Dear Rick Springfield...

Dear Rick,
     I'm a terrible girlfriend.  I have put my own needs ahead of yours for the last time. You see, you have been there for me on oh-so-many occasions. You've never let me down. You've been on time for our dates throughout the years, and the words you've said to me have meant so, so much. You've given me hugs when I needed them, and shared your soul.  But I suck.  At the first sign of inconvenience, I bailed on you.  Stood you up.  Left you hanging.

I blame it on old age.  Years ago, pre-kid, the eight-hour drive to Myrtle Beach on a Friday night for a Saturday night show didn't even cause me to blink twice.  And that one paid off, in spades.  You wrapped your arm around me like an old friend while I tried not to pass out.  And it was a great night.
But I'm sure you understand.  You'd understand that the last couple of weeks have been very trying for me.  You'd understand the need to recharge and just exist for a little while.  You'd probably even understand that it was a really tough choice for me, one that I'm second-guessing even now, knowing there's no way I could jump in the car right now and drive really fast and still make it to the show tonight.  I don't know if you'd understand the tears I stupidly shed (or that I'm shedding now) when I made that final decision, but then again, that wasn't really about you.  It wasn't even about the waste of the money I spent on Gold Circle seats months ago, when it seemed like Myrtle Beach was the closest you'd come to me. That was about being stuck, straddling a decision like an ever-widening gap, then having to make a quick, final attempt to get both legs on solid ground.  And maybe, just maybe, about knowing you'd been closer and I missed those opportunities, too.

But, Rick...you see...I don't think I can explain it.  My priorities are just different right now.  It's not that I'm forsaking you for another.  That would never happen.  It's just that I need to focus on myself a little, not in a narcissistic kind of way, but in a hold-myself-together kind of way.  Too many changes in too short a time requiring too much of my physical and emotional energy have just left nothing else.  And I couldn't do it.

So, have a great show tonight.  You'll be on my mind.  I'll be wishing I were center stage for "Human Touch."  I'll be jealous of other women getting Rick-sweated upon.  I'll be wondering if we'd have had a chance to talk before the show, and if Andrew would have gotten to talk to you again and tell you how much he loves "If Wishes Were Fishes" because you drop a couple of F-bombs.  But I'll also be braless in my jammies by about ten o'clock, and my feet will be recovering from wearing dressy shoes to school all week.  I'll be snuggled up with the blankets pulled up to my chin and a glass of the red wine we love so much on my nightstand...and if I want, I can YouTube you from the comfort of my air-conditioned room without worrying about drunks pissing me off, or traffic, or anything else.

And I know you'd understand.
Love, Me

I have a whole bunch of things swirling around in this brain of mine right now, and it's making me sort of dizzy.  Chalk it up to a rough time of year, or a seasonal change, or exposure to too many fluorescent lights, or coming down off the "high" of a long weekend vacation, but whatever it is, it feels...unsettled.  This blog has always been a great way for me to at least put a finger on "the thing," but I'm also inspired today by a professional book study in which I'm participating.  Ms. Super Teacher who wrote the book talks some smack about how she's Queen of Teaching Writing and also finds time in her day to write for at least fifteen minutes daily.  I might not be able to publish a book and tell everyone I know the right way to teach writing, but I can at least sit my butt down here for a few minutes a day (aaackkk!) and get something flowing.  Maybe.  It might not be pleasant, but maybe it will be good anyway.

So, it's fall.  Officially.  And I don't really hate fall...I don't.  But it makes me very sad.  As if the leaves turning brown and the flowers dying weren't enough to do that, this time of year will always and forever be The Time of Year In Which Edna Died.  There's nothing I can do about that.  But on beautiful afternoons like today, on which the sun is shining and the air is warm, I will always, always, ALWAYS feel that there is something ugly and catastrophic waiting just around the corner.  There were many afternoons like this one that I spent in the car on the way to the hospital or my parents' house after school.  I'd be listening to Rick Springfield sing about being "one passenger" on the train of life, or about time standing still, or many of the other songs on that particular album that seemed to be so apropos at the time, and I would have to pull over and cry.  There was, and is, something about the grief that I was already feeling even before her death and the striking beauty of the colors and the angle of the sun and the music...and I would be overwhelmed.  And then I would have to collect myself, fix my face, and go and be the strong one who handled things and pretended it would all be okay. 

