In search of new....

Just recently my husband and I "celebrated" 12 years of being together as a couple.  And by "celebrate" I mean that we had it pointed out to us by a friend of ours that it just so happened to be that day and so we kissed and toasted with the drinks we had been sipping on for the past two hours.  This is what our relationship has come to.  We are reduced to having our milestones pointed out to us by others.  It's really pathetic if you ask me.

Another occurance was when I was driving my oldest daughter home from theater practice and she was dancing in the car to the mixed cd that she had made me in an attempt to prove that I "truly have lame taste in music".  I stated how I really, really, REALLY am in need of a night out dancing.  She looked sideways at me and said..."yeah, me too".  I laughed and said non chalantly how in just over 3 years I can take her to 18 & up clubs and we can go dancing.  She gave me that look of sheer terror and death of embarassment that would ensue if I was to truly attempt this most heinous of ideas.

Before I could even elaborate on this topic she said the most hurtful thing outside of telling me that I shouldn't be wearing these pants because YES they do truly make your ass look HUGE!  She said..."in 3 years...you'll be like....ya know....O-L-D!"  I tried hard not to slam on the brakes or slam her head into the dashboard.  I proceeded to ask her how old she actually thought I was.  She did that long hard pause that kids that fear they may never see a penny of allowance or be told yes they can do or have something that they want ever, ever....EVER again if they answer this question wrong.

People....in 3 years I will only be 35!  What the shit?!?  I am NOT old.  I am NOT OLD!  Jesus...most people are just now getting started on their childbearing years and me.  I mean, us.  Jon and I...we are at the half way point.  This time in 10 years we will be the proud parents of two full fledge adults.  This time in 10 years I will only be 42...so take that and suck on it!

But these two events coupled with some other things that have occured over the past few days, weeks, months....year...have made me realize that it's time to go in search of the newness again.  I've begun to make a list.  Jon teases me about these list.  Mainly because I write them and then when I mess up I rewrite them.  But I tend to keep the messy one just in case I forget to carry over some items and then I end up with two list.  Two lists that usually never end up finished.  I get accused of that a lot and rightfully so because I am SO not a start to finish kind of girl.  I'm more of a get really excited about the start and lose all interest in the finish part.  About the only things that I stay COMPLETELY interested in from start to finish are FarmVille, this season of Fringe and having sex with my husband.  Not necessarily in that particular order.  Although I have said the words "just let me check my crops" when Jon has given me that look of "let's get it on"!

Again...perfect example why it is time to find the new again.  It's time to get back in tune with my body and to actually locate that body underneath all the layers of baby fat from the last baby (10 years ago) and those pints of Hagaan Daaz that have found their way maliciously into my mouth at 2am when I am depressed as all hell about the state of my life and the unhappiness that I have found myself in.  It's just time. 

For the past few days I've felt this overwhelming antsy feeling.  This urge to just throw on my shoes and run.  Run hard.  Run fast.  Run far.  Probably wouldn't be a great idea if I actually allowed it to come to fruition.  I'm pretty sure that I would make it to the end of my street and my family would find me dead or at least unconscious on the ground beneath the stop sign.  Since running...and I must admit that every time I say, think or type that word...running...all I can think of is Forrest Gump saying it.  "And I started running." 

Anyways...since running is out of the question at this particular juncture I decided to have a little conversation with my inner self.  At a little after midnight when all the house was quiet I pulled myself into first position (rockin the ballet), closed my eyes and just calmly explained that it's time to take back my life and ALL the things that I used to be so passionate about. 

It's gonna be a tall order...a slow process...but a challenge that I must take on.  For my sanity.  For my self.  I will not let another milestone go by uncelebrated or at least unremembered and I certainly will not allow my teenager or tweenager make me feel old.  It's up to me to preserve the new.  Game on bitches...game on!

And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 6

Part 6: I'm all for jokes...but really, is this the time??

Once I was firmly situated on the operating table I began to feel really, really...REALLY nervous.  I know it sounds like a moment of brilliant retardedness but at that exact moment it all seemed real.  It was like the past 40 weeks didn't even happen.  Like I had just showed up at the hospital and they announced, "hey you look like a nice woman who'd enjoy a new baby...come on back and we'll cut one out of your belly".

