Metal Meredith

I Have A Confession To Make

Most of my friends pop in their favorite albums and sing along, they dance a little. They think back to when they saw the concert, danced to the song with a former boyfriend or girlfriend, or heard the song in their favorite movie and they smile. I know people enjoy music, but at some point life gets in the way and what seemed like a passion becomes just a use for distraction in the car on a long trip.

I can’t explain why this never happened to me. In fact, I couldn’t begin to tell you when my addiction started. I can’t pinpoint the moment. I can tell you that I knew all the words to the Grease soundtrack (much to my parents’ dismay) at 8 years old. I knew Barry Manilow and Barbra Streisand songs much younger. Still, I can sing the entire Barbra Christmas album without straining to remember lyrics. So ingrained was the love for music, my dad joked on many occasions that I could memorize an entire Culture Club album but not important dates in history. He did not understand that Thomas Jefferson was not as interesting as Boy George to an 11 year old.

My whole life seems to be measured by what records I listened to and when. Time is measured by what year I eagerly absorbed the video for Duran Duran’s “Wild Boys” while babysitting, when I bought Poison’s “Look What the Cat Dragged In” or which Barenaked Ladies concert I went to. I remember my high school years dotted by which songs I liked, who I idolized and how I was unapologetic when no one agreed. I was never scared to admit who I listened to. This was an area that peer pressure never touched. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

My father took me to see Culture Club at Hampton Coliseum, November 1984. I proudly wore my concert t-shirt to school the next day, ridicule be damned. At the show, I danced my geeky 13 year old butt off. I can’t tell you much about that show and I don’t blame it on my being so young. Fact of the matter is that I wasn’t really there. I was having this musical out of body experience. It allowed me to be the “Super Me” and I never wanted to go back. In a way, I don’t think I did.

In 1998, Kym invited me to see Depeche Mode. During the show I was speechless. I realized how many of their songs I knew, how many scenes in my life were played out with their music as the soundtrack. I was intoxicated. I bought the greatest hits and listened to it non-stop. I bought 2 copies to have one in my car and one in my house. I had a suspicious feeling that I was not going to get over this one anytime soon.

Life moved forward and Phil and I got married, started our careers. The band put out another album and I was all giddy and speechless when I met them in 2001. Kym still makes fun of me, stating it was the first and only time in our long (15 years?) friendship that she has seen me choke. For anyone who knows me, talking isn’t difficult for me under any circumstance.  I was so in love with the concert that night that I paid a ridiculous amount of money to go again a month later with Ronni. She was nice enough not to make fun of me, but sympathized with me when I cried through most of the show. She even told me she understood me, which certainly has made our friendship a lasting one.

For the next 6 months, my life revolved around this band. I went so far as to fly to L.A to interview for a job with the record label in hopes of eventually working for their management company, fueled by dreams of being on tour with them by the next album. Phil, ever the fabulous husband, quiet and supportive, went along for the ride. When it didn’t pan out, we stayed in Richmond and decided to start a family instead.

This year, they put out a new album. It has actually only been a week since it came out and I am back in that place. To outsiders, people without this strange connection to music, I just can’t explain it well enough for you to understand. But I will tell you this… I cry, a lot. When I heard the first single, I cried. When I saw the video, I cried. When I bought the concert tickets, played the album the first, second and fifth time, I cried. When I had a dream about them and Phil woke me up with his snoring, I cried (more than I care to admit, really). I can’t tell if I am mourning or celebrating. But what I am doing is feeling, feeling so deeply it hurts, it aches, and it makes me want to burrow into the speakers to get a closer to the music.

I ponder daily if I am teetering dangerously on the edge of reality and fantasy when I get to this point. I start to wonder if there is something lacking in me or in my life that so badly needs to be filled by music. I get knots in my stomach when I think of my favorite bands never putting out another album, wondering if what I have from them already is enough to last me for the rest of my days.

Kym and I had a chance to thank another group of musicians a while back that shaped not only who we are as people, but as friends. We are so lucky to have had the chance to do so. Only, a simple “Thank You” never feels like enough. How do you tell someone, someone you really don’t know, that they had a hand in shaping your life, your thoughts, and make them understand that it is not just music, it is not just a concert, but has become part of your chemical and spiritual make up?

