Music Mondays!

(SCROLL DOWN TO LINK UP AND TO ENTER THE FLASH GIVEAWAY)

MUSIC MONDAY!!!
Link Up Below! 

I usually only post one song, maybe two, for my Music Mondays
.
But, in honor of Valentines day, I'm doing something a little bit different.

It's no secret that music is a big part of my life- I think it is for most people. And I tend to attach songs and their meanings to my memories of people and events, both good and bad. It's easy for me to admit that music is the very embodiment of love to me. Love now, love then, and the opposite of it.


You shouldn't be surprised, then, to hear that I have a song for each of my kids. I didn't consciously pick these songs. I didn't sit down and pour over a list of them or anything.  They just evolved. Any mom knows that there are many nights spent rocking a baby, kissing their fat, warm cheeks while you try to get them to sleep. Every mom knows that as your baby grows, you begin to see a personality, and you don't shape and mold it as much as you behold and enable it.

These are songs that I ended up singing to them the most, and eventually, I sang them every night. Until I had the epiphany that these songs BELONGED to my children, and to me.






What if I Loved You, by Joey Gian is my husbands and my wedding song. As he is my OFFICIAL Valentine, I had to include it. I sing it in the shower, in the car, and as often TO my KIDS as their own songs. I ab-so-LUTELY LOVE this song. It is on the top of my favorites list. SO romantic.





Lilly's Song: L.O.V.E. - I chose Michael Buble instead of the original singer, Nat King Cole. I love Nat, and I sort of feel like a cheater. But the truth is, I like Michael Buble more. ~Wince~

What can I say about Lilly? Sheesh, she's a little mini me. And she makes me feel good about everything because she dances around this place like it's a stage, literally SINGING to me "Mooooooommmy, you're the very beeeeeeeeest mommmy e-e-e-e-e-everrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!" - while my other three children are all about daddy- you know, when daddy's home, I'm chopped liver- Lilly is completely MINE. She loves that daddy of hers, but, when the others fight over who is going to hold his hand in the store, she's already linked arms with me.

I love my girl!





Mahone's Song: Fly Me To The Moon.

EVERYONE has done this song. Well, all the lounge singers. And ol' Blue eyes does it best. THE best!!! NEVER heard a better rendition....EXCEPT for MAYBE the one from the movie soundtrack "Down With Love" (OMG, FAVORITE MOVIE EVER!) where it's a mash up of Frank and some other girl doing a really retro version. VERY cool.

Mahone's over it now, but when he was very little, he was determined to be an astronaut. Everything was ALWAYS about the moon and Mars. It was darling. We also sang Nat King Cole's "It's Only A Paper Moon" to him a lot, but this is the one that stuck.

Mahone is so sensitive. He has so much energy, and so much crazy in him that daily, he makes me want to pull my hair out. I always thought that was the dumbest expression from mothers. Why in the world would ANYONE want to pull their hair out? Well, Mahone solved that mystery for me. LOL. But he is SUCH a little gentleman. I look at him, and I know he'll be a wonderful, compassionate, sweet, and sensitive man. And I would LIKE to take the credit, but I don't think I can. That boy has it built into his very genes. He is my hardest worker. He is a storyteller, and can tell a tall tale to fool ANYONE, but he has NEVER lied to me, not once. He has a smile and a giggle to light up the whole wide world- and he has come up with the best one liners that I have EVER heard from a kid. He has me cracking up daily!




Scarlet's Song:  When It Comes To Love by  Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

I am in LOVE with Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. FOR REAL. I was a total "Swing Kid" in high school, and spent many a weekend at the local dance club "The M.A.C" (Murray Arts Center) which, sadly, closed last year. The end of an era. Of course, when I sing it, since I'm a girl, I say "I'm just a small town girl with a handfull of dreams...."

Scarlet, oh how I love her. She's a typical 3rd child, I think. Right now, I spend a lot of time alone with her, because she is at home while the older two are at school, and Teague still sleeps a lot. What an ANGEL she is! She is quiet and sweet and polite...until the older two come home, and then she's hell on wheels. That girl, from the moment Lilly and Mahone walk in the door, she is picking on them like there's no tomorrow. She makes me laugh, she is responsible for every single one of my gray hairs, and she is independent, sassy, and such a REDHEAD!!!! So beautiful, so sweet.





