Last Tour: RIP EVH

 For my mom it was John Lennon. For me, it was Eddie Van Halen. 

It was probably somewhere between my eighth grade and freshman year. 1983-ish. Someone was playing a Van Halen cassette tape on the pep bus to a football game. The first few bars of that chaotic, yet genius guitar soliloquy called Eruption punched me in the gut. Who was this amazing band who electrified The Kinks and seemed to play one thousand notes a second?

Now, I had already been a music fan. I faithfully listened to my mother's Beatles records as a kid. I had a nice collection of 45s: Blondie, Hall & Oates, Nick Lowe, Michael Jackson. My first two real albums were The J. Geils Band and Joan Jett. But nothing would prepare me for the love-at-first-sight when I listened to Van Halen I all the way through. Six thousand times. I quickly acquired their other albums. Van Halen II. Women and Children First. Fair Warning. Diver Down. I knew exactly how long to rewind my cassette to hear Little Guitars over and over again. Until the player ate my tape, of course.

Then something amazing happened.

1984.

I clearly remember Otis12 on Z-92 introducing the new album "featuring Eddie on the keyboards." And while the music was clever and catchy, something even more wonderful was about to happen: videos. Oh my goodness. How I loved videos.

Now, I had certainly had my share of childhood crushes: Shaun Cassidy. Leif Garrett. Scott Baio. But it was different with Eddie. I was fourteen, for one thing, so I was obviously mature. And Eddie Van Halen was so much more than just a cute pop star. He was a cute rock star, clearly evidenced by the Jump and Panama videos. I never tired of watching him shred the guitar with his sweet smile and kick-ass hair which I sort of replicated in my teen years.

I can't think of high school without a Van Halen soundtrack going through my head. Van Halen was literally at the top of my favorite band list. (This was a very real list that I shared with anyone who was interested in my music preferences.) I had a Van Halen pen which I faithfully used for taking notes and dawdling the VH logo throughout the day. I argued with anyone beating a bible and labeling the band as "Devil's Music," insisting that Running with the Devil was obviously a metaphor. To this day, I will not forgive a few of my friends for going to Van Halen's last "David Lee Roth" concert without me as I sat in my bedroom pining, vowing to let nothing stop me from seeing the band next time they came around.

Unless, of course, the band broke up, which, of course, they did.

You know the rest of the story. Sammy Hagar came around. I liked the new Van Halen, but it wasn't the same for me. Those early Van Halen songs were raw, unexpected and a celebration of youthful recklessness. I was transitioning into adolescence. While I wasn't a terribly reckless teen, I appreciated the sentiment and applauded anyone with the audacity to live a bit on the wild side. Van Halen was that world for me. Even if it meant watching them on Friday Night Videos or listening to the albums in my room. Thankfully, I would explore that world a bit more in college. My roommate and I would even pay homage to Van Halen by decorating our ceiling with red and black electrical tape in the image of Eddie's guitar. (It hardly damaged the paint.)

Other bands eventually snuck their way into my heart. Def Leppard. U2. Coldplay. But none of the charismatic front men of those bands would ever replace Eddie Van Halen. He was my very first, my very best rockstar crush. His music, his style, his influence on a nerdy, young girl will be forever tattoo'd in my heart.

Rest in Peace, Eddie.

A New Moon

Cole is one week away from move-in day. Next Sunday we'll drive to our beloved Iowa City to unload his college gear at Hillcrest Dormitory–my old dorm and his big sister's old dorm. Is he ready? Are we ready?

I've noticed a certain maturity in Cole lately. Things like doing laundry without me prompting him, even if he mixes reds with whites. Or getting a replacement license on his own after losing his wallet. (We found this out after his new license came in the mail. In all fairness, he's had plenty of practice at replacing lost ones.) Or, reading books on his own. Sure, it's the Twilight series, but hey, it's reading.

We've somehow managed to celebrate the end of this era. It's almost like the high school graduation season that would never end. Since May there's been a virtual graduation ceremony, a live, socially-distanced ceremony, grad parties with lots of hand sanitizer, an impromptu prom, a last hurrah vacation with some fatherly mooning amidst a beautiful South Dakota backdrop, and a senior soccer sendoff allowing mothers to sport their cool soccer gear at least one more time while watching the boys battle it out with their buds on the field. Despite the pandemic, every single event has been a wonderful tribute to the kids we raised and the friendships they've cultivated.

