Comicon or Bust?

When your 4 year old requests a "superhero" themed birthday party...Embrace the energetic enthusiasm and release your creative outlet by delving into the likes of Comic Books, Lichtenstein, Rauschenberg, pop art, Superhero Facts, & an eclectic collection of superhero party garb spanning the Justice League, & the Marvel Superheroes. Okay so embrace is synonymous with igniting my inner artist and turning it into a project, whatever gets the job done. Apparently this collective fusion approach was the accurate 5 year old mentality of assimilating superheroes from various sources. After some deliberating and several costume changes, Zayne settled on a combination of Thor & the Flash. Some of the other melds that showed up were a Transformer/Batman, & a Superman/Batman. By the end I had a house full of Thor/Flash, Spidermans, Wolverine, Indiana Jones, Buzz Lightyear, Batman's, & Superman's.

I knew that I'd have to institute a structured itinerary, or else 15- five year old superheroes would likely band together and overtake the entirety of my home & sanity. We put some superhero twists on some classic old-school party games (which incidentally are foreign to 5 year olds nowadays in a world of play-worlds, jump-zones, & arcades.) We started with a coloring contest with "Green Lantern" crayon rings. Played a "Spidey Vision" version of "pin the tail on the donkey". A Superman Kryptonite rendition of the game "Hot potato" set to 3 Doors Down "Kryptonite". Then finished off with the Dad conceived idea of turning the boys into the Incredible Hulk by having them bulk up each other with balloons, then throwing stuffed penguins into bins (another Marvel/Batman meld.) Our final Batman vs. Joker silly string war was canceled due to inclement weather, so we sent the silly string home in the prize bags alongside comic books, superhero puzzles, coloring books, magnet books, and after the junkfood fest--superhero toothbrushes.

We then set them loose on "Gotham City", the centerpiece constructed from jars of licorice & beefsticks, bowls of salt water taffy, M&M's, and spiral cheese puffs. Basically a 5 year olds junk food paradise topped off with brightly frosted cupcakes (which we were all told by the child who had also celebrated his 5th birthday that week that "Your poop will be the color of the frosting! Mine was blue after my birthday cake!") Classic 5 year old boy...

Zayne orchestrated an impromptu singing from his guests of "Happy Birthday Cha-Cha-Cha", complete with him leading his chorus with waving arms. Johnathan just rolled his eyes in my direction as if to say "That. Is ALL you." And then we watched as a couple boys face dove into their cupcakes, smearing the bright frosting all over their faces. It was my turn to glance at their mothers and say with a teasing smile, "That's yours..." One a seasoned mother of two boys, didn't miss a beat, as she shook her head, smiled, whipped out her phone camera, and said "Yup! What are ya going to do?" To which I'd reply, "Embrace the energetic enthusiasm!" Happy Birthday Zayne-cha, cha, cha!

And to all those moms who exclaimed "you are so brave to host that at your house!", I'll respond that yes, it took some nervous guts, but after bracing myself for the worst--it was a chaotic blast. Albeit, I did have to take an hour drive ALONE, after the boys were in bed that evening, but eventually--I stopped twitching. Although, I may have been irrevocably scarred--that is the only conclusion I can draw from entertaining thoughts such as, "maybe attending Comicon would be visually awesome..."


Green Lantern coloring contest: comic book pages as a table runner to use as guides, crayon "rings", and large superhero coloring pages.


Invitations: Picturing the Justice League and backed with Comic book pages.

Batcave Cupcake Tower: From left to right, Green Lantern, Batman, Robin, Hulk, the Flash, and Joker.

