Aprilbaby's California Life

My Life in Lyrics

For Sunday Scribblings writing prompt - "Observations"

Ever notice how you can relate to whatever’s playing on the radio? Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just an egomanic-drama queen who sees my life as a film and the music playing in the background as my own soundtrack. I mean, didn't The Beatles get together right before I was born just to write songs for me? Hey, they did sing "Michelle"... and that's my name, so I practically thought so.

It’s the morning of my eighteenth birthday. I’m driving my metallic-green VW bug to school. I turn on the radio. The Beatles are singing “They say it’s your birthday…” And I smile wide as though they wrote that just for me.

It’s a brilliant blue-skied June afternoon. I just got out of school and am driving to the beach in the same VW bug. The sun is landing like diamonds on cars that I zoom by. Wind whistles through my car’s little winged windows, whipping my hair around my face.  The guy I went to the prom with is sitting in the passenger seat. “Hey, can I drive your car?” he asks. I pull over and let him take the wheel. The radio is on. He pulls away from the curb as The Beatles sing “Baby, you can drive my car…”

An earlier summer, while cruising down El Camino Boulevard with my girlfriends, I see a cute boy driving in a car somewhere between Heidi’s Pies and the Hillsdale Mall. We meet, and spend the following weeks talking on the phone. On weekends we rendezvous at a McDonald’s on El Camino Boulevard. Then one rainy Saturday night, he and his friend Mark never show up to meet me and my friend Jackie. After almost an hour of waiting, we get back into Jackie’s Nova to return home to Pacifica. As her windshield wipers swish-swop, Phil Collins' voice pours out of her radio: “There must be some misunderstanding. There must be some kind of mistake. I waited in the rain for hours… and you were late…” Oh, as if my pain isn’t sharp enough, those lyrics make the night all the more tragic (because as a teenage girl, a boy not showing up is a tragedy).

Yesterday, I’m driving down the 101, taking my daughter to live on her own for the first time, to her very own college apartment up the coast. My husband is following us in a van carrying all of her stuff. We’re excited for her. Her future, like the ocean below the 101, is spread out and waiting. Sarah Mclachlan’s voice oozes from the radio, “I will remember you. Will you remember me? Don’t let your life pass you by… weep not for the memories…” My glasses get steamy. I’m such a mellow-dramatic sap. As the music plays, one part of my brain focuses on the road ahead of me while another part of my brain plays a transparent slideshow of my daughter’s childhood. The photographic-memories overlap on top of the dotted lines of the 101. There she is dressed as a kitty for Halloween, selling lemonade for 5 cents, graduating from eighth grade, carrying her surfboard down the beach…

Back in the Valley, just hours after moving our daughter into her apartment and returning the moving van to the rental company, my husband and I drive over to Brent’s Deli in Northridge. We split a pastrami reuben and fries. It’s a weird day. The sky is mottled-gray. The air feels thick and muggy. I munch on pickles and look around. There’s a rocker dude in the booth in front of us – jet black hair, goatee, tattoos up his arms, maybe a little eyeliner smudged under his eyes. He’s wearing a Joan Jett and the Black Hearts T-shirt. That reminds me of driving with my daughter earlier in the day. I remember a Joan Jett song came on the radio. I try to remember what song it was, but can’t recall. Guess I was feeling foggy.

Music is floating from the speakers at Brent’s Deli. Here we are, just minutes from Reseda, as Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin” plays overhead: “She’s a good girl, loves her mama, loves Jesus and America, too. She’s a good girl, crazy bout Elvis…Loves horses and her boyfriend too. It’s a long day living in Reseda…” And then I hear my daughter’s words in my head from the day before. “Welp, it’s my last day in the Valley.” Just the week before she told me how she was excited about leaving, and how she’ll miss everyone, “But, you know, it’ll be nice to get away.” I know. That’s how I felt twenty years earlier when I left home.

So… she’s on to her new life. And so are we. Before leaving, Lauren finally returned my guitar, so I’m going to pick up where I left off teaching myself chords, and playing mangling the few songs I taught myself, like “Mrs. Robinson” and “Moon River”…

Moon river wider than a mile
I’m crossing you in style someday
You dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you’re going I’m going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see

As The Beatles would say, “Obla Di Obla Da… life goes on.”  And I'm pretty sure they wrote that just for me, just for days like yesterday. Or does everyone think that?

Don't Fear the Spatula

Well, that went by in a blur!

