crazedparent

Back back back...

I returned from my rock star-ish weekend this morning and I'm exhausted. One hundred and fifty percent, completely, totally, utterly exhausted. So many thoughts to share but the poor little tips of the fingers on my left had are sporting some serious boo-boos (in the words of my sweet Q.), making typing just a little bit annoying. I'll have the full breakdown later this week.

At our afterparty last night, Beth from The Gossip showed up for a bit. I'd never heard of the band until yesterday but apparently these ladies are "it." An instructor from Ladies Rock Camp told our guitarist (of Dirty Courtneys) that we should listen to The Gossip because we have a similar sound. (how cool is that?! we have a "sound"!) I went and downloaded a bunch of songs and really, you should too, after listening to a few tunes I've quickly learned why The Gossip is hot.

Rockstar Supermama: Loud practice...

Day 2 at Ladies Rock Camp...

I got home at 2 am this morning after 11 hours of lessons, band practice and a rockin' night of a Dance Party Revolution including four hours of karaoke. Did I sing? Guilty. The song..."Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani. I just pray it didn't make it's way onto video because, well, because.

The list...

• Fingers are numb
• I tried playing without a pick and it was fantastic but caused some badges of honor...I scraped some nails and cut and bruised a few fingers. Sweet.
• We rehearsed our song live for a group of 20 people in preparation for tonight's showcase. It was nerve wracking and incredibly frightening. But we shredded our tune and I'm so glad we had a chance to get the nerves out of our system. I had to keep reminding myself that I gave birth to two sons. I endured countless hours of labor. I can get onstage and get my rock on.

So rehearsals, what does it look like? Here's a snippet our us trying to get the bridge of the song nailed down...

And then we get a little crazy...

Yay.

Rockstar supermama: All hail rock n' roll...

How do I even began to explain the coolness of Ladies Rock Camp? 

I've just returned from day one. Fifty women in one room, all eager and amped to learn how to play music. No egos, no games. Just lots of attitude...positive, amazing, energetic and contagious attitude.

Here's what I've done in just first eight hours of lessons:

• Learned how to tune my guitar and basic chords plus used the distortion box
• Formed a rock band
• Named said rock band..."Dirty Courtnies"...in tribute to the pre-botox and grunged out Courtney Love
• Written a song...we're stuck on the chorus and intro, but with a few sessions tomorrow we'll be on our way
• Discovered that contrary to my husband's belief, I can sing. Not only can I sing, I can harmonize! Yay! Seriously, when you think you have an awful voice and suddenly, you discover that in the right environment and given the right instruction, you can actually sing...well, it's just cool. And the Dirty Courtnies -- we rock the house.
• Developed nasty, red blisters on my finger tips from wailing on my guitar. I'm wondering how I'll deal with Saturday. It will be most painful.

We even had a little workshop on guitar moves. No joke. Moving around with your guitar is not an easy task.  You have to be smooth and it has to look natural. We practiced our leg kicks (a la glam rock), our crotch pose, hair flips, the lunge, and the drop-to-your-knees goodness. So fun.

I also sat in on a session about the history of women in rock. Very eye-opening.

That's just day one. The guitar is handling itself most beautifully. I think I'd make the big RS proud.  I'm like a little kid standing in front of the gates at Disneyland waiting to get in. I can't wait until tomorrow's lesson. Until then, I leave you with a signal that we used most often today, and said with a yell of Wooooh!

Rockstar supermama: Now Hiring - Roadie/Guitar Tech...

Title: Roadie/Guitar Tech

Job Description:

Tour with Rockstar Supermama for one weekend at Ladies Rock Camp. Responsibilities include carrying all related musical equipment, including guitar case, luggage, computer equipment and all digital media items; tuning and shining guitar; replacing broken strings; fetching all decaf, nonfat lattes and ensuring they have appropriate foam art, as stated by artist in rider; and wiping sweaty brow of Rockstar Supermama with only the finest, softest cotton towels made, also as stated in rider.

