It’s like a cardboard factory in here, what with all of the boxes. Thankfully, I’ve got a pretty decent helper to make things speed along. Although, getting in the box to practice “Le Tigre” might get her taped up and sent to Tyra.
lemonade and cheese puffs
sunshine and green grass
summer dresses and bare feet
and more cheese puffs. . .
dirty feet
summer feet
good times
Memorial Day week-end! Fire up the grill, break out the bathing suits and slather on the sunscreen, right? And what kick-off week-end to summer would be complete without some bass thumping beats coming out of the speakers?
Too bad I haven’t found one yet. SN: When you’re running carpool five most of the week, it’s hard to get the windows rattling to “Witchdoctor” by Alvin and the Chipmunks on Kid’s Place Live.
There’s always one song that sets the tone for the entire summer. Last summer, you go couldn’t go more than three minutes without having Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” reach your eardrums from some venue. Grocery stores, malls, sporty rag top convertibles flying down the street: all of them had Mrs. Russell Brand on repeat.
Some may argue the qualifications of a summer anthem. Was it on the Billboard Hot 100? Is it constantly on the radio, and by constantly, I mean, you hear it so much, the commercials are a welcome distraction to the repetitiveness of the verses. Did they sing it on Glee? I’m going with the latter, but in truth, it’s all relative. My song of summer is usually one or two that unwittingly become the soundtrack to significant experiences of my life at that time.
For instance, summer of 1996? I had just graduated from high school, my toes curling on the edge of adulthood. I graduated on a Saturday and moved to Massachusetts that Sunday. Really, those highly anticipated eight weeks between senior cut days and the freshmen fifteen, the time in a young persons life that John Hughes made a career out of, I was packing and unpacking. I was following my father’s car up 95, paying tolls, and gliding down the Merritt Parkway. The highway sign welcoming us into Massachusetts hung from an overpass just past the Rhode Island border. When my co-pilot mother and I drove underneath it, we both said, “Oh shit.” No Doubt was killing the airwaves with “Don’t Speak” and Tony Kanal was kissing himself for breaking up with Gwen Stefani, laughing all the way to the bank.
Fast forward to summer of 2000. Nelly Furtado was like a bird and had us turning out the lights day after day. I remember riding shot-gun in my friend Hannah’s bread box of a Chevrolet, windows down and our hands diving and rising through the air as we left work for parts unknown. That summer was so rich, so full of foolishness and great music. My recollection of driving around, inhaling my future into my powerfully young lungs is still so sharp. You know how a dog looks when they’ve got their head out the window of a speedily moving car? Wind in the face, tongue lolling back, canine equivalent of a big ass smile on their face? Yeah. . .that was that summer for me with Nelly Furtado on vocals.
Last summer, I’ll admit, I got caught up on the groundswell that was the “California Gurls” phenomenon. It was catchy, it was bubble-gum, and beat heavy. It didn’t require anything of me except nodding my head along in all the right places. Certainly, by the time August rolled around, the first notes floating through the radio had me flicking through stations so fast, the knob came off in my hand.
Here we are, on the cusp of Summer of 2011. I recently re-discovered Amy Winhouse’s “Tears Dry on their Own” which lead me to Adele’s “Rollin’ in the Deep” and “Far Away” by Marsha Ambrosius. Definitely avail yourself. I know it came out way before summer, but “What’s My Name” by Rihanna has potential with that beat, that simmer. Based on TV and radio play, it’s looking like Beyonce is in the lead with “Run the World“, but Lady Gaga’s little monsters may push their Fame Monster into the lead.
Truthfully, I’m kind tired of those three broads. That’s okay, though. The summer is young and there are many, many stations on the radio.
I’ve really been feeling freckles lately. Maybe it’s the warmer weather, the knowing that summer is almost upon us. Warmer temps mean more skin hanging out (and as a little PSA, please use your sunscreen, hats, and other protective gear to prevent burns, blisters, and sun related skin disease).
Hemlines are steadily on the rise, exposing expanses of calf, knees and thighs. Collars are peeled away and necklines dip into more relaxed positions. Clavicles and the sweet nape of the neck are revealed. Sleeves are stripped off, leaving shoulders unabashedly uncovered. Beauty marks, cafe au lait spots, and freckles, freckles, freckles come back into the light.
I’m putting away the concealer and foundation with my cable knits and corduroys. I’m breaking out my SPF laced moisturizers.
I’ve fallen in love with my freckles and can’t wait to show them off.
The girls are on spring break this week and somehow, I haven’t been as pro-active as I need to be in keeping us occupied with activities. The fact is, I’m tye-red. Not tired, tye-red. My groove has been off since daylight savings and we sprung forward. Losing that hour has really knocked me off kilter. I’m out of orbit, out of sync, out of joint, and out to lunch. It wasn’t that I didn’t know that spring break was coming. It just caught me off guard, like when you think you’ve got a few sheets left on the roll and really, you don’t have a square to spare.
Anyway, seeing as at the end of this summer, we are going to be pulling up stakes here in the Tidewater area, I figured it was time to wrap up this mermaid quest once and for all. We haven’t gone mermaid spotting since last July. In that time, I’ve spotted two new ones.
This one is by Mystic Mermaid, and the owner of the shop calls her “Annie”, as in “Orphan Annie”, since no one will buy her or decorate her. Morgan was quick to offer up my wallet to shoulder the burden, but thankfully, I was able to cough up my rote “I left my wallet in the car” response to quell that foolishness. Besides, we all know how I feel about arts and crafts. Crafting up a mermaid? Hold on while I sell this ice cream cone to an Eskimo.
This one is over by Sentara Leigh Hospital. It’s like her hand is in VA Beach and her tail is in Norfolk.
