Let Go and Let God ... and Starbucks!

Sometimes you just have to say “screw it” and go to Starbucks. And that, my mommy friends, is exactly what I did this morning. Before we get to the good stuff (because let’s face it—Starbucks IS fabulous), let’s do a quick recap of my 3 kids and a blaaahhhh morning.

I’ve been feeling guilty for not attending church on a regular basis (always a great reason to go, yes?). With Paul working on most weekends, it’s often treacherous to try to get myself and 3 other people clothed, fed and loaded into a vehicle. This process usually guarantees some disastrous, if not utterly frustrating outcome. So why should this morning have been any different? It wasn’t.

After 20 solid minutes of 3 screaming toddlers at a pitch that would either a) alert all dogs within a 100 mile radius, b) combust all tiny birds in nearby trees (think Princess Fiona in Shrek) or c) cause my ears to bleed, I considered throwing in the church-towel. My wavering decision to give up, was solidified when during van loading, I discovered my oldest child was not wearing underwear. Apparently I missed a step in the clothing, feeding and loading process.

Giving up when you’re a Mom, can sometimes feel like sequestering yourself to the dark-side, or in non-geek lingo—make you feel like a failure. I mean, if Mrs. Brady could manage all six of her kids on the Grand Canyon family vacation, why can’t I properly clothe, feed and load 3 kids into a minivan for church? On second thought, Mrs. Brady had Alice…

So, without husband and/or Alice, it was time for me to give up. On the brink of defeat however, I realized the morning wasn’t a total loss…there is always Starbucks. After all, everyone was locked and loaded; why not? The thought came so quickly and clearly, it must have been a sign from God! You don’t believe me? Hear what happens next…

Fifteen minutes later, kids in a snack/Elmo induced sedation, we arrived at the Starbucks parking lot. A BMW showed up at the same time and being the kind minivan driver I am, I motioned for Beemer Lady to go through the drive-thru first. After ordering a delicious Iced Grande Soy Latte, I approached the window to pay.

“You’re drink has been paid for,” the woman at the drive-thru said.

“What?!?!” I gasped in disbelief.

“Yes,” she said, “The lady who paid for you r drink said that someone recently did the same thing for her. She wanted to do the same for someone else.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “That is the nicest thing EVER! I’ve had such a crazy morning and my kids have been so…and this is so great …and…thank you!” I blubbered, teary eyes and all.

The woman gave me an understanding nod and off I was with sedated children, a free delicious Starbucks beverage and the recognition that sometimes giving up, is the greatest thing a Mom can do.

p.s. If anyone reading this resides in the West Valley of Phoenix and has a girlfriend with a gray BMW (I’m car ignorant, so that’s the best I can do), please tell her I am eternally grateful.

Name That Tune ... quick, before I turn the music off!

Name that tune:

On a weekend I wanna wish it all away, yeah.
And they called and I said that "I want what I said" and then I call out again.
And the reason oughta' leave her calm, I know.
I said "I know what I was the boxer or the bag."

I’ll give you the answer at the end of this blaaag.

For some reason, the songs of my single pre-kid days have been sneaking up on me.

In the car:

“Good grief, who in God’s name is this?” I questioned my husband, in regard to the unidentified quivery and raspy voice accosting us through minivan speakers.

“It’s that Pearl Jam guy,” he replied. That would be Eddie Vedder (in case you didn’t know).

In the grocery store:

“It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fiiiiiiinnnneeee” … in the produce departmeeeennnnttt.

In 3-year-old’s bedroom:

“Mom, can we play this Dave Mathews c.d.?” Laura asked, handing me the black c.d. Does anyone think it’s weird that a 3-year-old knew it was a Dave Mathews c.d. and not The Wiggles?

This series of 90’s alternative music occurrences of late, freak me out. Have I forgotten? Has it been that long since the days of Pearl Jam, grunge and flannel being socially acceptable and even cool in some regions? Hokey smokes. I’ve crossed over. I’m like one of Anne Rice’s vampires who remain underground too long; they lose their ability to socially progress and become completely insane—and un-cool. Okay, I’m not completely insane and my partial insanity is due to 3 kids, 3 and under, and not because I’ve been unable to integrate into whatever we are calling the 2000+ music era (uninspired? That’s unfair, Michael Buble is cool--oh, and so are the Black Eyed Peas).

Ever since having a constant soundtrack of my own, featuring the “sounds of living with three little people,” I’ve noticed my inclination to rock out has severely diminished. On the rare occasion that I turn on the radio or put in a CD, I either: a) turn it off immediately or, b) if it’s not classical, a squeaky voice intended for kids, or Harry Connick Jr., I turn it off, or c)try to brave it for 5 minutes and turn it off.

Mommy likey quiet time! Uh-oh, this is not good. I can feel my fangs extracting …

No, surely I’m okay. I haven’t been in a proverbial underground that long. Have I? Maybe once my girls get past the ages of 3, 4, or 18, I’ll be cool again (assuming I ever was). I’ll be able to listen to music for extended periods of time. Maybe grunge will make a comeback by then—like Steve Miller and Aerosmith did the year I graduated high school (no, I’m not telling; I’ve given you enough hints already).

I’ll have you know I'm already making progress, I made it through all of Under The Table and Dreaming while in Laura’s room. That would be The Dave Mathews Band (in case you didn’t know).

Answer to “Name that tune”: “Yellow Ledbetter,” by Pearl Jam.