So for the most part I’ve sworn off concerts. I went to college at William and Mary when Dave Matthews was just getting big; I saw him from the front row of The Flood Zone for $3 so many times. I’ve seen good bands in good seats and I’m frankly too old now I think. I’ve just been lucky in certain cases–like we were in the right place at the right time and scored tickets to the Stone Temple Pilots in a show for 500 people and it was amazing. I’m now going to sit in the back of a stadium for $200? (I sound like a snob. I’m not. I’m just jaded).

So last summer (two summers ago? They all run together) when my husband dragged me to Pearl Jam for the (it seemed like) billionth time I swore off concerts unless it’s someone I really, really want to see. I mean like Bon Jovi. (Obviously). I told my Pearl-Jam obsessed sweetie that should he feel the need to go again to see them (which he will) he’s welcome–encouraged!–to find and bring a girlfriend.

But all bets were off at 11am last Saturday. 

I’ll preface the rest of this by saying that  things have been downright nutso around our house. I spent three days in Richmond; these days were coincidentally and luckily for me timed with my sweet twin’s brief sojurn into the land of Montezuma’s revenge…We still can’t figure out what they ate but we’re all paying the price to this day.

Anywho I was in Richmond to speak at a fundraising event about what I’ve seen and done in the realm of ‘Balance’-it was a great experience but of course I must practice more of what I preach. I think my whole Richmond trip is a post in and of itself and this post is devoted to the wonder that is Ralph. I was dreading the trip a bit only because “it’s the worst time to go!!” and “six hours in the car!” and “I have so much to do” (all of these were complaints I was muttering and glowering about.) But I got a book on cd, cranked it into the car cd player, and it was actually a nice few hours and days by myself  without the ability to work all hours on my laptop or hear kids crying or deal with “the revenge” (as relates to “the twins”). When I got back and all of them came running at me yelling “mommy’s home”-nice!-and then, the very next morning, we headed off to Ralph!!  

Ralph, for the uninitiated, is “Ralph’s World”-he sings kid songs and when my kids give the broadway show tunes a rest that’s what they’re spinning. Ralph is also enjoyable for parents (obviously in moderation which isn’t actually ever practiced). One of his witty tunes is M-O-M-M-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E. (”I want a latte, a cappucino, and tonight I think I’ll have a little vino”). Ralph’s been a staple at our house since a designer friend from Chicago sent it prior to my oldest’s birth, and since he was playing in Princeton, not so far from us, we decided to take the kids… 

And oh, it was so fun! And I’m not so cool that I can’t admit it. Let’s be honest, I’m not even that cool. But Ralph was.

And my kids loved it so much. And every kid there did. From the second he started in with “Clap your hands, clap your hands, clap your hands” (Hey, it’s kids songs) they were up DANCING and SINGING and BOUNCING and SMILING! I looked at my husband halfway through and said “This is seriously the greatest concert I’ve ever been to!” and though he didn’t go that far he WAS loving it (and he didn’t have Pearl Jam piped in through an i-Pod or anything).

Every parent was singing all the words (weird! maybe they’ve heard them once or one million times in their own cars?) And bouncing and polka-ing and having a blast. Legitimate blast. 

For Christmas, my mom gave me a wall-quote-thing that says “Sometimes, when my children are sleeping, I go in to hear them breathing, and I carry that quiet with me all day, and I think to myself this is one thing I will never regret”. I love that. I don’t do it too much (because they mostly wake me up so I can’t hear them sleeping). But in this nutso week of a lot of not awesome things going on what I’ve carried with me is the bouncing and the singing…and the utter exhilaration.   

I know this for a fact because of the helpful advice given to me by the woman at the park when I had my girls out the other day in 60’s (well maybe high 50’s) weather. 

The preface here is that my 4 year old is a hater of all things coat-like. And she’s always hot. That’s like me; I don’t sleep with blankets because I’m always hot and she’s the same way. So she was at the park in a dress and tights (and of course a tiara but that goes unsaid. She takes baths in a tiara. When I kiss her at night when she’s gone to sleep she’s always found the tiara and put it on FOR SLEEP. Blankets no. Tiara yes).

So she was coatless and this woman came up to me to say “Are you the mother?”

“Yes” say I.

“Don’t you think your daughter should be better dressed than she is?”(um, how do you GET better dressed at the playground then wearing a tiara? Must she go white-tie?)

But NO, this super helpful woman needed to tell me my business about how my kids should be covered.

I said, “Well, she doesn’t want to wear a coat. And I’m her mother”.  Then one of the twins said (as she does about everyone–tv, crowd, restaurants–”Who dat?” And I said “A busybody”. Which my own mother yelled at me for as if I’m the rude person in this scenario. 

Let me tell you something. I KNOW I’m a bad mother. Tonight my 3 girls came with us to dinner and wore: 
Child A, 4: A dress (normal) and velvet cape (not normal) and of course tiara.
Twin B, 2 1/2: A dress, some sort of geriatric sandals like an 89 year old guy would be sporting on the streets of Miami, and a poncho. Hood up of course.
Twin C: 2 1/2: A tutu. With tights. And a sticker. Taped to her with scotch tape because it lost its sticker-ness.

So clearly I’m a bad mother because they weren’t dressed in matching outfits (not matching to each other, matching their own pieces!). My husband was quick to point this out and walked about 20 feet ahead of us because of the embarrassment issues. Mind you I was just happy that twin C wasn’t wearing her go-to uniform: flowered pants and NOT matching, totally different colored flowered shirt. She finds it in the wash. She finds it under the beds. She wears it EVERY DAY. 

I’m also a bad mother it seems because in the flurry of putting together the May event I’ve needed some time here and there. So instead of bundling the girls up and lugging them on walks or convincing them to take another stab at their toys which they are SO over (it’s March after all, long cold winter) I let them watch Mary Poppins–with which they are obsessed–two days in a row.

And listen to the cd 48 times.

At least.

But how bad am I REALLY? They are singing their hearts out (marching around the family room chanting about votes for women). They’re perfectly self confident in whatever they wear. And as I reminded myself the other day, they could be watching far worse. Mary Poppins is, after all, a NANNY! I mean, it’s her GIG! 

So lady at the park: you don’t need to tell me I’m a bad mother. I am certainly hard on myself enough. But when you do I can justify all my decisions…so at the end of the day, at least I’ve convinced myself that I’m good!Though no Mary Poppins.