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Finding My Inner Tween

This time of year, lots of folks start listening to Christmas music.  Personally, I can’t really embrace that stuff until approximately December 16 (superfluous Modern Family reference just because).  Then I’m all in. 

But this year I had a realization.  December is when my radio dial floats towards tween stations.  For those of you in Chicago, Imma talking about B96, but there is a B96 in every market in this country of ours.  It’s the kind of station that thumps a constant rotation of Katy Perry, Rihanna, , Taio Cruz, Ke$ha, Maroon 5, Ne-Yo.  On Pandora, it’s just called “Firework Radio.” 

This happens for a few reasons.  My cover story is that I need to know what’s current to create a playlist for the Donna’s Good Things’ Happy Hopeful New Year’s Eve party.  That cover story is pretty good, partly because it makes me look altruistic, partly because it’s true.  The back story is that I secretly like the stuff.  That’s right.  I said it.  I secretly dig thumpin’ tween musical cotton candy.  Like Christmas music, though, I like it in small doses for limited periods of time. 

I know that every summer I will get a dose of it when we take our communal family vacation with Mary Tyler Dad’s high school friends.  One of the friends, we’ll call him “Doug,” shares my affinity for tween culture.  Doug, though, actually has tweens — that’s his cover story.  But Doug and I both know that we listen to this stuff because it is awesome.  We listen to this stuff because we like it.  We listen to this stuff for the same reason we are the only two adults to join in on the Wii dance-offs — Doug and I have retained a relationship with our tween selves. 

On last summer’s communal vacation I got one of the best compliments of my life when one of Doug’s tweens told me, “I dont mean this as an insult, and don’t take this as an insult, but I think you are the most childish of the adults here.”  An insult?  No way and quite the contrary.  Her words nearly brought tears to my eyes.  The fact that we were walking on the Atlantic beach at sunset just made the exchange that much more profound.  I hope I always remember that compliment.

My point is that there is some merit to this tween musical cotton candy.  It makes you want to dance.  Well, it makes me want to dance.  Possibly, it makes you want to claw the speakers out of the mini-van, despite the new mani you just got.  I would argue that the problem is not the music, but that they only put 10-14 songs on rotation at any given time.  Hence, why I can only listen to the stuff for small bites of time. 

The key word in that last sentence is listen.  When you actually listen to the lyrics, they’re not so bad.  Some of ’em are even okay, dare I say, pretty good. 

Exhibit A from Katy Perry’s “Firework”:

You just gotta ignite the light and let it shine

Just own the night like the 4th o July

‘Cause baby you’re a firework

Come on, show ’em what you’re worth

Make ’em go, oh, oh, oh

As you shoot across the sky

Boom, boom, boom

Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon

It’s always been inside of you, you, you

And now it’s time to let it through

See?  I think that is a fantabulous message for a tween, boy or girl.  And, yeah, it is repetitive and simplistic, but the message is good, especially for the tween set.

Exhibit B from LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem”:

 Um.  Next.  I dig this song, but it’s all about girls on jocks.

Exhibit C from Pink’s “Missundaztood”:

Well, I’m a stickler for good grammar, spelling, and punctuation, so this is disqualified based on title alone.

Exhibit D from Taio Cruz’ “Dynamite”:

I came to dance, dance, dance, dance

I hit the floor ’cause that’s my plans, plans, plans, plans

I’m wearing all my favorite brands, brands, brands, brands

Give me some space for both my hands, hands, hands, hands

Yeah, yeah

‘Cause it goes on and on and on

And it goes on and on and on

I throw my hands up in the air sometimes

Saying ayo

Gotta let go

Oh.  Um.  I never realized the materialistic bent to this song.  Worshiping brands is, perhaps, not the best message to send to the little ones.  I remember in junior high the pressure of Jordache v. Vanderbilt on our little asses.  And Pony v. Converse on our feet.  Yes, at that age it sucked. 

And all this time, I thought Mr. Cruz was introducing some scientific theory by giving a lyrical should out to Galileo.  Huh.

Exhibit E, Maroon 5’s “Moves Like Jagger”:

Maybe it’s hard (did he just say hard?)

If you feel like you’re broken and scarred

Nothing feels right

But when you’re with me

I’ll make you believe

That I’ve got the key

So get in the car

We can ride it (Did he just say ride it?)

Wherever you want

Get inside it (Did he just say get inside it?)

And you want to steer

But I’m shifting gears

I’ll take it from here

And it goes like this

Oh, man.  I just read these lyrics for the first time.  Quite possibly not the best message for tweens.  Sounds like a roadmap to taking advantage of young girls with poor self esteem.  Sigh.

Okay.  Maybe I was wrong.  But it still has a good beat that you can dance to.  I’ve got to go shufflin’, shufflin’, shufflin’ . . .