And my birthday approaches.  I never was big on birthdays--even the monumental ones, like 16, 18, and 21, were always sort of awful.  41 is not good.  I don't like it, and we are not friends.  I'm staring down the barrel of my child-bearing years being over, when they never really started.  I'm looking at wrinkles and crows' feet around my eyes.  I'm listening to creaky knees and adjusting to being old enough to be Big Time Rush's mom.  I'm sure this is probably as much to do with my character and personality as anything, but birthdays have always sucked.  At the risk of sounding like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles, it has just always felt like an anti-climactic bunch of nothing.  No one asks me what I want to do, or what I want...and when they do, I can't even tell them, because I don't want to do anything, nor is there anything I want.  But then I get upset when they listen and I'm nonplussed.  Edna was the only person that ever did my birthday right, ever.  And she did it without asking, which is amazing.

We did just return from a fabulous three-day beach trip, and I'm grateful for that.  But, of course, it also has its flip side, which is that I'm really sort of angry that this is the first time we've been since 2009.  We should have been going all along, and seeing the absolute joy on Andrew's face as he played in the surf, or ran around the very windy beach with a beach towel flapping out behind him as he pretended to fly like a superhero really makes me wish we had.  I love the lake, and our days there far outnumber any beach vacations we would have taken.  But having and maintaining a place there (humble though it is) takes our resources--both money and time--and there simply isn't enough of either to go around.  My dad talks about the memories Andrew will have of the lake for a lifetime, and he equates it to his own childhood memories of spending summers on the Jersey Shore with his extended family...and I WANT Andrew to have that, I do.  But I also want him to have other experiences, so at some point, I guess we're going to have to examine the issue and decide what's more important.  Ugh. 

Ah, well.  In the words of Scarlett O'Hara, "Tomorrow is another day." 

Prom Date, Anyone?

So, it's prom season.  And like all things everywhere these days, it's become over-the-top.  Back in "my" day, prom was about getting really dressed up, making plans for fancy dinners with a group of friends, then hitting a party afterward, either at someone's house or in a hotel.  So I guess not much has changed in that respect.  But as I looked through the local high schools' pictures on our small town paper's website the other day, I was floored by the number of kids arriving in limos, the huge crowds of parents and siblings taking pictures paparazzi-style, and just the fact that the PAPER sends a photographer and then splashes them all over the internet. 

Styles vary, from "What is holding that dress together?" to "Mrs. Roper wants her muu-muu back," floral style. 

I would totally wear this.

Some were appropriate for high school kids, and some were only appropriate for strippers.  But I guess that's in style now, huh?  Sometimes I feel really old.  Here was my idea of the ideal prom dress in 1988-89. 

What was I thinking?  Maybe I was inspired by the haunting images of Miss Havisham in Great Expectations? Or maybe I was just trying to be this...

or this...

But...I never went to prom.  Shocking, I know.  But I'm over it.  Mostly.  It's a long story, but suffice it to say that it would have been a great movie, only not with a happy ending.  I was the female Duckie Dale, and the boy I fancied myself in love with (who was also my best guy pal) was asked to prom by one of my "friends," who totally (hey, we're talking about the 80's here) knew I was planning to ask him.  She was one of the hot girls, the party girls, so I don't blame him for saying yes.  But then she dumped him (what a hosebag), just a few days before the prom.  So, I worked up my nerve to call him from the long-corded kitchen phone in my best friend's kitchen (I think I hung up about four times first---I could almost throw up thinking about how nervous I was) and I asked him...only he had already scrambled around to find another last-minute date, and of course it never occurred to him to ask ME.  It's tragic, I know.  So, I never went to prom.  "Stuff" happens.

