A Mother's Balancing Act

Arizona - Man - It's a Whole Different Universe!

I really should have posted this before the election. It would have been more timely, what with McCain being from Arizona and all. But in typical procrastinator's fashion, here I am...late. Again.

So, a few weeks ago, Big Strong Man and I traveled to McCain's home state for my cousin's wedding. The details are now not quite as fresh in my mind, so a few observations about the state in general will have to suffice:

• Speed limits (especially those posted on any highway) are merely a suggestion. Drive any speed you choose at any time. Double that sentiment for construction zones regardless of all of those temporary reproving signs, warning you that fines are double in construction zones. (If there really isn't any fining going on to begin with, then doubling that isn't going to have much of a consequence, now is it?!). I nearly got blown off the road when I slowed to the posted construction zone speed...silly outsider!

• Plan to keep your broom and dustpan handy at all times for sweeping up tarantulas at a moment's notice. Yes, I speak in utter deadpan sincerity on this topic.

• Lizards, lizards and more lizards.

• I so wish that I had photographed the gentleman, in full business attire mind you, and shades propped up on his head as if he'd just raced over from the office. There he was hammering away on an electric organ (complete with steel drum and string effects) when we happened into a convenience store on Interstate 10, driving from Phoenix to Tucson. What was the song, you ask? Rocky Top. (no, the link is not to the guy singing...it's just in case you don't know the song...) There was a sign on top of the organ that read, "The Crooners". That's all, nothing more. Had I not witnessed it with my own eyes and ears, I'm not sure I would have believed the story. I walked through the store, picking up my bottled water and some candy, suppressing my guffaw, listening to tune after tune. Live music at the convenience store. Who'da thunk it? Shoot fahr! When we got to the counter, sensing my impending laughter, the cashier pleaded, "Don't even ask me. I have no idea!" By then, we'd been regaled with Rocky Top, On the Road Again and several others which are now escaping me. BSM and I figured out that he was one member of a band from the nearby Casino. We were driving through an Indian reservation. Apparently, he was (literally?) trying to drum up some business. Stop by next time you're ambling through AZ.

• Keep a watchful eye on your small children if you are visiting the foothills of the mountains. Again, not kidding. Mountain lions. Eating children. In Arizona.

• Did I mention rattlesnakes? In gardens? (See photo above from my cousin's backyard.)

• You know how you see the signs for lost dogs all over the place? Not so in Arizona. In Tucson, it was "LOST GOAT: Reward". I nearly wrecked the rental over that one! At a major intersection, no less.

OK, so I've told you all the funny stuff. But I haven't yet mentioned the amazing sunsets, my hilarious and fun family (why do we wait so long between visits???), my gorgeous relatives' homes, the fabulous food we ate, the wonderful resort where we stayed (Westward Look) (my cousin's new wife secured a great rate!), the fact that it was cold at home but 90 degrees in AZ, and that the cost of living appeared to be similar to ours in the Midwest. Plus, my family even told me they loved the book! You gotta' love that White Trash Mom movement. It's everywhere! Even in Arizona!

Having said all of that, are we moving? Not on your sweet scorpion life!

Cheers,

Balanced Babe (Molly Wendland)

Note to Muffia Mom from Parking Lot

Do you ever have those driving moments that are so unbelievable to you that you can't even comprehend that they are happening? This one was so much that way that I had to wait a couple of days to let the dust settle before writing about it. Allow me to lay the scene...

Saturday night, I went to pick up Girl 2 from a "mixer" (read: social where teenage boys and girls assemble in a high school gym, horde together in a huge mass in the center of said gym, assume rave-type style of dancing for 3 hours in one sweaty throng of teenage hormonal vigor and then depart in private cars driven by an assortment of parental units).

The traffic to merely get into the parking lot of the high school was backed up for 4 blocks, so I figured out that I could go in the "back way". Feeling somewhat smug now that I am a "veteran mom", I snaked my way through (with other "veteran parents" it turned out...) and was nearing the area where I would finally reach my daughter when the car in front of me suddenly came to a grinding halt. Stopped. On a dime. Fortunately, I was paying good attention, and I stopped too. Figuring that a child had run in front of the car in front of me, I waited patiently to no avail. The woman did not move. We were in the middle of an aisle, and I couldn't pass her. The parking lot was teeming with teenagers, who should have known better but were running everywhere. It was dark. They were difficult to see, and it was really a pretty dangerous situation, with so many cars and so many kids running all over the place.

