Saying It Loud
Richard J. Alley
When I was a kid in school, I recall taking field trips to Chucalissa Indian Village, where the high point of the visit was buying an authentic Indian arrowhead in the gift shop. We also went to the Pink Palace, when it was actually in the house, to see the shrunken heads. And, of course, there was the zoo when all it boasted was a fetid concrete box housing the lions, just a short walk from an island of monkeys.
Today, I chaperoned Calvin’s class at the Rock 'n Soul Museum in the FedEx Forum. We walked there, his school being only a few blocks from this venue, and along the way there were impromptu history lessons given by Dr. Max on the Robert Churches, W.C. Handy and the history of Beale Street.
The museum tour begins with a 15-minute film on the evolution of blues to soul and rock-n-roll and it was great to see the kids' heads, from my vantage point in the back of the theater, bobbing and dancing along with Carl Perkins, Sam and Dave and Elvis. At certain points, too, they broke out and sang along on "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Respect." The tour was self-guided, each child and adult wandering around with headphones and an MP3 player that allowed its user to punch in a three-digit number to hear a narrator discussing a particular display or, most often, to listen to song lists on any number of juke boxes set up throughout the museum. The kids danced and strutted to everyone from Furry Lewis to Al Green, and it was great to hear them singing, with no thought as to their volume, along with "Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)," "That's All Right (Mama)" and "Walk The Line."
Music, and the history of Memphis music in particular, is a great catalyst for the discussion of civil rights, its history, and the proper way one human should treat another. The Rock 'n Soul Museum devotes much time in the introductory film to this cause and there is a large display on nothing but the Civil Rights Movement. But as I watched these black and white children, all of whom were born at the turn of this century, dance and sing together while laughing and helping each other with the given assignment, it occurred to me that all of the strife and tension and heartache of the last century is mostly lost on them. And that's a good thing, because it left their hearts and minds wide open to the music in their ears.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
One Time, At Rock-n-Roll Camp…
One Time, At Rock-n-Roll Camp…
Stacey Greenberg
Inspired by the Rock 'n' Roll Camp for Girls in Portland, Oregon, the Southern Girls Rock & Roll Camp (SGRRC) was founded by Kelley Anderson in Murfreesboro, TN in 2003 to encourage more young women to become involved in music. The weeklong camp centers on each girl joining a band composed of fellow campers, then writing and rehearsing a song to play at a showcase for parents and friends on the last day. The camp also features live performances and panel discussions with local musicians and workshops.
Last summer, SGRRC expanded to Memphis. Through the magic of the internet, Kelley asked me to teach the zine-making workshop. Since the camp was being held right across the street from my office, I replied with an enthusiastic yes.
I have to admit that I was pretty nervous the first day, not knowing what to expect. Little boys—no problem. Girls ages 10-17—no clue. I ended up with four really sweet and talented girls and an awesome assistant, Jessi, who is a former camper.
Monday we just sat around and got to know each other and talked about what a zine is. We had a whole stack of sample zines to check out, and I gave everyone a copy of Fertile Ground. Then I tried to explain why a mom might want to make a zine without mentioning words like homebirth, breastfeeding, or circumcision that might freak them out. Luckily, the latest issue was the Memphis issue, and I was able to convince them I was semi-cool with the details of breaking my leg in two places in the roller derby.
Tuesday we busted out the box of art supplies and started making collages. Everyone was a little more relaxed and we had fun discussing what we wanted to put in the zine. I also talked to Chuck, the photography teacher, about getting some pictures of the bands that the girls were forming for the zine.
Wednesday I was a bit panicked about not having any content, so I asked the girls to do some writing before we busted out the art supplies. I talked to Kelley to see if she could get the band names, members names, bios, and lyrics for me to include. No small task! No one could come up with a name for the zine so I shyly asked my group of budding hipsters in Ramones and Go-Go’s shirts if they had ever seen the movie “American Pie.” They nodded. “Remember how that girl was saying, 'One time at band camp'?" They nodded. "Want to call it that?" They looked around at each other and giggled in approval.
"Maybe we could cross out the word 'band' and replace it with 'rock-n-roll'," Halle suggested.
"Yeah, we could cross it out with red lipstick!" Allie said.
Hoping to have a stapling party Friday, I told the girls they'd have to work on a few things at home so we could get everything laid out on Thursday. At lunch it occurred to me that everything we were doing was in color and that when I gave the girls free reign to pick out the style of zine they wanted to do, I never asked Kelley what our budget was for printing!
Thursday I came in to find all of the volunteers looking very sleepy and hungover. Kelley, Jessi, and Nikki are in an old time country band called Those Darlins and they played at Murphy's Wednesday night. Chuck had stayed up late too. But it wasn't too bad--Kelley had most of the band info and Chuck had all of the pictures I needed on his computer. Once we got all of the band info together--there were eight total--we suddenly had lots and lots of content for the zine. And best of all, Halle made an amazing cover collage.
We ran out of time, so Jessi and I ate a quick lunch and then finished the layout ourselves. Even though she is totally laid back and awesome, she agreed with me that we needed a table of contents and page numbers. I was very worried about coming off as totally anal!!
Friday when I showed up for class, long-armed stapler in hand, I found out that the zine was still at the printer's. So much for the stapling party! Jessi had the great idea of making little envelopes and putting fortunes into them to wedge between the staples of the final zine. We had a great time doing this--especially me, the old dog learning a new trick.
I left after lunch with a promise of a phone call by Anna, the director, as soon as the zine was printed. I planned to rush over and get it stapled before graduation later that evening. At about 4:45pm I got a text message that said, "They are all here, they are stapled, and they are all in color!"
On Saturday at the Showcase, Kelley, the founder, actually said to me, "I got a chance to sit down and read the zine last night and it is the best one we've ever had."
As awesome as the zine was, the real highlight of the camp was the Showcase at the end of the week. Inside the Gibson Guitar Factory, the lights were low, the room was packed with parents and friends, and you could feel the buzz in the air. There was no actual backstage, so campers were milling about all dolled up and you could tell that they were PUMPED. And NERVOUS as hell.
First up was Squirrel vs. Ferret who sang an original song called "Frozen Sorrows." Two of my zinesters were on guitar and the lead singer had a great smile on her face the whole time she was up there. I seriously got goosebumps and almost started balling!
