Faux Steve

I'm an unapologetic 80's Classic Rock kind of girl. Some of you may remember: Foreigner, Styx, and of course, Journey? How many summer nights did I spend belting out lyrics of Snow Blind, Urgent, and Fooling Yourself? (All the while ignoring the gargantuan mistake and horror of Mr. Roboto!) Indeed, my summer nights were filled with great music and no one sang it better than "I'm-convinced- he's-gonna-marry-me-someday-if-I-can-only-meet-him," Steve Perry.

My Steve was mine Faithfully. And my best-friend Cindy reminded me, "Julie, Don't Stop Believing!" So we purchased concert tickets and I really believed somehow, somewhere, the love of my seventeen-year old life would be waiting for me at the Kansas City arena with Open Arms and at last, instead of living Separate Ways, Worlds Apart, we would be together. What can I say? Girl Can't Help It, she's in deep infatuation.

Fast forward twenty+ years down the Dixie Highway and note my last name is Barnhill, Julie "Happy to Be" Barnhill. Turns out I'll Be Alright Without You, My Steve, but when you're Stone in Love, it can be difficult. Somehow I soldiered on, came to grips with my adulthood and learned to deal with all of the above.

I was fine. Really. But then My Steve went and got older, threatened a hip-replacement, and QUIT Journey just as I getting used to being a 30-something with kids. The Party's Over, indeed. Year after year, thereafter I hoped and prayed My Steve would return. He teased. He threatened. He even whined (methinks embarrassingly so) on VH-1.

But still, no My Steve.

While speaking in the San Francisco area I'd boldly ask if anyone knew him or could secure his email address. (What? Is there something wrong with that?) One woman's parents had lived across the street from his dad and possibly witnessed My Steve entering the premises. Another had a nephew who was a roadie during the hey-day of the 80's. Yet another said no to My Steve but she could possibly line me up meeting Huey Lewis.

Please. Huey's nice but no My Steve.

Imitator after imitator attempted to fill his microphone. Steve Augeri. Jeff Scott Soto. They should have just stayed home and played Rock Band. But then an item in The Wheel in the Sky of cyber-news. A hit of hope! A Six-Million- Dollar-Man-Neal-Schon kind of hope, mind you....

"Former fans, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster...with healthier hips."

Heart racing, pulse pounding, I dared to believe and clicked over and listened. Then I went to Wal-Mart (lone distributor and shiny waxed action alleys to "Swiftly Approaching Middle-Age Fans Formerly Known as Youthful & Cool") and purchased the album. I mean, CD.

Hello, Journey, my old friend! And to frontman Arnel Pineda and the future of more classic Journey sounds for my teenagers to belt out. Take it from this die-hard lover of classic Journey; this new guy's got the stuff. He's not trying to be My Steve (like anyone could) but he stares rabid believers like me in the eye and asks, Who's Crying Now?

3:38 AM Thoughts

Sleep has been impossible tonight.

I've decided to kick the Pepsi habit (again) and the accompanying caffeine loss has my left temple pounding. But that's not the main reason I find myself writing so early into the morning. A dose of Excedrin Migraine off-sets the headache but does little, if anything, to alleviate the random thoughts, memories, and questions cycling through my mind...

I've been thinking about the "harvest" of twenty-years of mothering. All the words--thousands upon ten thousands of words I've sown; words of instruction, correction, praise, encouragement, frustration, joy, discouragement, anger, counsel.

I've been mulling over--no, that's far too innocuous a term--I've been evaluating the harvest of my own choices as a young girl, teenager, twenty-something, and beyond (I'll turn 43 in a couple of months); examining the outcome of those willful choices (some worthy, some horrendous) and considered the part they have played in the lives of my own three children.

You reap what you sow.
What goes around comes around.
Mothering is exhaustive work.
God gives strength to the weak!

Kristen and Ricky Neal (19 and 18 respectively) will soon be leaving for the entire summer to work at a Christian camp nestled in the midst of Sequoia National Park. I love the fact they will be together--looking out for one another--and strengthening their friendship as sister and brother. I smile knowing one will be working full-time hours as a dishwasher; the other housecleaning. Hard work coupled with a spirit of service will shape them far more than they realize.

Patrick (13) is more than happy to take on the status of "only" child. And his father and I are looking forward to getting to know him in a manner unlike the years before. We got a hint of what's to come this last school year. Ricky Neal was a Senior, he waited tables at our local Italian Pizzaria, Rosy's, and more evenings than not it was just the three of us--Rick, Patrick, and me, sitting at the table and catching up on the days events.