But then, along came a 2nd Chance Prom, long after I was married, and long after my deeply wounded psyche had recovered.  Only THIS prom featured none other than...Rick Springfield.  That's right, my first prom was also RICK's first prom.  Read about it here, because this was way before we had a digital camera, and I'm too lazy right now to go dig up pictures and scan them.  But I will never forget it, because this was the very first time I laid eyes on the man in person...from an atrium balcony where I watched the interview linked above happening.  Only to later have my JC Penney formal gown sweat upon as the man himself wandered from the stage through the crowd.  (I have never cleaned the dress, which now that I think about it, might be kind of gross by now.  I didn't avoid cleaning it to preserve the Rick Sweat, because that would just be...icky...but because I'm bad about things like that.  My wedding dress never got cleaned either.  Shame on me.)

So, today in class, as the students were taking social studies notes on the Reagan administration and we listed to a Pure 80's CD that is always in my desk, my co-teacher remarked to the kids that he could just see me now, dancing and bopping up and down at my prom to this strange music that more than a few of them knew the words to...and I smiled.  Because while Andie got her man in Pretty in Pink, and Kevin Bacon tripped the light fantastic with the preacher's daughter in Footloose, no one who went to my school's prom can say that Rick Springfield was the band. 

38 Going On 13?

Clearly, it's the small things in life that make me happy. 

One of the best things that's happened all week was that my Secret Pal at school gave me these awesome earrings and matching lapel pin.  I totally wore the earrings to work today.

My First Famous Follower

So, we're back from our weekend at Nags Head and I'm taking care of all of the important post-weekend things--checking email, checking the blog, checking facebook...(notice none of those say doing trip laundry or putting stuff away---nah, that will take weeks), and I notice our "Followers." I know, I'm starting to sound a little obsessed by the followers, but it's really all about numbers. Remember my little freak-out of a couple of weeks ago? Well, I noticed before we left that we had lost another follower, which I didn't handle well the first time. So, we're back to eight, which I can't handle, it being an even number and all, but there was no time to address the problem because I hadn't even packed underwear for the trip yet. And again, even though my followers are near and dear to my heart, I could not, for the life of me, figure out who it was that had jumped ship.

But, back to today's title. Tonight I noticed, while Andrew was getting several days of beach gunk soaked off of him, that we are back up to nine followers. WooHoo! Even better than the odd number? Our most recent addition to the numbers is famous! She's a daily household topic of discussion here in lovely Fort Vegas, and someone we credit with teaching Andrew every single fire safety tip he knows...all you parents of Sproutlets will recognize Firefighter Dayna, currently a staple on PBS Sprout On Demand, airing between episodes of Fireman Sam. James and I were very excited, needless to say, and Andrew had no clue what we were talking about, other than WHO we were talking about. But, welcome Firefighter Dayna!

So back to the title...I say "first" because that makes it sound like there will be more. It's all about semantics, right? If Firefighter Dayna was led here by some twist of internet fate and couple of other posts mentioning her, then maybe other famous people will stumble into our neck of the woods too. The only way to find out is to talk about them, right?

And speaking of Rick Springfield--did anyone see him on the Mike Huckabee show Saturday night? Or just the show in general? I have nothing against Mike Huckabee, but I don't watch Fox News in general because they're just ridiculous. Rick was the only reason I was watching...and the only reason I sat through 40 minutes of Kathy Ireland's weirdness. Apparently she is very religious (fine, no problem with that) and has a book coming out--something about parenting and having time to do everything flawlessly (yeah, millions of dollars from Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues helps with that, right Kathy?). But while people (men) hearing Kathy Ireland's name tune in expecting the supermodel, the image she presented was far from that...let's see, how does Stepford Wife Meets Nun Meets Invasion of the Body Snatchers sound? Scary? You have no idea. I expected her, at any moment, to turn around and show the little wind-up doll thing sticking out of her back, or to take a sip of water and short out and start spouting Bible verses mixed with parenting tips in some nonsensical way. The whole show reeked of infomercial--rehearsed lines, cue cards, bad acting, hypnotized audience, lobotomized guests...until Rick's segment that is, which was refreshingly good. Rick made some allusion to the trouble his hands can get into if left unoccupied (hmm.......), and I expected the audience to burst into flames. It was just bizarre circumstances, and an odd choice of places to appear, but I guess one t.v. spot is as good as another.

