september grass

By John Sheldon
Vocals- James Taylor

Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today
And I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed, oh darlin'..
So I'll be king and you'll be queen
Our kingdom's gonna be this little patch of green

Won't you lie down with me right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass

Oh, the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stain
We walked home together. I was never the same.

But that was a long time ago
And where is she now? ..Oh, I don't know

Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down with me now
September grass

Oh, september grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy like apple wine
Hope you don't mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come

Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know?..thats you and me, baby, yes it is..
We're so small and the worlds so vast
We found each other down in the grass

Won't you lie down with me right here
September grass
Won't you lie down with me now
In this september grass

Lie down
Lie down
Lie down
Lie down

Won't you lie down here right now
In this september grass
Won't you lie down here now
In this september grass

drama mama

Well, I guess it's time to edit the ole blog header- it looks like I'm gonna need to add yet another "m" to my ongoing Mag Mama madness. Not only is yours truly bravely going beyond motherhood and mid-life, but now this poor gal has got a big sloppy helping of menopause on her saggy Dixie plate. Yep, it is official, friends. As if my granny underwear and Icy Hot patches weren't bad enough, I have been diagnosed with "the change". Lovely. And ya know..only a man would call it that. Change is something you get back when you buy a candy bar, gentlemen. Nah...this is more like the bloody jowls of Cerberus gnashing at my heels with O Fortuna on the soundtrack. In high def, blu-ray and Dolby.

Yes, Mama has paid a little visit to Six Flags Over Manic Mountain and it has nothing to do with funnel cake and good times. I've boarded a scary estrogenic roller coaster that's leaving me holding on to the t-bar for dear life, refusing to John Hancock my husband's divorce papers and hoping like hell no one will call DHS. And it could not have happened at a worse time. I am fully booked with school fundraisers, flash cards and play dates. That's what I get for for being so cocky with Mommy Nature, I guess. I thought I was sooo slick..pulling the ole reproductive switcheroo, high fiving it and doing the "dusty old eggs still got it white girls overbite" dance. Yeah, right. Little did I know. Many of my pals have wisely already been there and done that in the rug rat dept., and are now getting to reward themselves with things like the Sunday paper, mani-pedis..the Bravo channel. Or at least are able to clamor their way through the hormone hell by themselves in a peaceful empty nest. Meanwhile, I'm wiping noses, crying over Campbells commercials and having hot flashes at the Jump Zone.

Along with snarfing black cohosh and locking the liquor cabinet, I am doing everything I can to ride this elevated luteinizing wave without going postal on somebodies ass. I joined a local gym, only to have my worst nightmare realized- Fox News and ESPN on the monitors. I just can't seem to win these days. It is here I spend Monday through Friday a.m., flat on my back, puffing away, doing crunchy after crunchy with the American flag waving above me and Metallica shakin' it on the speakers. This morning, my gut was so frigging full of lactic acid, I almost had to grab Old Glory to pull myself up. But I refrained and 15 minutes later I was back up on my feet doing a set of excruciating reps on what appeared to be a love swing, but realized after watching some really hunky guy who could have been my son, that it was just for abs.

The good news is that my pig-tailed babies are both ensconced in school now, acclimating well and are as happy as clams. It's a shame that Mama's three hour stretch of time to herself has turned out to be on the painful, achy side. It sure would be nice to maybe sit back..sip a latte, have uninhibited sex with my husband or even amble around a mall. Well, now, now....I guess I can and will be able to do all the above..eventually, but first things first- I have to open up a can of whoop ass on the Pillbury Doughboy who has has seemingly stolen my identity.

first day

Happy school beginnings, my sweet. Your radiance and laughter fill me....now my mornings go quiet. As I watch you spread your wings, even if it's just a bit, it makes me so proud and eager to see how your blossom will unfold. Love you oodles. Now, I think I'll fix myself a little martini.

the mouths of babes

We are burying a good man today. Sleep well, Mr. Kennedy. White roses, Placido, Yo-Yo Ma and songs of love & admiration from your children...an exquisite send off.

Edward Kennedy's speech at the 2004
Democratic National Convention

To my fellow delegates and my fellow Democrats...

napalm in the morning

I made it out in one piece, lades and germs. The sun is setting on another summer. Well, almost..anyway. My oldest, poised with a number two in hand, is settling into Grade One ever so nicely, and my youngest whipper snapper has just 21 days and nine hours until she Montessori’s herself up for half day. Can ya tell, I'm just a wee bit excited to have three whole hours completely to myself after six long years? Ahhh..numbers. Sweet numbers. It is the little things in life, folks. Well, no, not really, I guess. Ultimately, it would be a million dollar lotto win and a villa on Lake Como that would make it all complete, but I'll just have to settle for my five blissful mornings. All alone. At the gym..at Target..at a bar..hey, wait a minute..at wherever the frick I want to be! Yeehaw and Hallelujah. It's been a long time coming. Calgon is finally showing me a little love and taking me away.