When they talk about pregnancy induced amnesia...I'm pretty sure they are referring to moments like this.

The anesthesiologist began to push the meds and they made sure I was good and numb.  I was elated because when I'd had Olivia I had an epic failure of an epidural.  They didn't insert the catheter properly and when they went to push the meds I could feel them leaking down my back.  Unfortunately, the monitors began to signal that Olivia was in fetal heart distress and she needed to be out.  NOW.  So they couldn't take the time to try and reinsert the epidural and I had to be put completely under.  I was the absolute last person to greet the arrival of my daughter.  I didn't want the same thing to happen with my the delivery of my son.

Once the drugs began to take affect I began professing my love to the anesthesiologist...the nurses...some dude that was bringing in gloves.  They figured that was a perfect time to bring in my husband.

They laid out the rules of how he was NOT to touch the sterile curtain that shielded him from a full view of the surgery that was about to reveal the baby.  I secretly wished them luck with that endeavor because I'd been telling him not to touch stuff in doctor and hospital settings through this whole pregnancy and HE WOULD NEVER LISTEN TO ME.  You have no idea how scary it is to watch your husband screw with a piece of equipment that probably cost as much if not more than a years salary.

They provided a stool and he took it...just in case.  I was worried that he would pass out.  He didn't do very well with blood.  Or surgery.  Or gore in general.  But I was high as a kite on pain meds...if he hit the ground...I was pretty sure one of the scrub clad individuals and that random dude with the gloves would handle it.

Then the doctor came in.  He explained that I'd feel some tugging and pressure but if I began to feel pain that I should just let the anesthesiologist know and she'd fix me right up.  I felt like saying, "dude...you do your job and don't you worry bout me and Sarah (that was the first name of the anesthesiologist) will be JUST FINE over here".

He asked if we were ready to go and we chimed in with a yes.  For a split second I wondered what would have occured if we would have said no.  Would he have been all like, okay..."I'll step out for a latte and come back in a few and see if you are ready to do this thing??"

Jon asked how long it would take before the baby was out.  The doctor explained that since their was no distress he could have the baby out in about 3-4 minutes.  I was amazed.  Made me ask how fast they could have a baby out in times of distress and was floored when he said less than a minute if need be.  Holy crap.  He said that getting the baby out was the easy part.  Putting everything back in was the long part.  Hmmmm...could have gone without the last part of info.

And so it began...

Jon says that he remembers seeing smoke from the laser.  I don't have any memory of it.  All I remember is feeling tugs and the anesthesiologist asking "are you okay"..."are you hurting"...the haze of her pushing more meds because apparently I said yes and then the sound of crying started.

Next came the voice of the doctor..."congratulations....IT'S....A.....GIRL!"

WHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTT?????

I turned to Jon willing him to verify that the doctor was in fact the King of Bad Jokes!

Jon looked down at me with misty eyes...."babe....it's a girl"!

I think I actually uttered the words, "stop joking...that's not funny" before finally looking up and seeing that in fact I was the proud momma of a beautiful baby girl.

Garren Jesse....was in fact a beautiful...perfect...10 fingers, 10 toed...little Hannah Michel!

I kissed Jon and told him to please follow the baby to the nursery.  I didn't want her out of our sight and since I obviously wasn't going anywhere...that left him on baby watch.

I got some more magical pain meds and the doctor continued with bad jokes saying first, "let me just make sure there aren't any more babies in there" and then asking "sure you don't want me to tie up any loose ends while I am down here".  To the last one I actually said yes...but he said, "no".

Next moment I can remember is waking up in the recovery room with my nurse checking my vitals.  I asked if I could see my daughter.  I then asked if it was in fact a daughter that I'd had and not just a dream.  She confirmed that it was in fact a girl and that I could see her once I was back in my room.

A few minutes later Jon strolled in all proud papa like.  Feeling drunk with the love of his first born or maybe just drunk he decided to be a jokester.

Me:  Hey...hey...is she okay.

Jon:  She's beautiful. And don't worry about the whole boy thing...doc says we can try again in like 8 weeks!

Thankfully...for him I was numb from the chest down so I couldn't physically get out of the bed and kick his ass.  However, my recovery nurse who was 3 months pregnant herself actually told Jon to, "go ahead and start running now...I'll give you a head start".