The Country Gals featured a zinester on guitar. EVERYONE had been talking about The Country Gals all week. They were the youngest band--each girl is about ten--and they wrote a song called "Daddy Buy Me a Dancing Horse." They all made shirts with horses on them and the girl on vocals, Kierstan, came out in pigtails and said, "Daddy, come here!" before she started the song. She hopped up and down the whole time she sang. At one point she stopped and took three or four big breaths. It was so damn cute it hurt.
Loveless was next, featuring a zinester on keyboards. Their song, "Broken Prince Charming," was great and the lead singer had a really unique voice. Her mom was jumping up and down in the audience screaming, "That's my daughter! That's my daughter!" It was hilarious. I can't wait to do that to Satchel and/or Jiro someday.
Forgotten Blue featured the daughter of some good friends of mine who just happened to be standing next to me. I went back and forth from watching Flannery to watching her mom and tried to imagine the feeling. Flannery looked so grown up and cool. I had seen her throughout the week and did my best to be friendly without embarrassing her.
Jessi's band, the Klassix, did an original song in the style of the Sherrell's. I was really glad that my friend Hope was with me since we went to high school and girl scout camp together. We both just looked at each other, shook our heads, and wondered what our lives would have been like had we had Rock-n-Roll camp!
Ravad 74 ended the show with their very catchy and very well done original song "Unsinkable." (When I'm not singing "Daddy daddy buy me a dancing horse," I'm singing "I'm unsinkable/No one can bring me down/I'm unsinkable/I don't want you around.") Now, these girls really knew how to rock. Granted they were the oldest girls and one of the members, Audra Brown, already has an album out, but damn. If they don't become rock stars, I have no doubt they will at least join the roller derby!
It was a really awesome show and an amazing experience overall. You really just had to be there. I'm so excited about the future of SGRRC and cannot wait until next year. I've got to find a way to take the whole week off so I won't have to miss a minute!
Stacey Greenberg
Inspired by the Rock 'n' Roll Camp for Girls in Portland, Oregon, the Southern Girls Rock & Roll Camp (SGRRC) was founded by Kelley Anderson in Murfreesboro, TN in 2003 to encourage more young women to become involved in music. The weeklong camp centers on each girl joining a band composed of fellow campers, then writing and rehearsing a song to play at a showcase for parents and friends on the last day. The camp also features live performances and panel discussions with local musicians and workshops.
Last summer, SGRRC expanded to Memphis. Through the magic of the internet, Kelley asked me to teach the zine-making workshop. Since the camp was being held right across the street from my office, I replied with an enthusiastic yes.
I have to admit that I was pretty nervous the first day, not knowing what to expect. Little boys—no problem. Girls ages 10-17—no clue. I ended up with four really sweet and talented girls and an awesome assistant, Jessi, who is a former camper.
Monday we just sat around and got to know each other and talked about what a zine is. We had a whole stack of sample zines to check out, and I gave everyone a copy of Fertile Ground. Then I tried to explain why a mom might want to make a zine without mentioning words like homebirth, breastfeeding, or circumcision that might freak them out. Luckily, the latest issue was the Memphis issue, and I was able to convince them I was semi-cool with the details of breaking my leg in two places in the roller derby.
Tuesday we busted out the box of art supplies and started making collages. Everyone was a little more relaxed and we had fun discussing what we wanted to put in the zine. I also talked to Chuck, the photography teacher, about getting some pictures of the bands that the girls were forming for the zine.
Wednesday I was a bit panicked about not having any content, so I asked the girls to do some writing before we busted out the art supplies. I talked to Kelley to see if she could get the band names, members names, bios, and lyrics for me to include. No small task! No one could come up with a name for the zine so I shyly asked my group of budding hipsters in Ramones and Go-Go’s shirts if they had ever seen the movie “American Pie.” They nodded. “Remember how that girl was saying, 'One time at band camp'?" They nodded. "Want to call it that?" They looked around at each other and giggled in approval.
"Maybe we could cross out the word 'band' and replace it with 'rock-n-roll'," Halle suggested.
"Yeah, we could cross it out with red lipstick!" Allie said.
Hoping to have a stapling party Friday, I told the girls they'd have to work on a few things at home so we could get everything laid out on Thursday. At lunch it occurred to me that everything we were doing was in color and that when I gave the girls free reign to pick out the style of zine they wanted to do, I never asked Kelley what our budget was for printing!
Thursday I came in to find all of the volunteers looking very sleepy and hungover. Kelley, Jessi, and Nikki are in an old time country band called Those Darlins and they played at Murphy's Wednesday night. Chuck had stayed up late too. But it wasn't too bad--Kelley had most of the band info and Chuck had all of the pictures I needed on his computer. Once we got all of the band info together--there were eight total--we suddenly had lots and lots of content for the zine. And best of all, Halle made an amazing cover collage.
We ran out of time, so Jessi and I ate a quick lunch and then finished the layout ourselves. Even though she is totally laid back and awesome, she agreed with me that we needed a table of contents and page numbers. I was very worried about coming off as totally anal!!
Friday when I showed up for class, long-armed stapler in hand, I found out that the zine was still at the printer's. So much for the stapling party! Jessi had the great idea of making little envelopes and putting fortunes into them to wedge between the staples of the final zine. We had a great time doing this--especially me, the old dog learning a new trick.
I left after lunch with a promise of a phone call by Anna, the director, as soon as the zine was printed. I planned to rush over and get it stapled before graduation later that evening. At about 4:45pm I got a text message that said, "They are all here, they are stapled, and they are all in color!"
On Saturday at the Showcase, Kelley, the founder, actually said to me, "I got a chance to sit down and read the zine last night and it is the best one we've ever had."
As awesome as the zine was, the real highlight of the camp was the Showcase at the end of the week. Inside the Gibson Guitar Factory, the lights were low, the room was packed with parents and friends, and you could feel the buzz in the air. There was no actual backstage, so campers were milling about all dolled up and you could tell that they were PUMPED. And NERVOUS as hell.
First up was Squirrel vs. Ferret who sang an original song called "Frozen Sorrows." Two of my zinesters were on guitar and the lead singer had a great smile on her face the whole time she was up there. I seriously got goosebumps and almost started balling!
The Country Gals featured a zinester on guitar. EVERYONE had been talking about The Country Gals all week. They were the youngest band--each girl is about ten--and they wrote a song called "Daddy Buy Me a Dancing Horse." They all made shirts with horses on them and the girl on vocals, Kierstan, came out in pigtails and said, "Daddy, come here!" before she started the song. She hopped up and down the whole time she sang. At one point she stopped and took three or four big breaths. It was so damn cute it hurt.