Wasn’t it just days ago we brought our newborn home from the hospital, driving a cautious fifteen miles per hour? I swear I was just wondering when I’d ever get to sleep again. In those demanding Desitin ointment and diaper months after, I was convinced I’d spend the rest of my life covered in creamed spinach and pureed pears.

We thought we were going to go insane, her dad and I, once she learned to climb out of her crib. Entire evenings were spent doing nothing but listening to toddler screams as we took turns watching her bedroom door, picking up our squirming two-year-old and placing her back in her crib, only to have her escape over and over again.  So exhausted and desperate, we did two things: 1) called a local hospital’s Baby Help Line begging for a solution to our baby’s all-night screaming, but got no help at all. 2) Out of desperation, we crammed a rubber spatula under our toddler’s sliding wooden bedroom door and thick carpeting, thinking that would keep her from running from her room. It didn’t work. She was too determined to escape. The kitchen utensil did buy us enough time to take two minute breaks, so we kept using it. But we were afraid she’d grow up with a fear and resentment of spatulas.

At three years old, she’d wear outfits for months at a time. Her raincoat she wore everyday until it rained, then she refused to ever wear it again. Her cowboy boots she wore with her dinosaur shirt and sailor shorts, and then her teacher called to say, “Lauren should be happy to hear, considering she wears her cowboy boots everyday, that Friday is Western dress-up day." Of course, that’s the day she stopped wearing cowboy boots.

She seemed to have no fear. When she was about eight, the weekend after that Thanksgiving, while stuck in the San Francisco airport, she took out her flute she had packed and joined a fellow flutist to entertain weary travelers.

She’d skateboard down steep hills, splash in the ocean waves on foggy December days and later sit herself in the middle front row at the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice awards. She later called her dad and me to say, “Turn on the TV. You’ll see me.” We did, sitting right next to the host Ben Stiller, as she casually chomped on her gum.  

Dressed in surf shorts, t-shirts and hi-top Converse, she's drop-in off steep ramps at skateboard parks and play on co-ed basketball or t-ball teams, usually the only girl. When she was twelve we bought her a basketball hoop for Christmas, only to have her decide she’d rather put on lip gloss, listen to music and style her hair.

Her earlier teen years convinced me her terrible-twos weren’t so terrible after all. But I’d rather savour the good memories, so I’ll just sum up those years with this look (See photo on right). I received this expression a lot.

But there were nice moments, too. She and I had nice talks while driving to and from school. We’d see movies together and spend days at the beach. Though thirteen through fifteen were the stormiest years, by sixteen she began working and making her own spending money. She saved up for a car, and then we saw her a lot less. No more nice talks on the way to school, no more driving over Topanga Canyon, music blasting, toward the ocean, just the two of us. Her car was her first big step to freedom.

Now, she’s just about to head off for school and live in a college beach town. She bought a coffee table and a gray with pink beach cruiser with skull decals, and has already paid her (thanks to her grandparents) deposit on her apartment. Her own apartment? Weird! I swear she was just telling me, “Mommy, I never wanna leave you.” And I said, “Sweetie, believe me, one day you’ll want to leave.” Funny, I didn’t think that day would come so soon.

In a few days, I’m taking her to buy things she’ll need for her apartment kitchen. One of those things will be a spatula. Thankfully, she has no fear of them... or much else.

I'm The Uncoolest Mom I Know

If you’re the parent of a toddler and you think prying stuck suckers from hair, keeping your two-year-old from eating a wad of old, chewed gum off the sidewalk, or trying to write a check at the grocery counter as your kid is lifting up your skirt are difficult tasks - you’re right.  But just wait until you have a teenager.

Your children may ask to “hang out” with friends without parents around, they’ll ask you to just trust them - even though you were once a teenager yourself - and know better, but most frightening of all they will eventually ask if another hormonally-crazed adolescent, prone to distractions  - like themselves - can drive them around in a car, on the street with other cars going very, very fast.

Those are the years when you will be compared with all the other parents: the cool parents; the parents who let their kids have unsupervised parties,  who know that their kids ditch school on a sunny day to drive to Santa Monica (but are cool with it), who buy their teens beer, which they justify by saying, “Well, they’re gonna do it anyway.  At least I know when and where they’re doing it.”

If those are the cool parents, I’m so uncool, it’s scary.

