Monday, August 4, 2008

I Wish That I Was Jessie's Girl

I turned 40 back in January. Exactly 50 days before giving birth to the Little Man. Needless to say, I wasn't in any condition to go out and celebrate. Now, I've said before that God allowed me to have a baby at 40 for many reasons. I believe this weekend was one of those reasons. If I had been able to celebrate my birthday in January, my sister never would have planned this weekend.

When I was about 14, I was in L-O-V-E, love with Rick Springfield. I had the albums (yes, actual vinyl albums), listened to them all. the. time., and Jolee, one of my bff's, and I went to our very first concert when he was performing in a nearby town. Her daddy dropped us off, then picked us up after the concert was over. It was a little taste of freedom for us, and we loved every minute of it. We rushed the stage, and stood there wanting, more than anything, just to be touched by Rick. There was a barrier built about five feet from the actual stage. Body guards paced to and fro in the space between the stage and the barrier. Obviously, Rick was in fear for his life, afraid of the thundering herd of teenage girls that was baring down on me and Jolee, pressing us against that barrier. We were glued to our spots and wouldn't have moved for any amount of cash money. We did not, however, get to touch Rick.

Flash forward 25 years. My sister called me months ago and asked what I would be doing the weekend of August 1st. Knowing that is in fact her anniversary, I wasn't sure how to answer. Was her next question going to involve a fantastic weekend get-a-way while I watched her three kids? Trying to keep an escape route open, I said, "I'm not sure." When she said she was asking because RICK SPRINGFIELD would be performing at the Frederick Brown, Jr. Amphitheater, a/k/a The Fred, in Peachtree City, a mere hour and a half from her house, and she wanted to take me as a belated celebration of my birthday, I said, "OH, I am so there."

I have been looking forward to this weekend for months now. I planned to lose my baby weight before seeing Rick. Hey, a girl can dream, right? I spent a few hours in the mall with Little Man in tow trying to find the perfect outfit for an outdoor concert in Georgia in August. An outfit that would be cool and comfortable and yet still hide the baby weight that I didn't really even attempt to lose and yet not make me appear to still be six months pregnant. An outfit that was perfectly priced (read extremely deeply discounted extra percentage off the clearance price). I was beside myself. Not only would I get to go to see my sisters new house...GORGEOUS, by the way...I would get to see Rick again. So, I packed up my girls, left the Little Man with his Daddy and his Nana (Daddy had to work most of the weekend, so Nana got the bulk of the baby care duties) and drove the six hours to my sister's house. In the rain. At night. On a road I hate.

Saturday arrived, and after at least half an hour with my flat iron, putting on our carefully chosen outfits, and kissing our kids goodbye as two of them whined that they didn't want their mommies to leave them, we left my sister's house, drove to Peachtree City and had dinner at Carrabba's. With no kids. A treat all by itself.
I also had an Italian Wedding Cake Martini, which was dee-vine.

We had decided to stop somewhere for a bottle of wine and some cheese and crackers to munch on during the concert. For those of you who have never been to Peachtree City, they have a sign ordinance of some sort prohibiting businesses from, you know, actually advertising their location. In other words, if you don't know where it is, you're probably not going to find it.

We got directions to the Super Wal~Mart from the Carrabba's manager. He was apparently directionally challenged. We stopped at a convenience store, where we got directions to Publix, complete with my pointing and saying, "You mean go that way?", and agreement from the clerk that that was, in fact, where he meant for us to go. No luck. Finally, we took a left turn for no other reason than it looked like something had to be over that hill, and we found the Super Wal~Mart. As soon as we turned into the parking lot, we saw very dark ominous clouds heading our way. Knowing that umbrellas aren't allowed at The Fred, we decided it would be a good idea to purchase rain ponchos to go with our wine, and lucked into finding two that matched our carefully chosen outfits. I, of course, was horrified that my hair was going to curl. We managed to get back into the car right before the heavy rain started. Lightening was popping all around us.

I was terrified that they would cancel the concert, so I called Pajama Mama, my own personal meteorologist, who assured me that the system would pass rather quickly. Now, had we not been wandering aimlessly looking for a bottle of wine, we would have arrived at The Fred on time, been caught in the downpour without ponchos that matched our outfits, ended the night drippy wet and curly headed. Never question the little annoyances in your life. You don't see the big picture. Another God thing?

By the time we arrived at The Fred and found a parking spot, the lightening had basically moved away from us, and the rain had stopped. We found out from our new friend, Brad, the policeman that they had made everyone take cover for a while during the worst of the weather, but that they were in the process of drying off the seats and the show would go on. Cue huge sigh of relief. When we asked Brad if the opening act was any good, his response was, "Well, let me ask you this. How much did you have to drink before you got here?"

Once we found our seats, which weren't exactly dry, but we had our handy dandy outfit matching ponchos to sit on, we broke out the wine, and "enjoyed" the opening act, a group of four lawyers from Peachtree City who sponsor The Fred and are therefore allowed to perform. Once the lawyers finished their four or five song set, Rick's stage people started getting set up. It seemed to take f-o-r-e-v-e-r. I had been waiting months for this, and I really didn't think I could take another second. Once the show started, it was well worth the wait.

Worth the fear of being struck dead by all the lightening.

Worth the sad faces on the two kids who didn't want to be left behind.

Worth the half hour with the flat iron.

Worth the hours in the mall looking for just the right outfit.

Worth the six hour drive in the rain at night on the road I hate.

Worth missing my baby and the fear that he would sprout teeth, roll over, learn to talk, run a marathon and write a novel over the three days I was away from him.

Even worth turning 40.

Rick is no longer set apart from his fans by a barricade and pacing body guards. Nope, now he jumps right down into the audience. I guess that's the difference in having teenage fans and having 40something fans. He jumped from table to table. He sampled someone's fondue. He took pictures with fans (even though the rules of The Fred state that cameras aren't allowed and therefore I didn't have one!). He tried to borrow a cell phone and call someone's friend (no good cell service at The Fred). He accepted water bottles from his fans. He strummed his guitar with roses, creating showers of petals. He pulled a 7 year old girl up on stage to sing "Don't Talk To Strangers". He made fun of himself. He teased his fans. And to top it all off, he looks like this......... 58!

Makes being 40 seem pretty ok. Even if I still didn't get to actually touch him! Yet!

1 comment:

Pajama Mama said...

58!! He's almost old enough to get Social Security!!

I loved reading your blog. It was very entertaining to me. But...there's no pic of you and the sister!!

And I was right about the weather, huh!