Overall, the dog days of 2009 were well spent and I think my babies had a good one. We did some dollar movies, princess ballet camp, a nice Gulf Shores va-cay, some Jon and Kate reruns until they split up and turned into white trash...even had some Chinese acrobatic Branson glitz (that place may get seven million visitors a year but I still say it needs a little less Jim Stafford and a little more hooch and gambling before I'd be motivated to visit again) and quite a few sweaty, warm cheese sandwich days spent at the park. My fave season of the orange leaves is just around the corner, and I think this year-around school schedule is going to suit Mama just fine. For all us, boozy, worn out, middle-aged mommies who just can't keep up the razzle dazzle river dance of entertaining two short spastic ferret people for three long stretching months, it seems a good fit and the only way to go. Of course, it will take a while to find our rhythm, but between all the screaming, caffeine, bickering over fashion and the haulage of two rug rats, to two different schools, seven miles apart with two 8am call times....we'll find our way through the smoke, eventually. Just stay low to the floor and cover your mouth, kids.

Yes, we've laughed a little, we've cried a little and then we broke our arm. That was about the biggest ta-doo of our solstice siesta. My T. just got her cast off after an "awful long, long time of days with no swimming, Mama!" I had promised the little tyke, I'd let her dunk in the pool right after its said removal, and that's just what we did. I'd never seen a poor kid so liberated. That newly healed summer sausage limb was flapping and splashing like a hooked eel. At the end of the day, she practically had a Sybil breakdown when I told her it was time to wrap up shop and head home. After a half bottle of Dawn, I still can't get the smell off of her arm though. Oy. The nurse asked me if I wanted to keep the cast. Uh..right. That's just what my memory box needs..a purple, lady bugged, moldy, stank machine that's gonna cost me a five hundred dollar co-pay. Good times. I realize now that the choice I made to let her play Pocahontas with her sissy in the dirt pile down the street was not a wise one.

On a more fragrant note though, my W. got her first bike this glorious ete and could not have looked cuter- all Pink Derbied up in her tutu, helmet and pads. As my old pal, Kim, says, "Precious and able to kick your ass". A couple of good attributes for all us gals, right? And a big no thank you goes out to my clearance special, five dollar training wheels as my darling managed to careen over the sidewalk, ricochet off of the neighbor's mailbox and end up in a Barbie glam heap on the street..all within the first five minutes of mounting the thing, mind you. Okay, so maybe I won't have a sporty Lance Armstrong in my motherly future. As long as she racks up a PhD in neuro-science, that will suit me just fine.

Our wild and crazy summer is coming to a nice close on a twelve year anniversary overnighter with the hub to see my beloved Kathy Griffin. Nothing like an open air venue, foul language and Olsen twin jokes to get you chuckling just in time for Fall. This is only the second 'sleepover' for Dad and I and we couldn't be jollier about it. Of course, it is coinciding with Mama's dry-out...so that part of it's not so fun. Yes, you read it right. I am five sober weeks in and counting through my Big Cleanse. Yep, I have chosen to take the high road, friends. Not as in drunk but as in ridding my precious temple of a body of all sulphites and impurities. Only the gym, Soy Joys and Perrier for me. This old gal is tee-totally determined to get rid of the end table she's had on her backside for the last year...re-energizing both body and carb-stuffing soul. And while I'm at it, I even plan on picking myself up a Pointer Sis-ta new attitude. Oh, yeah, it's high time for some me time. This manic mama is all about re-focusing, de-stressing and armoring herself up for battle because between my hormones and the Walmart greeters, life can be pretty damn hairy. Yesiree, boys and girls, flash forward in a couple of months...the only muffin top I'm gonna have is the one I eat for breakfast.

a friend in faith

As you travel through into another life time, I am confident that the lantern of faith will serve to guide you safely and surely. Thank you for your wisdom, guidance and opening your home to me when I needed it most. When my little girl came into the world six years ago, she was given so many beautiful things. I would often wonder which one of them would end up being the dearest..comforting her through the tears and sharing in all her smiles. That pal became your Lady. Her ears are worn now and her collar gone..from all the love and pats. Last night after hearing of your passing, I held you in my prayers and then tucked in my sleepy child. I went to look for her favorite 'stuffie' and found it resting quietly on my pillow. It was a wink, a wave, a smile...a small part of you signing off to me. Rest well and come back with spirited boundless joy, Sandy! We will miss you.

