Um, ouch. 

(In a good way, of course.)

More to come, once I pry myself away from Denver.

Dear Chris,

The greatest thing that has ever happened to me in the 5+ year relationship we’ve had happens today.  After all these years of waiting patiently, you turn 30.  Which is FINALLY a respectable age for a mother of 3 to have a crush on someone.  Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.

I don’t know why I can’t write this post for you today.  Maybe it’s because I might see you tomorrow, maybe it’s because you are, indeed, 30 and it’s time to measure my responses to you, maybe it’s because I’ve written you so many of these, I’ve used up all the words.  Whatever it is, I can’t seem to get this right.  And you know I’ve been writing this for months.

I have followed you through so many transitions in your life so far, and the way you have grown and changed has amazed me, mostly because of how you haven’t really changed at all.  The Chris that played XBox and hung my kids art on his walls and thought about everything a little too much is still the Chris today that has The Career and The House and The Dog.  You’ve grown, you’ve improved, you’ve gotten better, but you’ll always be you.  And thank god for that, because you is pretty damn alright.

I am sitting here, with a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat, trying to write this to you.  Why?  I don’t know.  I’ve never not known what to say to you.  In fact, I usually say far too much.  Today, it just doesn’t seem enough to say I Love You or Thank You.  I feel like there’s a bigger way to explain what you are in my life, because I think that thing you are in my life is bigger than we ever intended it to be.

You always seemed *this* much too young for me to admit an admiration for, and today you are old enough.  You always seemed *this* much too young for me to really talk about life, about my life, about the things that make me tick with, and today you are old enough.  You always seemed *this* much too young for me to really need, and today you are old enough.  Maybe that’s what’s got me rattled.  Maybe now I have to really admit how much I admire you, how much I want you to know every little thing there is about me, and me you, and how much I need you in my life.

I’m not particularly good at needing things, in case you hadn’t noticed.  It kind of wiggs me out.

Sometimes, when you’ve really got my goat, as you are so very capable of doing, I wish for just a second that I hadn’t been sitting on that stoop when you walked past, that you hadn’t been holding that damn book, that I hadn’t found the courage to say something about it.  In those moments when I dream that I’d never met you, I think of all the roads we’ve walked these past 5ish years, and how you have grown into my family and I yours, how everything that happens in our lives from here on out includes you in some way, even when you don’t know it.  I imagine the roads you will most likely walk down this coming decade, and how someday I’ll get to see you become a husband, and then a father, and I cannot for one second imagine missing any of that.  There is no where I would rather be than right there by your side as this next chapter in your life unfolds. Because, as it does, it will be grand and beautiful and something indeed to behold.

And so, today, 30 years after the day your mother delivered you in the front seat of her car, our relationship shifts a little.  We grow up today.  Today I will not tell you how much I love you, because you already know that, and I will not thank you for every single thing you have done for and brought to my family, but I will say this; You sir, knowing you, having you be a part of this little life I’m trying to lead, has been a greater honor than I think I deserve.  Me, my children, everyone you touch; we are all better people for having you in our lives.  I hope to still be writing you these on your 40th birthday, and I know that if I do, I won’t really have that much different to say.  And that is the beauty of you.

All my love, all my life.

S

And yeah, if none of that came out, I was just going to post this and walk away. It’s good to always have a back up.

I’m having a bit of an internal conflict with today’s post.  I mean, there’s some pretty big stuff going on in our nation right now, in my hometown.  (Yes, I know yesterday I was all, I’m from Delaware! and today I’m all, WhutWhut, Denver representin, yo! but I am from both.  Let’s move on.)  I am more tuned in to this electoral race than I was even prepared to be, and I can’t seem to get it off my mind.  And Hillary’s speech last night?  Well, let’s just say that I am kind of quietly hoping that none of her followers listen to her and there’s a bit of a surprise for everyone come Thursday.  I was never sold on her before, but today I am.

So, I want to talk about the convention.  I want to talk about our country.  I want to talk about important things.  I also want to talk about babysitting.  I’m torn.

Since I leave in about 30 hours for Denver, I figured I’d give the babysitter talk a shot, and save myself for the trip home, when I could tell you all the fabulous things I saw and heard whilst mingling with the dead sexiest group of bloggers the world has ever known.  But then, oh, but then, something came up, and I decided to do both.

