What Happens In Dallas, Stays In Dallas

I kid. Of course I'm going to tell you all about it.

I had some anxiety last week before going, but not enough to keep me home. I hadn't given going there a second thought. I knew I would have fun, I knew these women would be amazing, and I knew that for me, the joy was in the adventure itself. I was just nervous.

First of all, "The Posse" is just an incredible group of women, who are as lovely and complex as they seem to be. They are all deep wells of goodness, and together they are a force. And many of them: much taller than I am. Except for Debbie. Who I think might be taller than she was this weekend, but she was just so gracious that she stayed lower to the ground for me.

I hadn't even taken off before Charley called and told me that I had left the iPhone charger and my stash of Excedrin Migraine, tylenol, vitamins and my "medicine" on the bed. They must have fallen out of my bag when I was packing the last bit.

No problem, I wouldn't need them, right? I could probably borrow a charger from Amy, and I wouldn't need the pills. I'd be just fine. Right?



The first thing we did was go to the home of the lovely Jennie, who welcomed me so sweetly, and showed me her home, pictures of her sweet angel Allie and introduced me to her adorable little sprite Maggie, as well as most of the rest of the gang. Plus husbands. Plus kids. It was love at first sight - here were all these women that I had "known" from their blogs, and we picked up pretty easily. We had burgers and beer, and Debbie's husband Brandon fixed us some sort of crazy concoction called a chocolate covered cherry. After that some of us went to a place called "Happy Feet", where we met up withTracey, Jen & Megan, who couldn't come to Jennie's. This place is sort of the stuff of legends. And maybe some happy endings, if you play your cards right. Which I didn't. They just beat the shit out of my feet and my back (apparently the reason your feet are so happy is because after your alloted time is up, they stop.) It did feel good, in a masochistic sort of way. And I'm sure the giant bruise on my lower back will go away eventually.

We headed home soon after that, and I guess I didn't drink enough water, because I woke up with a migraine. Amy's husband Trey, who might now be one of my favorite people ever, went, with three kids in pjs to get coffee and muffins before I rolled out of bed. I had a few sips of coffee, then wrangled an advil from Trey. Five minutes later, I horked. And do you know the best thing about that? I didn't even for a second feel awkward about throwing up in the bathroom of someone's house that I'd met less than twentyfour hours before. After I woke up, I got to spend some time with Amy's kids, all three of them just scrumptious little people.



There was a Mother Daughter tea benefiting Jennie's Heroes For Children that afternoon, but I needed a little alone time. And I didn't have anything to wear.



Mostly though, I wanted to stay true to my original purpose: to see what it feels like to navigate in a new city all by myself. So I took myself to the Dallas Museum of Art, and my favorite - The Nasher Sculpture Center. It was soooo serene and lovely, and there were so many wonderful, interesting things to see there.



Then it was back to Amy's to get ready for a girl's night out with the Posse. We headed over to Jen's house, where the menfolk looked after what seemed like a hundred kids, all of whom were beautiful, and full of laughter and light. With most of the girls gathered, we headed out to... I don't even remember the name of the place we went, but I know it had the word "Cuba" in it, and the food was fantastic and the margarita I had was sooo yummy, and the giggles were plenty. After that, we went to another bar, and it became pretty clear to me that my years of partying this hard were behind me. And I had to be up at 5:00, and they were going dancing, and I was very, very short. If I tried to keep up with these girls, my neck would be killing me from looking up all night. Debbie & Deanna graciously drove me back to Amy's, where I packed my bag, and charged the iPhone on a borrowed charger, and got ready to turn around and come home.




I snuck out before daylight, missing these new friends before I had even pulled out of the driveway.



It was mostly an uneventful flight home, and with every minute that passed, I got more and more excited to see my sweet boys. They were there to meet me, Charley freshly shaved and kilted, and JH beaming from ear to ear as he hid the Mother's Day flowers behind his back. There was much kissing, and laughing and hugging.



It's true what they say about travelling. The best part is coming home again.

To my lovely new friends and their amazing families: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me have my adventure. I so loved meeting each and every one of you. I admire your friendship with one another, and think you are all heroes in your own right. Our door is open if you happen to be heading to the Northwest. Let me know. The coffee will be strong and hot, the beer will be cold, the food will be delish, and the laughs will, no doubt, be plentiful.

Until we meet again.

I Am Game

When I started blogging, it was as a creative outlet, and also a way to connect. We had just moved to a new town, and the only people I knew were my family. I LOVE my family, but I really missed my mom friends. I missed connecting over coffee or a glass of wine, and sharing tales of woe (or joy) from the parenting trenches, comparing notes. I missed laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

The blog was pretty lonely at first. And even now, three years later, I'm lucky if I get a few comments on a post. I don't do it for money ("that's what SHE said" ba dump bump), but I feel rich anyway, because I've come to think of the few people who regularly comment here as friends.

This weekend I am going to meet a good portion of you in real life. I'm nervous and giddy and, well, nervous. What if, what if, what if? I'm about to find out, aren't I?

Mostly, I'm just thrilled for the adventure, thankful to my hubby for arranging it all behind my back, and so looking forward to a weekend spent hanging with the Posse, and going out solo on a little adventure of my own.

This is taken from Kari's blog, another friend I've never met, but surely will one day. It's been running through my head for the last two days, and I've come to think of it as my theme song for the upcoming weekend.

Here we go - I am game.

