Then You Can Start To Make It Better

Happiness is...

...driving in the car listening to Hey Jude with my kids, thinking about how much I loved this song when I was a teenager, how much the music moved me and validated my every angst-filled thought, and about how back then, I never could have guessed that I would have these five little beings to call my own, all of whom know all the words to Hey Jude, who love it as much as I ever did, and about my own almost-teen, for whom this song is every bit as powerful and meaningful as it was for me when I was his age, and about how even today, in my less angst-filled but much more complicated world, the message is good and timely and such a blessing.

The movement I need is on my shoulder.

The movement to get up and make the coffee...

to make sure the laundry gets switched from washer to dryer...

to stop and admire my daughter's drawing of a mermaid under the sea...

to make tortilla soup...

to load everyone in the car and drive people to their destinations, to Shakespeare camp and soccer camp and Trader Joe's...

to make everyone do their chores...

to laugh at old Carol Burnett reruns...

to take a call from a friend who needs help drafting a letter to her boss, because her workplace is full of corruption and she wants to take a stand...

to wash the damn dishes...again...

to find shorts for the would-be 4 year old nudist...

to send a text to my husband with a photo of the latest kid creation I came across and to trade funny text messages with him...

to read The Thief Lord to the kids...

to let my daughter rest her head on my shoulder...

They are all here, ready for me to make the most of them, all of these movements, and the many, many more that will make up this day that seems impossible but probably isn't.

"Don't let me down. You have found her, now go and get her. Remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

* * *

Find her. Go get her. Let her in. Let her go. Watch her fly.

* * *

The Moment I Needed

A few nights ago, Rick and I watched the White House tribute to Paul McCartney, during which Dave Grohl delivered an impressive cover of Band on the Run. It was incredible, even if I could barely resist the urge to reach up to the TV screen and brush the hair out of Dave's face so we could all see his eyes. Yes, I am a mother.

(You can watch a YouTube clip of Grohl's performance here; Band on the Run starts around minute 3.)

The event was in celebration of Sir Paul receiving America’s highest award for popular music − the Library of Congress Gershwin Prize for Popular Song − back in early June. All kinds of performers and musicians paid tribute, including Stevie Wonder, EmmyLou Harris and Elvis Costello. It was a little surreal to see all that rockin' going on in the East Room of the White House, with large portraits of George and Martha Washington gazing down at the proceedings. And it was touch disturbing to see the Jonas Brothers among the guests; I don't know if they performed since we started watching it about half way through, but they just don't seem to be in the same league as so many of the other artists who were there.

But cover after cover was amazing. The artists' took those songs, so many of which are now part of our collective soul, and rendered them beautifully, proving once again what a gift McCartney is and how his songs continue to give us more and more.

The entire show was inspirational. I am always inspired by listening to great musicians play powerful music; I tend to get a little wistful, wishing I had kept up with my piano, and wishing that I had some kind of talent like that to express myself and move people.

Music can suspend us in a world where things matter, where what we feel passionately about is given expression. Musicians get to give voice to what the rest of us feel and hope for. Sometimes, it's music that reminds us who we are. At least, it did for me while I was watching the McCartney tribute. It reminded me that music is important to me, and that I should fill my home with music more than I do.

I was wondering if I had missed a cover of Hey Jude, my favorite Beatles song if you backed me into a corner and said I had to pick one or you'd chop off one of my fingers, when at the very end, of course, Sir Paul played it himself.

And ever since then, I've been going through my days with Sir Paul crooning to me: "The moment you need is on your shoulder." Given that I am constantly searching for motivation to raise my kids, organize my life, color my parachute, etc., that little morsel of wisdom has been a warm and welcome refrain, a prayer really.

Music can do that. It can wake us up and get us moving in the direction we really want to go. I needed that little emotional push, and found it in Hey Jude.

Where do you find yours?

Thank you, Paul. My heart was long ago promised to George, but there's always room for one more.

* * *

Beatles: 1, NPR: 0

I made one of the best decisions of the summer this morning. I turned off NPR and turned on the Beatles. Blasted it really loud on my way to work, sang like a fool, and percussed on my steering wheel.

Self-professed NPR junkie that I am, I realized that all thinking and no singing makes Mommy a very dull mommy indeed.

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