The family has left the building. Gone camping. I am blissfully home alone for roughly the next 36 hours. Except for the cat.

Here is how the first evening unfolds:

I go to the market to buy a variety of foods that appeal only to me.

Next, I stop by Blockbuster and rent three movies knowing (but not caring) that I may not even watch them all. (A little walk on the wild side).

I then return home to Silence.

I kiss the cat and change into my pjs.

I make myself a plate of food, open a bottle of wine, put in a movie and begin bonding with The Sofa. The brand new, incredibly comfortable sofa that I have all to myself for the next day and a half. 

I eat and drink this and that in no particular order and watch movies with No Interruptions.

I do, in fact, watch all three. In a row. I stay up until 1:30 or so … because I can. Then I stay in bed until 10:00 the next morning. Again, with No Interruptions.

I remain in my pajamas the majority of the next day.

My husband wondered why I didn’t want to go on the camping trip with them. It would be a great opportunity to spend quality family time after all. I kind of wanted to go. Really. I even miss them. Honestly. I know, too soon, my kids will be grown and gone and I will have more alone time than I will know what to do with. And I may look back on this as a lost chance at family love and togetherness.

But I just couldn’t resist the Me and My Sofa time. Maybe that makes me a lesser mom, a weak and flawed person. Or, maybe, a little bit of alone time will rejeuvenate my Mama power and I will welcome my family with wide open arms. And scoot over to make more room on our sofa.

When I heard that Buddy Guy and George Thorogood were playing at our local Auditorium, my first thought was to get the tickets, get the kids and go!  My kids have been listening to Thorogood’s Greatest Hits album during carpool for almost 3 years.  They can sing and shout along with most of the songs, though I do try to skip any about drinking alone or ordering several drinks at ounce.

And Buddy Guy?  How often do you get to see a legend?  I knew for sure they would be captivated by his sheer musical talent and gravelly voice alone.  Someday they would be able to say, “My mom took me to a Buddy Guy concert, that man was talented and amazing!”

The other reason that it seemed like a good idea was that our local auditorium is used for ballet, speaker series and local performances.  It is not a pot-smoking, head banging venue with all kinds of dangerous characters.  This is Swank, you know.  We can be a mild-mannered, rather uptight bunch.

We met friends for pizza and the moms decided that we would even eat that extra slice–knowing that a night of dancing was ahead of us.  We were all excited, we knew we were about to see fun music and to be able to take your kids to their first rock and roll concert is Visa-commercial priceless.

We settled into our 11th and 12th row seats and just waited for the magic to happen.  Buddy Guy appeared on stage with little fanfare, and he didn’t need any, he was fingers on fire awesome.  The kids sat upright on the edge of their seats as the music ripped and the lights flashed.

I was ready to get everybody on their feet and get the party started when I looked around.  Every person in the theater, save one, was sitting like a stone in their seat.  All 2000 fans in their sold out seats stared at Buddy Guy.  The occasional person would bob their head, but it was like we were in church.

Then, entering the theater late, danced in Buddy’s biggest fan.  He was dancing, he was grooving, he was whooping and hollering–regular normal at most concerts, right?  It didn’t take long for the elderly theater usher to make her way to his seat, which was a few rows in front of us.  

Next came security–an uncertain man, hesitant and small in stature. probably after working at the auditorium for years had never seen anything like this, a man who wants to dance and sing along with the music?  The nerve.

My daughter leaned forward and asked if that man was drunk.   No, I said, I think he is enjoying the music. The security man was not effective, so the blue hair bunch of men behind him asked him to sit down again.  Then it was curse word and pick a fight alley.  I was hovering over my kids like a bird wrapping my wings around them.

Next, a woman came dancing down the aisle.  She wore a sparkly sequined hat, a tank top with no bra, and hairy armpits, as the kids quickly pointed out.  She was shaking it like nobody’s business.  Normal concert, right?  Nope.  

The security called the police and these people were carted away. WTF?  No dancing at the concert???   It was the first time I had experienced that. I have been to many a concert, and I have never seen people out and out fighting and wanting to deck each other, either.  Maybe there is a time and place for beer and mixed drinks–these people needed to mellow out!

Meanwhile, I’m having a personal conflict.  Concerts aren’t really that fun if you have to bounce around in you chair instead of dance.  What are my kids going to think a rock concert is all about?  I don’t want them thinking that you just sit prudely in your chair.  Part of me wanted to stand up and dance.  The other part of my didn’t want to go against the 1998 person flow and get hauled out by the cops with my kids.

