed, so I will end here for now and go reserve my corner of the couch.

What Do You Get When You Cross an Elephant With a Cheetah?

You get a girl at the crossroads, my friends.

I can't believe I put up that semi-whiny post about my birthday...and then, yet again, disappeared from blogland. It's been a hell of a week. A few weeks, really. And what I mean by that is, it's been a hell of a few weeks in my head and in my gut, if not necessarily from an external point of view. Between adjusting to the new workplace, grieving the end of "Tween Us Girls", and finding myself involuntarily - yet constantly - pondering what the future holds for me personally, I feel like I have been endlessly looping through the stages of grief. And let me tell you, it's pretty freaking exhausting.

I am truly loving my new workplace. Let's start with that. Suddenly, I'm excited again about what I do for a living. I finally feel like I have room to grow, like I might be in slightly over my head at the moment but that truly good things are possible and even likely to happen. When is the last time I felt like that about work? Couldn't even tell you. So this is all good, positive stuff...and yet, the moving experience has been a little bit like getting divorced all over again. I'm pretty sure people make decisions to better themselves by changing jobs in all kinds of industries fairly often, but in my industry it seems to be viewed by some as a kind of betrayal. What's up with that?

The complication with loving my new workplace, and in totally engrossing myself in my work again, is that it doesn't leave many brain cells firing at the end of the day. Which makes it difficult to write. Which brings me to my mourning of the end of my column: I know I said I was okay with it, and I think I actually am. But still it has knocked some air out of me, and made me feel a little sad. Writing is a deeply ingrained passion, and pursuing it professionally has been kicked to the back burner more times (and for more stretches of time) than I care to recall. Writing my silly little column for the past year made me feel like I was finally doing something legitimate with all that longing to write. And now it's history. And while I naturally have the best of intentions to seek other opportunities to write elsewhere...um, exactly when am I going to do anything about that? Hmmm?

Somewhere in between Third Grader's softball practice schedule, which just began, and both girls' gymnastics schedules? Maybe in my spare time on the weekends - except for this past weekend, aka States Meet, which sucked up every minute of our lives from Friday night until Sunday afternoon. Oh, and not this weekend coming up, due to Fifth Grader's back-to-back birthday party itinerary on Saturday and, yes, softball practice on Sunday. If the term "cheetah" had not already been claimed by a certain ubiquitous and now-nearly-past-their- prime girl pop band, I would have to say the term is more fitting than "cougar", given the speed at which I find myself moving on a daily basis. Seeing as I found myself literally falling asleep at the table at seven o'clock Sunday night, I don't see a lot of time being carved out for querying publishers any time soon.

And then there's the elephant. The great big one in the middle of the room. This elephant goes by the harrowing name of Where Is This Relationship Going? ...It's a long name, but really, it's an elephant, so the long name thing works. And all I'm going to say about this elephant is that it's really pissing me off lately. Regardless of everything else that I have already mentioned is going on in my life right now - which is a whole, freaking lot of stuff - that damn elephant keeps right on stomping in to the center of every room that I'm in and forcing me to acknowledge it. "Say my name!" it keeps demanding of me. And since it is so damn insistent, I find myself reflexively saying its name to Boyfriend at every inopportune moment.

If you have ever encountered this elephant yourself, you can just imagine how sweet and charming this message might be coming across. Personally, I am totally out of my element here. I don't do needy. Some days I would really like to shoot that damn elephant, go get a couple hundred cats and be done with the whole thing.

And yet, why does it keep showing up? There must be a reason.

Anyway, enough of my safari metaphors for one day. I think I was supposed to go watch the elimination round of DWTS with Fifth Grader about forty-five minutes ago. Something tells me she has fallen asleep waiting for me. Bad, bad mommy.

Thirty Six. Again.

In the spirit of re-embracing my blog - and showing my appreciation that you still take the time to come by here to see if I'm still alive and posting - I want to thank Dingo for her most excellent office decorating tip. And also? A perfect birthday gift idea.

One cabana boy, please.

Oh, I'm just kidding. No cabana boy could possibly replace Boyfriend. Although I wouldn't hate being somewhere tropical and sunny with Boyfriend for my birthday - but that's not going to happen, since I just started this new job, oh, three days ago. And since my stupid birthday is tomorrow.

Remember how much fun birthdays used to be? So exciting, so full of promise. In short: worth celebrating. Now? I'd just as soon forget the whole thing.

So last year at this time, I reflected on the condition of my life and on the years that had passed so far. And of those years, 36 was about as good as any before it. Certainly better than many, that's for sure. So I have decided to stay at 36. And I'm a bit tuckered out from getting acclimated to the new workplace, so not a lot of energy left for reflecting this year. Let's just be done with it. Deal?

Deal.

Welcome To the Cougar Den

So here's one really cool detail about my new job: I scored a corner office.

Woo hoo!

Truth be told, it doesn't mean a whole lot to me. I mean, whatever. An office is an office. But when Rocky and I were asked which vacant spaces we wished to occupy, he very generously offered me up to the corner. And I didn't exactly argue with him. I mean, come on, I'm not crazy!

So this weekend, we - Rocky, my girl K, and myself - were sitting around the little round meeting table in my corner office, doing some work stuff. And Rocky decided my office needed a name. So he named it. Behold: the Cougar Den.

Don't even start with me about how I'm too young to be a cougar, just because my age still begins with a 3. I am mere days away from turning 36 for the 3rd time. And I've decided to accept the status of "cougar" with poise and grace. And, of course, cougarish hotness.

Any idea how to decorate a Cougar Den? Seriously, I can barely furnish a regular, everyday office, so now I'm feeling a little pressure. Thoughts?

When It's Time To Change, You've Got To Rearrange

I know that I have barked up the "Sorry I haven't posted much lately" tree once or twice in recent weeks...and yet here I am, creeping on up that trunk one more time. Can it still hold me, I wonder?

I always have a good excuse, you know. Usually it has something to do with gymnastics, or a column deadline, or work-related mental exhaustion. Well this time? It's two out of three. But in a really, really good way.

Let's start with the column. Actually, "Tween Us Girls" is no more - at least not until I find it a new home. In one very big sense, it was sad and disappointing to get the news from my editor that my column had become a recession casualty. In another sense, I'm okay with it. As much as I enjoyed writing it, especially the challenge of trying to distinguish it from AficioNada in style and content, it was a bit too much of a challenge at this point in time. So much going on, so many things to sort out on other fronts...it's a bit of a relief to have something off my plate for a little while. It gives me a chance to focus on some other matters needing my attention, such as my job.

Oh, I quit my job on Friday. By the way.

I don't really like to expend a lot of blog energy talking about my job, but there it is. On Friday afternoon, I left the company that has employed me for a decade and a half, and moved on. And suddenly I feel about a decade and a half younger. Interestingly, I have actually been carded TWICE since Friday. This only leads me to believe that my accumulated stress was showing a whole lot more than I thought. And so I'm guessing this was the right decision, no?

Luckily, I also did not flee alone: Rocky is still with me, as is my girl K. A package deal. Strength in numbers. Future post material...and yes, perhaps I will have more to say about work going forward, now that I am not wanting to gouge my eyes out at the end of every day. But then again, maybe I will have so much more mental energy now that I will astound and amaze you with my variety and humor, and work will be one of a multitude of topics that is no longer off-limits.

Anything's possible. Did I mention that I got carded? Twice?