He left to go back to Hannah's side and I waited, albeit impatiently, for the moment when I could finally be properly introduced to my baby girl.

A few hours later I was rolled back to my room and in came the little lady of the day.

She was beautiful.  Absolutely captivating.  I was in love.  Everything that had taken place to get to this day just faded away.  I had my husband and two beautiful daughters...life, in this moment was perfection.

When we began making phone calls to announce our new baby we had a lot of "are you shitting me" and "no...come on...stop joking" to deal with.  Even my mom was blown away by the fact that we had absolutely NOTHING for a baby girl and rushed to buy something pink and frilly to bring home our newest family member home in.

Three days later we were heading home with our newly nicknamed Hannah "Banana" Michel Pettus.  I know...super original, right?  Well shortly after birth we noticed that she had jaundice so until we could do the sunlight treatments like the doctor prescribed we'd have a little Banana to love on.

I made Jon stop at the store because apparently my craziness hadn't stopped with delivery and I was intent on buying as much pink stuff for my new daughter as a woman who has just given birth can manage to get her hands on.  Once we got home this pretty little girl would be inundated in mass amounts of blue and Paddington Bear.  I needed something to break up the masculine undertones until I could feminine it up!!

Olivia got the first look at her baby sister when we arrived home.  She had gotten sick while I was "laboring" so we chose not to have her come to the hospital.  First thing she said when she saw her was, "hey wasn't she supposed to be a boy?"

Too tired to deal with another smart ass comment, even if it was from my 5 year old daughter I decided to just pop a pain killer and settle in to enjoy all the magic and mania that is being the mother of two girls....

~JP

And the countdown to 10...continues...Part 4

Part 4: What’s in a name anyways?

About two weeks into my bed rest the words “stir crazy” took on a whole new meaning. I was craving contact with the outside world and sadly I had none. I began to think of the people on soap opera’s as my friends and would refer to them that way in daily conversation with Jon.

At first he thought I had visitors until I mentioned how one of them had come back from the dead to find out that the baby she’d had when she was dying was actually not hers. For a moment he’d thought I had begun drinking. I assured him that while it was tempting the whole point of this was to get that baby “safely” to full term…not kill it with fetal alcohol syndrome.

I finally stopped talking to him about the most recent story lines on Young and the Restless or Bold and the Beautiful and instead focused on baby names. I had nothing else to do but name this unknown sex of a child. I became obsessed with having a girl name and a boy name. Jon thought I was taking preparedness to a WHOLE new neurotic level. I didn’t care.

Deciding a girls name seemed far easier than settling on a boy name. We had it narrowed down to Bailey and Hannah. Early on in my pregnancy we had been out to dinner and there was a woman calling her little girl and her name was Hannah. The little girl came bounding round the corner with curls and these gianormous blue eyes. It stuck in my head. Jon agreed if this little bean was a girl it would be a Hannah Michel.

Finally, after all the things going NOT according to plan we had managed to check one thing off our list. It didn’t seem to matter that we had no idea what we were having, nor did we have a crib or half the stuff actually required to care for the baby…we had a name which covered at least half our chances in the sex of the child department. We took what we could get.

My only outings during this period of bed rest were to the doctors and my reward for cooking this kid was ultrasounds. Our first ultrasound after the hospital stay was when we got to know what we were having. I remember going through the water torture and thinking wouldn't it be cool if this time we could actually see something. Ya know like something other than the fluttering heart, the feet or that magnificent profile. All that was great don’t get me wrong but I’m not gonna lie to you….I wanted the money shot!

My bladders hard work was rewarded. After measuring the head, then the spine, then the femur the sonographer turned to Jon and I and asked the question that every parent to be is asked, "do you want to know the sex?" Jon's eyes lit up and for a second I had to remind him that she did not indeed ask if he had wanted to have sex. You gotta remember he had been banned from any sexual contact for the past few weeks and now he wasn't gonna get anything until I made it to 35 weeks or until after this baby made it's grand entrance. The word sex in any context made him giddy.



Once I got him back on track we both agreed that yes, we did want to know. The room seemed intensely quiet and it was like the words came out in slow motion, "congratulations...it's a boy".

I cried.

