Same Ol’, Same Ol’

Monkey tested limits this weekend, and found out where they are. It was just great. She threw a fit for being asked to pick up her toys, then threw even more of a fit when we made going to see her cousins (for ice cream) contingent on picking up her toys, and then threw the biggest fit of all when — after about 20 minutes of this — DearDR and I pulled the plug on ice cream altogether. Because she wasn’t listening to us. (Bun and I went. DearDR picked up the toys.)

I really hope it’s a typical almost-5-year-old thing, or a “I’m-really-ready-to-go-back-to-preschool” thing (she doesn’t start until next Wednesday), but the not-listening combined with the fly-off-the-handle meltdowns have got to come to an end.

Here is Monday night’s conversation:

Monkey: Kennywood is the funnest place on Earf … Earth.
RPM: It is pretty fun. (thinking: too bad we didn’t get there this summer.)
Monkey: Bun, Kennywood is the funnest place of Earth. You’re going to love it. Mom, can we go there tonight?
RPM: No, it’s too late tonight —
Monkey: No, Mom, really, can we go after dinner?
RPM: Monkey, we can’t go tonight —
Monkey: You mean we CAN NEVER EVER GO AGAIN?
RPM: No, Monkey, that’s not what I said, I mean —
Monkey: So we can go tonight?
RPM: We can go on a Saturday, soon. (thinking: Oh dear Lord, please tell me Kennywood is open weekends for a couple more weeks.)
Monkey: Can we go tonight?
RPM: Monkey! No, we will–
Monkey (wailing, complete with tears in her eyes): WHY CAN’T WE EVER GO TO KENNYWOOD AGAIN?? WAAAHHH! (stomps off to wail in another room)
RPM, thinking: WTH?

(Video taken live at the Green Day concert in Pittsburgh — not by me. I thought of Monkey during that whole first of the last two songs. Sigh.)

DearDR advises that I have to stay even-keeled during these conversations (which, DearDR, that’s pretty ironic. You know what I’m talking about). I am trying: breathing deeply, talking softly. If I get upset, the girls just get more upset. But attempting to reason with an unreasonable creature… Well, it sure is challenging.

The worst part? I keep picturing these conversations when Monkey is 15, and we’ve added hormones to the mix. (Okay, more hormones. Never let it be said that I don’t have my crazy, PMS-induced moods.)

Help. Send beer.

Cool No More

I know that my age, marital status, and number of children preclude me from the cool kids’ club. And I’m okay with that.

There are probably cool parents’ clubs, or even cool mommy blogging clubs, but I doubt I qualify for those either. I strongly suspect that there’s a minimum salary requirement that we don’t reach. An income level that enables laptops, plus childcare and housekeeping help. Or an attention level concerning online ads and stats that I haven’t a clue about.

And I’m okay with all of that too. (Although I would kill someone under the conditions that 1. I wouldn’t get caught and 2. Someone would come thoroughly clean my house for me twice a week — even just for a couple of months. And/or organize my office.)

With all of this in mind, I went to go see Green Day last night.

And it was awesome.

Honestly, I don’t even know if Green Day is cool anymore. And I don’t care. The audience last night certainly thought they were — I have never been to a show where the audience could sing the ENTIRE first verse of a song (“Boulevard of Broken Dreams”) on their own. Or where a teenage girl was called upon to come up on the stage and play guitar for a song (“Jesus of Suburbia”).

I just know that going to a loud (and it was freaking loud) rock concert was something I really needed to do. Not because it made me feel cool (again). It made me feel care-free. All that mattered was the music, for about three hours.

The Green Day show was a big barrel of rollicking fun, as well as bombastic loud rock and roll music. The threesome from California has transformed into a six-piece arena band, complete with confetti cannons, pyrotechnics, and crowd singalongs. (For a review that pretty much says the stuff I would say if I were actually reviewing the show, see Scott Mervis’ review in the PG.)

The energy was non stop, the music was loud as hell, and I felt cleansed. Cleansed of my worries. Free, just for a tiny space of time. Ageless (although neither child-free or single, curiously enough — well, DearDR did come with me, so that probably explains the not-feeling-single thing).

I’m back in the real world today, feeling like I’m facing more than ever.

Going to Green Day taught me something, though (aside from the fact that Billie Joe Armstrong has a fantastic laugh). It taught me that I have access to something that can make me utterly forget about my cares for awhile. Something I had forgotten.

Countdown to Spa Day: Two days.