Loveless was next, featuring a zinester on keyboards. Their song, "Broken Prince Charming," was great and the lead singer had a really unique voice. Her mom was jumping up and down in the audience screaming, "That's my daughter! That's my daughter!" It was hilarious. I can't wait to do that to Satchel and/or Jiro someday.
Forgotten Blue featured the daughter of some good friends of mine who just happened to be standing next to me. I went back and forth from watching Flannery to watching her mom and tried to imagine the feeling. Flannery looked so grown up and cool. I had seen her throughout the week and did my best to be friendly without embarrassing her.
Jessi's band, the Klassix, did an original song in the style of the Sherrell's. I was really glad that my friend Hope was with me since we went to high school and girl scout camp together. We both just looked at each other, shook our heads, and wondered what our lives would have been like had we had Rock-n-Roll camp!
Ravad 74 ended the show with their very catchy and very well done original song "Unsinkable." (When I'm not singing "Daddy daddy buy me a dancing horse," I'm singing "I'm unsinkable/No one can bring me down/I'm unsinkable/I don't want you around.") Now, these girls really knew how to rock. Granted they were the oldest girls and one of the members, Audra Brown, already has an album out, but damn. If they don't become rock stars, I have no doubt they will at least join the roller derby!
It was a really awesome show and an amazing experience overall. You really just had to be there. I'm so excited about the future of SGRRC and cannot wait until next year. I've got to find a way to take the whole week off so I won't have to miss a minute!
All Roads Lead to Mothersville
All Roads Lead to Mothersville
Essay & Photo by Melissa Anderson Sweazy
January 2007
The friendly people on bikes and the moms pushing strollers and folks walking dogs past our window? The ones our realtor promised he saw everyday in front of our soon to-be new house at quitting time? Gone. Held hostage by an unusually bitter winter. Unusually bitter for Memphis. Totally in keeping with my rotten, lonely pregnant self. We’ve been in Memphis for six months. The psychic told me that six months would be all I needed to acclimate, but she saw the move in the cards. We were gonna be golden, she insisted. I wonder if she can sense my demanding a refund.
I cry in supermarkets and fake smiles for the cashiers who coo over the bulge sticking out of my winter coat. They congratulate me on getting pregnant at such an ideal time, because, as I am constantly informed, I’m a walking space heater. But I am Californian, my blood thinned from 60 degree winters and pilates and therapy. I shiver at night, wrapped around Bob, my hated, constant body pillow companion. By day I wait for calls from the West Coast, playing the time change game. (My 11 is their 9 – surely they are awake?) I keep company with a pile of baby books that advise not to attempt major stressors while pregnant, like moving across the country from your support and leaving a city of palm trees and outdoor cafes and fabulousness for the loneliest spot on the block. I’ll keep that in mind for the next one.
April 2007
Baby’s here. I’m feeling better. My girl and I watch old movies at 4a.m., chunks of refrigerated cabbage stuffed into my nursing bra to cool my tattered boobs. This is actually no small victory. For a week I was too scared to watch TV in the parlor because I was afraid a stray bullet might pierce the window and my baby’s precious head. How must new mothers in Iraq feel?
I need to get a grip. I need to get out of the house.
Fortunately for me, there is a store just blocks away called Mothersville. The name implies a city of mothers contained in one shop. I’m intrigued. I buy a nursing bra.
The owner is quiet, enigmatic…but ooh looky here. She keeps a blog. She just posted a lovely homily to Vonnegut. A city of mothers and nursing bras and beautiful baby slings and witty scribes posting about one of my favorite authors. I’m doubly intrigued.
June 2007
I’ve been assured the one and under playgroup is really for the moms. And the moms! There’s a mom from Atlanta by way of New York and a mom from Boston by way of Seattle. They have managed to make it out the door fully dressed with children who have not been maimed, or pierced by stray bullets. Amazingly, they even talk about having more children. And staying in Memphis to do so. Craziness.
I keep reading the blog. The owner is selling the store, because she needs a break. Did I mention she is pregnant with her second child? I keep checking the blog. Nobody is commenting. Wheels are turning.
July 2007
In playgroup, I bring up my intense fear of the kitchen floor, how my wicked mom brain shows me images of baby head meeting unforgiving concrete. How quickly my story is trumped – basement stairs, broken necks, a baby trying to nurse on an unconscious body. I am seriously starting to fall in love with these crazy-ass mothers.
Several of us have been keeping the store open while the owner is out on maternity leave. People are stunned when I tell them it is on a volunteer basis. But it’s more than just a store, I tell them. I’m stunned to hear the words come out of my mouth. Something in Memphis has found my devotion. Everyone agrees, it’s more than just a store. It sounds corny, but it’s true. The store is about to be taken away from a city that needs different, away from the mothers that need a place to be crazy and smeared with spit up and still feel safe. We will do what it takes to keep it open.
What it takes?
I want the store to stay open. But I hate retail. I’ve dreamed of running my own business. But there’s that whole being in the store for hours. Selling things. Not writing. But…
A couple comes into the store on my last day to volunteer. They look dazed – I know that look. It’s the two pink lines burned into the retinas combined with an ill-advised first trimester excursion to Babies R Us. I’m thinking they are five weeks pregnant, tops.
They do a loop through the store, touching slings and handling cloth diaper covers with confusion and awe. They leave without buying anything when they suddenly reappear. They are new in town, they explain, and it looks like they are gonna need an ob/gyn. I ask how far along. A few weeks, they wager. They haven’t told anyone, except me. I give several names, and they give me the most beautiful smiles in return.
I officially become a part owner of Mothersville a few weeks later, because it’s more than just a store. It feels like home.
Now about the color scheme…
Essay & Photo by Melissa Anderson Sweazy
January 2007
The friendly people on bikes and the moms pushing strollers and folks walking dogs past our window? The ones our realtor promised he saw everyday in front of our soon to-be new house at quitting time? Gone. Held hostage by an unusually bitter winter. Unusually bitter for Memphis. Totally in keeping with my rotten, lonely pregnant self. We’ve been in Memphis for six months. The psychic told me that six months would be all I needed to acclimate, but she saw the move in the cards. We were gonna be golden, she insisted. I wonder if she can sense my demanding a refund.
I cry in supermarkets and fake smiles for the cashiers who coo over the bulge sticking out of my winter coat. They congratulate me on getting pregnant at such an ideal time, because, as I am constantly informed, I’m a walking space heater. But I am Californian, my blood thinned from 60 degree winters and pilates and therapy. I shiver at night, wrapped around Bob, my hated, constant body pillow companion. By day I wait for calls from the West Coast, playing the time change game. (My 11 is their 9 – surely they are awake?) I keep company with a pile of baby books that advise not to attempt major stressors while pregnant, like moving across the country from your support and leaving a city of palm trees and outdoor cafes and fabulousness for the loneliest spot on the block. I’ll keep that in mind for the next one.