We enjoyed the concert, but we all left a little confused. It felt like we were just in a scene from Footloose 2008.   I was trying to avoid the alcohol and the pot by choosing this venue, but, I have to say, next time we are hitting the big arena.  You gotta dance baby, you gotta dance.

The crowds were thick, but this was quite a wonderful exhibit of Kahlo’s work and life.  If you have never seen her work before, don’t miss it.  If you are a fan, get there right away.  If you are open about art and experiencing art, take your kids.

 I tried to determine if it was appropriate for kids by reading reviews.  As some of Kahlo’s work is quite graphic, I wanted to know which paintings were on display. That tactic didn’t work.  Most of the paintings that I thought might ‘creep them out’ were there.  My kids did say a few  paintings were gross, but my 6, 9 and 11 year old were super silent with their audio tours and took time to thoughtfully study the paintings.

I centered our trip around Frida’s extraordinary life.  There are people that curl up into a ball when life throws them a challenge or two, and then there are the others.  Frida took lemons and made lemonade-sometimes bloody lemonade, but damn, look at her bio!  

I talked to the kids about her ability to express what was happening in her life through her work.  How she used art to help her communicate, contemplate and understand her life.  

We discussed the power of Frida’s eyes in her self-portraits.  How her talent has the ability to invoke her spirit right there on the spot.   Frida is in the room, she is looking over your shoulder and she is looking at you from her paintings.  

Just for parents thinking about taking their kids (and there were tons of kids there!), here are some of the paintings we saw that might be considered graphic for youngsters.   Considering all three of my kids have seen Ghostbusters and Iron Man (sorry, St. Peter),  All in all, I think it worked out to be a good learning experience.  

Afterward, 9 year old K2 did say that she would never paint a picture with blood spurting out of her nipples to express her pain.  I asked what she thought the blood might have symbolized–she answered a broken heart…but she still wasn’t painting herself nude.  Her dad will be relieved.

I am doing a lot of desperate things this summer.  First, it was taking my 6 year old daughter to Mamma Mia.  Now, I am shuffling my kids off to the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the San Francisco MOMA.  My delicious, food blogging, buddy humored me by saying she’d join me.

As I went through Frida’s biography with my children, the six year old kept ohhhhh and ahhhhhing over the gorier pics.  Remember, she’s the one poking the dead crow with the stick over and over.  Of all the kids, she just might be my fellow Frida fan.

This desperation is part of my summer plan.  If part of your kids go to camp part of the time, and your other kids go to camp part of the other time, then none of your kids are ever in camp at the same time. This leads a mom to be craving some adult activities.  I knew it would happen, I just wanted it to happen for good and not for evil.

Now, I did have 5 days in a row of 3 hour blocks of time, why didn’t I see Frida on one of those days?  To tell the truth, I shopped and enjoyed shopping in my cone of silence.  You see, you can take kids to the movies, you can take them to the wackier art exhibits, but you can’t shop in small boutiques or antique shops in quite the same way.

I will give you an update.  

Oh, and my kids are all going to see Buddy Guy and George Thoroughgood tomorrow at their first ever concert. I’ll let you know.

Unbeknownst to the other Shells, the Grandma Sweater has been quietly making the rounds.  She went to Boulevard and Bix in the city.  She received compliments on her stylishness.  We all know a good quality Grandma is worth her weight in gold.

The bottom line is that if you want to call me a grandma, then go right ahead.  I don’t want to be pretending to be what I’m not.  The other Shells may be slender, vixen material, but I’m embracing my cozy, grandma side.  I guess I always have.

P.S.  Grandma Sweater also went to some other places, but being a Grandma Sweater, she’s too much of a lady to mention them.

P.P.S.  Told you I would go back and get it.  I’m a pretty determined person, albeit elderly in my heart.  Just tell me ‘no’ and see what happens–if you have any doubts, ask my husband.

All right, I’ve long said my kids are going to have a lot of ammunition to pummel me on a Jerry Springer episode.  I think if St. Peter is at the Pearly Gates when I get there, his first question would be about why I took a six year old to Iron Man. (I didn’t know, I honestly didn’t know!)  There are many things that seem o-k on the first step down the path that later make me cringe with guilt.