My dear friend Stephen is out and about Denver mocking covering the protests in Denver for Pajamas Media.  Stephen is a republican, he drinks scotch, and he’s kind of a jerk when he wants to be.  We have NOTHING in common (maybe except that jerk bit. Bygones), but I love him and I read him religiously because, well, no one can make me laugh at myself better than he can.  He’s brilliant, and he always remembers to tell me I look pretty.  I’m a chick, and quite susceptible to flattery.  I digress.

Anyway, Stephen was downtown at the mint, filming some protesters doing something completely ridiculous for his video debut on Pajamas Media, when he tripped and fell on an event that I can only describe as the reason I am not registered as a Democrat, and the reason I’m really reluctant to call myself one in public.  This asshole?  Is giving us all a bad name.  And has no respect for others.  Especially women.  Even women who’s politics I abhor; she’s still a woman, and still a human.  Go watch.  Watch it all.  It’s terrible in that Oh My God This Tastes Like Shit You HAVE To Try It way.

Next, babysitters.  I am doing something I’ve never ever done before; I am leaving my children in the care of a 14 year old for TEN STRAIGHT hours on Thursday so I can fly 1600 miles and throw a party.  I am kind of scared shitless about the whole thing.  She’s quite capable, and very loving to the baby, but still.  10 hours straight with my kids and I’m hitting the liquor cabinet.  What’s this poor girl going to do?

Anyway, I had to make sure the Babysitter Instructions were still on the fridge, and indeed they were, and as I reviewed them I realized that maybe I ought to share them with you.  Because maybe you need to make a babysitter instruction list, and maybe I can help you out with that.  I’m a giver.  Here we go, copied straight from the sheet on the fridge, I promise:

The BLT Instruction Manual (My kids initials spell a sandwich.  I like food)

1. Don’t kill them, please.  I’ve been waiting for 10 years; I have dibs.
2. Don’t let them have candy.  Unless you are on great medication or don’t value your sanity.
3. Bedtime is at 9, 8:30 if you start prematurely aging.
4. They can read in bed with their lights on.  No, they may not read Playboy.

That’s about it.  Thanks, dude!

Yes, that is the whole list, excluding our phone numbers, which nice try, but you have to work way harder than that to get my digits.

One question: As much as I love Little Ms Sitter, she is one of those girls that refuses to name her price.  Which annoys me to no end.  Have a little sense of self value, already.  Besides, I don’t know what the exchange rate is from shoulder shrug to CAD.  My question is this: Normally, we pay $10/hour for sitting.  But there’s no way I’m giving a 14 year old $100 for one day’s work.  No way in hell.  I don’t make $100 in a day, and I’m betting most of you don’t, either.  So, what do I pay her for a 10 hour day of chasing my toddler, playing my Wii, eating my chips and making sure the boys have bandaids and cookies?

In 1973, when he was 30 and I was -2, Joe Biden first took office as Senator for the state of Delaware. For my entire life, Joe Biden has been the senator for my home state. That is quite a statement.

He was raised in the same city I was, which is about the size of your pinky. He graduated from the Catholic school right behind the McDonald’s we went to. Our “city”, and believe me when I tell you that I use that term loosely, is economically and racially diverse in a way that I have rarely seen in any other city I’ve been to that wasn’t a major metropolis. I grew up so far below the poverty level we couldn’t see it, and right across the street from me were ESTATES. It’s an interesting place to be from, if for no other reason than that you cannot be a racist, or a classist, or an elitist in any way unless you never ever leave your house. You are forced to deal with people from every walk of life, forced to interact with them on the most basic, human levels, and you can’t go grocery shopping with someone every single week and not eventually grow to understand them a little.

Needless to say, I have a thing for Joe Biden. Even if I didn’t absolutely respect him for his politics, we’re from the same tiny little town. We stick together, yo.

A lot of people are disappointed in Obama’s choice to nominate Joe as his VP. They say he’s old, tainted, too liberal, too prone to sticking his foot in his mouth, too jaded, too something. Since it’s Democrat Week in the USA, and since I am going to fly into Ground Zero in two days, I want to just take a break from the poop talk for a second to tell you why I love Joe Biden, why he speaks to me, why HE is the reason I will vote Democrat in this coming up election.