Roadie/Guitar Tech must be an excellent listener and be familiar with antics of preschoolers and toddlers, as he/she will endure countless hours of listening to stories about artist's children. Knowledge of Rick Springfield a plus, but not required.

Salary: The Roadie/Guitar Tech gig is a non-paying position. Roadie/Guitar is also responsible for paying all travel-related fees. In return, you will have the opportunity to witness a star in the making. What more can you ask for?

***

I'm on my merry way tomorrow morning. Camp is packed with activities from morning to night. But I will have time for updates. Stay tuned!

Rockstar supermama: the gear...

I'm in the final prep stages for my upcoming weekend at Ladies Rock Camp where I'll be learning how to play the electric guitar. I'll admit that I'm fairly excited to have a little "me time." But I can't decide which is better: that I'm actually learning how to play the guitar. Or the fact that I'm learning to play Rick Springfield's guitar. Tough call -- I'll take the latter times two.

While I had the guitar restored last Fall, there were a few problem areas that still needed to be mended before I hauled it to camp. Over the weekend, I took a trip to my local Guitar Center to see if they could provide me with all the essentials to be a rockstar supermama.

Walking into Guitar Center is daunting, especially when you have perhaps one single iota of knowledge as to what you're in search of buying. The loud music. The gorgeous guitars. The big amps and drum sets. The very knowledgeable sales dudes who would laugh at me in about two seconds after I ask for a whatchamacallitthingy.

I really had to mentally prepare myself for the experience.  I knew that if I wanted to be a rockstar supermama, I needed to start acting like one. But my dorky, insecure 15-year-old self was hanging on standby. So I threw on some digme lipgloss, pulled my shades back over my hair, grabbed my guitar, and walked into the store. And then I did what every reporter does at some point in his or her career: I pretended to know what I was talking about.

Lucky for me, the guitar is like magic: an instant icebreaker. With a huge chunk of wood missing from its body, everyone wants to know the story behind it. And I'm always, always willing to share the sordid, silly details.

Also lucky for me, the store's assistant manager, Scott, was my sales dude. It took him about ten seconds to assure me that the store had every single item so that I could begin my quest to be a kick-ass guitar-playing diva.

After about 20 minutes, I was outfitted with a Roadrunner Electric Guitar Case, a white-tipped Fender tremolo (the original was lost on a stage when Rick Springfield bashed the guitar), a set of black straplocks, a black suede guitar strap, crazy wild confetti-colored Fender guitar picks and a black and silver checkerboard guitar cable.

As I walked out of Guitar Center with my new case in hand and fully stocked with the essentials for my weekend, I felt confident and dare I say it? Yes, I dare. I felt sexy. 

Let's rock n' roll, babies.

 

Do the limbo rock...

I grew up a good Catholic school girl, and by that I mean I went to parochial school from kindergarten through high school. I attended Church every Sunday, and of course, received all of the Sacraments that Catholic school brings.

But it all began with my Baptism. Because back then, you know, babies who weren't baptized and died went to Limbo. Not Heaven. Not Hell.

Limbo. The Ether.

I remember being in second grade when we learned about Limbo. We asked Sister Ita what Limbo actually was, and the look on her face made it clear Limbo wasn't the tropical paradise called Heaven. From her description, it sounded like a bunch of babies were just floating in darky, gloomy space, waiting for God to pluck them out of air when it was decided the young babes were ready to enter the pearly gates and be next to the big fella. We were all a little frightened but this image.

For a long time I was a non-practicing Catholic -- I do have very strong issues with the Vatican's stance on birth control and sexual orientation, among other things. And I have to admit, this Limbo thing did bug me quite a bit. Both of our boys are not baptized. Yet. And both will be attending Catholic school (a discussion for another day).

When I think back on learning about Limbo, I worried that my sons would wonder how their parents could risk them going to Limbo should anything have happened to them. I could hear Nol cross-examining me, the kitchen light pointed at me while my forehead drips with sweat: "Why, mom, why? Didn't you want us to go to Heaven? Why would you even think of letting us go to Limbo?" And Limbo would be said with a shudder of fear and disgust.

