OLDchella - Part One

Every year, a group of our friends head out to the California desert to attend Coachella. Many of them go every single year, while my husband and I make it out when we can. Sometimes only my husband goes, while other times we've had to cut the trip short. This year, because the planets aligned just right—and my mom was available to watch my son for five days—we were both able to go and stay the entire time.

The theme this year: OLDchella ... when the average age of festival-goers is almost half as yours!

We drove up on Thursday with a couple of friends who flew in from the Bay Area, arriving at the hotel in the late afternoon. This year we stayed at the Marriott Shadow Ridge, sharing a two-bedroom suite with the couple we drove up with. The suite had plenty of space, and our bedroom had a little patio that overlooked a quiet stream.

Most of our group arrived earlier, so the party was already well underway by the time we got there. (Translation: drink up to catch up.) The group always goes out for a big pre-Coachella dinner on Thursday night; this year our reservation was at 8pm at Cliffhouse Grill & Bar in La Quinta, so I had time to drink a couple of Bloody Marys and a glass of wine before we had to pile into the huge van that would take us to and from the restaurant. I had a glass of Zinfandel with my sugar-spiced salmon, followed by coffee and their ridiculously rich Happy Point S'mores for dessert. Between me and two friends, I don't think we even ate half of it. You know you're old when you've got a massive sweet tooth and can't even finish your dessert.

After dinner, the party continued at the hotel in one our friends' suite, where my arm was twisted (with very little resistance) to have a shot of tequila (meh) and Absolut Whipped Vodka (yum). By that point, the room was definitely spinning. I think I switched to water, but I honestly don't remember much after that second shot.

To be continued. Next up, Coachella Day 1.

Love and Vomit

There are many, many things I never thought I would do or say before I became a parent. (How often I make references about my son's toilet habits, for example.) But there is one specific thing that I remember my mother doing that catches me by surprise every time I find myself doing it: I'm talking about catching my child's vomit with my bare hands.

Gross, I know. Which is why I'm surprised each and every time I have done it myself.

When I was about five years old, the open windows in my bedroom suddenly slammed the door shut behind me. Unfortunately, one of my fingers was still back there. On the plus side, it wasn't severed completely, and the doctors were able to reattach the wayward tip. I was knocked out for the operation, and I remember waking up feeling very, very ill. As soon as I sat up, out came the vomit, and I very clearly remember my mother rushing over with her hands cupped just below my mouth.

For the longest time I thought, "Damn, that some nasty shit right there!" I never understood how she could have done that. (As an aside, my parents were both workaholics and we spent a lot of time with nannies. Apart from the finger incident, I don't really recall any memories of being sick with the flu or a stomach bug as a young child.)

Last night (and this morning), my son barfed. As I've done every time he's gotten sick in these past four years, my cupped hands automatically shot below his mouth to catch it. And after EVERY. SINGLE. TIME ... I think to myself, "Good lord, it's like what my mom did for me!"

I guess I like to think of it as something a parent would do, unconditionally, for her child. That, no matter little time my mom and I spent together, she would still do that for me. No matter how angry or frustrated I get at my son, I would still do that for him. There is no truer sign of love than catching someone else's vomit!

And, I'm somewhat shallow. Better my hands than that expensive rug? ;)