April 2007
Baby’s here. I’m feeling better. My girl and I watch old movies at 4a.m., chunks of refrigerated cabbage stuffed into my nursing bra to cool my tattered boobs. This is actually no small victory. For a week I was too scared to watch TV in the parlor because I was afraid a stray bullet might pierce the window and my baby’s precious head. How must new mothers in Iraq feel?
I need to get a grip. I need to get out of the house.
Fortunately for me, there is a store just blocks away called Mothersville. The name implies a city of mothers contained in one shop. I’m intrigued. I buy a nursing bra.
The owner is quiet, enigmatic…but ooh looky here. She keeps a blog. She just posted a lovely homily to Vonnegut. A city of mothers and nursing bras and beautiful baby slings and witty scribes posting about one of my favorite authors. I’m doubly intrigued.
June 2007
I’ve been assured the one and under playgroup is really for the moms. And the moms! There’s a mom from Atlanta by way of New York and a mom from Boston by way of Seattle. They have managed to make it out the door fully dressed with children who have not been maimed, or pierced by stray bullets. Amazingly, they even talk about having more children. And staying in Memphis to do so. Craziness.
I keep reading the blog. The owner is selling the store, because she needs a break. Did I mention she is pregnant with her second child? I keep checking the blog. Nobody is commenting. Wheels are turning.
July 2007
In playgroup, I bring up my intense fear of the kitchen floor, how my wicked mom brain shows me images of baby head meeting unforgiving concrete. How quickly my story is trumped – basement stairs, broken necks, a baby trying to nurse on an unconscious body. I am seriously starting to fall in love with these crazy-ass mothers.
Several of us have been keeping the store open while the owner is out on maternity leave. People are stunned when I tell them it is on a volunteer basis. But it’s more than just a store, I tell them. I’m stunned to hear the words come out of my mouth. Something in Memphis has found my devotion. Everyone agrees, it’s more than just a store. It sounds corny, but it’s true. The store is about to be taken away from a city that needs different, away from the mothers that need a place to be crazy and smeared with spit up and still feel safe. We will do what it takes to keep it open.
What it takes?
I want the store to stay open. But I hate retail. I’ve dreamed of running my own business. But there’s that whole being in the store for hours. Selling things. Not writing. But…
A couple comes into the store on my last day to volunteer. They look dazed – I know that look. It’s the two pink lines burned into the retinas combined with an ill-advised first trimester excursion to Babies R Us. I’m thinking they are five weeks pregnant, tops.
They do a loop through the store, touching slings and handling cloth diaper covers with confusion and awe. They leave without buying anything when they suddenly reappear. They are new in town, they explain, and it looks like they are gonna need an ob/gyn. I ask how far along. A few weeks, they wager. They haven’t told anyone, except me. I give several names, and they give me the most beautiful smiles in return.
I officially become a part owner of Mothersville a few weeks later, because it’s more than just a store. It feels like home.
Now about the color scheme…
Build It and They Will Come
Build It and They Will Come
Courtney Miller Santo
Two years ago, when our little family first moved to Memphis, I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag, let alone to the nearest playground. But every week, I’d pick a new place and venture out a little bit farther and what I discovered was that Memphis has a tremendous number of places, events and activities for families. The problem was that not everyone seemed to know about all of the hidden gems.
And that is why I’ve created Kids in Memphis (www.memkids.com). I’ve just started, but I hope Kids in Memphis will offer two things to families looking to explore their city. I thought a bit about putting everything in a list and photocopying, but then I realized this was the 21st century and it would be a lot more productive to share this information in a blog. Plus it allows me to keep it updated and fresh with reviews.
Kids in Memphis is for urban parents who want know what our city has to offer their families. I want people to know what to expect before they attend an event or plan to spend the day at one of Memphis' many attractions. In addition to lists of places to go, parents can find reviews of those places with insider tips to help them have the most productive outing.
I say, upfront, that I have some biases with the site. I'm not going to spend a lot of time discussing places outside of Memphis and because we live in Midtown, expect a disproportionate amount of reviews of Midtown sites (at least until I can recruit other reviewers). I also know that if I try to make the site all things to all people, it will end up a mess and not useful to anyone. So think of it as sort of the best of the options out there with insider tips.
I'd really like to see Kids in Memphis become a community for parents to share their tips and reviews of places families can go in Memphis. This is really a labor of love for me, I'm not looking to make money or anything – I'll consider it successful if it encourages families to get out and be seen in Memphis.
Help build Kids in Memphis! Contact courtney.santo@gmail.com.
Courtney Miller Santo
Two years ago, when our little family first moved to Memphis, I couldn’t find my way out of a paper bag, let alone to the nearest playground. But every week, I’d pick a new place and venture out a little bit farther and what I discovered was that Memphis has a tremendous number of places, events and activities for families. The problem was that not everyone seemed to know about all of the hidden gems.
And that is why I’ve created Kids in Memphis (www.memkids.com). I’ve just started, but I hope Kids in Memphis will offer two things to families looking to explore their city. I thought a bit about putting everything in a list and photocopying, but then I realized this was the 21st century and it would be a lot more productive to share this information in a blog. Plus it allows me to keep it updated and fresh with reviews.
Kids in Memphis is for urban parents who want know what our city has to offer their families. I want people to know what to expect before they attend an event or plan to spend the day at one of Memphis' many attractions. In addition to lists of places to go, parents can find reviews of those places with insider tips to help them have the most productive outing.
I say, upfront, that I have some biases with the site. I'm not going to spend a lot of time discussing places outside of Memphis and because we live in Midtown, expect a disproportionate amount of reviews of Midtown sites (at least until I can recruit other reviewers). I also know that if I try to make the site all things to all people, it will end up a mess and not useful to anyone. So think of it as sort of the best of the options out there with insider tips.
I'd really like to see Kids in Memphis become a community for parents to share their tips and reviews of places families can go in Memphis. This is really a labor of love for me, I'm not looking to make money or anything – I'll consider it successful if it encourages families to get out and be seen in Memphis.
Help build Kids in Memphis! Contact courtney.santo@gmail.com.