no place like home

a clean break

Well, Dancing with the Stars has had its first tragedy, folks. No, Wozniak isn't waltzing again. It's my kid's radius and ulna. Yesiree, as if my life couldn't get another stinky layer in its chaos sandwich, my baby girl has gone and busted her forearm while doing the "tornado" with her choreographer sibling. I guess, when you have two jacked up Icelanders, a plastic dinosaur and a mommy drinking on the sofa then you know there's gonna be trouble.

It was an open and shut case really. By the time I heard the scream, it was simply too late. I jumped up from my Real Housewives of Orange County & bucket of merlot and made a beeline to the back bedroom and was intercepted mid-hallway with a hodge podge of snot, accusations and "'but, Moms!" And that's basically all I can report. The perps claim they were twirling and then ka-boom...the victim fell forward on top of a pointy T-Rex with her right extremity tucked underneath. No blood splatter or fiber analysis has led Mama to believe it was anything more than a freak accident, but still somewhere in the dark, boozy recesses of my mind, I blame the damn bunk beds. I've hated those things since I bought them on a Craig's List special over a year ago. In the last few months, I've seen T. swing like a howler monkey, dangle her Care Bear by the throat and even hoola-hoop on top of the blasted thing...all the while, being afraid a senseless crime just like this one might happen. And it did. That precious, kissable bratwurst arm has gone crunch. But when your big sister leads like Attila the Hun, what's a poor curly top to do?

Looking at the skeletal horror of it all at our Pediatrician's office, Geez and I were aghast at how both bones were snapped in two. As luck would have it, we were referred over to an Ortho- one of the best in town who just so happens to specialize in four year old bratwurst arms. He confirmed the breakage but told me he had some family coming into town and couldn't set it for another four days! And this was after I had already idiotically kept her home for two days thinking she had a sprain! Did I drop the Mom ball or what? It was a guilty verdict alright and I was ready to give myself the death penalty. Oy. I just don't get me. Double Duh..I should have known it was broken. My T. is a big wad of happiness and as tough as a boot when it comes to pain and she had cried over this particular boo-boo for a half an hour straight. They proceeded to give me the facts, ma'am and set her up at the hospital for a "reduction" first thing Monday morning. Why do they call it that? It's not like they cut off the broken part or anything. In the meanwhile, Nurse Ratched did the honors and splinted my little tyke. I almost had to have a shot, and I don't mean the kind with a needle when they immobilized her arm in a super duper shell-like gauzy thing. I left the room and my angel's wails..turning it over to Daddy as I figured he owed me one.

Over a long, gimpy weekend...awash in my peri-menopausal, rapidly failing but refusing to downsize parents, Energizer Bunny children, out of shape, blubbery, middle-aged, bummed out endocrine blahs, I decided then and there I was going to have to put a cast on Mama, if I was going to try and mend the stress fractures going on in my life right now. That's why I've decided it's high time to just say no to high time and get down with some serious cardio & up with some good on-the-wagon living...cutting out all the toxins- liquid, chocolate-filled and human. Having let my Grey Goose fly the coop for now, I'm just about close to a week into my Perrier sipping, power running phase of rebirth and would like to say I feel better, but the jury's still out on that one.

My one-armed bandit passed with flying colors..literally...and now has a shiny new bright purple plaster sleeve. Yeah, it's pretty jazzy these days. When my hubby broke the same arm, same place on his sixth birthday back in the early 1900's, they gave him a boring off-white jobbie, complete with an ether suffocation knock-out. All would be well if our munchkin would wear her sling but she refuses because "it is too boyish looking mommy". As I had sat out in the waiting room, a big ole drama queen..fretting over my baby's broken bones, I looked up at the TV and saw the frightened eyes of that young soldier the Taliban's holding. I thought of his mother and the depth of fear and uncertainty in her heart and I felt guilty. I thought of my tiny little worry and the sweet ride back home where my girl would finish up a long afternoon safe at my side, nibbling popcorn and watching The Wizard of Oz. I thought of all the fortune morsels tucked into my multi-tiered Dagwood and I felt grateful. That night when I watched mine sleep, I prayed for that boy to make it back to his mother's arms...a place where all of us truly belong.

