Who's Still Around The Morning After?

Why is it that the morning-after fatigue is so much worse when the night-before was spent wrestling a three-year-old to sleep rather than sitting in a smoky bar with 100 decibels aimed at my head? I guess perhaps it's because I'm not waking up with any fun memories of revelry, just a fuzzy recollection of tiny toes digging into my stomach while I traversed the Parenting Tactics spectrum between "Honey, hush," and "Shut it!" Or maybe because, when one of my friends starts whining "I'm hunnnngryyyy" at 2:00 in the morning, the next logical step is a trip to IHOP, not a thirty minute discussion about why we can't eat applesauce in bed.

Crazy Mama Coming Back To Me

Sometimes my worlds collide like a couple roller derby jammers (Angelina Roll-ie and Smashimi, to be specific), and nothing but hilarity can possibly ensue. Last night's case in point: my spontaneous trip to David Sedaris' reading at the Cannon Center. Granted, it's hard for there not to be hilarity when any Sedaris is involved in the scenario, but in this particular outing, more than 51% of the fun occured after the professional humorist left the stage. And the anthropologist/writer/zinestress/roller derby team captain took the stage. Like a ninja. It's all well documented over on Stacey's blog (1 of 3), but I need to state, for the record, how impressed I was by the fact that the most daring maneuver of the night was accomplished not by the wild, free, twentysomething, single people of the party, but rather the homebirthin', Peace Corp-ing mother of two.

Mama Don't Go

Well, it's not so bad really, this being thirty thing. Other than the abundance of vomit (the child's and the cat's) that greeted the change in years, this decade has gotten off to a decent start. I've already seen two movies, gone out to eat three times, and enjoyed a piece of cake with nearly every meal. If things keep up at this rate, it'll be the best (and enormousest) year ever.

Of course, things won't keep up at this rate, because as of 11:00 this morning, we went back to being the extended-family-less unit we were before my parents got to town five days ago. No more free, reliable, on-call babysitting, no more extra hands around the house or extra energy around the child. My dad even offered to put me up in a hotel room for a night, all by myself, and if I'd had the good sense to say yes he'd have done it in a heartbeat. Because that's what family does, they look out for you and step right up when they know you need some help. And also pick on you pretty bad when the situation calls for it. Or maybe that's just my family.

I'm sure that if my parents lived in town, I'd spend more time than I do now doing things that may not be at the top of my Fun List, like going to horse shows and outlet malls, but it would be more than worth it. When I see my friends with multiple children, I always wonder how they can possibly manage it all - child-rearing, marriage maintenance, jobs, outside interests - and then I realize that, in 90% of cases, those multi-breeders have close relatives nearby. And that's how it's supposed to be. That's why people spend their whole lives in ridiculous places like International Falls, MN and Marked Tree, AR. Now that I have offspring, I can see myself going back to ice scrapers and white-outs and air so cold it actually affects the genetic composition of your unconceived children, just for the benefit of sharing a seat on the constant roller coaster of joy and agony that is being a mother.

When Autumn Leaves Start To Fall

The daytime high in Memphis today isn't expected to get above 50 degrees, and I'm loving it. As a child of the Great Lakes, it's impossible for me to acknowledge that it's autumn when the temperatures are in the 70s. And I need it to feel like fall, because fall makes me happy. My Scandinavian genes should dictate a downward shift in mood along with the dropping mercury, but nothing brings an unexpected smile to my face more than walking outside and smelling the aroma of burning leaves carried on a crisp breeze. I've adapted somewhat to the Memphis summer, but I feel nothing but relief once it's over. I love wearing my favorite jeans without wishing I hadn't, making hot tea instead of iced, taking the dog for a long walk rather than a forced march. Oh and also, fall means my birthday. After years on the tundra, I expect a certain amount of cool weather before my annual festivities. If my birthday comes and goes without a dip in the thermometer, it's almost like it doesn't happen. A few weeks later, when it does cool off, I start thinking about chocolate frosting and updating my Amazon wishlist and then realize, "Gah! Too late!"

So thanks to the unseen meteorological forces for this properly autumnal day. The last of my twenties, as it happens. I guess there's some metaphor to be made about seasons and leaves and drying up and dying on the ground while people step on your crackling frame, but I'll just let it go. My tea's ready.

I Went To See The Doctor Of Philosophy

In an exciting confluence of my two favorite pastimes, two thirds of my roster will be performing at the Southern Festival of Books going on in downtown Memphis this weekend (specifically, at the convention center and Main St. mall). I'd tell you exactly when they're all playing, but in another, less exciting confluence, my lovely daughter practiced her scissor skills on the tiny slip of register tape where I'd written all the performance times. I know that Jimmy plays on Friday evening, Blair is on Saturday afternoon (1-2, I believe), Jamie's set is Saturday late afternoon (4-6 sounds familiar) and Kim is playing from 3-4:30 on Sunday. This is the type of event I'd normally pine to attend but would forego due to a total intolerance for dragging a pre-schooler through crowds of aloof intelligentsia, but since my parents will be on hand this weekend to help out with child-wrangling and it's my birthday, I may actually be able to make a go of it. And then spend all my commission money on books for Garrison Keillor to sign.

An Alright Guy

Not only did Blair get a coveted spot at last night's Folk Alliance party, he went ahead and won himself a showcase at the International Folk Alliance Conference, representing Memphis in front of 3000 industry types. The real kind, not just maternal posers. Atta boy!

Working For The Weekend

Now's the part of the week when I start looking through the Flyer to figure out which shows I won't be able to see this weekend. Tonight, Blair's got a showcase spot at the Folk Alliance's "No Boundaries" party, which is basically a party celebrating the exact quirky little genre in which I've found myself entrenched. The info says it's free for "members of the Mid-south music and media arena." I'm not sure how you prove that you're a member. Maybe by quoting Lucero lyrics or being able to tell what the "T" stands for in Harlan T. Bobo.

Then there's Jimmy's shows. My poor neglected Jimmy. He's playing Otherlands on Saturday, and then joining up with the most intriguing band in Memphis, The Cooking Hookers, at the Buccaneer on Sunday. But barring the sudden heavenly descent of Mary Poppins, it doesn't look like I'll be able to catch either one. Sorry, guys! Why can't you ever play anywhere with a ballpit?