"Church of Hard Knocks"

I recall a conversation with my mother a couple years back. I was explaining with decisive certainty how sheltered an existence I had lived in comparison to many of the people in this world, prior to my marriage at age 19. This conversation took place years after getting married, obtaining my degree in Criminal Justice, being employed by the Massachusetts Department of Corrections, and having my son Zayne. I emphatically referenced experiences gleaned from some of these milestones. My mother glanced sideways at me from her place at her kitchen sink, with an eye-rolling expression, and said "Janelle. You were no stranger to the world. You lived plenty by the time you were 20." I knew what she was referring to. My enrollment as a student in the "School of Hard Knocks".

There is a logical practicality blended with stubborn stupidity driving this propensity to "live & learn" vs. "listen & learn". It only makes sense that this self-educating approach vacillates from the secular to the religious. To which I'll appropriately term, "The Church of Hard Knocks."

Today's discourse came while teetering through Kroger in black stiletto heels & church clothes; maneuvering a shopping cart through a sea of pre-Thanksgiving Day shoppers, with Zayne in tow (picking up every desirable item in the reach of a four year old and asking "Mom, can we get this"), to make our way to the back of the store for milk.

It's not as if this was a one time occurrence. Rewind back a few months to when my sister flew down for the weekend. Of course the sacrament meeting talk that Sunday was "Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy", the week I hadn't made it to the grocery store (new baby, guest prep, etc.) So as I didn't really want to feed her Oatmeal Squares for the third straight meal in a row, and let's face it with a new baby at home? The prospect of going to the grocery store ALONE, sounded like a mini-vacation. But what ensued was far from my imagined oasis of solitary bliss. I found that 75 percent of my list was unattainable or the ingredients had to be amended in such a way that none of the recipes I was shopping for were workable.

Today after years of sermons, lessons, preaching, and lectures on "Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy" combined with several unpleasant Sunday trips to the grocery store, culminated my ah-ha moment of realization. Even disregarding obedient adherence, Sunday is honestly the worst day to shop. It's busy, depleted, and they play "Coming to America" on the crackly sound system.

"Guns 'N' Roses, Guns 'N' Roses, GUNS 'N' ROSES!"

Price of two concert tickets to see Guns 'N' Roses, $70. Price of dinner for two at Stir Crazy Asian Fusion Grill, $20. Price of a GnR concert t-shirt, $30. Price of a multi-colored glow stick wand, $1. Watching Zayne at his first rock concert, playing an innovated version of air guitar using his 5 stranded glow stick wand to Axl Rose performing "Sweet Child of Mine"? PRICELESS!!!

It wasn't without some trepidation that I chose my 4 (almost 5) year old as my date to GnR. I'm a seasoned concert goer, per se. The last decade has probably averaged one major concert a year, though enough to know the scene we would be in for. After weighing the pro's & cons for a couple of days of taking him to a crowded adult dominated scene, I settled on a decision. I would rather him experience the artistry of a rock concert, through my eyes, while at my side, where I could address the disparities of people's life-style choices. Besides, it's not as if I were planning on bringing him into the GA, throwing him on my shoulders, and heading to the pit. I researched the venue, avoiding the areas prone to partying, e.g. the GA lawn option. Then selected specific seats, taking into consideration the proximity to exits & the stage. As well as I know my child, I also know just as well the unpredictability of children. One minute everything is smooth sailing, and the next you've ruined their lives, and they are sobbing loudly in the lobby of Chick Fila because you traded in their "toy" i.e. 1/5th of a plastic globe (a plastic wedge) for an ice-cream cone. Even while purchasing our tickets online, and hitting the "submit order" confirmation, I thought, "Well. I'm either going to win the "worst mother ever" or "coolest mom ever"award." His smile speaks for itself. As does his excited declaration of "Our concert date is awesome! I like the loud music. The really loud songs are my favorite!"



I timed our arrival perfectly. This was calculated as well. I knew his attention span would wane if we were just waiting around. And as much as I enjoy people watching, I didn't really want to be walking him around in the crowds. My 'mama bear' mode kicked in as I ushered him past a belligerent drunk, gripped his little hand, and bee-lined it to the concert t-shirt tent. He chose contemplatively, and settled on a skull, eagle wings, & roses number. The smallest size was an adult small, but he has assured me that if we wash & dry it enough times it will eventually shrink to his size.

