The Ageless Church (as in, music)

So, last night, I went to see The Church at Ram's Head On Stage. You know, Under the Milky Way...Reptile? Wow. The legendary Marty Willson-Piper is still, well, legendary. The rest of the boys are just as impressive. They rocked like I did not expect. I thought it would be a calm show of ethereal guitar & haunting lyrics. Man, was I wrong! I imagine that any way they play, they're good. It's also fun to sit beside the stage, even though their stage guy's butt was in my face as he switched out guitars. It's a different experience...now I know what pickups and distortion pedals are, rather than just being giddy to see a band. I notice all the goings on, and see the band members as people.

But, you know what, I was somehow shocked by their appearance. Why are they frozen in my mind as they were twenty years ago? Because that's totally what I expected. How could they have aged? I haven't...at least, in my mind. In my mind, I'm still fourteen, sleeping on the porch with my sister in West Ocean City. We would listen to The Church or Peter Murphy or Echo & the Bunnymen all night long. My dreams were the images that the music conjured up, and time slowed in the summer heat. Who knows, maybe the Australians we met at Assateague were the Church...but I doubt Marty Willson-Piper surfs.

On the subject of age, I was very surprised to find that we were among the youngest people in attendance last night. Hard to believe that in twenty MORE years, I might be going to an Andrew Bird (or some such) show, and marveling at the "young" 35-year-olds...and they might marvel how someone as old as me can love that kind of music.

Lastly, why, oh why, have I become a rule-follower? I checked both my e-tickets and my website, and both clearly stated that cameras and recording equipment were not allowed. So, instead of taking my Nikon and getting some fantastic shots, like 80% of the other people, I was left with my crappy cell phone camera. Hmph. I'm such a sheep.

Work

It's kinda hard to feel sorry for myself with so much promise exploding outside-buds, bees, birds, flowers...pretty hard to keep me down today. And 75 degrees? Perfect.

But, we've been through a lot this week. When the kids are older, maybe even when they have kids of their own, I think we'll look back on this and say, man, remember when Collin was in kindergarten and everyone got Rotavirus? That was terrible. As in, it doesn't ever have to happen again. Ever.

Truth be told, only half of us have had it. That's the scary part. Poor Collin has already lost 10% of his body weight, and refuses to eat and drink much of anything. He does take comfort in white milk, something he has long abhorred. That's odd. But, whatever will stay down and isn't complained about is okay with me at this point. It's been very trying, and HE'S been very trying. He's a terrible sick kid. I remember as an older baby, he had a stomach flu, and completely slept through the throwing up part. Of course, the diarrhea lasted for days, as it is now, but there's not much to be done about that. My mom tells me I always got it badly, too. Yay, genetics. Anyway, Gordon and I each briefly escaped, and later we agreed that it was such a nice break. I'm certain he was happy as a clam to go to work.

The tv's been on every waking moment. That, of course, has resulted in Collin wanting every toy that is currently offered. There is also a constant stream of "Mama! Get Splenda! It's sweet, but not sugar...you won't get fat!" and "Mama! Why don't you ever listen to the tv? Just press OnDemand, so you don't have to go to the movie store or wait for the mail!" So, yeah, Collin must be a little better.

Now, it's Monday morning, and Cameron is "sick", too. At 8am, she looked perfectly fine, but claimed her belly didn't feel right. Gordon wondered if we should let her stay home. I shrugged and went back to bed. Now, she looks like she might not feel great, but admitted that most of the problem is the fear of throwing up in school. I can't say that I blame her. Her teacher is the man who, when a kid asks to go to the nurse for nausea, tells them to get the garbage can and sit back down. Which reminds me that I was supposed to have a meeting about him with the principal today. Which reminds me that while I feel like I really need a vacation from this whole mothering thing, there is much more work to be done this week.

If

If you go around grumbling in your head about your husband, you'll probably be hanging up his coat (for the thousandth time) and cussing him when one of those big wooden hangers flies off the rod and smacks you in the nose. You might think God is trying to tell you something...or that the karma kicked in. You might then go to get the baby, and decide to change her. Then you put her down for a few minutes, and wrangle the three-year-old into bed. You might immediately have to threaten him to get BACK into the bed. Then you might get the baby again, and realize that she's peed through the new outfit and onesie you've put on her. You might commence to mentally grumbling again. You might change her with your icy cold hands, and the three-year-old will complain that she's keeping him awake (as if he's had any thoughts of sleep at all). He'll ask to poop for the third time in ten minutes. You'll then know that he really HAS mastered bowel and bladder control, because he's only letting out enough to last him a few minutes, thereby increasing his out-of-bed time. Then your older children might come in off the bus, making as much noise as their little bodies can produce. You might threaten them, too, and your mind might wander back to your guilty husband, sitting ALONE in his QUIET office. You'll probably start cussing him again, and the fact that he refuses to use birth control. You might curse the fact that you're nearly 35 and therefore it's probably not a good idea to use hormonal birth control anymore. And the IUD already failed...and condoms are, well, you know...and now the baby's worked herself up to a frenzy, so you'll probably have to go ahead and nurse her. You might park yourself near your laptop, so you can at least surf or update your Facebook status with one hand. The baby might behave herself and burp right away, and not even spit up on you, so you might sit there and snuggle her a while longer, ignoring all the Christmas stuff that still needs to be put away, and the third and fourth loads of laundry. Sooner or later, you might realize that the baby kind of smells like poop. Then you might realize that the smell is a little larger-than-life, if you will. You might look down and see that the baby has indeed pooped out of her onesie, and onto the second outfit you were holding in your hand, ready to put on her. Now you'll realize that there'll probably be a FIFTH load of laundry, and you'll drift back to your husband, who could easily wash clothes while playing his Xbox. While you're walking to your bedroom, you might hear a splat on the floor, and you'll note that she has indeed spit up...half on you, half on the floor. You might put the baby on your bed, on a waterproof pad so that she can do no more harm, and go get the infant bath tub ready. You might look down and notice that the baby has pooped all over your only clean pair of jeans. Your nine-year-old might dramatically burst into the bathroom and announce that the baby has peed...BESIDE the waterproof pad (who said only boys had that capability?), and all over your bed. Yes, it is Sheets Change Day. Yes, there'll be a fifth, and probably a sixth load of laundry. And you'll start mentally grumbling about your BGE and water bills. You'd then put the baby in the bath, noting that she does like being submerged in the water better than being in that bath-chair-thingy. But only for 90 seconds. You'd probably then hurry to dress the baby, who is screaming her fool head off. You see any hopes of a nap for the three-year-old slowly sailing away.

Then you might pick up your clean, sweet baby, nicely wrapped and smelling like Burt's Bees Milk Bath. You might snuggle her and decide all is right with the world. And decide maybe your attitude needs rebooting. But your husband will probably still be wrong.