Stalking Surrogate Grandparents

Today is the day.


I have been slinking about the neighborhood looking for some likely candidates for my little scheme. Surrogate Grandparents. Ah. It sounds beautiful doesn't it? Like a dream. Let's just savor that one more time....Surrogate Grandparents. Surrogate Grandparents.


We need more help. I need more time in the studio, time to write, time to feel like the girly girl that I am. My parents are great but mainly like to sail into town, take the kids somewhere Italian, try and snap a picture of the kids in between mouthfuls, and split. And, babysitters are expensive. Swapping with other families' kids is fun and all but I need someone who adores my kids, wants to play and spoil them endlessly and hopefully model some kind of cleanliness that has eluded Burnt Toast and myself.

My requirements include:
1. Live within walking distance
2. Smell sufficiently like Grandparents (sweet and mothy)
3. Able to talk about weird childhood memories
4. Be a Republican - let's face it...they have money, good health care and cook a fine brisket.

I think I have found them! Just catty corner behind us, in our alley, live two fabulous little retired folks. They let my kids play in their perfectly manicured beds of impatiens. Put up Christmas lights covering the entire roof. Drive matching Lexuses with one being a convertible! And keep a garage so clean and organized I could have my 3rd C-section right on the garage floor, which would be fabulous as they have a second fridge out there (of course) filled with Diet Coke and I could waddle home at the end of the day.

The only snafu I can find is that they already have two grandchildren. Damnit it all to hell. I've seen them out pushing these children with their shiny trikes and push bars, building a new bike with a pink banana seat, sanding down a dresser for a little girl princess room. (This last one killed me. I watched through my own garage windows with binoculars, biting my nails the whole time, just imagining he was doing that for Short Stack! Or, let's get real, me.)

But, they seem to like us. They joke about how our kids can never behead too many of their roses or wail enough dirt bombs against their freshly scrubbed garage door or scream loud enough to stop the ball game on cable. (Put "watches lots of football on TV" on the list)

So, I'm taking a deep breath. Armed with my homemade vanilla caramels and most pathetic smile - I'm going in. Keep you posted....

Mindless Mommy

After 15 years....

....of being a single Mom, Lorrie Moore has written an amazing new book. I am reading it now. It's wonderful. I heard an interview with her the other day. The radio host was grilling her about taking 15 years to write anything new. I think she had written some magazine articles but no books. She replied that she was a single Mom raising a boy on her own. The host kept at it until Ms. Moore finally said, "Well, I was busy."

I was busy.

I understand. I often wonder if I am busy because I have to be or busy to avoid doing the thing I love most - writing songs. One the one hand, the dishes have to get done. If someone threw up, the laundry has to get started. I find that I go to the freakin' grocery store at least every other day if not every day. The crazy thing is, my house is still an unorganized mess, laundry never gets folded and put away and there is always something I have forgotten at the store. I guess my point is, if I am not doing my art, then why isn't my life pristine and shiny? Why is my house the only one in the neighborhood with popsicle stains on the front porch and 2 diaper genies by the backdoor waiting for Godot? (It's been, like, 6 months they've been waiting.)

But Lorrie Moore is an inspiration. What the hell is 15 years in the scheme of things? Get busy, woman. Or Mother. Or whatever hat you are wearing today.

Did I mention that I am recording new material this week? Stay tuned..


Mindless Mommy

Hmmmmm

So my last blog was in 2008. Good Lord, it's worse than I thought. My attention span, I mean. Obviously. But to hell with linear storylines...here I am today. And that's important.

My kids are Grand Slam, age 3, and Short Stack, age 2. (Yes, we all have diner nicknames - mine is Sunny Side Up and my hubby's is Burnt Toast if you must know.) I have somehow made it through 3 years of Motherhood. I realize now how uninteresting it might have become had I blogged you all the details of Motherhood so far. Let's just say, there have been a lot of bodily fluids in our household. Runny noses, tears of joy, shrieks of happiness when I got my period, Short Stacks knack for midnight vomiting....you get the pic.

So let's jump ahead to something, hopefully, a little more global.

I am, or was, or damnit still am - an artist. I have been a songwriter for 12 or so years and have been an actress nearly all my life. I teach very young children and their parents music. I make a mean Christmas cookie. I still got it. My question is - why do I think I'm lost? Am I really? I'm strictly speaking about being an artist here - I think I've proven at least to myself that I kick ass at being a Mom. No one can change a 12 wipe diap like me. And do other Mothers feel like they have fallen into a swirling black hole only they can see? Or is it just Mothers who happen to be artists as well?

I want to seek you out...all you Mothers foggy or no. For all I know I am the only one that fell down the rabbit hole. I'm off to find you and get your story. If nothing else - I'll sleep better at night. Until someone wets the bed.

Signing off for now,

the mindless mommy