I also decided to go for two that were affixed to the sides of buildings. We’ve driven past them time and again, and there really wasn’t a valid reason not to include them on our tour. They’re just up really high. True, there are two others that we missed (one on the Scope marquee and one precariously close to the Waterside Overpass). I didn’t think investing in ropes, anchors and carabiners for a few frames was worth it.
This one, Techno Maid, I had spied through an office window over the years as I drove through town. I had never seen anyone go in or out of the building. I didn’t know what was going on in there, but I thought, “The answer if no, if you don’t ask.” I’d go in, state my case, pushing the girls forward with their big pleading eyes and we’d get our shot. I hadn’t expected to need a swipe card to get in the building. Luckily, someone had propped the door. Still, it wasn’t easy. The elevator worked by swipe card. The stairwells worked by swipe card (SN: isn’t that a fire hazard? What if there’s a fire and you can’t use the elevator? What if the power goes out? You’re stuck). Anyway, a few employees were out smoking some butts and were kind enough to let us hitch up to the second floor.
The whole office building smelled like something was burning, stale air, and lethargy. When the elevators opened to the second floor, there was a herd of office chairs and several pyramids of overstuffed file boxes. The guy that let us up insisted on standing there, watching us while we took the photos, even though he assured us it was alright to do so. Judging by the closed postures of the girls, I wasn’t the only one picking up on the weirdness. We hustled out of there so fast, the meter I had fed hadn’t even rolled over.
No doubt, I’ll happen across another mermaid before we leave. Truthfully, I hope I do. It’s been a fun junket, taking the girls around and amassing this little collection. I finally took the Norfolk Mermaid poster to get framed and plan to hang it up with the girls’ favorite picture from our adventures. What I enjoy most about flipping through the mini album we’ve created is seeing how the girls have changed over the course of the past few years (the outfit that Coever is wearing in these pictures, Morgan was wearing last summer).
When we started, this whole thing was just a way to fill up our summer days and learn about the city in which we lived. Now, it’s a sweet reminder of the time we’ve had in Norfolk; a time when we didn’t have anything to rush for, except be the first to shout, “There goes a mermaid!”
**disclaimer**
This is a reprint of a post from last summer. Seeing as how spring has sprung and the layers of clothing are being peeled off, many of us are assessing our post-winter figures. The temptation to piss and moan about our muffin tops, to throw ourselves into exhausting and intense work-out regimens, to whittle our mealtime options to no white flour, no sugar, low carbs and no carbs is overwhelming. I’m guilty of it myself. As a Weight Watchers vet, I know what works for me and what doesn’t. I know that while I my butt may not be molding itself to the couch while I shovel Doritos into my mouth with both hands, it’s just as bad as using a 1/4 measuring cup for a serving of Chex Mix — three, four, and five times. Fork to mouth doesn’t exercise your biceps any more than couch to pantry exercises your quads. The bottom line is, the weather’s changing, my attitude is changing, too.
Martha’s Vineyard
June 2009
Everyone has one — that moment where they realize that the issue that gives them the biggest blow to their ego, to their self-esteem is just not worth fighting any more.
I hit mine this past week on vacation. For longer than I care to remember, I’ve had my fair share of self-esteem/body image issues. I don’t know where it comes from, but I know I’m at the point where I’m moving past it. I always dressed my for my size and I’ve tried to take care of myself the best way I can without denying myself the things that make me happy *cough*wine*cough*dessert*cough*
I dared to bare in a bikini while we were on vacation — the first time since pre-parenthood. I went through all sorts of mix and match tops and bottoms and even subjected my dear neighbor to a fashion show for an unbiased opinion. No one was as worried about how I look more than I was.
But I’m tired of fighting the low feelings. I’m not going to wear a burka at the seashore. I’m not going to waste precious beach time comparing myself to every body, young and old, strolling down the sand. I can’t waste time worrying about it anymore. So, I’m making the choice not to.
It’s a great feeling.
When I was pregnant with Morgan, I was looking for really powerful and empowering quotes for a project I wanted to create for her. I found this quote by Naomi Wolf that truly drove home what I kind of mother I wanted to be for her, and now for Coever.
“A mother who radiates self-love and acceptance
actually vaccinates her daughter against low self-esteem.”
It’s my job to continue to booster that inoculation, and I don’t mind wearing a bikini to do so.
Mount Trashmore
Virginia Beach, Virginia
August 3, 2010
My parents and I took the girls on a mystery ride that found us at Mount Trashmore as our final destination. We did a tour of the playground and picnicked under the lazy shade of some mature trees before venturing up, up, up to the top of Mount Trashmore. 60 feet up in the air, actually.
My dad and the girls ran (well, he walked, and they ran) up to the top. The girls twirled around and around, their arms outstretched wide ready to squeeze the cumulus cloud and wring the warmth out of the sun. My dad got it in his head that it would be fun to roll the girls like a barrel down the hill. A telling sign of how times have changed: the girls had no idea what he was talking about. Unlike the house in which I grew up, our house now isn’t conducive to being stuffed into a trash bin and rolled furiously down the yard until you crash into something, anything, in order to stop. My dad decided to demo it for them a couple of times. After his first few revolutions, they couldn’t wait. And they were all about tandem rolling.
I love how he tries to bring Morgan around for another roll — by the neck! As I helped the girls straighten up and pick the grass from their hair and backs of their legs, I noticed some gray-ish green smudges of dirt on the grass around us. At least, I thought it was dirt. There are a lot of geese around Mount Trashmore. A lot.
The girls had flew back up to the top with my dad ready for another roll but instead of continuing to roll in geese crap, they decided to race down the hill. My dad took off down the hill honking, with the girls, like goslings, hot on heels.