Keeping him close, we made our way to our seats, attracting the attention of every eye we passed. I mean how could we not, with his fabulous smile and his rock-star skinny jeans tucked into his red & tan cowboy boots!? I breathed a sigh of relief as we found our seats, and I surveyed and acknowledged our neighbors. A family in front of us with 5 adolescents, 2 friendly couples behind us, and a couple in their early 50's; her epitomizing the quintessential boobs, blonde, & black of the iconic rocker chic, and him sporting a clean conservative haircut & a leather bomber jacket. I no sooner had pulled out the children's Highlights magazine to read to him, and the opening chords of the electric guitar pierced the air. With the roar of the crowd and the palpable energy intensifying with the anticipation of the appearance on the stage, I watched Zayne's eye's widen and his smile grow. As the band took the stage and started to play, he turned to me and said in appreciative awe, "That is an electric guitar. Mom, please I have one for at home?" To which I smiled and replied, "So you want to learn how to play the guitar?" His classic response to my inquiry was, "I already know how to play the guitar, I just need one to play."

So during Rocket Queen I turned to him and asked my usually willing dance partner, " Want to dance!?" I look down at his studious amused face, taking it all in. He looked up at me and apolegetically said "No, I just want to watch & listen." I was shocked at his decline. I worriedly barraged him with questions "Are you okay? Are you tired? Are you ready to leave?"
He replied "Mom, I'm not tired. I like it. I want to stay!...But Mom I want to put my hands in my hoodie pockets."
It was then it hit me. My premonition was confirmed as I glanced around and saw that every man within our vantage, was standing stoically with their hands in their pockets. Moving only their heads and shoulders to the music. I was amused and annoyed. I wanted to yell out, "thanks a lot guys, y'all just lost me my dance partner!"


My partner returned with The Jungle and some pyrotechnics. The crowd responded loudly in appreciation. And from there we rocked out to a killer set including Estranged, Sweet Child of Mine, Live & Let Die, and November Rain.. He lasted about as long as I anticipated. At 11:30, he turned his tired eyes up at me and smiled. Knowing I'd miss Paradise City, I said "Have you had fun, are you ready to go, or do you want to listen to more songs?"
To which he said, "Guns N Roses is cool rockstars. Can I put on my shirt, and we go home so I can sleep?"

We had so much fun! My prayer that the concert would start on time was answered (on this tour they had been known to not come on stage til 11:15), so by 11:30 we had already rocked out for two hours. He was a fantastic concert date. As we were leaving the pavilion a stylish, responsibly fun looking, couple about my age was walking out and she smiled at me and said "We take our kids to concerts too, our daughter takes electric guitar lessons at School of Rock." Of course I knew what she was talking about, so I replied, "The one in Southlake? I've looked into that, we drive by there on the way to drop him to school." And from there we talked all the way out of the pavilion, out into the middle of the parking lot (In retrospect, I probably should have taken down her contact info.) It was with this conversation with a kindred rocker chic momma from my neighborhood, Zayne's declaration of "I didn't see scary, rowdy people. I saw rockstars", and pulling out of the parking lot, with Zayne chanting, "Guns N Roses, Guns N Roses, Guns N Roses", then having him promptly fall asleep, that I was able to breath a sigh of relief. I hadn't just won the "Worst Mother Ever" award.

Travel Exploits: Grand Rapids, MI

Michigan in the Fall. Nostalgic, reminiscent, and rainy. 1998 was the last time it was home, but the formative years of my upbringing are rooted there. Although, I can't claim born & raised status, as a transplant at the age of 2 straight from "the rabbit hutches" (aka Wymount Terrace at BYU in Provo, UT.)