 

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In My Heart, I am a Muppet

Kermit
Mary Tyler Son saw his first movie today and it was The Muppets.  It was wonderful.  Like really wonderful.  So wonderful that both Mary Tyler Dad and I wept.  Well, I wept, and he welled, but there were tears for both of us.

You know when you want something to be great and wonderful and perfect, but most of the time the hype does not live up to the hopes in your head?  That happened last weekend with the circus.  I was so looking forward to bringing Mary Tyler Son to the circus, and wrote about it on the MTM facebook page.  A few readers shook those scales off my eyes with the news of abusive animal practices perpetrated by Ringling Bros.  We went, and, you know, it was fine, but an elephant should not be painting a picture with his trunk and tigers should not be made to stand on two legs instead of four, submissive front paws in the air.  So, no, it was not the idyllic experience I had imagined it would be.

Mary Tyler Son will be three in just a few short weeks and, loving the movies, I thought we should make an event of his first movie.  I tend to do this — try and make “events” out of things most folks just do.  I don’t know why I do that.  I’ve got a sentimental Irish heart, I suppose.  And Donna’s death just sort of ups the ante on Mary Tyler Son’s childhood.  Anyway.  I was excited to bring the family to the movies.  Another blogger wrote a post about how to take your toddler to the movies, so we were prepped and ready.  Chose an early movie, brought lots of snacks, made certain pee and poop happened before we left. 

Mary Tyler Son was tentative walking into the theater.  He does not like dark places he told me, clinging to my hand.  We might have to leave early, he announced, looking uncertain and tentative, but he kept walking forward, mesmerized by what was turning into the most mind blowingly large tee vee he had ever seen.  His pace picked up a bit.  He didn’t have time for stairs, as that would require more attention that he was willing to devote to anything that wasn’t that massive screen of animated creatures before him.  We sat and all was well.  A family at the movies.  I was happy. 

A few minutes into the film I started crying, softly.  I was overwhelmed with the moment, I think.  Happy.  Mary Tyler Son was at the movies.  He was doing something Donna never got a chance to do.  He was eating popcorn.  Life was good.  And then there were those Muppets.  They are so joyful, so hopeful.  Watching them, I remembered how much I loved them as a kid. 

I was ten when the original Muppet movie came out.  I still remember Kermit sitting in that swamp singing about rainbows, a song Mary Tyler Dad now sings to our boy before bed.  I am notoriously unable to remember lyrics, so I make up my own, which, amazingly, I can remember.  I sang that song to Donna, often, a smush of the actual lyrics and some of my own.  All apologies to Mr. Paul Williams.  I’m not ten anymore, but there I was today, thirty-two years later, sitting in a theater watching Kermit sing The Rainbow Connection.  Thank God some things do not change. 

Early in the movie, there is a scene where Walter, the man/muppet protagonist, walks into the office of Kermit on the abandoned Muppet Studios lot.  It is old, decrepit, abandoned.  He sneaks in and the camera pans onto the office wall where there are framed photos of many of the guest hosts from The Muppet Show (1976-1981).  There was Florence Henderson and Steve Martin.  These smiling 70s faces were all askew and covered with cobwebs and dust.  I thought to myself, “Just like my childhood — covered with cobwebs and dust and only existing in photos.”  Man, I am a morbid gal when given the opportunity, but it’s true.  My childhood is gone.  Over.  Finished.  Like that’s news at 42, but in that moment, it was. 

Are you wondering at this point how Mary Tyler Dad ever puts up with me?  I ask him that all the time, and his response is always the same, “Because I love you.” 

Yes, but we’re talking about the Muppets here, not my moribund grief over my lost childhood or how amazing my man is.   In true Muppet fashion, the show must go on, so they get it together and clean up the studio and theater for one last show.   I always loved that about the Muppets.  They took care of business, did it with a smile on their face and a song on their lips, despite what always seemed to be insurmountable odds and strangely likable villains plotting against them. 

The movie continued and Mary Tyler Son was loving it.  We took a couple of breaks, but just two, and they were brief.  When we returned from the first one, Mary Tyler Son ran across the front aisle and screamed, “Daddy, I’m back, I’m back!”  Gratefully, the audience seemed charmed rather than irritated.  As the film was nearing its end, it becomes clear that the Muppets haven’t reached their fundraising goal and would lose their beloved theater.  Kermit, as he often is, was circumspect.  And then he made a speech that cut deeply for both Mary Tyler Dad and I. 

Kermit talked about being proud of what they had accomplished, that what was important was that they had tried, no matter the outcome, they had tried.  Their efforts did not result in failure, but in success, because, all had tried and worked together.  It was time to move forward as a family and acknowledge their loss.  Their future was assured becase they were together. 