Take last night for example.  Blondeshell and I wanted to see the movie, Mamma Mia.  After the Iron Man fiasco, I diligently went to Common Sense Media to check out the reviews.  It was recommended for 13 plus, but there weren’t a lot of things that seemed overly concerning–other than the whole basic premise of Mamma Mia, which is not knowing which one of three guys is your father.  

Afterall, these are the six year old sisters of almost 13 year old boys.  Theses girls have seen a lot of things that these boys didn’t see until they were 13.  After much discussion, my friend and I  decided that we loved the music and figured that the story would go right over their heads, which it did.  The girls enjoyed the music and the dancing–the film really is a feast for the ears and eyes with it’s island setting and big star sky.

The girls danced and sang all of the way out of the theater and in the car the whole way home.  The moms were dancing and singing, too.

Check out Common Sense Media’s review and decide for yourself how far you’ve slid up or down the Worst Mom Ever scale.  The more the merrier?

My youngest announced that she might be interested in the position of President of the United States someday. ( Personally, I have always believed she has the Right Stuff ). She wondered what the job entailed. I gave her the basic rundown: keeping the peace at home, balancing the budget, maintaining successful relationships with world powers, etc. After some thought she decided perhaps this wasn’t her calling after all. “Why not?”, we asked. 

“Too much responsiblilty.”

Can’t argue with that. Still, I kind of hope she reconsiders someday. If she were to use her powers for good… well, I for one would vote for her.

Well, just back from the fabulous Blogher 08.  Met tons of interesting bloghers and learned so much that my head is spinning.  It was a sea of writing women that buzzed with energy and excitement–but the conference was in San Francisco’s Union Square, and in Union Square, there is shopping.  Lots of shopping.

During the breaks and long lunches, I have to confess, the magnetic lure of nearby shopping and seasonal sales pulled me right out of the Westin and into the retail realm.  Of course, I kept building blogher community with another blogger (not an official Shell, but definitely an honorary one!) as we justified our field trip by discussing important blogging and shopping issues.

I think we even called it fresh air and exercise at one point.  But isn’t that what makes SF a great city?  You get it all when you go there.  We learned a lot and shopped just a little and we weren’t the only ones–I saw the bags fellow shopping bloggers were carrying.  Ladies:  Check out the Nordstrom Anniversary sale if you’re still in town.  Market and Powell, just down the street!

S.F.  Shopping Fabulous.

Whew!  We are gearing up for guests next weekend, so this means time to clean, organize and panic.  I ventured into K2’s room, to realize that my little crafter had treasures stashed everywhere.  For each stash, there is a reason why it can’t be eliminated, recycled or moved due to it’s delicate nature.

Each piece is a mini masterpiece, and each piece, takes up prime real estate of which is to become the guest room for two adults for four days.  When it comes to children, K2 is the sweetest, most even-keeled child you would ever meet, although she’s not ecstatic to give up her room, she does it with little complaint.  

You see, K2 is the one that will take the green lollipop to keep her sister from throwing a fit. She’s the kid at the mall that smiles at your crying baby and helps a stranger pick up things dropped on the ground. She’s the one who gives up her bed for guests and sleeps on the floor of her sister’s room, or her brother’s room or my room.

As the middle kid, sometimes life is very unfair for K2 in ways that I can’t control or even explain.  I am sentimental and I share the pack rat quality of my second born child.  It’s hard for me to  part with anything slightly artistic, or even junky for that matter, if it’s my junk.  I understand her pain.

However, yesterday, while she was on a play date, we did a massive garage re-org.  I was hefting things into piles and had the eye of the tiger for donating things that we no longer used.  My other two children were steadily plucking things from the donation pile and making cases for items they felt we still needed.  If they could make their case, the item stayed.

Later that evening, on a date with my husband, I realized that one of K2’s special stuffed animals had been in the donation pile–and the donation pile had already been delivered and donated.  I felt a guilty sinking stone in my stomach, I knew I would have to come clean.  

Now, some parents would be asking me why ever I would do that to myself?  She would never know that it was missing until maybe never.  But in my heart, I’m a child who has ransacked my parent’s house looking for items that were special to me and had mysteriously disappeared.  Now, as a grown up mom, I had solved the mystery–I know where that stuff went.

So, I sat down with K2 and explained my mistake.  Tears ran down her face, but she is my angelic K2, and she granted me her forgiveness. For two days she was welling up with crocodile tears silently without telling me why, I knew it was about the missing stuffed Build a Bear Workshop puppy named Lucky.

Going on a field trip today, to the Goodwill, maybe, I will get Lucky.