We came into town in a combined purpose for Courtney & Nick's wedding, and visiting the in-laws, cousins, and old friends. Grand Rapids may not boast the most cutting-edge, modern, in vogue scene but what it lacks in popular trends it makes up for with a steady, gritty, north Midwestern, art & industry. It vibes the tenets of tenacity with a moody tone of melancholy. Downtown culture meets blue collar. There will always be a fundamental element of myself that resonates there. How else can I explain why while jogging in the morning through the industrial park near my in-laws I found myself swiveling my head in appreciative yet covert glances to the factory workers more frequently than I have while jogging in cities through suited stock brokers!?

Fall in Michigan means rain. It rained non-stop, for 3 straight days, and then off and on for the remainder of the week (granted the week before was supposedly gorgeous.) But still, how did I not remember this? It's a real wonder how a girl with a bit of a pessimistic streak could develop a propensity for depression after a childhood, & adolescence through such unyielding precipitation. And for the record, Thunderstorms are a different category. Thunderstorms are sultry, exciting, and comforting. I'm complaining about gray, sunless, cold, drizzle. And it's not just me. I'll let this picture of the Occupy Grand Rapids protest on October 19th speak for itself. You know the weather sucks when only a handful of people are sticking it out in an economic protest in a state hit hard by the recession. (Sorry I didn't get close enough to capture the protest signs. I didn't have an umbrella, and didn't want to get drenched for a photo op.)

But really, I can't be too harsh on the weather in Michigan. I see a lot of smiling faces of friends there, and those are a natural anti-depressant. Let's face it, Texas has spoiled us with sun. Upon our return, and a day of airplane travel with the boys (I'll spare you the details), we were met with 85 degrees and sunshine. Zayne lost no time in stripping off his layers to be shirtless with shorts, and go outside and enjoy a Popsicle. For the record, I removed Penders shirt because...he's a 9 month old, with a Popsicle.

Marketing victims or chicken pox? I know what I'll choose next time.

So I was certainly knocked off my "high horse" of defending my self proclaimed superiority of not buying into what I deemed another "baby gear marketing ploy". Knocked me right on my ass, with the chicken pox. I remember specifically at An Zen on my birthday over seaweed salad, spicy tuna, and caterpillar rolls, passing judgement on a family seated across the restaurant. Their toddler snuggled & shielded by a pink and pastel floral fabric high chair cover. Spattered with rice & teriyaki sauce. In an eye rolling, accusatory tone I said to Johnathan "Look at those poor marketing victims. Why would you waste 40 dollars on one of those fabric high chair/shopping cart covers? It's not as if Pender doesn't touch more germ infested surfaces throughout the day, and puts his fingers promptly in his mouth. It seems like taking precautionary parenting to the utmost extreme. What is covering two of those potentially disease laden objects going to prevent?!"

Well. The chicken pox for one. Now that the varicella vaccine is given at 12 months, the occurrence of chicken pox has been reduced substantially. Our pediatrician said she only sees a couple cases a year. Great. I'm soooo fortunate my 8 month old won't need the varicella vaccine after all. So as we were enduring quarantine conditions and self imposed social extrication, the common question (via text, phone, chat) was "Where did he get it?" It was sometime in-between bathing Pender for the third oatmeal bath of the day, or attempting to "dab" on caladryl onto his pox (aka chase a naked baby around the bathroom, utilizing a combination of toys and cotton balls to apply the medicine, or using a restraint hold I learned while working in the group home to get Pender to take some Benedryl) that I was accosted with my own words "What is covering those potentially disease laden objects going to prevent?" So much for being fianacially minded and fiscally frugal. I would have paid hundreds of dollars to prevent the uncomfort & pain of my baby, the demands & havoc on myself, the rest of the family, the house, and those of you that may have received some irrational & maniacal texts or emails from this frayed out mom.