Meet Colleen Couch-Smith
Meet Colleen Couch-Smith
Interview by Stacey Greenberg
Colleen Couch-Smith, 30, is an artist, restaurateur, mother of three (Brendan-13, Ian-5, and Ayden-2), and newest member of Memphis Roller Derby’s Legion of Zoom. I was really excited to meet her and thought you might be too.
Stacey Greenberg: How long have you been a mama?
Colleen Couch-Smith: I've been a mama for almost 13 years. I had Brendan when I was still in high school. I went to Hernando High in Mississippi. It was a total drag. I had Brendan when I was a senior. Teen moms are real common down there, but I was determined to incorporate my child into my life rather than change my course completely. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.
When Ben and I got married, we knew we wanted another kid but wanted to wait until things settled down at the restaurant. Well you just can't wait for stuff like that because IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN! We tried for a whole summer to make a baby. It wasn't until sometime around 9/11 that I got pregnant. All that staying at home watching the news did the trick I guess. After Ian turned into a toddler, I swore I'd never have another child. I finally started to regain my composure as a person. I sent Ian to Montessori school, joined a gym, and was in full swing with Rock, Paper, Scissors. I was really making an effort to become Colleen. Not "Ben's wife" or "Ian & Brendan's mom."
I was feeling incredibly sick and thought it was just unease about the life changes I was making. Then it dawned on me that I might be pregnant. Ben had recently been to the Burning Man festival and I swear he did some sort of sex voodoo while there. Let's just say I was extremely happy to see him when he got back. I can't say that I was happy about the pregnancy at first. It was a horrible time for me to be pregnant. But, I settled into it and ended up seeing a midwife instead of my OB. Brendan's birth was awesome only because I was ignorant about the process. Ian's birth was not a good experience and I knew I would not repeat it.
Ayden's birth was one of the most incredible and happy moments of my life. How is that? She weighed 10 fucking pounds...no drugs. Luckily it was only a 3 hour labor with about 15 minutes of pushing.
SG: Tell me about your work life.
CCS: I’m a bookkeeper at Tsunami, where my husband is the owner/chef. Every day is "Bring Your Kid to Work Day," which is a blessing and a curse. It's great to have them that close. They have amazing relationships with adults and they learn a little bit about being an entrepreneur. On the other hand, it sucks to have to have them that close. What normally takes me 15 minutes will take at least an hour when they are there. I handle a lot of calls for reservations during the day and often have to reassure the guest that the screaming kid in the background will not be here when they come to dinner.
SG: How did you get into illuminated sculpture?
CCS: I got into illuminated sculpture a little by accident. I had loads of papermaking experience in art school. Allison Smith (who eventually became my sister-in-law) was my papermaking teacher at MCA. I majored in sculpture but papermaking became my true love, and through Allison's inspiration I found ways to use paper in sculpture. She made the large hanging lanterns at Tsunami and after a few years of staring at those lights I knew that I could do something like that myself. I've always wanted to return to doing my art.
We opened Tsunami while I was still at MCA. Once I graduated I was working at the restaurant so much I had no time for anything but restaurant work. Poor Brendan! He spent most of his childhood evenings cooped up in the office, climbing on top of the walk-in cooler, getting into the bleach water...I should stop in case Child Services gets a hold of this! Anyway, I made a couple of attempts to "do my own thing" and it just never panned out.
Then Kelly Myers (a.k.a. Kel Diabla, also a derby girl) and I became friends! She was on a similar path of self-discovery, and one night (over several drinks) we decided to start Rock, Paper, Scissors together. It's been a blast ever since. We both needed the kick-in-the-pants that only a partnership can provide. We feed off each other's ideas and work.
Recently I got an offer to apply for "That's Clever" (a show on HGTV about quirky artists). It would have been a great opportunity but they do not accept art duos. Needless to say I didn't respond...my work would be nothing without Kelly!
The other big event that lead to this was a generous gift from my father-in-law, Dolph Smith. Dolph started the papermaking program at MCA and once he retired he moved up to Ripley, TN. He had a full papermaking set-up in his studio. I would often make paper when we would visit. For one of my birthdays he gave a card saying that he would let me keep the papermaking equipment at my studio and he would come to me if he needed to make some. I think it took me six weeks to stop crying about this! Somehow we got it all down here. The beater (the machine that turns materials into pulp) is huge, heavy and damn hard to move. My studio is split. I have one in my garage and Kelly & I share a studio at my brother's garage. He'll probably kick us out sooner or later. We're slobs and he's not.
SG: So tell me a little bit about life in Hernando and what it was like being a teen-aged mom.
CCS: Life in Hernando was boring unless you were the preppy jock-type. I spent most of my weekends in Memphis at Overton Park or the Antenna Club. When I got pregnant I was worried about how much it would change my life. But I faced it head-on and made it a part of the life I was already starting for myself. I was encouraged to drop out of school but saw no reason to. I stayed at the top of my class, kept up with the extra curriculars and headed to art school. Luckily MY family was supportive, otherwise I could not have done it. Brendan's dad was never into it and I saw no reason to force him to. It was his loss and we were better off without him.
SG: How is parenting different (or the same) the third time around?
CCS: Parenting the third time around is definitely different for me because I have a girl. A headstrong assertive one at that! I get more and more careless, which is scary. Maybe inattentive is a better word. It's difficult trying to manage all three, but Brendan is my salvation. He can help with just about anything and is almost old enough to keep Ayden so that I can go to the store or something. He's awesome. Ian just keeps me laughing, and all he has to do is smile and it turns my day into a happy, sunny one.
SG: What's a "usual day" like for you?
CCS: I don't have any usual days. I make my own schedule at work so I can go in whenever it’s convenient for Ben to keep Ayden. Typically I take Brendan to school at 7-ish and then try to go to the gym for rowing or weights. Then I tag team with Ben. He takes Ian to school around 8:30 and then tries to go to the gym. I usually head to work around 9:30 or 10 and Ben will take Ayden when he's done at the gym. Sometimes we meet up for lunch. It sucks going out with Ayden so we usually skip it or get take-out. I plug away at work until it's time to get Ian (Brendan walks home from school and has the afternoon to himself...something every boy should have while going through puberty). I grab Ian and then run errands for the restaurant. I don't get home until 6 or so on good days. Then it’s dinner-homework-bath-bed. It never fails that just when the kids are settled and getting droopy-eyed that Ben comes home! Of course they bolt out of bed to play with him for a "while."
Sometimes I try to herd them back to bed but mostly I just give up and let Ben deal with it. I'm just a bitch that way. It's just one giant juggling act. Somehow, some way I make art. Most of my best work gets done at three in the morning when I can't sleep. Now that I've thrown Derby into the mix, I'm not sure which ball will get dropped first...