I was ecstatic. A boy. We would have one girl and one boy. Jon just sat there smiling. First he knew the baby was healthy and now a boy. It was a good day.

I was excused to pee and then we left. The whole ride home and every moment there after was spent really focusing on boy names.

A boy. We were going to have a boy. It seemed so surreal.





I immediately had to shut down Jon on his suggestions that we name this child after one of the Manning brothers. Or possibly both…hmmm??






Jon: Babe...what do you think of the name Peyton??






Me: Really, babe? Peyton?? Our last name is Pettus. You want to name our child Peyton Pettus?






Jon: ???






Me: Why don’t we just name him Pee Pee.






Jon: (clearly NOT getting it) Or how about Eli?






Me: I like Eli...but...hmm...why do those names sound familiar?






Jon: (smiling as though he may just get away with this) Yeah babe we could name the baby Peyton Eli Pettus.






Me: PEP…naaa…I don’t think so. But seriously why do I know those names?






Jon: Maybe you went to school with someone that had similar names?






Me: No, no...I remember hearing those names very recently...like on t.v. or in the paper...why do I know those names? (trying to rack my pregnancy brain)






Jon: Don't worry about it. So what do you think...Peyton Eli Pettus? Sounds good right? Rolls right off the tongue?






Me: Wait a minute. Do mean like Peyton and Eli Manning?? You seriously want to name our child after football players?






Jon: (trying not to laugh) NO! No...I just like the names. So you agree on it right?






Me: I am NOT naming my child after football players. What's next you'll suggest we name him after your favorite baseball player’s.






Jon: (looking semi intrigued…but unwilling to open his mouth)






Me: I am NOT...repeat NOT going to be the mother of little Sosa McGuire Pettus. Do you hear me??






Jon: Yeah. I hear you.






I became a fanatic about names. I had nothing else to occupy my time. I clung to anything that could possibly get me through the long and lonely hours laid up in bed or on the couch.


I refused to be one of those woman that I dealt with at work that had to consult tea leaves or tried to sneak out of the hospital without naming their child.






Honestly I had a woman tell me as she was being wheeled past my office on the way to her vehicle with newborn in hand that “indeed in the state of Florida you have up to one year from the date of delivery to name your child”…I never looked it up because well…that is just downright insane. I would not be bringing home “Baby Boy Pettus”…this baby would have a name come hell or high water!






Not only was I crazed about names. I was worried about initials. How would it look on a monogrammed towel down the road? After being concerned about that I also found myself obsessing about how a name can be shortened. For example…loved the name William…not so much in love with the name Bill or Will!






Every name I came across in books would seem okay at first but then when I ran it through my litany of criteria…was it unique, but not weird? Did it flow with our last name? Could it be shortened into something vulgar? I mean in all seriousness do you really think the first person that ever named their kid Richard thought down the road to the day their kid would be called Dick?? I think not.






Then I’d have to deal with Jon and these random kicks he would get on. For example there was the day he was on his Russian kick…






Me: I was looking in the baby books and I just don’t see any names that speak to me. How bout you?






Jon: I like Vlad.






Me: Seriously?






Jon: Or Viktor. But it has to be spelled with a "k" instead of a "c"...it's more Russian that way.






Me: You do know that WE are NOT Russian, right?? Like..our heritage is NOT in the least bit Russian? You do honestly get that right?






Jon: Why so negative?






Me: I'm not negative. I just think there should be some thought behind a child's name.






Jon: I am putting thought behind it. I just watched "The Saint" with Val Kilmer and they had all these Russian names....oooohhhh...wait...what about Ivan.






Me: No. Come on. Seriously??






Jon: Or Mikal? Yeah..yeah...I like Mikal.






Me: Like Barrishnakov?






Jon: Who?






Me: Have you been drinking?






Every name discussion ended the exact same way. Him frustrated that I wouldn’t “just consider” naming our child Skeletor Megatron Pettus and me wishing I could slit my wrist with the baby name books. It was agony.






Another couple weeks passed and we found ourselves back at the doctors. I was a day or so shy of 33 weeks. The heartbeat was strong. I hadn’t been contracting over the 4 weeks that I had been home from the hospital. Baby’s head was no longer down, so the doctor was willing to reduce my captivity but only by allowing me to be on my feet a whole 2 hours per day with no more than 30 minutes at one time. Party time.