I have to admit we had some real low points that week. The rock bottom was at the McDonalds drive thru. Double fisting a chocolate milk shake and a diet coke was only the beginning. I ended up doing what I only do on road-trips in the middle of Nebraska, I bought food. Not just a cheeseburger happy meal for Zayne. But a chicken nuggets happy meal for myself. I'd like to blame the vacation prep for Michigan, lack of sleep, cranky baby, doctors visits, social isolation, or that Zayne wanted Power Ranger toys. But really, the excuses? I would just be deceiving myself. And god forbid we do that...(said with full-blown irony as I stashed the trash in the bottom of the garbage to hide it from Johnathan who despises McDonalds after working there in high school & informs us that we are not to patronize those establishments or *gasp* bring that food into his house.) Marketing victims indeed.

Crisis mode will do that to the best of us. I'm learning that there will be a turning point. So next time I start exhibiting signs of psychosis after a week of no workouts, showers, & sleep, I have a script for myself. "You are coping, you are not crazy, just a little mentally hilarious. Get through the week with chocolate & diet coke. Then go for a run & listen to Pantera, take a bath & listen to Diana Krall and you'll be ready to approach life as your beautiful awesome self instead of the threadbare stranger currently staring you in the mirror."

4am. Good morning all:
Quarantine pool time:
Pender w/ Pox:
Ramen Noodles for dinner (y'all are lucky I "cooked"):
Crisis mode (at least the yoga mat made an appearance):

Art Class on the Driveway

Today I had an epiphany as I was backing down the drive way heading out to take Zayne to pre-school. As we reversed over top the painted and chalk covered driveway we had turned into our canvas the previous afternoon, I realized another legitimate reason for paying pre-school tuition instead of keeping him home and teaching him myself. Which is, that it is providing me with the peace of mind that my son is receiving a balanced education, instead of lets say... just having art class everyday. Of course we read, practice writing, and all of those responsible parental educational endeavors. Though I must admit, my trend is showing a disproportionate emphasis on the creative, artistic, impromptu lesson plan. With him attending preschool three days of the week, I can now embrace my art teacher methodology and release the guilt of not supplying my child with a well rounded education. It's a good thing too, because I must echo what Zayne said when he heard my lesson outline, "this is going to be awesome!", and it was.


It was an eclectic combination of children's literature, pop culture, color theory, green environmental philosophies, temperance, and my Dad's often used edict "be a builder, don't be a destroyer". Our canvas and classroom? The driveway. Our textbook? The Lorax by Dr. Seuss. Our art medium? Sidewalk paint & sidewalk chalk. Our background music? No Doubt station on Pandora. It was our creative expression of Truffala Trees, Once-lers, and the disintegration that results from greed, & over-consumption, all encapsulated with the moral:

"But now," says the Once-ler,
"Now that you're here,
the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.
UNLESS someone like you
cares a whole awful lot,
nothing is going to get better.
It's not.

(The Lorax by Dr. Seuss)

Lullabies

At the risk of sounding like a broken record...todays synopsis would be described as expending every effort to try to put Pender to sleep. This is a common theme in our daily schedule. Especially since a week ago he decided that he was going to boycott the pacifier he has used since birth. At one point this afternoon I even reverted to the surprising method that worked like a charm last week on the way to pick up Zayne from pre-school. Every detail had been anticipated and prepared in order to set the stage for Pender falling asleep in the car on the way there (changed, fed, nursed, etc.) So as we were driving along listening to the smooth methodical xanax induced voices so familiar to NPR, I figured their hypnotic rhythmic chatter would lull him to sleep. Instead, my 8 month old gained an energy surge from listening to an interview about fonts. Seriously? Fonts. Even I was stifling yawns, and I like writing, & fonts! But it is one thing to visually explore the typeface, and quite another to listen to someone drone on about Times in New Roman via a radio program at 1:45 in the afternoon. Spurred by boredom and necessity to prevent myself from falling asleep at the wheel, I changed the channel to a local rock station. I recognized the opening chords of Metallica's Enter Sandman. I turned it up, and started to sing. As I reached the chorus "Exit light, enter night. Take my hand, we're off to never-never land", I realized that the chatter from the backseat had ceased and as I checked in the mirror, and there was Pender, eyelids fluttering, and slipping into sleep. I thought since he adamantly opposed AC/DC the other day, and finds Rage Against the Machine intolerable, that he had completely vetoed moms hard rock. That was when I smiled in loving realization that my little Pender is just a purist when it comes to his metal mix. And this wasn't just his attempt to escape the music by submitting to sleep. He proved this as he and I were driving home from my birthday dinner. Metallica (King Nothing) came on and he was smiling and singing happily while banging his hands to the beat. Like I said. Metal purist. I love that boy..."say your prayers little one, don't forget my son, to include everyone..."