The Violence Against Women Act. He WROTE it. He is a voice, a loud voice, a champion in the war against domestic violence, against gender based crimes. Domestic violence is a major problem in our country, I believe, due not only to a general unwillingness to prosecute it, but also because it is so hard for women to overcome. It messes with your head. It’s that sort of violence that goes beyond a bruise and into the psyche of women, and does irreparable damage. I believe in fighting it, for fighting for women and mothers and families, for providing real, honest help to those families struggling with it. So does Joe. And not just in that “I’m going to say I do” way.

Abortion.  Hi, big sensitive topic that I don’t like talking about on my blog.  I’ll say this; I agree, 100%, with Joe Biden’s track record of voting on abortion related issues.  He’s a Catholic, I’m an atheist.  His beliefs, which he makes no secret about, so far have in no way influenced his votes.  He is a man of faith, and I respect that, but I am really afraid of someone rubbing their religion all over my constitution, whatever that religion may be.  When I see a Catholic man, a powerful politician, vote for stem cell research, against notifying parents about abortions, for spending A LOT of money on not abstinence education but responsible sex education, against anything really that is going to touch Roe V Wade, well, I respect and appreciate that.  Also, he, just like me, is all about banning partial birth abortions.  Which sounds contradictory, but I swear it’s not.  Another day, another time.

He is against banning same sex marriages.  He’ll let you burn a flag if that’s what you’ve got to do.  His wife was a teacher for 30 years.  He gets it that public education matters.  He’s written legislation to make sending your kids to college a little easier.

Joe Biden brings tempered experience to an Obama White House.  He has been doing this longer than Barack has been driving a car.  He speaks his mind, he’s not one to sugar coat, he has a god damn sense of humour already, and he means what he says.  Yeah, maybe he voted for the war, but SO DID YOU.  (not all of you, but most of you, admit it)  Maybe he’s way more into drug enforcement than I think he should be, but whatever.  I don’t do drugs, never have, never will.  I kind of don’t care.  Prosecute it if you must.  Maybe I just won’t ever see eye to eye with him on everything, but I don’t see eye to eye with my husband on everything either, and I let him see me naked.

There is a lot of chatter about how Obama messed up by tapping Biden for the VP spot, how it deters from his message of Change, and that we Dems will be disenchanted by that.  Realistically, I think (or maybe I just hope) that the vast majority of us, even those who are totally gun-ho for fresh blood and a new outlook in the White House, will appreciate that though there are quite a few slates that need to be wiped clean in our government, there are some that just need to be looked at with mature eyes, with understanding and reasonable and experienced eyes, and maybe just smoothed a little bit.  And that maybe excited, young, fresh eyes sometimes overlook things that someone a bit older, a bit wiser, someone who’s looked for those things before will catch.

Right now, my country is heading towards the ICU.  My hope is that JObama will keep a good many things in our nation’s post-operative care from slipping through the cracks.  Because, man oh lordy, if we don’t get it right this time, I don’t know if our little country is going to make it out whole.  And my country is a great place, with a long life ahead of it.

Copied and pasted from the comments, Miko564 adds this, which I wanted to, but couldn’t find the words.  Thanks, yo.

I wasn’t a fan of Biden’s either, until I heard the story about his family.  He was elected to office, then his wife AND daughter were killed in a car accident.  (That would be where I would have curled up in the fetal position and stayed there for a year.)  He wants to abdicate the office to stay at home with his surviving sons.  His supporters talked him into staying in the Senate, but he wants to care for his sons…. So, he decides to stay in DE and COMMUTES TO DC BY TRAIN EVERYDAY FOR 30+ YEARS!!! He raises his kids AND serves his country in the Senate.

I am an independent, and have voted Rep as many times as Dem, but if that ain’t family values I don’t know what is.  Let Rush, and his like, talk about values, while becoming drug addicts, or trying to cheat on their wives in Airport bathrooms (cause they can’t admit they’re gay) and let REAL men do whatever needs to be done to take care of their own.

Do you know that I kinda love me some hair metal?  Do you know that I was a teenager at the height of the hair metal phase?  Do you know that I grew up in a cult and Simon and Garfunkel was edited for content in my house?  Do you know HOW MUCH THAT SUCKS?

A few weeks ago, some old friends rolled into town, and my friend Colleen and I threw on some black eyeliner, tight jeans and blue eyeshadow and went downtown to see them.

By ‘old friends’, of course, I mean ‘people that I knew when I was 22 because my friend Chris used to play in the band but quit because one of the guitarists was being a dickhead and right after he quit they made it, so bygones, and I haven’t seen in somewhere just over 8 years, since they went and got themselves all famous and shit’.  Still, we hung out and swapped baby pictures back in the day.  It was nice.