Okay, so here are my goals: 1) always maintain an odd number of followers, and 2) attract famous people to the blog. Although knowing my luck, it will end up being either 1) attract odd followers, or 2) attract lawsuits from famous people. Because that's how my cookie crumbles.

--Tamara

PS--In the "Kicking Myself" category, also known as "Things I Need to Fix When I Invent the Time Machine"--when directing a school play, do NOT, under any circumstances, assume that you have used the correct date on the 300 copies of the program that you created and distributed. And if you choose to assume that they did, in fact, say 2009 and NOT 2008, do NOT bring an extra copy home in your pocket and lay it on the computer table for a week until you finally see the frickin' mistake that's going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

And now...it is October

First, an apology to our loyal readers - the blog has fallen in some disrepair. As Tam joked earlier this evening, "Life has caught up with the blog." While the Rick news made it on quickly, the other events of the past few weeks that would normally be blog-fodder have not made the Web. We'll try harder.


In the past few days, Fort Vegas has been feeling the change of the season. We've gone from leaving the kitchen door open at all hours to slamming that puppy as soon as you walk through it. The leaves are quickly changing and dropping. The garden gave us the last few gifts she had left. We don't think the peppers are worth a squat, but the tomatoes show some promise. The house is a bit chilly in the mornings. In fact, it is a bit chilly right now (9:04 p.m.), but I refuse to move from my Awful Arthur's t-shirt and gym shorts. Tam and Andrew are both bundled like mummies. As I type this, the weather widget on the Avalon Pier website tells me that both the air and water temps in Kill Devil Hills, N.C. are both currently 70 degrees. (Insert sound of my heart breaking or my head hitting the desk, whichever entertains you more.)


Tam's birthday is coming up. The Rick show was the big present, but she has been adamant about going out. Plans for the Big A to stay with Grammy and Poppy are in place. Fuzzy cellphone pics will be posted if allowed by law.

REMEMBER - ONLY 236 DAYS TO JUNE 1ST!
---J

Fire Trucks, Fanfare, Fun, & a Full Moon

...otherwise known as Andrew's birthday weekend, of course. I'll try to keep this brief; I already had to edit my photo choices, because there were about 300 to choose from. It was tough, lemme tell ya.


Andrew started his Saturday with gifts from Mommy and Daddy--his favorite being a Doodlebops "guitar" which is more keyboard than guitar, but Andrew LOVES it! He's working on his rock-n-roll moves in this picture--he proceeded to sling it around his neck in true star fashion. He even tried to smash it, because he saw Rick do that on t.v. the week the album came out. He even said, "Rick Springfield smashes his guitar," much to James' chagrin. Tee hee---have I mentioned that Andrew's original due date was Rick's birthday (August 23)? Had it not been for the stupid C-section...

We had to to to Hell...I mean, WalMart, to pick up the cake and supplies. On the way, we stopped by a spay & neuter fundraiser to check out the monster trucks (Grave Digger and something else), but Andrew was WAY more interested in the local volunteer fire truck. He wanted that fire extinguisher in the worst way.



After hemorrhaging money...er, I mean, shopping, Andrew took a little ride with Mickey on his fire truck. We're all about cheap entertainment these days--who needs amusement parks when a couple of quarters and a ride to WalMart provide this much fun?







The party--great party! Thanks to all who made it by. Are these not the four cutest kids on the planet? I'm actually under the illusion that my house is sort of clean after seeing this picture--look, you can see Olivia's reflection in the table!




We encouraged people to donate to the swing set fund, but a couple of wise souls also brought actual gifts to open. Andrew had assistance from his little girl-friends Raegan and Olivia (he LOVES them both). We missed Grandpop, Grandma, and Aunt Leigh Ann, but unfortunately, Andrew's Aunt Anna ended up in the hospital in Richmond with some intestinal ailment that hasn't quite been figured out yet. We were kinda worried for a while, but it sounds like she's going to be okay. That also means the birthday bonanza will have to continue later this week.


Sunday morning brought birthday brunch at Grammy's house, and after a yummy meal of "eggies," bacon, biscuits, and fruit salad, Andrew had a blast playing with the grandparents.