Tough Kid

The Many Faces of Joe-Henry
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Joe-Henry has always been a bit of an old soul. He'll spout poetry at the drop of a hat. Not poetry he's learned (although he loves to read poetry), but stuff just comes out of his mouth that makes his Dad and I drop our jaws and rush to write it down. He used to do that with his music, too. He'd make up songs on the guitar with lyrics that went deep, deep, deep (and not just deep "for a kid"), but lately he refuses to pick up an instrument. Except the piano. I force him to practice. But I don't make him pick it up, because that would just be cruel.

Yesterday, we had a few errands to run. First stop was The Barber, because a) I needed a second opinion to find out if he just had crazy bad dandruff, or a fantastic colony of headlice, and b) he needed a cut anyway. On the way there, he BEGGED me for a mohawk. "PLEASE, Mom! I want to look tough! Your rules are stupid!" I told him to chillax, because until we found out if his head were home to the largest infestation of bugs since the dawn of time, his hair was going to stay longish. Luckily, the barber we had gave us the good news that he had cradle cap, and just needed some oil on his scalp, so a hair cut followed. He decided that throwing a big tantrum in front of all the hot ladies at The Barbers (this place deserves an entire post of it's own) was a bad idea, so he said nothing about a mohawk, and instead came out looking like the Joe-Henry I know and love. I realize that the time will come when I have no say about whether or not he gets a mohawk, or dyes his hair, or pierces and gauges every loose flap of flesh on his body, but until then.... Many parents will say that they let their kids do whatever they want to their hair, that it's a battle not worth fighting. I may change my mind at some point, but I don't think he's ready yet for the awesome responsibility of a shitty haircut.

Later, we were at Fred Meyer, buying a few groceries and I was looking around for some pants for him because he's growing so fast his ankles are sticking out of his jeans so far that they could technically be capris. But while we were looking, he spotted some t-shirts with graffiti on them that came with, gulp, skateboards. Not full size skateboards, but big enough to do some damage. He begged, he pleaded, he threw a full size fit: "MOM! I WANT THAT! WHY WON'T YOU LET ME? YOUR RULES - AAAAAGH! I WANT TO BE A TOUGH KID!! TOUGH KIDS HAVE MOHAWKS AND RIDE SKATEBOARDS!" It was one of those tantrums that you realize that no matter what you say, it just needs to run it's course. The time to talk about how special he is? And how throwing a fit is the perfect way to lose privileges? That time is later. Now is the time to ignore him and let him exhaust himself. Which is great for two reasons: 1) it's the right thing to do, and 2) I could pretend he's someone else's kid. I stayed in the area, just to make sure no one would make off with him, because doesn't everyone want an ranting, flailing eight year old? A moment later, he brought the t-shirt with the skateboard to our cart. He had managed to get it down, although I'm not sure how - the display was almost too tall for me to reach. He threw it dramatically in the cart, and I calmly took it out and put it back. He had just about exhausted himself at this point, and he started to cry. In part, because in getting the t-shirt down, the skateboard had bonked him pretty hard on the head, but mostly because he wanted some control over his life.

Two things I've learned from yesterday: Never, ever take him to do errands without feeding him first. Big mistake. The second thing is much harder and more complex. My boy is really struggling with who he is. So much of his syndrome is benign. He is so much better off than others who have it. He's able to walk, he's mostly pain-free. But his feet are really large, he's self-conscious about his birthmark and his fingers, he can't run as fast as other kids in the class, although he tries so, so hard. More than being bothered by his syndrome, though is the fact that he's just incredibly smart and sort of beyond the other kids in his class. I don't say this as a competitive, doting mom. I don't. It's just a fact. He's a really deep well of complexity and he's beyond most of the kids in his class in that regard. And while I know that's a great thing, he can't see it that way. He just wants to be a tough, running, cussing kid who laughs in the face of danger. Or at least at Mom's rules.

I get it, because I wanted to be that way too. For most of my life, I wanted to be someone else. Someone sexier, smarter, taller, faster. Don't we all? But with age comes some kind of acceptance, and at this point in my life I really like who I am. The only thing I'd change is this:

I'd like to be better at helping my kid see what I see in him. Last night at bedtime, he apologized for throwing a tantrum, and when he was going to sleep, as we were talking and our heads were close on the pillow, he said this: "Mom, your sweet face is the home for all my kisses."

Tell me how to make him see the treasure in his good, sweet, brave heart.

lilacs in the rain

lilacs in the rain
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

they smell so lush. the lilac bush grew them too high for me to cut this year, but the rain brought them down low enough to photograph!

Reminds me of the lyrics from a Tom Waits lullabye.

Bend Down The Branches

The sky's as deep as it can be
Bend down the branches
Close your eyes and you will see
Bend down the branches

You're like a willow
Once you were gold
We're made for bending
Even beauty gets old
Climb the stairs they're not so steep
Bend down the branches

Close your eyes and go to sleep
Bend down the branches


Which brings me to another Tom Waits lullaby Well, it's not technically a lullaby, but Charley used to sing it to JH when he was a baby. Without the megaphone. Or the flailing. Thank goodness.

jack menopause commercial

Best. Commercial. Ever.

Wednesday

My friend Annie is going to have surgery tomorrow to remove several tumors from her abdomen and pelvic area. This is great and scary news. Please, if you have a moment tomorrow, send a good thought, prayer, whatever - her way. Another update is posted here.

Good News!

My friend Annie, who was diagnosed with leiomyosarcoma almost a year ago, and has been battling like the fierce Warrior Goddess that she is, has gotten some great news on her latest scan. I was so thrilled to get the email with the link to this update.

Just wanted to share the good news.