"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.