Because my baby's all growns up!

One of my favorite scenes from Swingers is the diner scene. After a night of swing dancing, Mikey (Jon Favreau) and Vince Vaughan (Trent) are celebrating Mikey finally meeting a girl. Trent jumps on the table and does this really bad pelvic dance (that I must admit I recall doing in a drunkin stupor sometime during the early 90's) and starts to yell that his "baby's all growns up, and he's growns up and he's growns up." Classic scene in my book.

Well, this phrase has been popping into my head a lot lately as I go to school and see my baby, my first born, walking down the 5th grade hall. I'm one of those moms who gets all vaklempt like "Coffee Talk"... "give me a moment, talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic...The Holy Roman Empire. It wasn’t holy, it wasn’t Roman, and it wasn’t an empire. Discuss!”

Last night was the big 5th grade performance. They march in... wow, when did all the boys get so tall? And when did some of the girls start wearing bras?! Thank God for friends. I was fortunate to find a friend to sit next to when I first arrived. Her daughter definitely didn't want to be there. It was a game of hide and seek the whole performance, hiding from the camera her mom had and peering out every once in awhile to see if mom was still seeking a picture of her. It had us in stitches and a possibly teary eyed moment was luckily averted. But how many times can I duck the tears? How many times can I duck that tug at my heart as my baby grows up.

And as if it wasn't bad enough to know that puberty is lurking around the corner, ready to jump out at any moment, I came to another realization last night. I'm becoming really "uncool" in my son's eyes. I'm not saying I'm this super cool chick or anything, but my husband and I have always kind of taken a slight pride in being fairly "cool" parents. We're into the video games. We've trained them on the classics like Aerosmith and Beastie Boys. We know who Hannah Montana's two best friends are and I know my Star Wars. But those days are quickly coming to an end. As I sat there in the front row last night, I saw my son looking around. Silly me, I thought he was looking for me, so I waved and called his name. Oh, the daggers of death that shot from those eyes. He mouthed the words "stop." Well, that was all the ammo I needed. I called a few more times just to embarrass him, I couldn't resist. Looking back, okay maybe that's why I'm not the cool mom anymore.

Probably the hardest evidence of my son's impending maturity was when Toy Story came out the other weekend. I asked him if he wanted to bring a friend along to see the movie. My daughter was still trying to pick one of her 5 best friends to invite. He looked at me and said, "I'm not inviting anyone, I have a rep to protect." A rep? In 5th grade? No Toy Story? No group of kids sitting in the theatre watching Disney magic happen... "run like the wind Bullseye." My heart sank. Sigh.

So there it is. My baby's growns up and I've grown uncool. But little does he know that mom doesn't really care about being uncool. I'm gonna cry when he does the 5th grade walk even if he turns 3 shades of red. I'm gonna still call out his name and wave at the Awards Ceremony at the end of the year. And I'm gonna still give him a big sloppy kiss on the cheek and hug in public anytime I can. If I'm going to do something, I'm gonna do it the best I can, so here's to the uncoolest mom ever. Because he may be growing up, but he will always be my baby.

I have a confession to make

I have a confession. It is not a pretty one. In fact, I am really putting myself out there by admitting this, so please be gentle and kind. When I was my daughter’s age, I had my first real Teen Idol crush. No, not Sean Cassidy or Greg Brady. This one was a doozy. Are you ready? Here is it, my deep dark secret. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that I was meant to be with .... Peter Frampton. There it is. I know, I know... I shouldn't have admitted it, but I was young and stupid (how come so many confessions end with that). I've been thinking of this only because I recently introduced my daughter to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, the beginning of my obsession.

But first, a little background here… My dad was one of those people who always had to have the latest gadget. We had one of the first Sony Walkmans. It played 8 tracks and had these huge 70's headphones. Classic. We had one of the first VHS players (at least dad was smart and didn't pick Beta). And we had cable before even MTV. Where am I going with this? Well, when I was about 8 or 9, I discovered Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band on cable and subsequently taped it to watch over and over and over and over (it’s a girl thing). And there began my love. A love I would proclaim by writing all over my piano books…. “I heart Peter Framptom,” “Peter Frampton forever,” “Mrs. Peter Frampton,” Okay, you get the idea and I got a swift smack down for ruining my piano books.

For those of you not of my generation (and some of you that are), you are probably wondering what a Beatles album has to do with Peter Frampton. Well, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band was also a very bad 70's movie. One that 8 and 9 year old girls find addicting like HS Musical, Grease, Hairspray, you get the point. Think of it as the 70's version of Across the Universe except with disco, really bad embroidered overalls and the Bee Gees. Yes, the Bee Gees.