It was, well, weird at first: being able to finish a complete sentence without someone interrupting; needing to think of more to say often times as there were two less people to carry the conversation. But it was delightful too: listening to our third child (how often his voice was drowned out by the drama of other two!); fixing his favorite meal--night after night; and seeing him, in some ways, for what seems the very first time.

Please excuse the randomness of this post. It was early when I started and a couple of hours later as I finish. Love your children. Don't grow weary in planting and sowing words and actions doused in love and wisdom. Hang in there! Forgive much--of others and yourself.

MUST READ: How my mother's fanatical views tore us apart...

Rebecca Walker, daughter of cultural icon, Alice Walker, describes what it was like to grow up with her famous feminist mother and declares her own joyous, One Tough Mother, choice to revel in motherhood.

Woman's Day Magazine

Check out "How to be a Better Mom." and find my quotes as well as other fabulous parenting experts and real moms advice.

Another Great Prayer

Mama Kelly, one of my posters sent this is to the comments section of the blog. I found it insightful enough to post for one and all to read:

Help us also remember that the mom in the grocery store with three screaming kids is just as irritated and frustrated as you are, and probably more so. The difference is that we standing on the outside giving the dirty looks have the privilege of going home in our quiet vehicle. She, on the other hand, has to take those little munchkins home with her and deal with their insanity all night while trying to figure out how to raise them in the healthy fear of the Lord and her.

Best Prayer I Have Heard In A Long Time...

Heavenly Father,

Help us remember that the jerk who cut us off in traffic last night is a single mother who worked nine hours that day and is rushing home to cook dinner, help with homework, do the laundry and spend a few precious moments with her children.

Help us to remember that the pierced, tattooed, disinterested young man who can't make change correctly is a worried 19-year-old college student, balancing his apprehension over final exams with his fear of not getting his student loans for next semester.

Remind us, Lord, that the scary looking bum, begging for money in the same spot every day (who really ought to get a job!) is a slave to addictions that we can only imagine in our worst nightmares.

Help us to remember that the old couple walking annoyingly slow through the store aisles and blocking our shopping progress are savoring this moment, knowing that, based on the biopsy report she got back last week, this will be the last year that they go shopping together.

Heavenly Father, remind us each day that, of all the gifts you give us, the greatest gift is love. It is not enough to share that love with those we hold dear. Open our hearts not to just those who are close to us, but to all humanity. Let us be slow to judge and quick to forgive, show patience, empathy and love.

What I Did Right

My second child will soon be graduating high school so I've been doing the "looking back" thing a lot of us do around this time of life. It still amazes me to hear him yell, "Mom!" and to know he's talking to ME.

Me! The mother who could barely remember to feed him once I began weaning him off the bottle. (Not to worry. Blueberry Buckle soon became his and my favorite. As for some unholy meat thing labeled "veal," well, he spewed it once and we never looked back.)

Me? The mother who in 1993 believed acting like one tough mother met yelling louder than a three-year old and physically over-powering a toddler when worse came to worse. Unfortunately for Ricky and me, worse came to worse far more often than it should have. You can read all about that period of, Awful Motherhood, (and the lasting change I found) in another book of mine, She's Gonna Blow.

Anyway, back to Graduation Day Pondering.

Yes, I'm still surprised to be his mom at times. Surprised he claims me as his rent too! But after all is pondered, analyzed, and considered, here's what I think: I did A LOT of things right. Yep. Right. Excellently right, if I may say so myself. And I've decided to list a few of them for your maternal reading pleasure. After doing so, make up your own list. Read them to your children (whether they want to listen or not) And treat yourself to a moment of maternal satisfaction.

What I Did Right

• Asked a million questions regarding the health of my children (gestational development, weird rashes, apnea fears) and never hesitated to get a second and third opinion.
• Picked up my babies nearly every time they cried.
• Read, "I Love You Forever," 16,435,943 times. Really.....I'm serious.
  
• Going away on week long vacations...without kids.
• Admitted SpongeBob SquarePants is funny. Stupid, but funny.
  
• Saying, "Because I said so, that's why," without guilt or hesitancy.
  
• Belting out, Don't Stop Believing, and other classic rock-and-roll at the top of my lungs while stuck in traffic with my children---with the windows rolled down. (I was supposed to marry Steve Perry. He failed to see me amongst the other 30,000+ fans at the Kansas City arena in 1983. "Oh, Julie, our love holds on, holds on....")
  
• Saying, "I'm sorry," when I needed to.
  
• Baking Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookies nearly once a week for the past 20 years.
• Admitting when I was (am) wrong. (It happens on occassion.)
• Living my life as authentically and loudly as possible before my children's eyes.