I have talked with Ronni on several occasions about my addiction and why I feel so deeply, why I love it so much and seem to react so much more intensely than others. She had no real advice, no words of wisdom. She simply told me that “most people will just never understand.” I suppose she is right.

At 33, I am still crying like a 14 year old with a rock star infatuation. All in all, it feels good to know that this part of me is still alive and kicking. I can only hope that one day, Vivienne will share this love of music. Even if she rolls her eyes when Mom starts to tear up when “Enjoy the Silence” comes on the radio, I will be happy knowing she is feeling the same feelings for her own rock star crush.

Healer of the Universe

Maybe I don’t remember this from my own childhood or I just never gave it a moment of thought, but upon giving birth to my own child, I have summoned the “Power of Mom.”

Today, Vivienne was outside playing in the back yard while Phil cleaned up the deck. Vivienne kept herself busy by walking around behind him, throwing balls, and playing on the deck stairs. At one point, my pleasant quiet was shattered with screams and yelling. I went to the door to see Phil cradling Vivienne as she cried about an “owie”. She had slipped off a step walking up the stairs and had an immediate bruise and scrape on her leg. It was one of those that I have had as an adult numerous times, causing me to instinctively go “Ouch” when I see it on someone else.

Vivienne told me through tears that she had a leg owie and needed a band aid. I took her from Phil and started the routine of Doctor Mom. I sat her down, gave her a hug and talked about how that must really hurt, must have been scary and how things will be ok in a few minutes. I got out the Dora band-aids, gave the owie a kiss (even planted a kiss on the band-aid for good measure), and wiped away tears and snot.

Once the band-aid was on, we talked about how it felt better, how it was ok now and how it was time to go back outside with Dad. So she did. She hopped up, popped right outside and announced to Phil “All better now Daddy!”

Phil asked her “Did Mom make your owie better?”

Vivienne replied “Yep, Owie all better!”

Phil said “Yay Mom!”

Vivienne, in her apparent pleasure that I had fixed her owie, turned around to face me and clapped “Yay Mom! Owie all better!!”

Never, in one million years, would I have expected my most precious standing ovation would come from a two year old with a scraped knee.

And I Am Really Tired

Friday:

830am: Put on new swanky outfit that I bought on my Tennessee trip. It’s a variation of my uniform; black pants and big black shirt, with more oomfph. Go to hair appointment and for once, don’t feel like the out of place loser that I typically do in this atmosphere. Make note to myself about trying to wear clothes that make me feel good AND are comfortable.

1030am: Saunter out of salon with new cut, some flashy color and do a hair flip for posterity.

Noon: Pick up Vivienne who gives me a big hug and says, “Mommy car, Home.” I am all too happy to oblige.

2pm: Vivienne is down for a nap and I spend 3 hours on the phone sorting out a friend’s emergency, checking in with all those involved and rallying the troops to help. 

6pm: Dinner, Vivienne doesn’t want to eat until we put her Chicken Costume on (pictures in the gallery). She then proceeds to run around like a goober. Phil and I are in love with her all over again, me from missing her on my trip and Phil because she was a demon on Thursday. She blows us both away with tracing the letters on her doodle mat like a pro. We keep her up until 930pm, because we are having so much fun.

Saturday:

8am: Wake up and get half hour to myself before everyone else gets up. We eat waffles with chocolate chips. We all get dressed and decide to go to Lewis Ginter Botanical Gardens to their new Children’s Garden.

1030am: Vivienne is kicking and screaming and yelling “No Mama, Stay Here. Stay at Moo House (new house for all of those who don’t know Vivi-Speak). STAY MAMA. NO MAMA NO!” My heart breaks as I realize my child doesn’t want me to come. Phil and I explain that I am coming anyway and she screams for the next 4 minutes “Mama Stay Moo House”. Finally she calms down, I wipe away tears and we have a good time at the Garden. (Photos also in the gallery).

1230pm: Home to eat lunch. Typically we would go out to eat on the weekends. But Phil has informed me that we are so broke, it is funny. So we go home and I eat leftovers, Vivienne eats PB&J and Phil eats a frozen pizza (and some chips). After Vivienne’s goes down, Phil and I have a conversation about how gross it is to eat chips and pizza. We are at an impass on either side of the argument.

