Monthly Archive: December 2014

“Children are often spoiled because no one will spank Grandma.” -Unknown

I took my kids to see Annie today, the new Annie, after months of trailers and anticipation. To be honest, the first time I saw the preview, I was pissed!  I’m a bi-centennial child who grew up in the 80’s with Punky Brewster, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Goonies, Thundercats, and Transformers, half of which have been remade and remixed until I feel like screaming, “Get your own goddamn childhood!” I love Johnny Depp as  much as the next girl but Gene Wilder will always be Willy Wonka. Even Jem and Skeletor are doing truly outrageous Honda commercials these days. It feels like there is no imagination left so all the Hollywood producers and writers are cracking open my childhood vault and stealing everything sacred about my youth.

When I was little, I spent the weekends at my Grandma’s place with my cousin. We were both only children and the closest thing either of us had as a sister. We’d arrive Friday night and stay until Sunday so our parents could get a break. Those weekends held some of my favorite memories. My grandma was a terrible cook. Her house always smelled liked cabbage or something burnt to a crisp but she’d always take us shopping The grocery store was a free for all. She’d buy anything we threw into the cart-every flavor of Hubba Bubba bubble gum including Dr. Pepper, anything goes. If I wanted fifteen pieces of bacon and a can of frozen orange juice concentrate with a spoon for dinner? No problem.

On Saturday mornings, we’d hop the bus to the nearest mall to spend our allowances on a new charm for our necklaces or the latest Debbie Gibson song at Super Star Recordings. There were no etiquette lessons at her house. She knew her job as a Grandma was just to love us and spoil us rotten. Once we tied our bed sheets together and climbed out the second floor window. She was mad but we survived without a scratch or a spanking. Her house was a sanctuary, the perfect escape from the pressure of being an only child with a single Mom in a school full of 2.5 children perfect families.

The best thing about my Grandma’s place was her movie collection. All the best VHS tapes from Mary Poppins, Annie, Sound of Music, to this amazing four hour musical miniseries of Alice In Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass. We watched those tapes so many times, we knew every lyric by heart, so I consider myself an expert.

I wouldn’t say the new version of Annie was bad. They cut out Sandy’s song “Dumb Dog” and kind of butchered Miss Hannigan’s “Little Girls.” Daddy Warbucks was Mr. Stacks and there was no Punjab but I still found myself tearing up hearing the familiar bars of “Maybe” and “It’s a Hard Knock Life.” Watching the movie was like ripping the Band-aid off and peeling back a scab. My grandma died when my daughter was just a baby. It felt like losing her all over again, watching this distorted version of Annie, knowing she hasn’t watched my girl grow into this awesome frustrating pre-teen, knowing she’ll never meet my son and how completely she would have loved him and all of his Jameson-style mischief.

I decided the best way to honor her and my childhood, regardless of all the remakes, is to introduce my children to everything that made them both special. By watching Goonies and all the Gremlin movies with them, holding my son during the scary parts. By taking them to Infinity Park each summer to watch Princess Bride shouting “As you wish” with the crowd. By taking them to Film on the Rocks to watch Labyrinth and cheer with the audience every time David Bowie appears in his fabulous purple tights. “You remind me of the babe…” I guess my childhood will always be mine, this only child finally needs to learn how to share.

“The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.’ -Maya Angelou

Tonight, I am leaving on a jet plane after an extended family vacation in southwest Florida. I’m taking a minute to reflect on our trip and prepare for my return to the “real world.” I had a lot of puzzling, laughable, thought provoking moments on this trek so I decided to make a list of some insights I picked up on this journey, in addition to just a few things I’m thankful for.

1) Someone told me I shouldn’t go to Florida this early in the winter because I’d still have so many cold months to contend with after my vacation. I’m thankful to come south when there’s snow on the ground at home. We normally travel in the summer when the kids are school-free and Florida is sweltering.

2) I love my home state of Colorado! It was awesome to watch the Broncos beat the Dolphins with a crowd of Floridians. Regardless of the fact that most of America thinks everyone is Colorado is a pothead, I’m proud to be a native!

3) Somehow, my seven year old son learned the word “just” as “thest.” That is how he says it and how he spells it when he’s writing though he’s never had a lisp. Re-teaching him such a common word is proving rather difficult.

4) Driving over Seven Mile Bridge, listening to the Flaming Lips, feeling young and old at the same time made me realize what a huge part music has in my life. Almost all of our date nights involve a concert. Most of my trips are to see bands I love play somewhere else. I love how certain albums embody very specific time stretches in my life. The Cure Disintegration will always be my fourteen year old soundtrack. Transmissions From the Satellite Heart plays out song by song my first year dating my husband. Swelling with pride when my son asks me to replay a song so he can master the lyrics always reminds me of Paul’s Boutique and my best friend’s determination to learn all of Mike D’s, Adrock’s, and MCA’s lyrics long before Google could reveal every word in seconds. At Thanksgiving dinner, my son suggested we go around the table having every person tell something they’re grateful for. His response, “God and my family.” This boy who learned about God from word of mouth? We’ve  never taken our children to any services. Aside from a family wedding, the only time I took my son to church was to see the Flobots perform at a charity event. My first actual experience with him in a church was to see a favorite band perform-my own kind of spirituality I suppose.