It was at this point that the woman in front of me put her BMW SUV in reverse. What the heck? I should point out here that in spite of the fact that the parking lot had tons of cars, there were oodles of spaces available. The cars were there to pick kids up, so most were not parking. Frustrated, I look behind me and all around, and against my better judgment, start backing up to accommodate the lady in front of me, who appears to need to back up. I back up about 6 feet and stop, figuring this should give the lady enough room to do whatever it is that she needs to do. Keep in mind that this woman and I are the only ones in this particular row (other than the 6 million running, screaming, cavorting teenagers...).

So, the lady starts backing up and angling to the right toward a parking spot. I am incredulous that she is backing into a parking space when there is an entire parking lot of spaces available. Spots to her left and right, directly in front of her. Suddenly, I am aware that she is still backing up, has not judged her turn correctly, and she is going to hit my car. I am still in "park" and can't move in time, so I "beep" my horn at her to alert her that I am in her way. It is at this time that she stops dead, turns her head to look at me and throws her hands out the window at me with a look of pure disgust, bobbing her head. I only wish you could see me imitating this Muffy.

Yes, apparently, I was the one to blame. I was only happy that she would have to keep backing up to finish getting into her spot and I would be long gone, so she couldn't B*^+* slap me like she so obviously wanted to. Yep. Encounters with the Muffia on a Saturday night. It's the stuff nightmares are made of. Not pretty, lemme tell ya'.

In recounting this story to friends at  dinner the following evening, I felt a little better when our friend John told me he would have been "laying on the horn waaaaay before you did and a lot more than that little beep." I've always been way too nice. It's a character flaw, really.

NOTE to MUFFY: Next time I won't be so nice. Next time I might not even back up to accommodate you. In fact, you never know when a girl might be PMS'ing, so if I were you, I'd just keep it in Drive, sister. Backing up in a dark parking lot that's teeming with 350 hormonal teenagers is a bad idea. You knew that when you did it. And you know what? Looking at me like I was the crazy one wasn't working for you. Next time, let your husband pick your teen up after the mixer. Stay home, and have another cosmo. Or better yet, just go to bed early next time. Better for everyone involved.

Balanced Babe

Author, Author!

Those are words I never dreamt might apply to me. Author. Of a book. Yet here I sit. A published author. It's been a long journey. Three years ago, Michelle Lamar called me and asked if I might like to write about the daily happenings in my crazy life on her new blog. I'd been regaling her with stories of my ineptitude as a mother:

• How I regularly forgot to turn things in on time
• How we'd race up to school just in the nick of time
• Or better yet, leave the parking lot to get that forgotten item just as the bell was ringing, etc.

Michelle thought I'd be the perfect addition to fill in some gaps, along with stories from her own (far crazier!) life. I thought this sounded like great fun. I'd always loved writing, and this would be a creative outlet and a nice way to "vent" some pent up frustrations. Here's how the conversation went from there:

Molly: Sure, what the heck? What's the name of your blog?

Michelle: (with a sly smile): White Trash Mom

Molly: (spewing my cafe Americano): Say it again, please?

Michelle: You heard me, sister. White Trash Mom!

Molly: (visibly nervous/horrified/starting to sweat on the palms...): Why the hell did you name it THAT?

Michelle: 'Cuz' I'm a total smartass...you know that!

Molly: (soon to be Tacky Princess): Well, that goes without saying, but...I don't get it.

Michelle: (having already dubbed herself the Queen of White Trash): Look. It's really not that trashy. It's just...look at all the moms in the parking lot every day. Perfect hair. Perfectly dressed. And then look at us. Well, you look pretty good...most of the time. OK, now look at me. I take my kids to school in my pajamas every day. I'm lucky if they get there on time.

Molly: Me, too.

Michelle: See? That's what it's about. White Trash Moms embrace that.

Molly: Taking their kids to school late all the time?

Michelle: Noooo...(sighing, as if I just might not make the white trash mom grade after all...). It's about being imperfect as a mom and being OK with that. Embracing it! And to hell with all the perfect moms! As if!

Molly: Oh. Well, I can live with that.

And that was that. I started writing for White Trash Mom. In deference to "the Queen", I became Tacky Princess. And the rest is history. Our online numbers got better and better, and the next thing you know, Michelle's "little" blog started getting national attention. Then, she started talking about writing a book. There's nothing small about Michelle Lamar...

Tacky Princess: A book? Really?

Queen of White Trash: Yes, a book. Why not?

TP: Wow, I never thought about that. A book. Sounds cool.

The Queen: I've already written most of the proposal. Do you want in?

TP: Sure!

And again, we were off and running, Michelle leading the way. And the next thing you know...

• She found our super agent, Levine Greenburg
• They found our wonderful publisher, St Martin's Press
• And the rest is history

Or so the story goes. And here we are. Published. It's a little surreal, really. After countless hours of writing and edits, etc. The book is really here! OK, enough already...

Cheers.

Tacky Princess / Balanced Babe