Boy Bands

Oh-oh-o-o-oh, Oh-oh-o-oh, Oh-oh-o-o-oh...the right stuff!



Sorry. NKOTB are coming to town in their big reunion and nostalgia tour, and the local pop radio station I listen to in the morning has been going on and on and on about it. It's enough to make me want to rush out and gets tickets in the nosebleeds just to see my second-favorite Wahlberg and his band of former teen idols.



Almost.



I just barely missed the whole boy band phenomenon. I was just barely too old and too cool to like the New Kids at their peak. At least, that was my public story. I remember declaring their stuff cheesy and meant for the "teenyboppers" (by which I meant "middle-schoolers who are all of one year younger than I am") and made quiet fun of the girls in my high-school who wore NKOTB t-shirts and buttons. Sometimes, though, when "I'll Be Loving You Forever" came on the radio, I would sing along. What 16-year-old girl doesn't like a ballad sung in an impossible falsetto? And I did think Jonathan was terribly cute and seemed sooo sincere and sensitive. I still do think he's terribly cute, in fact, which makes it so disturbing that when I Googled him just now to make sure I had the spelling right I learned that he is quite possibly gay. Oh, poor Tiffany. I was hoping after her turn on Celebrity Fit Club that they would somehow find each other again.



So I don't really want to go see them in concert now since I didn't like them so much then. I would feel the same way about Boyz II Men, The Backstreet Boys, N Sync, etc. There would be some nostalgia, but not a whole lotta love. I didn't own a single tape or CD by any of those groups. Sorry, boys. I'm just not that into you. You were a little too young for me when you hit it big; I was crushing on Jon Bon Jovi, Bono, and, sadly, Steven Tyler.

Ainsley, however, is already in boy band love.

Last night she said one of those things that make me so glad that I'm blogging and taking all this down for posterity. Because some day, she's gonna love reading that she said this.

"Momma, can we go see the Jonas Brothers in concert?"

"Well, Ains, they just came to Cincinnati in the fall, and I don't think they'll be back for a while. And by the time they do come back, you probably won't like them any more."

She sighed. "Oh, I'll love the Jonas Brothers forever. I'm always gonna want to see the Jonas Brothers live."

And there you have it. The reason why thousands of women in their late 20s and early 30s will be screaming like tweens when the New Kids come to town. Once a fan of the boy band, always a fan of the boy band.

Were any of you in love with any of the boys from Boston? Would you go see them in concert now?

My Romance Doesn't Have To Have A Balloon In The Sky (Well, for Ains, it does.)

Our summer cruise is starting to get Ainsley's motor running.

At least once a day she mentions our July vacation plans and asks me questions, some of which I don't know the answer to. Will I get to eat ice cream? Most definitely. Will the plane ride be fun? For you, maybe. For me, certainly not. Will the weather be nice? Let's hope so. Will Daddy get seasick? Oh, mercy, I hope not.

Last night, she started talking about our anniversary. She's heard that her mom and dad will be celebrating their 12th wedding anniversary on the second day of the cruise; like many small children, she can tune out her parents' voices when we're asking her to do something but when we're in a private conversation she can pick up all the details with her amazing bat eats. When our cruise coordinator from Carnival called last to go over details and politely remind us that the final payment was due, Ainsley overheard me telling the guy that we would be onboard on our anniversary and that, yes, we would appreciate any kind of free special treatment the boat will be willing to give us. I don't like a lot of attention from strangers, but I'm all about free stuff, especially if it's in the form of a special dessert and a glass or three of champagne.

"Mommy, I can't wait for you and Daddy to have your anniversary on the boat."

"Really, Ains? Why?"

"Because it will be a celebration! And I LOVE celebrations!"

What can I say? My girl likes to party all the time.

"I don't know how much of a celebration it will be, Ainsley. They may not do anything special at all."