But now I don't have to worry about this discussion taking place. The Vatican "abolished" the concept of Limbo because "the idea of limbo has fallen out of favor for many Catholics who see it as harsh and not befitting a merciful God." You don't say.

I'm thrilled that I won't have to deal with the The Interrogation from Nol. But I'm also pleased that the Vatican has moved forward. It seems like a little thing, to eliminate this crazy idea of limbo. But to me, it's a sign of hope. Albeit a small one, a small sign is a good sign. It makes me think that someday, the Vatican will get its head out of its arse on more important and timely topics like birth control and homosexuality.

And yes, I know -- I'm going to hell for that last sentence.

A toddler moment...

I took Q. out today to pick up a new pair of shoes. His "old" pair could hardly be deemed worn. By all appearances, they looks quite clean but the insoles have a little divot where his big toe has left its imprint from his love of running and playing hard. He is a human esperesso bean -- sugary sweet with a touch of bitterness (when angry) and full of energy.

The shoe purchase was uneventful. The salesman measured Q.'s feet and directed me towards the wall with columns of shoes appropriate for this size. I picked out two pairs -- a different color of the shoes he currently has, and a fun pair of Vans with a brown checkerboard pattern. As I placed the first pair on Q. he wiggled and squirmed saying, "Off Mommy, off!" I then moved to the second pair -- the Vans.

"Nooooo!" he squealed, and started crying. "Those shoes, those shoes," he said as he pointed to his old pair.

The salesman brought out the pair Q. wanted and then Q. started to emit a laugh that was a mix of delight and relief. His old shoes, only bigger. Now Q.'s rockin' his favorite Tsukihoshi sneakers.

I sometimes forget that even at his young age -- he's a month shy of turning two -- he still has favorites. Beyond his love of book, trucks, cranes, trains, and all things that make loud noises. He has a favorite blanket. A favorite stuffed animal. A favorite song that I sing to him. Why wouldn't he already have a favorite piece of clothing or shoes too? He's not a baby anymore -- and that moment quickly reminded me that he's becoming his own person, independent and opinionated in his own way.

We left the store, me holding the bag with his old shoes and Q. sprinting away testing out his digs. He stopped, turned around and put his hand out.

"Hold mano, Mommy."

Translated: "Mommy, hold my hand."

Lucky for me, I'm still his favorite mommy.

Make the kids paint your fence...

Or your house. Or a door. Or the floor.

A family friend shared this tip with me a few years ago but I was only reminded to share it with you when I had to break out my "I need me time!" bag of tricks yesterday.

1. Go outside.
2. Grab a bucket and fill it with water.
3. Grab a clean paintbrush -- paint rollers are super fun too.
4. Hand the bucket and brush to your kids and tell them to paint. Whatever they want. With water.

Nol and Q. could spend at least 30 minutes water painting. At least. Just enough time to read the paper. Or take a nap. Whatever your little heart desires.

My gift to you.

Parents shouldn't have to...

...ask their child's preschool teachers what action plans are in place should gunfire erupt in or around the school building.

But I did.

And that alone is enough to make me cry.

Rockstar supermama: the butterflies begin

I recently received my welcome packet for Ladies Rock Camp, where I will attempt to be a rock star for a weekend. Here are four things that have some seriously big butterflies flipping out in my stomach:

1. I will be part of a band that will have to write an original song.

2. Said original song will be performed as part of a Showcase at a real concert hall on the final night of our camp. As in, we will have a real audience. Do I have to sing background vocals? Because as my husband will attest, I have no singing voice.

3. I will be doing both the first and second points with minimal abilities on the guitar. However, I will be spending close to 12 hours a day taking lessons.

4. The welcome packet mentions we should bring something special, rock starish, to wear for the Showcase. Do you think I could manage to not fall on my face in these hot mama peep-toe heels? 'Cuz I'm thinking that nothing says "rock star" better than patent-leather and leopard print heels.

Rock star digs...post your suggestions with links.