Teague's Song: Beyond the Sea, and The Way I Am - I put up The Way I Am by Ingrid Michaelson a couple of weeks ago, so I'm putting up Beyond the Sea this time. Teague is still little and his song may change. I don't have a reason to be singing this song to him. I don't know why I started singing it, it just felt like a soft, but upbeat song late one night. But I'm leaning toward The Way I am more...something about the lyrics "sew on patches to all you tear" and "if you are chilly, here take my sweater"- such a lovely song for a mom to sing to her little boy.

Teague. What to say about him. Oh dear. He's the cutest thing this side of the universe. Already, this child is careful. He is gentle and specific. He loves trucks, and light sabers and pretending to sword fight with his brother. He loves our dog, Hunter- well, any dog at all really. And he sure loves his mommy. He is a happy thing, all the time, and always has a smile for me. My cuddly little man, just makes me think everyone should have one of him. He's the answer to world peace.

*****************************

February's Weekdaily Flash Giveaways




ANNOUNCEMENT: READ FIRST:

Okay, friends. It's time for a chat.

 I have been doing giveaways for a grand total of about 3 months. At first, this was working really great for me! My numbers got up pretty high on my twitter, google+ and facebook accounts.

And then I noticed something. The number of visits I had to my blog PER DAY were going through the roof! Multiplying! BUT the people who were actually READING what I have to say was declining. I know, because  the comments that were made on a daily basis have declined by about 75%! (And my numbers aren't growing much now, because most of the people who enter already follow me.)

So, since I do about 2-3 giveaways per week (and have been doing these daily flash giveaways for 2 weeks now.) I added "Leave a comment" as a way to earn an entry.  For a day or two, this got my comments back up, but the majority simply stated "thanks for the giveaway!" - You know, you're all very welcome!!!!

The problem is, that's really hardly very genuine or thoughtful, though. I feel like I have much more provocative and wonderful stuff here on my blog than "thanks for the giveaway!" In truth, I feel a bit discouraged. Especially since, after a few days, the comments went BACK DOWN.

If you do giveaways on your blog, you know how long it takes, and how much work it is. If you don't do giveaways, trust me when I say that it takes a TON of time, sacrifice, and, when I do these sweater giveaways and these ring giveaways, MONEY- out of my own pocket.

So, since my Rafflecopter hasn't seemed to make it clear, I'm posting my own disclaimer: ALL ENTRIES ARE MANDATORY. Every one must be done, or the entrant is disqualified. That means comments, follows, and likes. (I WILL let such things as google+ or my linky friends follow pass here or there because I know not everyone has those accounts - BUT they are worth a lot more entries than others BECAUSE I know it's a pain to create an account.) PLEASE understand that I want these giveaways to work for everyone. You get your entries and your chances to win AWESOME products. And I need to be more than just a free for all blog that doesn't get looked at beyond what's free.

Thanks so much! Good luck to everyone! 

Ring size 8-8 1/2

a Rafflecopter giveaway



Like my blog? Please vote for me by clicking the button for Top Mommy Blogs! Thanks!

"Sing, Bres! Sing!"

My son got me thinking about my first real job last night when he stood ready at my side, plastic fisher-price tea tray in hand, to take each person's plate to the table one by one.

"I'm the waiter." He told me matter-of-factly.

"You know, Mahone, waiters don't get to sit down and eat on the job. And if they do eat on the job, they don't get to eat at the tables with their family and friends...."

He didn't care enough to even listen to me finish the sentence, and he was off doing the next silly thing.

Still, MY mind lingered.

When I was 16 years old, I got a waitressing job for the summer (one that continued through the next 2 years of school until I graduated and moved off to college...where I became a waitress for ANOTHER restaurant.)

It was a place my family frequented on a regular basis called "Golden Seas". It had excellent Chinese cuisine, and one day, we walked in, my mom handed me an application, I filled it out, and without an interview, they put me to work.

The uniform was simple. Black slacks, white shirt, black apron.

Most people complain about their jobs. I loved my job. It quickly became my home-away-from-home.

Some of the other waiters and waitresses were Chinese and from the same family that owned it. Wei and Lily were both cousins of Ben, the cook, who was the brother of Suzanne, my boss and the manager. She had a son whose name escapes me now, but who came to the restaurant every day after school. Their father, Sung Ye, owned the restaurant. Ben's wife, Monica, was the hostess on Sundays. They were childless, and Monica worked at the University of Utah. In China, she had been an OB/GYN.

