If you’ve known me for any length of time, you know this already. I’m not crazed, but I am enough of a devotee that people think of me when they get a discount code, or when they need help identifying a line of clothing. After Madalyn was born I went in the store a few times, adored the clothes, and was horrified by the prices. I resisted for a few years but, somehow, when Madalyn was about 2.5, it got to me and I caved. I can still remember the first good-sized batch of Gymboree clothes she had, and tell you the lines all the pieces came from. I have been shopping there ever since. Madalyn was about 7 when she outgrew their clothing, because she was so big for her age, but I can still shop there for Johnny, and Eliza, who’s average-sized, still has a good seven years left before she leaves Gymbo sizes behind.

Many people take one look at Gymboree prices and run, screaming…or look down their noses at me for paying so much. I try to explain that I rarely pay full price for anything from there. I wait until it goes 20% off or more. I also collect and use GymBucks ($25 off of every $50). I also buy pieces from former lines on eBay. The prices are probably still higher than a lot of people would pay for second-hand clothing but it’s still not sticker price. (I also buy “new with tags” items and end up paying less than the original asking price.)

There is a method to my madness, however. It’s not just that I am in love with Gymboree’s designs. Certainly I am….with some of them. People might be surprised to know I don’t love everything Gymboree does. There are entire lines that leave me cold. At any rate, it’s not just aesthetics that spurs me to spend the money on this brand. Also factoring into the decision is the fact that, quite simply, Gymboree is consistently some of the most well-made children’s clothing you can buy. It’s sturdy and made with quality materials. With two girls, do you have any inkling of how many shirts, dresses, skirts and pairs of pants I’ve bought from Gymboree over the years that had either sequins or rhinestone detailing on them? Know how many of those pieces have ever lost any of said embellishments? None, that I’ve ever seen. Meanwhile, every shirt we’ve ever bought from anywhere else that had sparklies on it had lost half of them before the season was over.

Over the past year or so I’ve been making liberal use of a website called Zulily. Rather than selling their own brand of merchandise, Zulily makes deals with manufacturers and designers to sell a specific quantity of items at (an alleged) considerable discount. They really do have low prices on some items that are very cute. The problem is that, once you get them home, you find out that many of the items are very poorly made. The manufacturers are claiming normal resale prices that rival Gymboree’s, and yet the quality seems to be on the level of Walmart, or Target, if you’re lucky. And it’s not, as I said, just one company’s products. I have ordered things from Zulily from countless different manufacturers and I run into this problem with a lot of them.

But don’t just take my word for it. I have photographic evidence. All of the following photographs are of items I have bought at “deep discount” from Zulily. (Note: Feel free to click on any of the photos to see the details up close.)

First, one of the ruffles on the front came unstitched, so my mom fixed it. Then the strap came loose.

Legwarmer that came with a dance outfit. The first time she wore it to dance she came home missing the giant black bow that was where that black ribbon loop is. We couldn’t find it so my mom had to make new bows for *both* legwarmers and sew them on properly.

This shoe had a faux button. The strap was actually attached with a flimsy metal brad that was inserted into the shoe and bent. She wore them maybe three times before it came apart. I ended up using Gorilla Glue to put it back together (and ruined a favorite shirt because the glue squirted on me, damn it).

These sandals were so cute when they were new. See all those black spots on the beading? Those were all silver when we first got them.

Sandals again. She only wore these for one summer, and they were not, by any means, her only pair of shoes, so it’s not as though she wore them all day, every day.

A new item – she tried to put this on the day after we got it and the three threads holding the strap immediately broke before she even had it entirely on her body.

What you see above is just a sampling of the issues I’ve had. There have been many other incidences of cheap materials, cheap manufacturing, stuff falling apart, material fading awfully and/or getting holes in it after only a few washings, and the elastic inside waistbands rolling over (this happens a LOT). Now, to be fair, I should point out that I order from Zulily frequently, and there have been things that I haven’t had a bit of trouble with. Also worth pointing out is that this is not Zulily’s fault, personally. I don’t have a problem with them. They are not responsible for the manufacturing. Indeed, my point is that this has happened with so many different brands that it appears to be the standard rather than just a few bad apples.

For a bit of contrast, allow me to submit two more pictures.

This is a Gymboree dress. Look closely and you will see no fading and no pilling of the fabric. The ruffle around the neckline and the bows at the waist are firmly attached and the stitching around the wrists is perfect.

And now for the kicker:

Please note the copyright date on the line second from the bottom. It’s 2002. This is a 10-year-old dress. I got it on eBay. We are not its first owners. Hell, we may not be its second owners. The thing is ten years old and it’s basically pristine.