We asked if there would be another ultrasound because he’d said he wanted to perform them every 2 weeks, which would equal a total of 3 over the 6 weeks until I made it to the magic number of 35. He said it wasn’t necessary this time but we could revisit it at the next appointment.






I celebrated my new found 30 minute freedom by taking a LONG shower when I got home from the doctors. But later I found myself craving another ultrasound. A baby shower had been planned and the nursery was taking shape. The little one was moving all the time, but I desperately wanted to see him again.










I had turned into an ultra sound addict. Here I had been sorta kinda…in my crazy mind… promised another 2 ultra sounds and now it was a “maybe”…”we’ll see”…at best. Oh hell no…I’m a mother. I know what “maybe” and “we’ll see” means…it’s code for NO, not gonna happen but I’m gonna say this BS answer and hope that you don’t throw a fit here in Target and make me look like Mommy Dearest.






I had no choice… I went straight to my dad and whined.






He worked for a hospital across the bay in Tampa and he just happened to be in the radiology department. Perfect. I began to court him with the idea of getting one of his people to do an ultra sound. Not for any diagnostic purposes. We just wanted to see him again. I couldn’t bank on a maybe…I needed a definite.






This was before the days of the 3-D ultra sound places that you could just go to and get a stunning picture of your soon to be cuddly baby. No, this was 1999 and I was at the utter mercy of the ultra sound nazi’s as I viewed it. I wasn't basing things on chance...I was taking control of this situation. So far this seemed to be the only thing, outside of choosing names, that I indeed could control. I felt drunk with power.










A week later I got my way and we were watching our little boy on the medium sized screen. We left that day with pics in hand and I became even more convinced that I needed a name. Not just any name. A great name. A name with meaning.






I went from crazed to obsessed to completely looney over picking the perfect name. I was stuck on the name Leighton for some reason. Jon was completely against it. He didn’t just dislike it…he downright hated it.










We agreed that we wanted to steer clear of any “J” names. With me being Jessica and him being Jon we didn’t want Olivia to feel left out. Especially since she didn’t share the same last name.






Next name I became obsessed with was Riley. Then Rory. Jon shot them both down. Citing too girly for Riley and "seriously what the fuck have you been smoking" I believe was the exact kiss off for Rory.






Finally one day I remembered a patient that had a little girl shortly after I started working in the birth records department. She also had a little boy and his first name was Garren. They were English and the poor kid had about six names in total, plus his last name. There was something about that name that just stuck with me.






I was hesitant to bring it up to Jon. I was running out of unique, non weird, can't be shortened into vulgar or pansy ass get your kids butt kicked on the playground kind of names.






He’d shot down every other name that I seemed to fall in love with. I tried to find it in one of the millions of baby name books that we owned but I couldn’t. I thought maybe if I casually put it in front of him and he stumbled upon it he’d bring it up to me and I’d be all “good job babe…I LOVE it”…he’d feel all proud and at last we would have a name.






It became abundantly clear that this scenario would not be occurring. So I bit the bullet and threw it out there.






Me: Hey babe?






Jon: Yeah.






Me: I found a name that I like.






Jon: Okay…what is it?






Me: (deep breath) Garren.






Jon: Hmmm…not bad.






Me: Really?? You like it?






Jon: Yeah…yeah I do.






Me: Oh my god…we just picked out our baby’s name.






Jon: Are you crying?






Me: (sniffing) No.






Jon: Are you happy that we have a name now.






Me: (trying to non chalantly wipe at my eyes and still sniffing) Yes.






Jon: Good. Now what is the middle name gonna be?






Me: (completely deflated) Crap.






Jon: How bout Peyton or Eli?






Me: (staring at him as if I can actually KILL him with my eyes)






Jon: I’ll take that as a no.










Now that we had a first name it was time to select the middle name. Really, how hard could this be? Apparently I had not closely examined how long it took us to select the first name. Stupid, stupid girl.






Immediately we were drawn to the name Alexander. Of course that flew out the window when I realized his initials would be GAP and his monogram would be GPA. Fail.