Yee-haw!

FLASHBACK FRIDAY--JUNE 2, 2001

Create your own glittery text at pYzam.com

Rick's obviously been on my mind a lot the last few weeks, with the GH appearances, the album coming out Tuesday, all the TV spots, and the concert(s) in Williamsburg we couldn't go to. I do actually think about other things, really. But, I thought this was a perfect flashback, and it's somewhat of a consolation for missing him last weekend and not being able to go to NYC next week.

This picture was taken at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach. I actually won the tickets (I've been lucky when it comes to Rick--won contests, chance meetings in parking lots, etc.) from a HOB contest, so James and I drove down the night of the 1st, getting to MB at about 3 a.m. After sleeping in a little, we met up with some friends of ours (shout out to Rusty, Janet, and the kids---where the heck are you guys?) for some shopping, even though I was completely distracted and NOT thinking about buying anything. We shopped at Barefoot Landing in MB, which is right next door to HOB. I was determined to get there in time to see Rick arrive, so we went and hung out behind the building in the mid-afternoon, along with a few others. The crowd grew a little as the time passed, and lo and behold, a mini-van pulled into the lot. As the butterflies in my stomach attempted to escape, I just knew Rick was in the van--and he was! He got out, grinning, and approached us (as I tried really hard not to fall down) with a greeting of some kind. The whole thing is a little bit blurry--I might have actually fainted but remained standing.

Rick, as always, was extremely nice, and kind enough to sign autographs and pose for photos with everyone who was out there. I'm sure he had other things to do (sound checks, maybe some rest before his always-physically strenuous shows), but he made time. I don't remember saying much (it's hard to talk when you're concentrating on remaining upright), but I do remember how his arm felt around my shoulder. It wasn't the first time I'd touched him--I'd gotten Rick Sweat and a hug in the crowd at a show the year before--but it's the best one because I have photographic evidence.

Rick eventually went in to get ready for the show, and we got in line to get in. We bought ridiculously-priced food from HOB to actually get in a line that would be let in earlier. It was a general admission show, so we ran into the concert hall and staked out our spots, which were actually very good. We had made "friends" with some ladies in the line outside, and we all proceeded to drink lemon drop shooters and have an absolute blast. The show was awesome, as usual, and we drove home the next day completely satisfied with the whole experience. At least I was--James, as usual, was just along for the ride, although he enjoys the whole thing too. I owe him a lot--he makes all of my Ricksperiences reality. Thanks, Shmoopy!

We would be lucky enough to run into Rick again a few years later in Portsmouth, VA, right outside our hotel. I was prepared with a blown up version of a photo similar to this one, and we were able to talk (did I?) to him again. He was kind enough to sign the photo of the two of us together, which is, of course, a prized possession. That whole day is another story, probably better left told by James, so we'll save that for another Flashback.

---T

Gee, we even watch the grass grow when we have people over! (Except for Tina, whose ever watchful eye is giving James the once-over as he takes the picture.) Thanks to everyone for coming over tonight for our impromptu cookout--I think a good time was had by all, except for maybe Ricky and Matt, who were here for about 7 minutes before heading to the ER for Ricky's dislocated finger. I think we were all more freaked out than Ricky, who took it like a champ.

What everyone was actually watching was the kids playing in the pool, even though the grass is kind of long. Notice that the only kid missing from these shots is Andrew, who's afraid he's going to get splashed by other kids, and refused to even put on his bathing suit, much less get near the pool. It's okay for a 2-year old to be a wuss, right? Regardless, he had fun playing with all the kids, especially Olivia, and by the time bedtime rolled around, he was beat. Still cute, and still a wuss for not getting in the pool, but completely exhausted.

The next couple of pictures are pretty much just for Rhonda, to settle the Rick Springfield/Jack Wagner debate. Not that there's ANY question...these shots are from the Rockville, MD Hometown Holiday show on May 25th. Great show as always, especially getting to hold Rick's hand as he made his way through the audience. I think we're going to try to see him at least one more time this year--he's doing two nights at Busch Gardens in July (shut UP Jon!) and a date in Va. Beach on Sept. 27, just in time for a

birthday trip.