"But maybe we can all three have a really nice dinner like we do sometimes. And dress up! And maybe Daddy will get you some balloons that say, 'I Love You', or 'Romance', or something like that on them. I hope he remembers that. It is your anniversary and he should do something romantic for you."

Because nothing says "Romance" quite like a big mylar balloon with, well, "Romance" printed on it.

Things She Does NOT Get From Me

Earlier in the week I wrote about the unpleasant things Ainsley says that she gets from me. Here's something she said last night that most definitely, most certainly, is not something I have ever said, ever thought, or ever will say.

She was looking at her little pink shower pouf and said,

"I love pink. Wouldn't it be wonderful if everything in the whole entire world was pink?"

Imagine all the people...living life in pink...

Are you nauseated yet?

My Favorite Kid Ever

Here's an article in today's paper about my student who did the book drive during her last days as as high-school student.

If you read carefully, you'll see some quotes from yours truly. And I may or may not have taken the picture accompanying the article (okay, I did.)

Gosh, I'm gonna miss that kid.

Something You (Thankfully) Don't See Often In Suburban Neighborhoods

As Jason said to me around 9:30 last night...Just what kind of neighborhood do we live in?

Just when I think I know the answer to that question, one of our neighbors does something to surprise me. In a bad way.

At dusk last night, while Ains was getting ready for bed, I went to our front window to check out the storm cloud gathering. A man I didn't recognize as being from our street caught my eye; he looked to be about my age, and was walking briskly with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was walking like a man with a purpose.

I noticed he was carrying something down at his side in his right hand, the side of his body I couldn't see very well. It appeared to be a long, thin object. At first I thought it was a garden tool. Then I thought maybe it was just a pole. Then when I saw what it really was, I couldn't believe it, and my blood ran cold.

"Jason, is he carrying a..."

"Oh, my God. I think it is."

He was carrying a gun. Purposefully. Down a residential street. Heading directly for the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, which is inhabited by a woman who spends most of her time drunk and causing trouble.

We just stood there. I wish I knew more about guns so I could tell you, with certainty, what type it was. All I know is it was one of the long varieties: something in the rifle family.

Could it have been a BB gun? Well, one can only hope. But, firearm novice that I am, I still think I might have been able to identify a Red Rider.

We didn't know what to do. What, exactly, are the legalities there? Do concealed weapons laws apply when one is not concealing, but not firing or being threatening, either? Do you call 911? Or just wait until the shots are fired?

Jason and I just stood there, holding our breath. We watched the guy walk right into the house at the end of the cul-de-sac, knowing that he's not the guy who lives there, but observing that he didn't exactly knock, either. We waited. When several minutes passed, and when we saw that other neighbors who were actually outside at the time this guy passed didn't seem distressed or on the phone with the authorities, we calmed down. We didn't hear or see anything unusual, and life went on.

But it begged the question: What kind of neighborhood do we live in? I've joked here that it's a banging-class neighborhood; all of a sudden, that has taken on a new, not-so-funny meaning.

Gun control isn't one of my big political issues. Other people in my party and probably in yours get pretty fired up over it; I've always been just sort of "meh." I see the logic of "Guns don't kill people, people kill people" and "When guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns" and all that. But I also get angry when a kid gets his or her hands on a parent's unattended weapon and accidentally kills a playmate. And I often wonder, when in a crowd, how many people have concealed carry licenses and just how mentally balanced they are.

Seeing a stranger nonchalantly carrying a rifle-y weapon at his side down my street while no one batted an eye or called the police because technically he wasn't doing anything illegal (at least I think he wasn't technically doing anything legal--one of you lawyer types please weigh in) could push me a little to the left here.

Guns may not kill people...but you don't exactly want to see one wander down the street you just got your kid off of 15 minutes before. either.

Get Stacy and Clinton on the Phone--Stat!

I don't own a full-length mirror. It's one of those things I've been meaning to do since we moved into our house 8 years ago, but it doesn't rank very highly in terms of importance; I have eyes, and I am able to look down, so therefore I know how I look in my clothes most days.

