Used to Love Her

Captured: My kids loving, not killing each other

My kids and I went to visit my sister and her kids over the last couple of days, which was mostly delightful family time.

As a bonus, their cousins had gingerbread houses that they had not yet built; my kids had asked to do them this year but I'd neglected to purchase them. Their eldest cousin said my kids could make his, which I initially thought was a terrible idea.

My kids fight. A lot. Which makes me brace myself for that and think that things like making a gingerbread house together is a bad idea.

I'm happy to say, and you can see the photographic evidence to prove it, in this case, I was wrong. They had a delightful time doing it together.

On the way home in the car, my daughter was controlling the radio. She stopped on this song, during an intstrumental portion, and asked: "Is this a good song? I think it is."

Vintage G 'n R? Yes honey, it sho is:

I used to love her
But I had to kill her
I used to love her, Mm, yeah
But I had to kill her
I had to put her six feet under
And I can still hear her complain

I used to love her, Oo, yeah
But I had to kill her
I used to love her, Oo, yeah
But I had to kill her
I knew I'd miss her
So I had to keep her
She's buried right in my backyard
Oh yeah, Oo yeah, whoa, oh yeah

I used to love her
But I had to kill her
I used to love her, Mm, yeah
But I had to kill her
She bitched so much, She drove me nuts
And now I'm happier this way, yeah
Whoa, oh yeah

Knocking on Heaven's Door

Today I went to an amazing workshop with Mark Haviland. What a phenomenal human being. Funny, real, irreverent, wise... He taught us that we were all screwed up by our parents (and those of us who are parents are, to one extent or another, screwing up our kids), but we have the choice about how to respond. And because Mark's my kind of guy, both choices have soundtracks.

There's the choice to honor the wound, and allow it to open us, and reveal our own divinity.

Cue Dylan with the original, and G n R with a most excellent cover:

Mama take this badge from me
I can't use it anymore
It's getting dark too dark to see
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Mama put my guns in the ground
I can't shoot them anymore
That cold black cloud is comin' down
Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Yep, I'm knocking, and what's more, I can feel it opening...

(Stay tuned til tomorrow for option number two)

Sweet Child O' Mine

When this fave o' mine came on in the car today, both kids simultaneously asked me to change the station -- complaining that they didn't like the screaming. Really? Is it possible not to like Axl's screaming?

I'll tell you who's screaming I don't like -- mine. But this morning, the combination of a mom who hasn't been as focused on her serenity and a sweet child o'mine -- a 10-year old boy with long hair that he sometimes refuses to comb -- made for a not-so-pretty scene in the bathroom before school.

Walking to school with my daughter, I told her that I didn't like it when I scream (she said she doesn't either) and that I'd grown up with a screaming mother and really don't want that for my kids. "Well," she reassured me, "Daddy doesn't really scream, but he does say the F-word." Yep, we all have parenting moments of which we're not proud. It's part of the deal.

Tonight, long after he should have been asleep, my son came downstairs while I was working on this post and the song was playing in the background. Funny how much more curious he was about the song and its singer when it meant putting off bedtime. I didn't mind too much, though -- after the way our day together started out, I can't really think of a more satisfying ending than having a moment where I could bury my face in his shoulder-length locks while singing:

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I'd hide

And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by

Whoa, oh, oh, sweet child o' mine

Whoa, oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine...

Paradise City

I remember this song from when I was in high school -- we used to listen to G N'R constantly on long bus rides to away track meets. Some of the guys on the team even had their own Medfordized version of the lyrics (original lyrics in parentheses):

Take me down to the Paradise City where the grass is (green) free and the girls are (pretty) come on!

The Medford boys were singing about pot and easy women - which is one of the reasons it still makes me smile to hear this song, as we did sitting in J.'s car after enjoying an evening in our own paradise city -- Madison in the summertime at the Terrace. At one point we looked out at the water with all the boats and it was so beautiful it didn't even look real -- it looked like the set of a movie. But it was real, and for me, it's soaking up these summer nights that makes it possible to get through the long winter. There's a lot of the year where I wouldn't call Madison the Paradise City, but this time of year, it's so incredible it doesn't feel like a stretch to think it's exactly what makes Axl bang his long red locks: Take. Me. Home.

Here's Axl in all his glory.