There were 2 other constant waiter/waitresses, Cody and Angie who were siblings. Cody mostly delivered takeout. Other waitresses, Kendra (a punky short haired girl who constantly left while she still had tables and usually left me cleaning up after her), Stephanie (A 17 year old emancipated minor who had married a soldier who was away at boot camp, and she was newly pregnant.) Cherice, (a sweet, beautiful girl with dark hair and eyes and complexion who had recently lost her mother to breast cancer.) came and went every so often.

Like I said, the place was sort of a home-away-from-home for me. I was a chatty, bubbly, giggly, smiley, and rather upbeat teenager. I was also stinking adorable back then. It was a job I was extremely good at.

Over the years, I collected multiple phone numbers from guys who I never once called. I had a man who worked at Hale Centre Theatre and his wife come in weekly for 4 months and beg me to audition for plays he was directing, to which I always genuinely promised I would, would be all excited about it thinking it was my "big break", prepare an audition piece, and then chicken out before I made it to the audition.

There was a man who came in every Sunday and always wanted to talk hockey, which I knew nothing about. But he was lonely, I think, and my listening and nodding was mostly what he needed.

A woman named Joan came in with her husband at random days of the week, but at least once in a 7 day period. Her husband never said a single word, but she made her way around the place, touching the shoulders of all the workers, chatting with Suzanne, and shaking hands with the owner. She was a dark, bent over, wrinkly little thing with shiny black eyes and a short mop of gray hair. When she came in, we immediately readied her jasmine tea with double the normal tea bags and loads of cream. Near the end of my stay at Golden Seas, her husband suffered a stroke, and she stopped coming in. Somehow, she heard through the grape vine when I quit, and came in to hug me on my last day and wish me luck at college. She was on oxygen then.

Occasionally, an elderly couple would come in, followed by a very tall, very broad shouldered and very handsome middle aged man. He was their son, and he had autism. Once again, the man was very quiet, and so was the mother, but she was also very polite, and ready with a smile. Their son had the mental capacity of a 4 year old. But he was also a ham. He loved Sprite to drink, and whenever his glass was empty, he would tell me that there was a hole in the bottom of his cup, and his Sprite had run out of the hole. To which, I would reply that, OMG, he was RIGHT!!! I had better get him a new glass! Again, near the end of my stay, the mother passed away. I didn't see the men again.

No one ever wanted to wait for an older Hispanic couple that came in every Sunday. They sat in the same booth no matter who their waitress was, which made things difficult for us. Each week, they ordered prime rib, which came with a side salad and rolls. Of course, we always brought the rolls out when we brought their coffee, which we did before we even 'took their order' because the man would chew us a brand spanking new butt hole if we didn't bring his "bread". The woman always wanted blue cheese dressing on her salad, and the man always wanted Catalina dressing (which, in my opinion, tastes like vomit.) Their tip was always 2 brand new, shiny....quarters.

Once, I was carrying a tray full of 12 cups of egg drop soup...yes, I was over confident. I would have pulled it off too, if, when rounding the corner, I had remembered to lift my elbow. Instead, my arm hit the wall and stopped moving, but the tray kept on going, and splattered all over the table on the other side of the wall. I was SO LUCKY no one was sitting there!!! The people at my tables must have felt sorry for me. When the 3 left, I had over 50.00 in tips just from them.

I remember too many conversations with the family that owned the restaurant to talk about them all, but perhaps I can relay my fondest memories, the ones that made me laugh, or the ones that I just remember because for some reason, no matter their unimportance, tattooed themselves across my memory.

Ben was the cook at Golden Seas. He was a little, thin man, and he looked mean, but he was actually very sweet. His wife, Monica, was just gorgeous. A tall, slim woman with soft, thick hair, She was soft spoken and gentle, and Ben was gentle with HER. Their love story was obvious from a mile away.

Once, the other waiters and I were sitting around during a weekend lul in business, eating saltine crackers dipped in ranch dressing (as was our favorite snack at the time) and Ben came into the room, carrying his broom. In a voice that sounded angry, though we had all already learned that it wasn't, he asked "How does I find 'prod-uss'?"

Perplexed, we all looked around at each other. "Prada?"

"No! Prod-uss!"