Well, of course, we both felt Donna in those moments.  That accounted for some of my tears, but some can be attributed to the realization that like the Muppets, we are gonna be okay.  Our future, too, is assured because we are together.   We are a family, significantly different than the family we were before, but still a family.  We didn’t fail Donna, despite not getting the outcome we wanted.  Like the Muppets, faced with crazy circumstances, we move forward, with a smile on our face and a song on our lips.  If only our villain was like the Muppet villain; one who neatly sees the errors of his way and reverses course.  That bastard cancer is more formidable than Chris Cooper. 

But our story is not a movie, it is our life.  And we are not puppets, we are people. 

There is a line in the movie where Walter says, sings rather, “In my heart, I am a Muppet.”  Me, too.  In my heart, I am a Muppet.  I will move forward.  I will face challenges, different ones than I already have.  I will always look for joy and laughter (I hope).  I will acknowledge sadness, but it will not make me bitter (I hope).  Rather, it will be part of me, just like my joy.  I will try to try, despite how very hard that can be at times. 

Thank you, Jim Henson.

Jay at Movies

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Style v. Substance: A division of labor that works

I’ve been asked more than a few times these past few days, “Are you cooking for Thanksgiving?”  Answering that questions stumps me. 

Well, “we” are cooking, but no, the primary responsibility of feeding a roomful of family is not mine.  That would fall to Mary Tyler Dad.  And trust me when I say my family is grateful for that.  Nobody would want to eat a Thanksgiving meal I prepared.  Quite honestly, I kind of like the idea of making a turkey burger bar with lots of interesting toppings for folks to choose from.  Sort of a post modern take acknowledging the stress that most families are under with time and budget, but giving a nod to the ultimate symbol of the holiday.  It could work.  It could.

The precision required to prep, cook, and serve a traditional Thanksgiving meal — something I love dearly — is simply beyond my talents.  I am a huge advocate of knowing your limitations and one of my limitations is cooking.  I can put breakfast, lunch, and dinner on the table, but I don’t find much joy in it.  I can plan and cook nutritious meals, and I do, for the most part, but it always feels like WORK.  Who wants to come home and work after you’ve been working all day?   

My husband, on the other hand, likes to cook.  He’s just too busy to do it regularly.  He gets home from the office late.  I do most of the shopping.  Poor guy has an extremely sophisticated and adventurous palate and I serve him things like sloppy joes and roasted green beans.  Sometimes I think that if he had an affair with a chef, I wouldn’t fault him for it. 

So for the day-to-day, I man the kitchen, plan what we’ll eat and get it on the table.  But for events, like a Thanksgiving meal that you want folks to enjoy and savor, yeah, Mary Tyler Dad is the only man for that job in our home.

But lest you think I am sitting on my bum and whining about my lack of culinary prowess, I am not.  I, too, am busy, preparing for our entertaining events.  Early in our marriage I coined the phrase “style v. substance” to describe our division of labor.  It totally works for us.  Well, for me.  And I think for Mary Tyler Dad, too, but I won’t speak for him. 

While he is cooking and preparing a feast to be remembered, I am focused on style.  I dress the tables.  I dress myself (and would argue that this totally falls under style — who likes a messy hostess?).  I clean the house, including three toilets.  I buy and arrange flowers for the table.  I think about music.  I wash and iron the linens that I purchased that perfectly capture the mood I am hoping for (“Autumnal chic,” is what my tables will say this year).  I light the candles that make everyone look better.  I think about what the deck looks like, as our dining room overlooks that.  I put Mary Tyler Son’s toys away.  I lay hand towels at the sinks. 

Some style is also substantive.  I tend to focus on things like dessert and appetizers.  And drinks.  Isn’t it nice to go to someone’s home and drink something new?  Maybe something pretty?  For Thursday, I’m thinking something with cranberry juice and soda.  And we have toddlers at our events, so something to keep them tantalized, too.  They have their own table for dinner and will have little mini turkeys at their place settings.  Those little mini turkeys don’t get there themselves, you know?  And for dessert will be donut hole “acorns” and rice krispy turkey lollipops. 

You see, for me entertaining is style and substance.  You want to be fed well, when you go to someone’s home, but you want to be treated well, too.  Mary Tyler Dad does the feeding and I do the treating.  Together, we make a lovely team.  We’re Martha Stewart, except I’m Martha and he is Stewart. 

Here is to your Thanksgiving.  If you are a mom who does it all — style and substance — I stand before you with an ovation of one.  My Mom did that.  You are my hero.  I don’t have it in me. 

And for that, I love Mary Tyler Dad even more, and am most grateful to him.  I love you, sir!  Gobble, gobble, folks.