Then I thought maybe we should choose a name from the family. Jon agreed that trying to honor his father, who had passed away in 1994, was out of the question seeing as our choices would be Lester or Clinus. Epic fail.






Finally we settled on acknowledging my dad, Jesse. I was one of three girls and thus there was no one to carry on the family name. I adore my dad, especially since he is my step-dad and he came on the scene when I was at the unruly age of 11. He put up with a lot of my shit and I thought giving my son his name as a middle name would be a great way to say how much I loved and appreciated him.






We sat on the name for 2 more weeks. We had made it to 35! Another doctor’s appointment brought the blessed news that I could indeed be free of any restraints. If this little tyke wanted to come out and play they were on board. The doctor told us to enjoy our remaining time and keep him apprised of any problems. He would see me back in a two weeks if not sooner for problems or possibly in hospital for delivery.






We went over to the hospital to register and sign up for Lamaze classes. Since I wasn’t a newcomer to this rodeo we took a three night class. Kind of like the Cliff’s Notes of Labor & Delivery. We also called my parents and asked to take them out to dinner. It was time to unveil our name.






A few nights later we met at one of our favorite restaurants and with just my mom, dad and sister we spoke the baby’s name for the first time outside of our home.






Me: Well, we wanted to invite you here tonight so we could tell you that we selected a name.


Mom: That’s great. What is it?






Me: Jon do you wanna do the honors?






Jon: No, babe…it’s all you.






Me: (getting kind of misty eyed cause I’m a pregnant ball of hormonal emotions) Dad, are you listening?






Dad: Yeah. I’m listening. You wanna tell us the name for the baby?






Me: Okay…it’s Garren Jesse Pettus.






--- S I L E N C E ---






Me: (looking nervously at Jon and trying not to cry)






Jon: (looking at me trying to figure out why the hell I’m gonna cry)






Olivia: I have to pee.






Me: Is anyone going to say ANYTHING about the name of this baby?






Olivia: I like it. I have to pee.






Me: Ok. Is anyone else that hasn’t heard this name for the past two weeks gonna say anything about the name of this baby?






Olivia: I really have to pee.






Me: Yeah. I heard ya. Cole (my baby sister) I’ll give you $1 if you take her.






My sister thankfully escorts my cross legged child to the restroom and I attempt to not kill my parents with the steak knife resting in front of me.






Me: Okay. (becoming slightly shrill) One more time…is ANYONE…preferably the SOMEONE whose name is being used…going to comment on the name of the baby?






Dad: You only get called by your middle name when you are in trouble. This kid is gonna hate me.






UGH….this whole name shit sucks.






We left dinner and that night while we laid in bed I finally did cry. I was hurt. I wanted so badly to honor my dad, but strangely…he did have a point. I couldn’t bare to go back to the name selection game. We were now rounding into the 36 week mark and I was convinced this kid was coming at any second.






Jon agreed that whether it was used just as a name on the birth certificate or to scold the child when he acted out of turn, we knew what it meant to us in our hearts. So Garren Jesse Pettus was this baby’s name. I placed my hands on my overgrown belly and felt a kick. I concluded that the baby agreed and it wasn’t a topic of discussion again.






Now all that was left to do was get him here so we could meet him face to face…how hard could that be...





~JP

Thank you Jonas Brothers....and Goodnight!

It is now "Jonas Brother...the Day After". I can still here a persistent ringing in my ears, sounds seem muffled and when I shut my eyes I have a mini laser light show going on the backs of my eyelids. But all that aside, here's how the concert went:

Let me start by saying...if you've ever wondered to yourself or aloud exactly how many people you can fit into a stretch limousine? I would like to be the one to tell you that you can mash 4 adults, 5 teenagers, 4 tweens, one little boy and still have room for posters, purses, jackets, 12 pack of soda and some (but not nearly enough) liquor.

The Mother's (take note of the red bag that hold the "Jonas Brother Survival Kit")

Teens, Tweens & little one ~ View from outside.....

....and view from within.

It helped that we had one hell of a limo driver who took it all in stride and immediately apologized for removing the bourbon from the bar because he "thought we'd wanna keep it clean with the kids and all"...ugh Tom...there goes part of your tip sweetie. Prolly would've been bigger if ya got us a little tipsy on the way home or dropped the adults in the French Quarter and returned the kids to the address we would've scrawled out on a piece of paper with a note to our other halves that would have read:

Here's the kids. We've gone drinking. Send the limo back for us if you want us to come home.
~ The Mother's

But now I am jumping ahead of myself...and that French Quarter part is gonna be for another night and another blog entirely. So back to Jonas.