We chewed our lips. We scratched our heads. We stared blankly at the wall....

"Product?"

"NO!!! Prod-uss! Like, at store!!!"

Then, wisely, someone asked, "Ben, can you expand your instructions? What exactly are you looking for?"

"You know, carrot. Cabbage. Tomato. This! See? Prod-uss!!!"

All at once: "Ohhhh! PRODUCE!!!!!"

Ben cracked me up on a regular basis that way. He was a good man.

Suzanne, Ben's sister, scared the living daylights out of me, though. She called me "Bres" (like, breath with an 's' instead of a 'th' sound). Well, they ALL called me that, but she's the one I remember, with her shrill witchy voice screeching over the faint sound of the music playing at closing time.

Suzanne wore a solid jade bangall bracelet that had no seams. It was carved from a single piece of jade and her husband had given it to her as a gift when they were just kids. It didn't fit over her hand anymore, and so it was stuck there permanently. Often, her husband would cook in the kitchen with Ben.

Once, I was in the freezer, digging lettuce into a bucket to refill the salad bowl. Suzanne entered the kitchen while I was doing this and I heard her say "Where is the salad?"

Quickly, I stuck my head out the freezer door and said "It's right here- I'm getting more to refill the bowl right now." Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and stared at me. Confused, I shrugged my shoulder's and quietly muttered, "What?"

Suzanne broke into a wide grin. "You understand?"

I nodded slowly....did I mistake what she said? I was so confused. Everyone else laughed under their breath.

"I talk in Cantonese!" Suzanne squealed, slapping her skinny knee. Somehow, my subconscious was picking up on their language, but if she had said it again, in Cantonese, I wouldn't have recognised it.

Sung Ye, though, was my most favorite. He was the father of the family, an adorably old little man with a bald head, a sweet, kind face, and he never laughed at me. In fact, he would slice up oranges for me, and bring them to me when I came into the kitchen. On a regular basis, the family cooked their own dinners there in the restaurant- the really good authentic Chinese kind, not the kind they served to the customers that, while delicious, was nothing like anything they actually ate. Sung-ye always packed up a to-go box full of their food for me to take home with me as well. He never did that for any of the other waiters or waitresses.

He also fed my ego daily. Each time I entered the kitchen, scooping up ladles full of egg drop soup or drizzling sweet and sour sauce over sliced chicken, Sung Ye, who spoke almost no English, would demand with squinty dark eyes and a wide grin, "Sing, Bres! Sing!"

So I sang. It wasn't long before it became a habit to just break into song whenever I entered the kitchen and not to quit until I left. It didn't matter if I was picking up an order, or mopping the floor. I sang. And I sang everything from Big Bad Voodoo Daddies to show tunes, to whatever was popular on the radio. No one ever told me not to, and after awhile, they all just went about their business, unless, as sometimes happened, they joined in to sing too- sometimes in Cantonese, which never quite fit.

On more than one occasion, though, Sung Ye would make me stand in the center of the kitchen and sing a song of his request (He had a hankering for Frank Sinatra...but that didn't bother me because so do I) at which point, most of the workers would stop what they were doing, watch and listen, and then clap generously as I reached my final note.

I quit my job to go to college just after I turned 18. I cried. We've been there a few times since, and they always recognise me, and ask after my parents. It's still delicious. Sung Ye isn't around anymore though, but I can't help but smile when I think of him.

And sometimes, on facebook, I play "Diner Dash" out of sentimentality for the days when I always smelled like sweet and sour pork.

If Music Were a Man, I'd Be Sleeping With It.

Wordless Wednesday: (Pictures of me and Brandon taken June of '08 for a vintage calendar called "Better Than Cheesecake".)

( Pictures for the same calendar taken in October of '08- these are individual of me, though there were 8 other hot tamales involved as well, but I don't have their permission to post the pictures on my blog.)

*************************************************

It's no secret that I have a romantic relationship with music.

It started in my early childhood. My mother always had the radio on, and to this day, without music in the background, i feel naked- like one of those awkward dreams where everyone you know sees you wearing nothing but a vintage apron, and they keep talking to you like there's nothing wrong, but you know you're naked and trying to cover yourself? Oh- am i the only one who has those?