3pm: Phil goes to work for a while. Vivienne sleeps until 5, then gets up and we take our first walk ever around the block. She picks up pinecones, runs through a sprinkler, collects rocks from driveways along the way and talks to neighborhood cats. She stops at almost every yard and exclaims “CUTE!”. We have a bunch of fun.

7pm: I manage to throw together a dinner while Vivienne and Phil play outside. At one point she starts to run away from Phil. He says “Vivienne, where are you going?” She stops and looks at him with one finger extended toward a tree trunk, “I poke a tree,” she says and then pokes the tree “poke poke.”

9pm: A late bedtime again because she is being sweet. We both get big hugs and sloppy wet kisses.

11pm: I go to bed. Phil plays video games well into the early morning.

Sunday:

7am: Phil’s snoring wakes me up and sets the precedent for a horrible day.

830am: Vivienne wakes up, wakes Phil up and insists on doughnuts for breakfast, chocolate doughnuts to be more specific.

1030am: We head out to the Ashland Berry Farm and go on a hayride to pick out our pumpkins. In the parking lot, there was a woman brushing her 5 year old daughter’s hair while pulling it into a pigtail as she cried. I asked Phil “How sad is that? She is combing out her kids hair to ride behind a tractor and pick pumpkins out of the dirt. We don’t even comb Vivienne’s hair at all.” Made mental note to not become that woman. Vivienne liked the tractor, thought the pumpkins were cool but whined about having to walk through dirt or a little mud. Again, we decide against going out to lunch and opt for hot dogs, cheese and apples for Vivienne, tuna sandwich for me and tiny appetizer size tacos and cheetos for Phil (again we have the conversation, again an impass).

2pm: Vivienne and Phil take a nap. I go to Target. I am pissed that I can’t spend money. I only get what is on my list. I really hate that. My mood goes downhill.

5pm: Vivienne and Phil are awake. We offer the neighborhood walk again. She is excited, puts on her shoes and runs to the door. I follow only to get the hand AGAIN, followed by “No Mama, Stay Here! STAY HERE MAMA”. Once again I am shunned. I close the door on her and Phil walking away and pour out my sadness to my wonderful friends on the internet. Thank goodness they all understand and say nice things. I never fully recover the rest of the night.

630pm: Hamburger Helper for dinner and I am still feeling sorry for myself about the money issues. It is quickly approaching the time to look for a part time job until Christmas and I am feeling blue. It is no one’s fault, there is nothing to blame. I want so badly for Phil to succeed in his business. So I am doing my part to help.

10pm: I decide a shower will help but end up crying about other stresses for 10 minutes. I figure that was enough time to get over it, watch a few Tivo’d Oprahs and feel better. I came downstairs to write a happy entry and just can’t seem to muster up the ability to do so. But sometimes I think it is better to show your true self than put on that mask. It needs a good cleaning anyhow.

I have no plans this week and am hoping this will be better all the way around. I think a good night’s sleep, a few hours ‘off’ tomorrow while Vivienne is at school and a little house cleaning will make things better.

Please go look at the photos that accompany this entry. I know this entry didn’t make you laugh, but the photos will.

Love,
Meredith

Go Get Me My Sweater!

I am elated to report that there is a crisp breeze in the air. The leaves are falling on my car and driveway at a maddening pace. Our air conditioner has been turned off, let us hope this time it is for good.

Vivienne loves going to school every other day. I wake her up and she says “Go to school? Playground?...Yay!!!” There is no question that she is enjoying herself. She talks about her friends Sam, Jonathan, Alice and Leah. Last Friday Phil told me she ran up the ramp and grabbed Alice’s hand all the while saying “Alice! Alice! Hi Alice!!”. Silly girl.

This week I am driving to Knoxville to visit Kym. I am trying not to calculate how long we have known each other. But it is a long, long time. I have to make this trip for many reasons. First, I miss the hell out of her. Second, she has purchased her first home and I am really excited for her. Third, she got me really great tickets for a concert. It is one of those memory lane shows that remind us how old we are while allowing us to act like idiots for a few hours.

There are a lot of new pictures in the July-December 2005 section. It starts in September with our trip to Maymont Park, then the State Fair on my Birthday, which was a lot of fun. There are also a bunch of shots of Vivienne entertaining us with her funny faces and general 2 year old goofiness.

Coming up next is Halloween, year two of Vivienne being a chicken. We are one trick ponies here.

Happy Autumn!
Meredith