So in a delusional moment (I must of had a swine flu or something), I decided to share Sgt Pepper's with my daughter. The movie starts with George Burns. Wow, remember George Burns! "Oh God!" Of course my daughter had no idea who he was. The scene soon turns to modern day (the 70's) and the BeeGees take the stage. Barry swings his lushish locks and Robin and Maurice, um, not sure what they do... but they all introduce the one and only Billy Shears (aka Peter). Where is he, oh wait there he is, in the crowd... with the white overalls... and frizzy hair and.... oooooohhhhhhhh, not what I remember from my childhood. Not even close. What was I thinking!

I know it is shocker, but I did not marry Peter Frampton. Needless to say, my taste matured with age (thank God). After a year, I grew bored of Peter and his sexy overalls and moved on to Duran Duran. Now, that is one Teen Idol crush I can still understand. But between the shame and shivers of disgust, I have to admit watching Sgt. Pepper's has been fun, reliving a time in my childhood and sharing it with my daughter, just like Grease and Goonies. To see the movie the way I did as a child, through her eyes. To hear my daughter laugh at Steve Martin as Maxwell Hammer, to hear her sing Strawberry Fields, to rock out when Aerosmith shows up as the Future Villain Band and to cry when Strawberry dies. Sure it is a really bad movie, but it holds some amazing childhood memories. And although alas, my daughter does not see in Peter what I did (she has way better taste), my daughter now has some fun memories as well.

Oh, the Costumes of Yore

Okay, so I am a little late on the game, but I finally decided to start my own blog. I mean, I've always been a talker, so I guess blogging is the next natural step. And what better topic for my first blog than the upcoming holiday of Halloween, and more specifically Halloween costumes.

My question is, what ever happened to those homemade costumes of our childhood? Now days my kids expect us to go to Target, Party City, Disney Store and buy the latest and greatest expensive costume for one night of glee. Kind of sounds like prom, but on a kiddie scale. And don't get me wrong, I am all about the cool costumes. But who ever said the store bought polyester was better than a good ole homemade costume? Well, it was probably me. Yes, I now realize this was my fault.

We started off with the best of intentions. My son's first Halloween he was Obi Wan Kanobi (yes, I had to google that to know how to spell it). My husband made his entire costume from felt including his cute little shoes. The only thing we bought premade was the small little ponytail for the back of his head. I mean he already had the spikey hair, so it was perfect. But then, alas, the next year we eventually fell victim to the costume hype. I think it was that Rolly Polly Ollie costume at the Disney store. It was just too cute with its fluffy roundness and matching accessories. Couldn't...resist.... And thus, yes, we started the store bought costume trend. Oh, there was the one year when there were just too many cute costumes to choose from, so my daughter was Aurora for one party and then Cinderella for another. Okay, I admit it, I started the madness!

This year, my tomboy daughter could not find a single costume she liked at the store. Not to mention, she has reached the age all girls reach where they change their minds as often as Monica Kaufman changes hairstyles. One evening, after seeing the movie "9", my daughter sat down and started cutting up toilet paper rolls and cardboard. She broke out the tape and string and voila, she had made a "7" mask from the movie. My daughter just beamed at the homemade art and in her eyes (and in mine) those two rolls of toiletpaper and cardboard looked just like the "7" from the movie.

So that is what started me thinking. Half the fun as a child was using your imagination and seeing something there that wasn't there before... taking a sheet and cutting holes to make a ghost or putting on dad's old clothes to be a hobo. Or my favorite, wearing a blue turtle neck, white cords and painting my face blue to be a Smurf (not that I am speaking from experience or anything). Even the store made costumes of our childhood required imagination. I knew I was Wonder Woman for real under that plastic mask with the rubber string and two eyes cut out.

I think that we parents are the ones that have lost our imagination. We no longer see beyond things as they are... the princess in wearing one of mom's old dresses, the batman from a homemade cape. So, this year we are going homemade again but with a little twist. My son is going to be a robot football player (like the one on TV during the commercial breaks). Using a jersey he has, some baseball pants and a lot of gray face paint (okay, you have to see it to understand it), he is the ultimate football machine. And my daughter is picking one of her "coolest" outfits and a hat and wearing a badge that says fashion police. And they are just as excited as any other year.

Ah, the costumes of yore are making a come back. And I am rediscovering my imagination and childhood. Happy Halloween everyone.