The stuff I was raised on isn't necessarily my favorite music. My mom has a very strange idea of what is 'moral' and 'appropriate.' It's much different than my own idea. For example, once, I was in the house alone during a summer home from college. I took a shower with my music blasting while i sang along.

The music? The Me First and the Gimme Gimmies Broadway Mix. I mean, stuff like "Tomorrow" from Annie, and "The Phantom of the Opera" from it's obvious production. I believe there were also songs on it like "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and that song that Kermit sings all the time "Why are there so many songs about rainbows...the lovers, the dreamers and me...la la la la la la la...." you know the one.

My mom, who had come home while I was in the shower, told me when I got out that if I ever played it in her house again, I was welcome to leave.

Okay- the songs were punk covers. I was rocking out to them instead of swaying gently. Still, the lyrics were the same. She felt the same way about most of my college music, including Blink 182, Ataris, the Ramones, Green Day, and Weezer (which is still one of my favorites, and I think it's positively adorable when my 2 year old busts out singing "GIRL!!! If you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to....") to name just a select few.

No, the stuff I was raised on was general Country (which, I DO still like, by the way.) and stuff like Billy Joel (LOVE him! I have not heard a song by him that I am not smitten with. ), Harry Chapin, B.J. Thomas, and that ilk. I probably heard a whole lot of Air Supply (ew) and somewhere I picked up a smattering of Queen, though they were never anyone I sought out. Simon and Garfunkel were on the top of my mom's list too, and Scarborough Fair was the song I fell asleep to many a night. Nights In White Satin by the Moody Blues was the first real song I learned to play on the piano.

When i was 9, I found my mom's collection of Beatles cassette tapes while digging in boxes in the basement, and of course I fell in love immediately, which spurred me into several years of listening to oldies, wearing gauze and parting my hair down the middle. The oldies station I listened to covered much more than just the 60's, and I still swoon whenever I hear Frankie Vallie, and In The Still of the Night by the Five Satins is still one of the most romantic songs ever- unless I revert to my college punk ways for the day, and then it's a toss up between "So long Astoria" by the Ataris or "The Sand" by the Hippos. Then again, there's "Glory of Love" cover by Newfound Glory....but then you have to think about all the other genres, and...okay, I can't pick a favorite romantic song. So sue me.

My mom broke out the Rat Pack music around Christmas time, along with Harry Conick Jr., Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole. I don't remember WHEN exactly, but two more love affairs began shortly after I heard these.

Out of everything there is out there, while I will spend time simmering in my memories of college, and my carefree punk days, and revel in the juvenile romance and anger of that music, while I dig the Beatles, and occasionally throw on some oldies to hand jive to with my kids, the kind of music I regularly come back to, the music I drop all other tunes for, are Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. And they fight over me constantly.

The thing is, my first love was Frank (yes, we are on a first name basis here.) When I was 15, and Brandon and I were just good friends, i gave him a Sinatra CD for his birthday. I knew he listened to a heck of a lot of Metallica and all kinds of random hair bands from the 80's but I had no clue, really, that he loved Frank as much as I did.

I once heard Frank be called a "glorified lounge singer" - but oh, he does it so WELL! Of course, while digging through the 1940's style Jazzy type genre at Graywhale (my regular go-to place whenever i wanted to just go somewhere.) I was introduced to others like Count Bassie, Cab Calloway, Glen Miller, Doris Day, Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald (the best FEMALE voice of the time, in my honest opinion.) and Louis Armstrong.

Among the infinite list of new singers I found, Dean Martin stood out. Over the years, I have collected a very impressive and eclectic library of music, and Frank and Dean appear in nearly a third of it.

I spent the entire day yesterday being a good housewife and cleaned the whole house, did all the laundry, and slaved over a delicious pot roast dinner in preparation for my long-lost (literally) cousin to come to our house. Of course, lest I feel naked, I played an array of music all day, which, of course, included Ella, Frank, Louis and a few hours of Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's. When I put Dean on last (because, admittedly, he was what I wanted to be playing when my cousin came over. This wasn't our first meeting, but it was going to be the first impression he had of our home and family. For some reason, I felt like Dean needed to be involved.) I got a small prick of guilt that nagged at the edge of my mind and heart throughout the CD.

When I finally sat and thought about it, wondering exactly what it was I felt guilty about, I surprised myself.

I love Ol' Blue Eyes. Dearly. But I love Dean more. And I feel like I'm cheating on a lover.