5) Our road trip rental car smelled like Bengay sore muscle rub because my son is addicted to Altoids and not as I originally thought because of my husband’s addiction to minty Nicorette gum. I’m thankful both my boys always have such fresh breath.

6) After listening to my ten year old endlessly chanting, “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard” I put a stop to it by firmly explaining that “milkshake” is a slang term for breast using a breastfeeding jiggling gesture that will probably scar her for life.

7) Speaking of lessons learned too soon, we realized belatedly it’s definitely far too early to show Jameson the South Park Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo You Tube video. We’re hoping for a holiday break school suspension reprieve this year and hilarious body function humor was probably the wrong choice.

8) Florida has its own schedule. As I feel myself flying towards forty, I find it amusing to watch my husband working a puzzle on a Friday night nursing a fuzzy navel fearing his mid-life crisis repercussions. Thirty-eight actually feels pretty young in Florida.

9) Some other Only-in-Florida things…… bizarre wall art, non-stop white wicker, and Silver alerts-like Amber alerts for missing children, Silver alerts are for missing elderly suffering dementia or other ailments.

10) Back to the thanks, I’m grateful to not be flying home on a red eye. After a six hour red eye flight last June to Costa Rica, stuck in a row with seats that don’t recline, in the very back next to a constantly flushing toilet, apparently amidst the flight attendants “break room” where they gossiped and cackled ALL NIGHT LONG, I somehow forgot the pain and exhaustion of hellish overnight flights and booked the four of us on a red eye into Fort Lauderdale. After a mostly sleepless four hour flight we drove two hours down to Key Largo arriving pretty much hallucinating with sleep deprivation.

11)  I’m thankful to return home minus our last remaining guinea pig who passed away while we were out of town. Thankful, after nearly four years, I’ll NEVER have to clean that cage again. Thrilled to come home to my house where the water heater could certainly be bigger, but the water pressure is actually existent and hot showers last longer than three minutes.

All in all, it was a wonderful vacation, although after two gym-free weeks of eating almost only fried fish, my jeans are too tight to even fit a chapstick in my pocket. It just serves to remind me that LIFE IS GOOD-mosquito bites, bicker twin road trips, unpacked suitcases included. Now for the super rude awakening that it is almost Christmas, my tree is still in the garage somewhere, my shopping is a dot on the horizon, and my children are already days behind on the advent calendars.

“Buy a notebook. Write down what you want. Write down what hurts you. Show it to someone you love.

Save it for your children. Burn it in your backyard. Either way, go to bed knowing that in some way, those

things are out of you.”  -Unknown

I got a much needed stress relieving massage today. It felt amazing but my mind is always racing on the massage table. I have to remind myself repeatedly to relax, RELAX! Mostly, I’m thinking about the masseuse and what secrets my body is quietly betraying to her. (yes, always HER) Does she know I’m left-handed? Can she tell I have horrible posture? Does she mind the four day stubble on my legs? Is she slyly judging my cellulite riddled thighs? Can she tell my story by reading my tattoos? My copyright tramp stamp, the wrenches tattooed around my wrists, my children’s names on my biceps… I’ve always been curious what someone can learn about me by kneading my knots. I had the chance to pick the brain of a masseuse recently and she responded yes, yes, no, no and yes among her answers to other questions. So massages aren’t exactly relaxing for me and my ever running inner monologue but I thought maybe writing a blog could help lift some of the weight off these shoulders that the massage couldn’t, an outlet.

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up. Or the next great American author. My nose was always in a book, from A Prayer for Owen Meany (Love!) to some trashy V.C. Andrews saga. After three and a half mostly brutal years of high school, I finished my credits and got the hell out. Four or five more years of school at a university just seemed like an extension of my teen angst sentence so I ended up at a vocational school studying automotive technology. I eventually became a Volkswagen mechanic.

In my twenty plus years of employment, I’ve held a kaleidoscope of positions. Starting with endless babysitting gigs, to a church daycare worker, a gas station cashier, a $1 movie theatre concession stand grunt, a postal worker, a Chili’s waitress, a car dealer receptionist, a pregnant shuttle driver, a pizza delivery girl, a tattoo shop counter person, a VW/Audi/Saab technician, a two week stint in telemarketing, to Mom and wife. I’ve had a LOT of jobs in my time and I could share a secret or two I’ve learned along the way. Maybe not the type of work someone does by massaging the overworked forearm muscles of a wrench-turner (touching other people’s hairy backs freaks me out) but I have some insights.

I decided to name my blog Mamachanic for a few reasons. One, Mom and mechanic are two of the longest positions I’ve held. Two, I like the way it rolls off my tongue. Look for it someday as one of my newest tattoos though I’ve retired my wrenches for the time being to focus on my most important role-raising people. Thanks for taking a minute to read my musings! What’s the best job you ever had?