This is how uncool I am: my daughter and I were invited to her friend’s fourteenth birthday party at a restaurant on once trendy, now trashy (in my opinion), Melrose Avenue - where the typical clothing boutique has mannequins clad in black leather, holding whips.  The birthday girl’s mom thought it would be fun for the kids to shop after lunch, and asked me to come and help supervise the dozen or so girls.  She and another mom led the coltish group of fourteen year olds down the street and into a shop.  As my daughter, her friend and I were about to enter the store, I heard the girls who were already inside shrieking with delight.  I entered and looked around, then realized the mother had taken the girls into a head-shop loaded with bongs of all sizes, shapes and colors, stash boxes for ecstasy and pot patches for the casual drug taker’s wearing pleasure.

“Turn around.  It’s not appropriate,” I said to my daughter, though she and her friend had already peeked inside.

The three of us stood on the sidewalk - two fourteen year olds and a very uncool mother.

Ever since I’ve been a parent, I’ve been exposed to more peer pressure than I ever was in high school - and I’m not talking about teens pressuring teens; I mean parents pressuring other parents - specifically, me.

I’ve actually been taunted by another mother, in a group of women, for not letting my ten-year-old daughter, who was much younger than their girls, walk to a store, many blocks and a busy intersection away.  The mother practically tucked her hands under her arms and mocked me with chicken sounds, “Bock...bock...bock.” Not really, but she might as well have. 

She said, “Come on!  You’re such a worry wart,” while scanning the group of women, to see if they were in agreement.  The women nodded along.  That wasn’t it; she wouldn’t let up.  The mother prodded and taunted until I'd had enough - which was not long.

I eventually shook my head, took my daughter’s hand and left the park get-together entirely.

The mother who taunted me called the next day to apologize, which was big of her - but, by then, I’d already had it with parenting peer pressure, from nearly day one as a mother.  It started early, other parents questioning my decisions.  But they are my decisions for my child. 

I’ve had plenty of conversations on this subject with people who question my “too structured,” “old-fashioned” ideas, yet my daughter, now at fifteen, still hasn’t runaway or rebelled, taken to the streets of Hollywood or any other of the predicted responses to my parenting.  She does her job, which is to try and get more freedom, while I give it with guidelines and as my husband and I feel comfortable.

I had those “cool” parents who gave me all the freedom a teenager could desire, and still I needed to push my, nonexistent, boundaries, to extremely dangerous limits.

So I let people - “cool" parent types - tell me what I’m doing wrong.  It doesn’t bother me, because I know that my daughter has plenty of friends, she doesn’t need me to be another one; she needs a mother who makes decisions based on my common sense, my experiences and my good judgment - not measured on a barometer of coolness.

Told you I was uncool.

 

Happy Birthday, Baby!!

I can't believe my little girl just turned 18 yesterday. 

it seems like just seconds ago - she was only four - and we were on the floor playing with Tinker Toys when I asked her, "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

Without even thinking, because she already knew, Lauren blurted, "Touch the stove, use sharp knives and drive a car."  Well, of course, I was wondering what sort of job she, at only four, might want in the future.  Instead, she gave me the top things in a long list of things she wasn't allowed to do just yet, but couldn't wait to do.

These days, all those goals (knives, hot stove and driving) have all been accomplished.

Then last night, on her birthday, she asked me.  "Now that I'm 18 what are some things I can do?"

"Well," I offered, "you can vote."

Unfortunately, she was looking for something a little more fun.  If it wasn't her birthday I would have reminded her that's something considering woman in this country had to fight for that right... but, oh well.

So I said, "You can pay your own bills, screw up your credit and get arrested."

I don't think that's really what she had in mind.

Happy Birthday, Lauren!  And please pay your bills, don't screw up your credit or get arrested.

*Recently, I've gotten slightly addicted to Youtube.  I've been finding all kinds of nostalgic stuff, including a video of the man who made Lauren's life possible:  King Cotton.  Whenever we see King he takes pride in knowing he deserves credit for her existence.  King is the one who pulled me back into the wrap party for Tape Heads when I was out the door and ready to leave, and introduced me to my husband. Thanks, King!!

I'm an Imperfect Parent

I wrote this piece titled "Kid Sense" for Imperfect Parent, about how adults (including me) too often lack the good sense children have.   

While I am an imperfect parent, here's a little of what I've learned now that my kid is a teen:

*Newborns are quiet and angelic at the hospital, but are likely to turn into red-faced, screaming tyrants once your foot hits your own doorway.  If I could do it again, I'd listen to the wise pediatric nurse who said, "You really should stay in the hospital a few days longer; it's the only rest you'll get for a while."