For those of us NOT in the Jonas know (which turned out to really only be myself and one other mom) we got the 4-1-1 on how the show was gonna go down from start to finish from the self proclaimed biggest Jonas Fan herself Brittany, her mom Stacy and one of Han's besties Kenzie.

Biggest Jonas Fan ~ (Her glasses say Brittany Jonas...nuff said!)

They had just arrived back in Louisiana the morning of the New Orleans show after seeing the Jo Bro's play in Houston, TX. That's a whole other state ya'll and WAY too far for a devoted mom (stop laughing) like myself to drive my kids to see anything.

How this mother was awake let alone upwardly mobile was beyond me. She credits energy drinks...I say it's the adrenaline produced by pure insanity...you decide.

The ride into the city wasn't bad at all with the exception that we packed more caffeine than liquor and with individuals under 18 out numbering those of us of the parental persuasion by a little more than 1/2 we wondered what genius thought that equation was a good idea. But before we really had time to contemplate our error we were piling out as if we were the clown car at a circus. Even the limo driver commented that he didn't remember this many getting in.

(Nina & Han strike a pose outside the arena)

Once at the arena it was time to divvy up tickets and set up a meeting spot. Since I was late coming into the concert prep I had tickets that were split between two different sections. There was 1 that was on one side of the arena and 2 that were on the opposite side. All 14 of us were not going to be sitting together.

On the ride over we had worked out a solution that would hopefully allow everyone to have the most optimal and enjoyable "Jonas Experience" possible.

It broke down as follows. Biggest Jonas fan Brittany with her baby sis Kenzie had floor seats. My oldest Liv, and my good friend Mar's oldest daughter Courtney, who have been friend since meeting in 3rd grade, would be in another section...alone.

(Liv & Court...ready to take on Jonas unsupervised...mother's lock up your sons!)

The shear thought of those two teens on the loose made us both REALLY want to drink. Six tickets were together and belonged to my other good friend, Stacy (the mother that had driven to Texas and back all in the span of 17 hours), her sister Kori, two of Kori's kids, a cousin and her boyfriend. How that poor boy managed to pick the short straw that entailed seeing a boy band with his girlfriend is still beyond me.

The final 4 tickets were left to Mar, myself and our two tween-agers, Han and Carolina, who were there to experience their first ever concert.

The tears started streaming from Nina before we even made it to our seats. Mar and I joked back and forth wondering if we should have given her an "M&M" (our code for Xanax) before getting there.

(This is a pose that Mar & I struck prior to one of our first Kenny Chesney concerts together so we made the girls do the same. And yes...Nina, on the right, is crying.)

We finally made it to our seats after being stopped by an arena attendant that worried if Nina was really okay and had to deal with the looks of several other concert goers around us that questioned if she truly was alright. Mar and I contemplated if we should have passed up the Southern Comfort tent so quickly earlier when we were looking for a restroom and our seats.

(Me & Han posing with our tickets)

We assured everyone around us and ourselves that they she was fine and settled in for the show. We were disappointed to find out when we heard on the ride over that Jordin Sparks would not be performing due to illness. There was a crowd warmer that came out in between acts and asked the tens of thousands of fans in the arena to send her well wishes with a group effort of shouting "Get Well Jordin".

With no Jordin Sparks, who I have to admit I was dissapointed that I wouldn't be seeing since I actually knew more of her songs than the Jo Bro's we saw Honor Society and the Wonder Girls. If you are anything like me then you are going..."Huh??? What??? Who???"

Honor Society from a mothers perspective of not knowing who the hell these people are and why are they deserving of a portion of the $90 per ticket I just spent to come to this show....were actually pretty good if you're willing to take the word of a thirty-something, SUV driving soccer mom.

The Wonder Girls...I wish I would have snapped a picture....reminded me of a BAD talent/dance recital. The only part I was thankful for in regards to their performance is that they only sang two songs.