Yep, this roller coaster ride is one that won't be pulling into the station anytime soon, so I'm just gonna have to dig like a miner to find the humor and ride the loops and dips as best I can. Since I didn't marry for money, there won't be any bio-identical hormones to gobble. We may want to call this phase of my blog, Mama- The Blue Period. No pun intended.

commentary: a giant leap from ohio

By BOB GREENE
CNN Contributor

All over the world this weekend, people are peering up into the night, trying to catch a glimpse of a sliver of the moon. They're thinking about the moon because of Monday's 40-year anniversary of mankind's first lunar landing. And more than a few people are undoubtedly allowing themselves to dream of traveling to the moon themselves.

It's not going to happen. For almost all of us, it can be said with certainty: We're never going to go to the moon. But there's good news: We can go to Wapakoneta.

Wapakoneta is a town of barely 9,000 people in northwestern Ohio. It may be, in its own quiet way, the most inspiring single place in the United States. I-75 runs right past it; in your car, it's there and then it's gone before you even know it. Yet if you make the decision to leave the interstate and turn onto Bellefontaine Street, which takes you into town, you will find yourself thinking about life's most glorious possibilities in a way you seldom have before.

Each time I go to Wapakoneta, I try to put into words the feeling of walking those small-town streets, and each time I fear I come up short. But the lesson of Wapakoneta remains constant. A boy from this town -- a boy born here, a boy whose father, a mid-level state employee, was required to move from city to city some twenty different times before ending up back in Wapakoneta for the boy's high school years -- looked up at the Ohio sky and decided that he would soar.

If the town at times felt cloistered and confining -- if the horizons the boy could physically view on the flat landscape of Auglaize County appeared circumscribed -- he did not let that stop him. Down through the ages, it was the one task that was almost beyond conceiving, never mind beyond doing. Until, on July 20, 1969, Neil Armstrong, of Wapakoneta, walked on the moon.

You want to talk about the strength of the human will -- of the American will? You want to talk about absolute proof that no matter where you're from, if you set your heart to it, you can do anything? Take a trip to Wapakoneta. Stroll through the neighborhoods, stop in at the stores, maybe catch a movie at the old Wapa Theater on Willipie Street. Try to imagine being the boy who did exactly that, when no one knew his name.

His family had to pick up and move so often, because of his dad's job, that no one could have blamed him if his only desire had been to finally cling to one place.
But he decided that if he was destined always to be in motion, then he should make the most of it. He was fifteen when, his family living back in Wapakoneta again, he signed up for lessons at the airstrip north of town. He had made up his mind: He wanted to escape the earth's bonds. The moon was not the dream. The moon was merely the eventual landing strip. The dream was to fly.

Walk around that town. If you're feeling hemmed in by life, if all your prospects seem to have dried up, if you feel stuck in place, walk around Wapakoneta. Then ask yourself: Is there anything that can stop a person whose belief in what he can accomplish is fierce and unyielding enough?

There is a little museum in town -- you can see it from I-75 -- that is dedicated to the life of the boy who once walked those same streets. The thing I have always loved best about the museum is the display of newspaper front pages from around the world on the day after the moon landing. Every front page in every city in every country on the globe ran huge headlines announcing that the impossible had become real: that a man had walked on the moon. Some of the papers said just that -- that a man had reached the moon. Some made it more parochial -- they said that an American had walked on the moon. But the Wapakoneta Daily News said it in the only good and proper way it could be said, in that town, on that day:

"Neil Steps on the Moon."

We all need to be reminded, from time to time, of just what we can do. We all, no matter where we live, have moments when we think that the odds are just too great, that life's grandest accomplishments are for someone else. And it's probably true that none of us will ever know the feeling of stepping onto the surface of the moon. But this is really not about the moon. This is about the limitless capacity of the human heart. So if there are moments when you begin to question what is out there for you, here's a suggestion:

Come to Wapakoneta sometime. And look at the sky.

the fourth of july

May your lives continue to spark in all that you do!

happy day

Happy birthday, darlin'! You are my light, my love, my inspiration. Thank you for the gifts you have given me and may your life be filled with everything beautiful!



Pocahontas don't have nothin' on you!

funeral blues

by W.H. AUDEN

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

a father

Happy Daddy's Day. Thank you for loving our girls deeply, devotedly..without conditions. Thank you for the song of your laughter and the way you make them smile. Thank you for your sense of fun and for filling their lives with magic and goodness. And thank you for being adept at arts and crafts because I really suck.