SG: Tell me more about combining parenting with being an artist. Do you involve your kids in the process or do anything particularly arty with them?
CCS: My kids are very self-sufficient. Most of the time they are doing their own things. I rarely have to set them up with a project or something to occupy them. Brendan makes his own art. He makes these amazing sculptures and carves his own wands and swords. He is drawing these really unusual flowers at the moment. If he is around when I make paper, he will help me form sheets, press them and store them in plastic wrap. Seems like last Cooper-Young Fest he helped Kelly and I paint some of the finished lanterns and lamp shades.
Ian is interested in painting right now. He typically just likes to roam around the studio when I'm working. If I'm in my studio at my brother's house, the kids will run around with the dog through the bamboo forest in the back yard. It's really nice over there, as long as the weather is nice and the mosquito population is down.
Ayden's not quite there yet. She likes to "draw" on things but doesn't have enough self-control to be let loose with paint or crayons. I usually get a babysitter during studio time if Ben can't watch her.
I don't necessarily lead them towards art but let it happen if they are interested. Ben and I want our kids to figure out their own paths...so long as that path does NOT lead to cooking or being an artist!!! I love to go out to art openings when I can to sort of reconnect with that world. I'm secretly hoping to run into someone who has the perfect art job opening. I do like to take the kids out to these events. It's great when they are into the work. The "Agents of Timbre" show was a HUGE hit for them and they were well-behaved. Other shows really push their limits...and therefore mine. I often have to leave, holding a screaming little girl and dragging a five-year-old who's trying to punch his older brother. It stresses me out but it's nothing that a hot bath, a huge glass of scotch and a "Wiggle's" marathon won't cure.
SG: Are you serious about not wanting them to be chefs or artists?
CCS: We aren't "serious" about it. Of course we want them to bloom into whatever career they chose. We just would hate for them to go through the hard times we have. Doing "your own thing" is challenging and at times heartbreaking. It's parental nature to want to protect your children as much as possible. Chefs get burned and/or cut at least once a week, they get insulted by grumpy food critics, they get complaints from customers, they work at a very fast pace under extreme temperatures. It tears me up to watch Ben go through it. I couldn't bear to see my children follow his footsteps. The art world is not anywhere near as bad as the restaurant world, but it has its ups and downs too.
Interview by Stacey Greenberg
Colleen Couch-Smith, 30, is an artist, restaurateur, mother of three (Brendan-13, Ian-5, and Ayden-2), and newest member of Memphis Roller Derby’s Legion of Zoom. I was really excited to meet her and thought you might be too.
Stacey Greenberg: How long have you been a mama?
Colleen Couch-Smith: I've been a mama for almost 13 years. I had Brendan when I was still in high school. I went to Hernando High in Mississippi. It was a total drag. I had Brendan when I was a senior. Teen moms are real common down there, but I was determined to incorporate my child into my life rather than change my course completely. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.
When Ben and I got married, we knew we wanted another kid but wanted to wait until things settled down at the restaurant. Well you just can't wait for stuff like that because IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN! We tried for a whole summer to make a baby. It wasn't until sometime around 9/11 that I got pregnant. All that staying at home watching the news did the trick I guess. After Ian turned into a toddler, I swore I'd never have another child. I finally started to regain my composure as a person. I sent Ian to Montessori school, joined a gym, and was in full swing with Rock, Paper, Scissors. I was really making an effort to become Colleen. Not "Ben's wife" or "Ian & Brendan's mom."
I was feeling incredibly sick and thought it was just unease about the life changes I was making. Then it dawned on me that I might be pregnant. Ben had recently been to the Burning Man festival and I swear he did some sort of sex voodoo while there. Let's just say I was extremely happy to see him when he got back. I can't say that I was happy about the pregnancy at first. It was a horrible time for me to be pregnant. But, I settled into it and ended up seeing a midwife instead of my OB. Brendan's birth was awesome only because I was ignorant about the process. Ian's birth was not a good experience and I knew I would not repeat it.
Ayden's birth was one of the most incredible and happy moments of my life. How is that? She weighed 10 fucking pounds...no drugs. Luckily it was only a 3 hour labor with about 15 minutes of pushing.
SG: Tell me about your work life.
CCS: I’m a bookkeeper at Tsunami, where my husband is the owner/chef. Every day is "Bring Your Kid to Work Day," which is a blessing and a curse. It's great to have them that close. They have amazing relationships with adults and they learn a little bit about being an entrepreneur. On the other hand, it sucks to have to have them that close. What normally takes me 15 minutes will take at least an hour when they are there. I handle a lot of calls for reservations during the day and often have to reassure the guest that the screaming kid in the background will not be here when they come to dinner.
SG: How did you get into illuminated sculpture?
CCS: I got into illuminated sculpture a little by accident. I had loads of papermaking experience in art school. Allison Smith (who eventually became my sister-in-law) was my papermaking teacher at MCA. I majored in sculpture but papermaking became my true love, and through Allison's inspiration I found ways to use paper in sculpture. She made the large hanging lanterns at Tsunami and after a few years of staring at those lights I knew that I could do something like that myself. I've always wanted to return to doing my art.
We opened Tsunami while I was still at MCA. Once I graduated I was working at the restaurant so much I had no time for anything but restaurant work. Poor Brendan! He spent most of his childhood evenings cooped up in the office, climbing on top of the walk-in cooler, getting into the bleach water...I should stop in case Child Services gets a hold of this! Anyway, I made a couple of attempts to "do my own thing" and it just never panned out.
Then Kelly Myers (a.k.a. Kel Diabla, also a derby girl) and I became friends! She was on a similar path of self-discovery, and one night (over several drinks) we decided to start Rock, Paper, Scissors together. It's been a blast ever since. We both needed the kick-in-the-pants that only a partnership can provide. We feed off each other's ideas and work.
Recently I got an offer to apply for "That's Clever" (a show on HGTV about quirky artists). It would have been a great opportunity but they do not accept art duos. Needless to say I didn't respond...my work would be nothing without Kelly!
The other big event that lead to this was a generous gift from my father-in-law, Dolph Smith. Dolph started the papermaking program at MCA and once he retired he moved up to Ripley, TN. He had a full papermaking set-up in his studio. I would often make paper when we would visit. For one of my birthdays he gave a card saying that he would let me keep the papermaking equipment at my studio and he would come to me if he needed to make some. I think it took me six weeks to stop crying about this! Somehow we got it all down here. The beater (the machine that turns materials into pulp) is huge, heavy and damn hard to move. My studio is split. I have one in my garage and Kelly & I share a studio at my brother's garage. He'll probably kick us out sooner or later. We're slobs and he's not.