NYFW (New York Fashion Week) part 2: About Face

As I'm on the precipice of officially "being IN my 30's" (as one good friend pointed out). I thought it appropriate on the eve of my birthday to add a second post to my series on NYFW by divulging my desperate, vain, & seemingly futile effort to prevent the decline of my face (aka. my skin care regimen.)

At the beginning of the year I wavered on my brand affinity. A need to replenish my products occurred at the same time as the birth of my son Pender which incidentally meant that in addition to purchasing numerous baby items, we also had to start buying bulk cases of diapers from Costco. So despite my brand loyalty & preference to Lauder (Estee Lauder), I did what any good middle class momma hit in the pocketbook by the recession and a newborn would do. Fore-go the Nordstrom cosmetics counter and hit up the beauty aisle at Costco. So as I cruised through the skin care aisle with my two ton cart, and two little boys, I could tell already that this was going to be a sacrifice of massive proportions. Where was my sales staff en vouge in head to toe black, smiling through Chanel lipstick and Lancome juicy tube gloss? No where. But then I saw the Borghese label and thought "Okay maybe, this won't be so bad." I've used Borghese's Fango mud mask since I was 18, so I trepidatiously chose a serum and moisturizer from Borgheses Kirkland (Costco) brand line. I should also add that while checking out there was no friendly sales staff to chat up, smile, and ask for a few extra samples ( I have always come away with an array of mini travel friendly items, whether it be 'free gift' time or not.) But I braced myself. I looked at my sweet little boy and knew he was worth it. The real test though came in the weeks to come. Now maybe I jumped to conclusions, it really could have been a combination of the post pregnancy hormones assaulting my face. But the new products did not seem to be remedying the disastrous effects. I then dug out the last little travel sizes of my Lauder Idealist, & Day Wear and began my week experiment of seeing the difference. The moment the Idealist smoothed onto my cheek, I knew I had been wrong. I was ready to atone for my infidelity. I decided that there had to be some other place for this momma to cut corners then with one of my most visible features. So almost 2 months after my deviation, I walked back through the doors of Nordstrom, strolled right up to the Lauder counter and purchased my skin care with the money I'd saved from our dining out hiatus (since attempting a restaurant with a sleepless infant is such an enjoyable time ;-) So I'm back to my preferred skin care program: Mary Kay Timewise 3 in 1 cleanser, Estee Lauder Idealist Pore Minimizer, Estee Lauder Day Wear Moisturizer, Estee Lauder Night Repair Eye Cream, Mary Kay Firming Eye Cream (for the daytime it wears great under make-up.)
And now here is my feeble attempt to illicit rationalization for going out to purchase Lauders new Illuminator: one word. Melasma (pregnancy mask, it looks like a massive colony of freckles have communed in blotches on your face.) I have remnants on my forehead and a month or so ago a friend 'so considerately' pointed out that I also have it on my upper lip (which had somehow escaped my sleep deprived eyes.) Following that tragic discovery I raced to the Internets to determine that it was in fact, Melasma, and not just 'age spots'. But not before I had already frantically applied every anti-aging product within reach.