Or so I thought.

Coming out of my library yesterday afternoon, I caught my reflection in the just-washed glass of the double doors. I was wearing a just-to-the-knee, flowing tan dress, two-strap leather sandals that are Dillard's budget version of Birkenstock's, and my glasses. My shoulders were kinda hunched, and the total effect was not what I was going for when I walked out the door that morning. I was aiming for "bohemian, free-spirited young librarian."

What I actually saw was much more "love child of Marcie and Peppermint Patty."

No, seriously. From the waist up I was totally this, with my glasses and brown bob and ill-fitting ensemble, but then the hippie sandals were pure Peppermint Patty.

Nothing says "I need a wardrobe makeover" more than looking like lesbian cartoon characters (not that there's anything wrong with that!) (And despite their cover of a shared crush on Charlie Brown, you know, deep down in places you don't talk about at dinner parties, that you always thought they were gay, too.)

I have only watched a couple of episodes of What Not to Wear, and I must say that generally it irks me.

"Oh, let that woman alone!" I say when Stacy and Clinton ambush some poor mom. "Who doesn't go grocery shopping in their circa 1994 Hanes sweats and Crocs? You would rather she sport the Prada on those special occasions?"

But now that I have had a reality check about what I go to work looking like...bring 'em on.

Submit me for a makeover. Have them ambush me at Kroger, or the gym, or coming home after a hard day working a Peanuts comic strip, and tell me what I should be wearing. Because I am sooo not getting it right.

Or, help me out. What should Cranky's new look be? Where can I shop for clothes that a middle-class woman can afford, that will satisfy both the side of me that's a little earth-mother-goddess, and the side that needs to look like a grown-up, educated professional? Submit links and suggestions below--full outfits would me much appreciated. Because apparently I can't even get the shoes right.

Out Of the Mouth of Ains: Reaping What You Sow Edition

Sometimes something will come out of my kid's mouth and I will think, "Where the heck did she hear THAT? I don't talk like that! Those darned friends of hers..."

Other times something comes out of her mouth and I say, "Yeah, sadly, that's from me."

Over the course of the last few weeks, Ainsley has been attendant at a lot of solemn events, from meeting with the priest to go over the funeral mass to the services themselves to having the family over to sort through pictures for the memorial boards and video. Being six and all, she got antsy a lot. I will confess: I wasn't always a model mom in these moments. I had a lot on my mind. My catchphrase when Ainsley was tugging on my sleeve asking for something relatively unimportant while I was giving my attention to more weighty matter was,

"Ainsley, settle down. It's not all about you right now."

So, days later, she's playing Super Mario Cart with one of her visiting uncles. She excels at this racing game, but on this particular day it's getting the best of her.

"I hate Mario," she said. "He thinks it's all about him."

Of course, the uncle got a big kick out of this. And the fact that during their game playing she also told him that Mommy shaves her back sometimes. I swear to you with my hand on a million bibles, I do not know where that one comes from. I mean, I visit the electrolysis sometimes and all, but my back is not one of my problem areas. Thank God.




Another Cranky-ism that's been getting some airtime is, "You don't have to talk to me like that." Ainsley expresses stress by mouthing off; I have no idea where she gets this (you guys can hear the sarcasm, right?) Things have gotten a little better in the last few days as life has started drifting back toward what we called normal, but at the height of the drama she used her angry voice for most things she said to me. Thus, she got told to not talk to her mother that way, often in the same tone of voice I was getting on to her for using. I'm a mom; we're hypocrites that way.

She didn't make this connection for a while. But during a car trip last week, when I got angry with her for something or other she was doing or not doing in the back of the car (I think she had just spilled a drink all over herself), she said,

"Well, you don't have to talk to me like that!"

And it was such a direct copy of my inflection that it was like the voice of a Mini-Me from the backseat. Jason was amused; me, not so much.

Now as I write this, the song "Teach Your Children Well" is running through my head. I'll just look at her and sigh...and know she loves me.