10 days ago I got to sit in the middle of GM Place, which is big, yo, and listen to them kick out some jams.  Which is a fairly decent improvement from the last tiny little skank ass hole in the wall dive I saw them play at.  But, admittedly, our seats were muchmuchmuch better back then.  And we totally got backstage.  Which was our cocktail table.  This time, not so much.

So, anyway, they came to town with some other guys they seem to know now.  Maybe you’ve heard of them?  Motley Crue?  You know, with the little dots over the U that I don’t know how to type, but Hubs does, but he won’t teach me?  Yeah, them.  Apparently, there is such a desperate need for getting more Crue in Ue that the sweet, nice boys in that band decided to go on a national tour, giving the people what they so desperately need.  MORE CRUE.  A festival of Crue, if you will.  We’ll call CrueFest.  With the dots.  Whatever.

Buckcherry started their set, the one right before Da Crue went on, and I was *this* little bit anxious, because, well, I haven’t bought one of their albums since their first album, because I suck that’s why, and I didn’t really know what to expect.  Good news?  They sound JUST as good as they did back then.  I was genuinely impressed.  They played a few songs I knew, and then a bunch that I didn’t, and even though I couldn’t understand one single word they were saying except the slightly more (every) than (other) occasional (word) fuck and dick and cock and bitch, it sounded good.  I rocked on.  And got a bit of an education.

They played a little pianoy, guitary sorta diddy towards the end of their show called, I believe, “She a crazy bitch, but I like the way she fuck me,” and everyone’s instruments of shining light at rock concerts came flying out.  Cell phones?  Really?  WUSSIES.  Where’s the danger?  Live on the edge a little, people.

(PS: Babysitters, people.  BABYSITTERS.  I really can’t stress this one enough.  There are just some things children should only learn about on the internet.)

Next up? THE CRUE. Word to your mother. The show started out with a tremendous display of pyrotechnic prowess:

and then Vince Neil opened his mouth and I realized something I’d never have know had I not seen them live; he sings with that evil, unholy nasally voice because after so many hours of rocking out, the only decibels the human ear are capable of hearing are those at the same levels as a dog whistle. It’s GENIUS.

The show continued, and in a clever attempt to amuse the stoned off their ass, acid washed jeans wearing, 50 something really need a haircut and perhaps a direction in their lives adoring throngs of fans, they designed their backdrop to exactly match Space Invaders.

Can’t you just hear it?  Bleep…bleep…BING!  (Oh, wait, is that Pong?  Shit, I’m old.)  In case you need reference:

When I’m right, I’m right, yo.  This was almost enough to distract me from the fact that the Jumbotrons on either side of the stage (not pictured) were playing a constant stream of a shockingly hard core, fisty sort of leather bound dominatrix lesbian porn THE ENTIRE DURATION OF THE SHOW.  Thankfully, it was laced with almost but not quite subliminal anti-Bush propaganda, which was A) totally ironic and B) as close to art as I imagine those guys will ever get.  Mad props.  NO ONE could take their eyes off of it for the whole show, which got their message across nicely and kept anyone from actually having to look at 50 year old men in 18 year old boys jeans attempting to rock.  THANK YOU, MOTLEY CRUE.

They put on an impressive light show, and I found it strange that a whole lot of their lights were the exact colors my two year old has chosen for her winter wardrobe.

But then I took my eyes off for one and only one second remembered the naked ladies doing really awful things to each other on the big screens, and I put that together with all the pink and purple, and I noted the excessive gyration on the stage, and it all became clear.

Motley Crue are FLAMING GAY.

Don’t believe me? How’s THIS for subtle?

Flames.  Loads and loads of FLAMES.  Anyway, the show went on, I squeeled with all the gusto my inner teenager could muster, and I realized by the end of the concert that maybe I wasn’t ever really so much into the Crue.  Well, except for this guy.  You can be as cocky, womanizing, disgusting and just plain yucky-pants as you want to be, but if you can play drums the way Tommy Lee can play drums, I’ll still sing along with all my little heart when you sit down at the piano and bust out a little ballad during your encore.

It’s okay, Tommy; I totally dig gay guys.

See all of Lotus’ Weekly Losers winners right here. I’m totally a winner. Winners go to CrueFest in their mid 30’s even though it’s a work night and traffic’s going to suck on the way home. THEY DO.