SG: So tell me a little bit about life in Hernando and what it was like being a teen-aged mom.
CCS: Life in Hernando was boring unless you were the preppy jock-type. I spent most of my weekends in Memphis at Overton Park or the Antenna Club. When I got pregnant I was worried about how much it would change my life. But I faced it head-on and made it a part of the life I was already starting for myself. I was encouraged to drop out of school but saw no reason to. I stayed at the top of my class, kept up with the extra curriculars and headed to art school. Luckily MY family was supportive, otherwise I could not have done it. Brendan's dad was never into it and I saw no reason to force him to. It was his loss and we were better off without him.
SG: How is parenting different (or the same) the third time around?
CCS: Parenting the third time around is definitely different for me because I have a girl. A headstrong assertive one at that! I get more and more careless, which is scary. Maybe inattentive is a better word. It's difficult trying to manage all three, but Brendan is my salvation. He can help with just about anything and is almost old enough to keep Ayden so that I can go to the store or something. He's awesome. Ian just keeps me laughing, and all he has to do is smile and it turns my day into a happy, sunny one.
SG: What's a "usual day" like for you?
CCS: I don't have any usual days. I make my own schedule at work so I can go in whenever it’s convenient for Ben to keep Ayden. Typically I take Brendan to school at 7-ish and then try to go to the gym for rowing or weights. Then I tag team with Ben. He takes Ian to school around 8:30 and then tries to go to the gym. I usually head to work around 9:30 or 10 and Ben will take Ayden when he's done at the gym. Sometimes we meet up for lunch. It sucks going out with Ayden so we usually skip it or get take-out. I plug away at work until it's time to get Ian (Brendan walks home from school and has the afternoon to himself...something every boy should have while going through puberty). I grab Ian and then run errands for the restaurant. I don't get home until 6 or so on good days. Then it’s dinner-homework-bath-bed. It never fails that just when the kids are settled and getting droopy-eyed that Ben comes home! Of course they bolt out of bed to play with him for a "while."
Sometimes I try to herd them back to bed but mostly I just give up and let Ben deal with it. I'm just a bitch that way. It's just one giant juggling act. Somehow, some way I make art. Most of my best work gets done at three in the morning when I can't sleep. Now that I've thrown Derby into the mix, I'm not sure which ball will get dropped first...
SG: Tell me more about combining parenting with being an artist. Do you involve your kids in the process or do anything particularly arty with them?
CCS: My kids are very self-sufficient. Most of the time they are doing their own things. I rarely have to set them up with a project or something to occupy them. Brendan makes his own art. He makes these amazing sculptures and carves his own wands and swords. He is drawing these really unusual flowers at the moment. If he is around when I make paper, he will help me form sheets, press them and store them in plastic wrap. Seems like last Cooper-Young Fest he helped Kelly and I paint some of the finished lanterns and lamp shades.
Ian is interested in painting right now. He typically just likes to roam around the studio when I'm working. If I'm in my studio at my brother's house, the kids will run around with the dog through the bamboo forest in the back yard. It's really nice over there, as long as the weather is nice and the mosquito population is down.
Ayden's not quite there yet. She likes to "draw" on things but doesn't have enough self-control to be let loose with paint or crayons. I usually get a babysitter during studio time if Ben can't watch her.
I don't necessarily lead them towards art but let it happen if they are interested. Ben and I want our kids to figure out their own paths...so long as that path does NOT lead to cooking or being an artist!!! I love to go out to art openings when I can to sort of reconnect with that world. I'm secretly hoping to run into someone who has the perfect art job opening. I do like to take the kids out to these events. It's great when they are into the work. The "Agents of Timbre" show was a HUGE hit for them and they were well-behaved. Other shows really push their limits...and therefore mine. I often have to leave, holding a screaming little girl and dragging a five-year-old who's trying to punch his older brother. It stresses me out but it's nothing that a hot bath, a huge glass of scotch and a "Wiggle's" marathon won't cure.
SG: Are you serious about not wanting them to be chefs or artists?
CCS: We aren't "serious" about it. Of course we want them to bloom into whatever career they chose. We just would hate for them to go through the hard times we have. Doing "your own thing" is challenging and at times heartbreaking. It's parental nature to want to protect your children as much as possible. Chefs get burned and/or cut at least once a week, they get insulted by grumpy food critics, they get complaints from customers, they work at a very fast pace under extreme temperatures. It tears me up to watch Ben go through it. I couldn't bear to see my children follow his footsteps. The art world is not anywhere near as bad as the restaurant world, but it has its ups and downs too.
I'm Not Kidding
I'm Not Kidding
Marrit Ingman
You know, next time you're at the post office, just send Fisher-Price their shit back. Because seriously, are you going to want to make a special trip later? Wait in the P.O. with a small person or persons to whom you are The World's Biggest Asshole Who Sends Their Toys Away?
Here's the point at which, were I a better activist, I would say fuck you to conglomerate toy motherfuckers with toxic crap built in China with phthalates by people who live like slaves, but my sincere attempts to interest The Boy in tree blocks and silk squares have not been fruitful, so I have no soapbox upon which to stand. And I'm just going to come out and say I don't think the tree blocks really gave me that much to work with. I'm not saying they have to light up or teach French, but I couldn't polish that turd.
As a child of the 1970s—the decade that brought you plastic fabrics and pressurized cheese in a can—I am drawn to Cool Toys Made From Synthetic Substances with Amazing Properties. I used to trip out on Shrinky Dinks. And what the fuck is in Shrinky Dinks? I'd probably have to spend an afternoon Googling before I let my kid look at a picture of Shrinky Dinks.
But even then we kind of knew it couldn't last. That's part of why it was fun. We could not eat miniature sausages in a can forever; we could not loll about in petroleum polymers aplenty for generations to come. Kids were going to have to go back to rolling balls of lint across the floor with wooden spoons. I'm not saying we should start collecting our lint (unless you're into it) but I'm keeping an eye out for right-sized boxes.
Marrit Ingman
You know, next time you're at the post office, just send Fisher-Price their shit back. Because seriously, are you going to want to make a special trip later? Wait in the P.O. with a small person or persons to whom you are The World's Biggest Asshole Who Sends Their Toys Away?
