Mama's Musings

Belly Banjo

What happens when a honey toast lands directly on your forehead? In the middle of dinner? When your husband is late from work? Again. You laugh, of course. What else can you do?

We do this thing in moments of "I'm gonna getchu!" You know. When your kid refuses to stop acting like a wolf in the supermarket. Crawling all fours down the snack aisle. Pulling down their siblings' pants at the McDonald's fun-ground. This thing is called "Belly Banjo," inspired by the Jackass Flats, a tremendous banjo-bellowing threesome from Virginia. Well, at least they sing of Charlottesville and the like. Anyone who belts out tunes about C-ville is cool in my book.

Belly banjo consists of playing the belly as if it were a banjo -- a kid belly is preferable. You use the right extended arm as the strings of the instrument, strumming at jagged intervals to inflict great tickling and laughter.

It works everytime.

Beware of honey bread-holding kindergarteners, though. They tend to jolt backwards in a surprised movement which slaps the toast on your noggin. And then you're IT. And that's the end of your parental sovereignty for yet another night of "turn-the-tables-on-mom-and-dad."

They gonna getchu. Yup. Well put. Alongside the beekeeper's delight oozing poetically down my brow...

Springtime Fun

It was only February 17, and we were running around without coats on. What first was bewilderment later turned to a full-blown embrace of that which is. It has been springtime all winter long.

I am not a pessimist by any stretch of the imagination. I've written extensively on kindness, optimism, and humor. When bad things happen, I look for the silver lining. But when it comes to cold weather, I cast off any Pollyannaesque thinking and I become a skeptic at best. This year, however, it wasn't cold at all. Not even once.

Moving into early spring, I am apt to believe winter just passed us by completely. Having read alarming statistics about winter temps being 6 degrees above normal in virtually every area of the Northern Hemisphere, I have mixed feelings about how balmy the past few months have been.

Al Gore would say it is global warming. I might agree. But I fight with my own feelings of elation that we weren't buried under a mile of snow as we were last year!

Financial Times and Self-Promotion

A British PR friend of mine is quite insightful about the difference between the American PR perspective and the rest of the world. He says European PR is based on relationships. Invite your "journo" for a cup of tea across the Channel; fly in that reporter from the West Coast for Oktoberfest. The media-PR professional relationship is a subtle massaging of spirit. But here's the rub. Not so in the United States.

US PR professionals take, or have, less time to get to know one another. While it is a business of relationships, lots of times they aren't interested in knowing who you are, but what you have to offer. And so it goes that you provide them a one-click solution to serve their deadline-ridden needs (we have indeed found a fabulous solution so if you're reading this and agree with me, let's talk!).

The Canadian writer for the Financial Times, Chrystia Freeland, recently wrote a brilliant piece on shameless self-promotion. Being a European North American (as the Canadians are so fondly called), she was perplexed when applying to college in the United States.

"You need to tout your wares more," her helpful advisor explained. "Americans like that."

My British friend chuckles every time I begin my self-promotional spiel about this thing or that. Unaware of the immediate impact such details have, I pointedly asked him why his face turned all askew.

"My love, you are soooo American," he smiled, gently reminding me that I live in Europe now.

So when I read the Financial Times article, whose publication HQ resides in London with a worldwide presence, I smugly replied to the writer that I couldn't have agreed with her more. We Americans are indeed a clan of promoters to the nth degree. Blank-copying my British friend on the email, I thought nothing more of it. Until today.

Guess what? They published my thoughts. I clearly can't help myself. Try as I might, self-promotion seems to come with the territory. That and the red-white-and-blue blood coursing through my veins...

Someone told me to relax

The great thing about the Internet is the veiled anonymity we all seem to enjoy. If I were more technically inclined, I could tell you who told me to ease up. I could tell you when it was posted (on my amazon blog). I was writing about a moment in time in which a lit agent, unbekownst to himself, saved the day after an emotionally tumultuous afternoon with my kids.

In response, someone told me to relax more, love my kids, and the rest would fall into place. What the person doesn't know are the details I omitted -- the very personal details no Google crawler gets to see. Furthermore, the person might very well be beyond the child-bearing years or never have had children at all. I can't see a mother or father writing something as formulaic as "relax, lady!"

As open as I am in my writing, there are limits to what I will reveal. To protect those around me, I choose the most uplifting moments in my life. On occasion, I'll even uncover the more human sides of myself, the ones that most would leave uncovered for fear of ostracizing cyber-finger pointing. I do this to create a relatable persona so you can feel good about who you are. It's a writer's job to do so.

Certainly, the person who commented on my uptight nature meant well. He or she thinks I am striving to be a perfect urban mother out to win the Pulitzer. I am neither an urban mother (I live in a cow town) nor Pulitzer material, but if said Committee were to grant me the honor of giving the acceptance speech on behalf of a more esteemed colleague, you know who'd be up on that stage doing thusly. Me.

I blog not so much to have a conversation with other people, although I honor and appreciate every one of you who takes a moment to write a note back. I blog more candidly for the simple desire to shout out to the world what's on my mind in any given moment. It's like putting up fly paper and seeing who gets caught up in the stickier parts of life with me.

So thank you for listening. Or not. I'm off to relax, after I race my kids around town. Again.

Racy Days

It seems as if my days are filled with racing from A to B to Z. Today I did something completely wild. I actually stayed in all afternoon. To add to it, I even invited a friend to stay for three hours and play. In the middle of the afternoon. On a work day. She did origami swans with the kids while I occasionally checked emails and chat on the phone. It felt good to have someone else there to pick up the slack. She saw how stressed I was with my son's aggressive behavior. As she left, she gave me a squeeze and said, "This too shall pass. You'll see."

On Thursday I am doing my booksigning at a local hair salon. I hope it goes well. What else can I do but wing it at this point? :)

Why I Love American Idol

Okay, so I don't actually watch American Idol anymore. I watch the German version called "Deutschland sucht den Superstar". Despite the painful moments of listening to really bad singers get knocked down by the arrogant triumvirate from the music industry, I find myself glued to the TV week in and week out.

Why?

Because in some small way, I admire these people. They put everything on the line to prove what they've got. Unfortunately for some, they're the wrong people at the right time.

Last night's show was particularly compelling. Out of over 28,000 contestants, these forty kids had sung their way to the penultimate phase in the competition. Twenty would stay. Twenty would go. All of them could sing.

Palms slick, knees held snugly to my chest, I watched them all give their very best. On more than one occasion, I shed a tear. She blew it. He rocked. Ten boys. Ten girls. Who's out? Who's in?

Dreamgirls is a movie that portrays the very same experience -- the callous entertainment industry that views talent as a given; image as the ultimate. Whoever looks the best wins. On the edge of my seat for most of the movie, I found myself in these actors time and again. Dreaming of the big time and finding a vacuous canyon as I nudged closer, I won't pay the price that so many don't realize they must. Or do we?

Is there a way to reach our goals, dreams and aspirations and still maintain the very core of who we are? Can I put forth what I am destined to without losing a part of myself in the process?

I am conducting a booksigning this coming Thursday. A lot of people I know are coming. I am thrilled and nervous and concerned that when all is said and done, it will not have been worth it. Therein lies the very mystery of Life. You never know if it was until you try.