The Writing Mamas Daily Blog

Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.

If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.

And for that, you are a goddess.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


Ok Go

The hardwood floor palpitates beneath me. The water in my bottle splashes rhythmically upward and I can feel the music in the bottle when I bring it to my lips. The bass thumps my heart hard against my sternum, and I’m sure that without the help of my ribcage it would burst through my skin like some happy lotus flower.

I feel so much.

I'm at the OK Go show with my husband, Mick, celebrating my thirty-sixth birthday with three hundred 20-year-olds and a few 40-year-old hipsters, one of whom is a large sweaty guy in front of me who nearly head butts me each time he whips his head back to the music. I’m dying to smack his bald spot with a flick of my wrist.

This band is really cool. They play a lot of songs I don’t know, because, um, I’m not that cool, but I find myself exchanging smiles often with Mick as I let myself get buzzed just being there, taking in the night as fully as I can.

The band eventually plays the song they’re best known for, “A Million Ways to be Cruel.” They filmed the video in the lead singer’s back yard and did a riveting, choreographed funky break-dance swing routine – four guys in fitted cowboy shirts, brooches, skinny ties and old hats. The video circulated on the Internet, along with another one where they danced their choreographed routine on treadmills.

Tonight, though, instead of giving us their video dance to “A Million Ways,” they’ve changed things up and done something cool once again: they’ve left their drummer on the stage while the other three band members disappear off the sides only to show up at the back of the concert hall to play the song acoustically.

The crowd goes nuts; it’s clear this band know how to work us.

But then they really get me. They play a cover of ELO’s “Don’t Bring Me Down (Bruce!)” – that ‘70s song I used to roller skate round and round to while I tried to get my feathered hair to fly – and before we know it, the lead singer is down in the crowd with his microphone and a handheld little pin of a camera that’s projecting onto the huge screen onstage.

And, then, before I know it, he’s found me in the crowd.

It’s as if he floats to me while I watch him through a giddy fog. When he reaches me, he leans his body heavily into mine, his deliciously sweaty back soaking through my shirt. I can feel the ridges of his spine against my chest, and as he presses his sweaty face against mine, the wet tendrils of his hair leave electric streaks against my skin. With the 20-year-olds bouncing and weaving a wave around us, he sings “Don’t Bring Me Down” for the sexiest 30 seconds of my night, projecting our image large and live on stage.

When he finally leaves me to return to the stage, I look up at Mick and we laugh, and I hold my hand over my mouth, even though I want to touch my cheek but I don’t dare because I want it to take forever to dry, and I feel the happy lotus flower in my chest ready to burst all over again.

By Anjie Reynolds


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