There's not a parent who doesn't feel a gaping hole when they send their kids out into the world. I still feel that hole with our 23-year-old. But that hole is peppered with excitement about the future. Yes, there's a lot of yuck in the world right now. But I can't help but feel hopeful for our kids. They still see a giant, blank slate in front of them. If anything positive can be taken from this past year, perhaps it's the space and time that came from the screeching halt of activities. I know we all yearn for those activities. But perhaps it allowed some of our kids to do a bit of window gazing and deep thinking, when they weren't playing Clash Royale, of course.

Cole wants to start packing today.  He's also been having some very serious thoughts about the career he wants to pursue. A good sign. He's starting to truly think ahead! But he also wants to watch New Moon with me. Also a good sign. He's still living out some of his tween fantasies. You can't grow up all at once. You shouldn't grow up all at once. Or maybe ever. Perhaps we should all relive our tween fantasies once in a while. That would mean Charlie's Angels for me.

I completely expect to become immersed in nostalgia as soon as we walk through the doors of Cole's new digs and I smell the same weird, stale odor that greeted me in 1987. I clearly remember the blank slate before me. It was exciting, but terrifying. No matter what's happening in the world right now, I know it will be the same for our kids just starting out: a wonderfully, scary time. But more wonderful than scary.

So, ready or not... here we all go.

Bittersweet Coming of Age

Our daughter has now settled in Denver – a city brimming with art, food, music, craft beer, legal narcotics, and majestic scenery. It's a place conducive to activity: biking, running, hiking, kayaking, walking dogs. She resides in a stylish townhouse with two of her high school pals. Truly, it's a haven for young people. I'm happy for her. Really. But I fear she may never come home again. It takes approximately eight hours and three minutes to get there from here. Doable. Not terribly practical. But doable. I'm guessing she thinks it's the perfect distance from her parents.

A Quick Trip to Denver...

I'm not gonna lie. I don't wan to interrupt her life, but there are so many things that pop into my head that I need to share with her. She's my girl, for goodness sake! Doug and Cole aren't gonna care about a potential hairstyle. They don't understand critical decisions needing to be made such as: flats or heels? And they most definitely won't care about a Netflix series that explores something as enthralling as feminism.

Cole has just informed us that he will most likely go to University of Iowa (3 hours away) and then eventually live in California (light years away). Now, I'm super excited we might have another Hawkeye alum in the family. But can't our kids at least pretend to be sad about moving away from us? Just a little?

I often hear people over the age of 40 complain about our attachment to cell phones. But I'm quite certain I'd need super dosages of anti-anxiety meds if I couldn't track the kids on Life 360 or send them threatening texts for not responding to me. And I'd be one sad mom if I couldn't Face-time my daughter who seems destined (or determined) to live hundreds of miles away.

There it is. The "Really, Mom?" look.

Okay. I understand the idiocy of my pity party. I know, I know. You raise your kid to be independent. To an extent, I'm happy about that. Proud, for sure. But, there's this gigantic maternal hole that plagues me as I feel the kids slipping away. I've had a couple of ideas on how to fill that hole. Grandkids come to mind. Then I shiver at the thought of our 18-year-old boy becoming a dad. I've even brought up adopting a 10-year-boy. But as Doug so profoundly pointed out, he'd just leave eventually too. Then it came to me this week. An idea so simple and so perfect. Something I've been doing with my own mother forever. A mother-daughter book club.

I've recommended millions of books to my daughter. But as I've pointed out, she's quite independent. I don't think she believed I could suggest a book that would satisfy her intellectual cravings. Nevermind, that I was an English major. (Maybe she too clearly remembered my obsession with the Twilight series.) However, recently I struck gold. Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler is a novel about a 22-year-old writer who moves to New York City and gets her start as a server in a swanky restaurant. How could my journalism major who is getting her start as a server in a swanky restaurant resist? Last week she began texting comments about the book. When we spoke on the phone, our conversation drifted to the story. Then it hit me. We were our own book club! I asked Alex should we formalize it? Set a date to Face-time and answer real book club discussion questions? She was in. And my world shone just a bit brighter.

The other morning Cole mentioned how much he loved the book he was reading right now: Catcher in the Rye. Interestingly, there are a few parallels between that classic and Sweetbitter. Also interestingly, it happens to be one of my ALL TIME FAVORITES. (You just can't beat a good coming-of-age novel.) I told Cole that perhaps he'd make a good English major. He shrugged me off. That's what kids do. That's okay. I got plans for him after he graduates from college and moves to California. A mother-son book club.