In between both opening acts while they were preparing the stage there was a jumbo tron that played text messages sent by fans in the arena. I was able to get one posted that read.

Hannah & Carolina here to see their first concert ever.

Unfortunately I wasn't quick enough with the camera to capture it.

(View from the top...it was PACKED and HOT)

They were so excited that they got to be "famous" for a few seconds that they made me spend every break in between performances texting madly to try and get another message on that damn screen...it didn't happen. Damn kids...you give them a text and they expect the whole show to be about them!

I was trying to amuse myself as best possible during and in between the opening acts and I found it personally hysterical (based on pre-concert post) that a little girl sitting directly in front of us had the EXACT same hairstyle as Han.

I pointed it out to Han and she looked at me like...ugh...I told you I knew what I was talking about!

And then it was time for the boys that we, meaning the kids, had been waiting for. More tears came.....

and tiny hinney's moved to their edge of their seats....

The lights went down....the lasers came up....

....and they appear to the screams of..."OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU", "NIIIIIIICK", "JOOOOOOE", "KEEEEEEEVIN", "MARRY ME", "WEEEEEELOOOOOOVEYOU", "OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD", "KILL ME NOW". Okay...that last one was the sound of the voices in my head...but I am sure you get the point.

And once again....Nina was in tears......

The Jonas Brother's took the stage to the defeaning screams of tens of thousands of hormonal bodies! It was so loud that the sound vibrated through you. We were seated in front of and next to two of the highest pitch squealers that I think I've ever had the displeasure of hearing. At one point I wondered if my eardrum had perforated or burst. Unfortunately it didn't and the ear raping went on for 2 1/2 full hours. Here's what it looked like...because I like you enough NOT to post the two video clips I took.

The outer part of the circle rotated like a record. I waited for someone to fall...it didn't happen.

I found out pretty early on that Han doesn't like loud screaming. She kept looking over her shoulder at the girls behind us and then looking at me like, "mom...aren't you gonna make them stop?" I had to keep telling her that this is a concert and unfortunately we would have to tolerate the jacklegs sitting around us. She looked very unimpressed with my perceived unwillingness to make them shut the fuck up. So she spent a good portion of the concert with her fingers in her ears. So did I. It was like a mother daughter thing.

And the concert continued. Song after song.....

When Nick Jonas came on stage with just his piano and sang "Black Keys" and talked about diabetes you could almost hear the wave of girls crying. He has a line where he says, "and I asked the doctor would I die?" I swear to you it was as if someone got up on that stage and held a gun to the kids head. All around us were fans sobbing. I was like "umm hello...he's perfectly fine jackasses. He's on the stage before your very eyes singing." All Mar and I could do was roll our eyes and sit back and watch.

(Nick singing "Black Keys")

I do have to admit this one thing...the amount of work that must have gone into creating the lights and technical aspect of this show was phenominal. I was highly impressed with all the little and big things that went on to create a visual wonderland. From lighting, raised platforms, rain, fog, lasers, a trampoline that went into the middle section of the middle stage and finally to showering the fans with foam...it was impressive.

And then finally...mercifully they descended into the hole in the stage.

Stupid me though...I forgot that they would come back for an encore. Apparently I wasn't the only one that forgot this was a possibility because some parents hopped up out of their seats as if their asses had been lit on fire the second the lights dimmed and plotted their escape. You could hear cries in the dark of the fans that knew they would be back and of the fans that were being dragged out by their parents. And then just like a horror film...."they're baaaaaaaaaaaack"....

Then their closing song, "Burning Up" came on........

.....and it was over.

Han clasped her hands tightly over her ears as the crowd once again roared. I did a happy dance in my seat as I realized I had just survived my first concert with my kids.

Will I do it again??? Ummm, maybe. Will I do another Jonas concert?? NO.

We made our way out of the arena with the masses. The teenagers that we had let sit on their own had made it back to the limo without incident and within 15 minutes the whole menagerie was present and accounted for. We sat back in the limo and enjoyed the ride home.

Tonight...a full 24 hours later I asked Han if she had a good time. She cocks her head to the side and says, "mom, it was the best. I had wished and hoped to go and see the Jonas Brothers and now I can check that off my list."

It's really all a mom can ask for. Well, that and for my hearing to return.

~JP