Obladi Oblada

Yes, indeed, Lennon/McCartney, life goes on. Wasn't it just a few days ago that I was a pre-pubescent junior high school attending, swatch watch wearing, big hair stylin', Esprit sweater/leggings wearing youngster who discovered and fell in love with the Beatles? Don't get me wrong. I had already fallen in love with Shriekback, the Smith's, UB40, Depeche Mode, and the Cure (in that order). Deep into the darkness that was my adolescent existence, I found a light- actually 4, in the form of John, Paul, George and Ringo. I am not sure who was my favorite Beatle back then, for I remember loving them all equally (except Ringo, of course, I mean really, RINGO?) I watched all their movies, I listened to every one of their songs (and knew all the lyrics- strange for a lyrically challenged human, such as myself), and even proved my devotion by waking up early every Sunday morning to listen to Breakfast with the Beatles on the local oldies radio station, religiously phoning in my requests for my favorite songs. But now the circle is (for me) complete. For my Beatles love has been passed to the next generation: My own pre-pubescent son and his younger brother also know that to solve all the world's problems: All we need is love. (Well, we all wish it were that simple). So when a real, life Beatle brought his show to town (for the first time any Beatle has performed in Utah), we knew we had to seize the chance and buy our concert tickets to witness this show together.
We started the evening with another summer miracle- the kids eating (and very much enjoying, I might add) Indian Food with their parents. This may not be a blog worthy event in some families, but in our picky eater bunch, it is not only blog worthy, but miracle-status worthy. No one complained or balked, they just ate. A sign from above about the magic of this night.




Another miracle, finding Romney a Beatles shirt the week before for a dollar! William had one and Romney needed (yes, I said "needed") one to wear to announce our devotion. With a Beatles logo blazon on their chests, we headed to the stadium , where yet another magical thing occurred, we found free parking within high-heeled shoe walking distance (Not to be confused with tennis-shoe walking distance. Two very different distances), made it to our seats and had a few moments to snap some photos.


We weren't close to the stage, but all of us shorties could see over everyone and had great unobstructed, direct views of our "actual" Beatle. With a gigantic catalogue of songs from over the years, I was worried we would have to suffer (yes, I mean suffer, Paul!) through many a Wings song, but he did not disappoint his crowd and sang Beatle song after song after song (at least 80% of what he performed), and included pyrotechnics on a Wing song to make it less torturous (yes, I said torturous, Paul). The boys sang and danced with abandon with me. (Bill watched lovingly and amusedly at the show to his left. :) It was truly magical to watch the boys enjoying the music as much as I had at that age (William's age anyway) as well as watching them watch the musicians performing on the instruments my guys are learning.

Realizing as a parent, there may only be a short window of time left where my boys will allow me come to a concert with them, looking at me as their "Cool Mom"-- giving them their dance moves and acting as their concert singing buddy, I savored every moment. One day soon, this Cinderella Mama's days of hanging out as something other than an embarrassing reminder that they even have parents may turn into the big pumpkin of being left at home to dance to my radio alone in my kitchen. Until then, Bless you Sir Paul--yes, life does go on ...