Here's the point at which, were I a better activist, I would say fuck you to conglomerate toy motherfuckers with toxic crap built in China with phthalates by people who live like slaves, but my sincere attempts to interest The Boy in tree blocks and silk squares have not been fruitful, so I have no soapbox upon which to stand. And I'm just going to come out and say I don't think the tree blocks really gave me that much to work with. I'm not saying they have to light up or teach French, but I couldn't polish that turd.
As a child of the 1970s—the decade that brought you plastic fabrics and pressurized cheese in a can—I am drawn to Cool Toys Made From Synthetic Substances with Amazing Properties. I used to trip out on Shrinky Dinks. And what the fuck is in Shrinky Dinks? I'd probably have to spend an afternoon Googling before I let my kid look at a picture of Shrinky Dinks.
But even then we kind of knew it couldn't last. That's part of why it was fun. We could not eat miniature sausages in a can forever; we could not loll about in petroleum polymers aplenty for generations to come. Kids were going to have to go back to rolling balls of lint across the floor with wooden spoons. I'm not saying we should start collecting our lint (unless you're into it) but I'm keeping an eye out for right-sized boxes.
In Our Family, People Can Get a Little Testy Before Dinner
In Our Family, People Can Get a Little Testy Before Dinner
Essay & Illustration by Sarah Raymond
“Can you straighten up the living room?” I ask my six year old. “Then we’ll have dinner.” I’m calm. Least I think I’m calm.
Sam and his friend made a fort from couch cushions. A jagged mass of pillows, strewn on the living room rug, was left behind.
“But Tim made most of the mess. Why doesn’t he have to clean it up?” Sam asks.
“Because Tim went home. Here -- I’ll help you.” I’m still calm.
“But--” (Sam’s voice begins quivering and his sense of injustice mounts.) “This is Tim’s mess too. Why do I have to clean it up?” Tears well and hover behind his eyes as his rage gathers force. “When I go to his house, I have to help clean up.” Sam's voice shakes uncontrollably.
“Every single time you go to Tim’s you clean up,” I clarify. I’m less calm now; snippy in fact. Also hungry.
“Well most of the time I clean up.”
“I’ve only asked you to put away pillows. I’ve offered to help.” I’m losing control -- not of my voice, but of my children and my need for them to be helpful citizens of our home. (And for Christ’s sake, my sister’s kids would have fed and watered and cleaned the stalls of eighty chickens on their farm in the time I’ve taken to beg my child to return cushions to a couch.)
“I don’t think I should have to do it.” Sam draws the line.
Years of training dissolve before me. Our children graduated from Livingroom Tidy Up years ago, and now this.
“Sam,” (if you can talk about injustice well then so can I, Buddy) “Today I washed your clothes and folded them and put them away, and while I was there I made your bed and and now I’m making your dinner. I’m like your personal slave, Sam,” (okay so I’m a little melodramatic) “and all I ask is for you to put the cushions back on the couch--” My muscles are clenched; my voice strains higher from the impossible, horrific plight of a six year old who WON’T EVEN PICK UP THE FRICKIN’ CUSHIONS!
And then Sam senses the height of my rage, surpassing far beyond his, and he snaps. He throws himself on a pillow (still on the floor, of course) and his tears -- reined in long enough -- gush out as he cries, “Mama!!”
What? What now?
“Remember the good times Mama! Remember the papier mache snakes we made together in the summer!” His body is a shuddering, heaving machine.
I drop everything – my need for squared-away cushions, my desire for a respectable living room. Even my body drops. I fall on a cushion next to my son (they’re everywhere, so it’s easy), and I say “Oh Sammy, I do remember the good times. I loved making the snakes and I love you. I just want some help. Don’t cry Sammy Sweetie, please don’t cry. I'm sorry, Sammy.”
We hold each other for a long time. Then, together, Sam and I tuck all the couch cushions back into their respective spaces. We resume normal breathing patterns and prepare for dinner.
Essay & Illustration by Sarah Raymond
“Can you straighten up the living room?” I ask my six year old. “Then we’ll have dinner.” I’m calm. Least I think I’m calm. Sam and his friend made a fort from couch cushions. A jagged mass of pillows, strewn on the living room rug, was left behind.
“But Tim made most of the mess. Why doesn’t he have to clean it up?” Sam asks.
“Because Tim went home. Here -- I’ll help you.” I’m still calm.
“But--” (Sam’s voice begins quivering and his sense of injustice mounts.) “This is Tim’s mess too. Why do I have to clean it up?” Tears well and hover behind his eyes as his rage gathers force. “When I go to his house, I have to help clean up.” Sam's voice shakes uncontrollably.
“Every single time you go to Tim’s you clean up,” I clarify. I’m less calm now; snippy in fact. Also hungry.
“Well most of the time I clean up.”
“I’ve only asked you to put away pillows. I’ve offered to help.” I’m losing control -- not of my voice, but of my children and my need for them to be helpful citizens of our home. (And for Christ’s sake, my sister’s kids would have fed and watered and cleaned the stalls of eighty chickens on their farm in the time I’ve taken to beg my child to return cushions to a couch.)
“I don’t think I should have to do it.” Sam draws the line.
Years of training dissolve before me. Our children graduated from Livingroom Tidy Up years ago, and now this.
“Sam,” (if you can talk about injustice well then so can I, Buddy) “Today I washed your clothes and folded them and put them away, and while I was there I made your bed and and now I’m making your dinner. I’m like your personal slave, Sam,” (okay so I’m a little melodramatic) “and all I ask is for you to put the cushions back on the couch--” My muscles are clenched; my voice strains higher from the impossible, horrific plight of a six year old who WON’T EVEN PICK UP THE FRICKIN’ CUSHIONS!
And then Sam senses the height of my rage, surpassing far beyond his, and he snaps. He throws himself on a pillow (still on the floor, of course) and his tears -- reined in long enough -- gush out as he cries, “Mama!!”
What? What now?
“Remember the good times Mama! Remember the papier mache snakes we made together in the summer!” His body is a shuddering, heaving machine.
I drop everything – my need for squared-away cushions, my desire for a respectable living room. Even my body drops. I fall on a cushion next to my son (they’re everywhere, so it’s easy), and I say “Oh Sammy, I do remember the good times. I loved making the snakes and I love you. I just want some help. Don’t cry Sammy Sweetie, please don’t cry. I'm sorry, Sammy.”
We hold each other for a long time. Then, together, Sam and I tuck all the couch cushions back into their respective spaces. We resume normal breathing patterns and prepare for dinner.
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