*I like this quote from writer Anne Lamott: "Having a baby is like suddenly getting the world's worst roommate, like having Janis Joplin with a bad hangover and PMS come stay with you."  So true.

*The first time you see your toddler's diapered butt scurrying down the crib bars, making her escape - realize that sitting down for ten minutes in the evening is just a dream.

*When out in public with a toddler, know that she may say and do anything.  Be prepared to apologize profusely to strangers, run as if a life depended on it and carry lots of wet-wipes.  She may just wipe her chocolate ice-cream covered hands on the back of a clean, white t-shirt of the man standing in front of you in the grocery store line;  or she might take all of her clothes off and run out the door of a boutique, while you're half-dressed in the dressing room, when you fantasized she would calmly sit in her stroller beside you.  My daughter has done both.

*If you're making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for your five year old and her friends, and then realize you haven't heard a sound for a few minutes - run very quickly! They just may have climbed your trellis and be on top of your roof.  That's where I found my daughter and her friends.

*If you want your child to be calm, patient and never raise her voice, make sure you do the same.  If only I could go back in time...

*Your four year old may insist on wearing her yellow raincoat every day for months, but the day it actually rains will be the day she decides to never to wear it again.

*There may be a time when your toddler can verbalize how she truly feels about you, like the time my daughter yelled  "You're the wierdest mommy I ever had!"...and you may try to do your best to stifle a laugh while still feeling offended. 

*Watch your words, small children take things literally, like when I said "Sorry, Charlie!" to my daughter, she threw a fit thinking I forgot her name.

*Be consistent.  Kids never forget that one time you gave in, and will cling to the hope they can get you to change your mind one more time.  Believe me on this one!  I've been paying for that mistake ever since.

*Remember that you are your child's teacher and guide to the world.  This position should not be abused; such as the time my husband - while on a drive alone with our seven-year-old daughter - somehow came up with the tale that computer keyboards would no longer have the letter "O."  For at least fifteen minutes my daughter was in a state of panic.  Once home, she ran toward me, "Ma ma!  How will I write 'I love mommy?' on the computer without the letter O?"  Poor child, didn't yet realize how twisted her father is.

*Be prepared to answer questions of a curious mind.  With every new thing learned come more questions.  When my six-year-old and her friend rode in my car's backseat, I heard the following conversation:
My daughter:       "Lesbian?
Daughter's friend: "Yeah.  That's two girls who love each other."
My daughter:       "The way I love my mommy?"

*Beware!  Children have no filters.  They just say it as they see it...which is why my daughter wrote in her class bio, "My mom is a klutz,"  and made me a mother's day card, complete with accompanying artwork, that said, "My mom is good at sleeping." (see photo)

 

*As they get older, be honest with them about their talents.  Guide them toward what they seem to do well, or give them classes in something they're interested in , but don't mislead them with misplaced praise in order to give them self-esteem; you may just end up with a kid mangling a beautiful Stevie Wonder song with piercing screeches on "American Idol" before millions of viewers, who then states, "But my mom says I'm the best."   

I'm not a perfect parent, but I have raised a confident, yet not cocky, child.  She has confidence in the areas where she does have talent, yet is realistic about what she doesn't do so well.  And I'm proud to say she always comes to me first to get advice, knowing I'll tell her the truth.  So when I compliment her she knows I really mean it.  And when she sings off-key and I turn up the radio to cover up her warbling, we laugh.  She can thank me for her singing talent. 

*Don't be surprised when your teenager behaves as though you don't exist when with her (or his) friends.  Don't worry.  Your Teenager will acknowledge your existence when they need a ride, money or their birthday or Christmas is near.

*Understand your teenager will know everything and you will know nothing; like the other morning when I said to my daughter, "Get ready for school.  It's six-fifty (6:50am)," And she said, "Nah uh!  It's ten to seven!" 

*If your eyes are heavy, your mouth's dry and your throat's scratchy from reading her favorite book over and over again - just keep reading.  Soon your child will be a teenager, and you'll wish you had the opportunity to read that book to her just one more time.

*For anyone who wants to see the world brand new again, have a child.  You'll have to explain things like ants, sand, waves, rain, spinach - all those things you've taken for granted will be seen by them for the first time.  There is no better mind-altering experience than having a child, in my opinion.  And then, there are the times you might consider running away to France to get drunk off wine and eat lots of runny cheese rather than continue parenting.   

To be updated...