 If you’re still saying, “So what? They’re kids’ clothes…they can only wear them for a little while. Who needs them to last ten years?” I would ask you — what do you do with cheaper kids’ clothes when they are worn out and falling apart? Dump them at a thrift store? Throw them away? I’ll tell you what people do with Gymboree clothes — they resell them. I can buy these clothes, send my kids out looking adorable, and then sell the clothes to someone else and get part of my money back…maybe even enough that I end up, in the long run, not having paid any more for the outfit than I would’ve at Old Navy or The Children’s Place. They also make great hand-me-downs. I have tons of Madalyn’s old Gymboree socked away in sizes all the way up to 12, just waiting for Eliza to grow into them — which will save me money as the years go on. If you take a $40 outfit and use it for two different kids, then you are really only paying $20 apiece for the thing. It’s even hard to get a (nice) shirt and pants at Walmart for under that, anymore.

So you see, my friends, that it’s not about wretched excess or fancy brand names. Gymboree clothing, frankly, is just better. It’s better quality and longer-lasting. I would rather my kids have a small wardrobe of really cute, sharp-looking outfits that someone else can use after us than a closet full of cheap things they can only wear three times. I strayed away a little last year. Got sucked in by the hype of huge discounts and thought, “Why do I need to go to Gymboree when I have these other options?” But when something was

I thought taking care of the kids was a full time job. And it is…when they are actually home full time. After they’ve all started school and are gone most of the day, five days a week? I’m going to go out on a limb here and risk alienating my stay-at-home mommy friends by saying no. No, it’s no longer a full-time job. If you are not working and your kids are gone from 8:30 until 3:00 every day? You have time to get stuff done. Lots of stuff. I mean no disrespect; I was one of those moms. I had long stretches of time – years – when my children were gone all day at least a few days a week and I stayed home. There’s no shame in it and my purpose is not to invalidate. I’m merely pointing out, for contrast, that there is a huge difference between being on your own schedule and having entire days free to do what you want or what you need to do, and being at the mercy of a school (or work) schedule and having a narrow window of time in which to accomplish tasks.

Being in school and taking care of the kids would be a lot in a normal situation, but, as you know, I only have a husband/second pair of hands two days a week (occasionally three). This means I’m not only trying to do all these things, I’m handling them alone. I’m not trying to do everything because I’m a control freak or because I feel invaluable if I don’t. I simply have no choice. Not only that, but my going back to school seems to have coincided with the kids starting to do more in the way of activities…or, rather, staring to do more involved activities. We’ve tried to keep it simple. One activity per kid. That’s not too much, right? We have no interest in overscheduled children. However, when I’m doing all the drop-offs and pickups myself, and Madalyn has track practice ending when Eliza’s dance class begins, I have to be in class right after that and I’m trying to figure out how to feed us all in the one free 30-minute window I have — it’s a lot. Forget the kids. They aren’t overscheduled. Mom is overscheduled.

Anyway, my point is I never understood people who, for example, used to be online a lot and then disappeared for a while, claiming they were so busy they couldn’t even pop in for ten minutes to say hi. I didn’t get how someone could not have five minutes to return a phone call, or why they couldn’t manage to drop by a post office to mail something they said they were sending me. I didn’t understand…until now. I don’t call people. Of course, I didn’t before, but that’s because I didn’t want to. Now it’s because that takes time and attention I don’t have. Non-essential errands are way down on the priority list. And sometimes I don’t get online for the first time until the kids have gone to bed. I, who used to be online every couple of hours, all day long! Half the time I truly don’t have the time to do it. The other half of the time I could snatch 20 minutes here and there…but there’s a list as long as my leg of other stuff that also needs to be done, and I have to prioritize. Sometimes I have no choice but to go the responsible route because I know that, if I don’t, I’ll regret it later. If it’s not going to cause me a problem later, well, then, heck yes, I’ll let it slide and check in with my friends. But it’s basically a triage situation, here. Whatever is most urgent goes to the head of the list and the other stuff falls in line behind.

Now, let me clarify: I don’t mean this to complain. This is not a self-pitying post. I feel I must specify this because there is a faction of people online who, apparently, persist in believing I am miserably unhappy with my life. (I’m still trying to figure out what gives them that idea. Yes, I have my mood swings and the tone of my posts in various forums can be affected by that. But I’m pretty sure for every mad/sad/crappy thing I post, I post an equal or greater number of funny or silly or even-tempered things. So, WTF?) To be clear: not whining. I’m stating fact. This is my reality. I chose it, and I’m happy I did. I like school. I like my family. I like people who mind their own damned business. Er, thank you for your concern.

That said, I would like, for no other reason than my own amusement, to type out my schedule for the next three days. It is rather making my head spin…or would be, if I’d let myself think about it as a whole. I’m not, though. The way I deal with it is this: head down, full speed ahead, one task at a time. Tunnel vision. It helps, really. A year ago, if I’d had three days in a row like this, I’d likely have had a nervous breakdown.

Tuesday – Eliza’s Birthday

7:00 – Wake up, get Mad in the shower, fix breakfast, pack lunches. Mad out of shower, I go in. Let Eliza open one birthday present to take to school as show and tell. Take some pictures. Try not to feel badly about not making a bigger deal out of the day for her.

7:55 – Take Madalyn to school

8:15 – Take Johnny and Eliza to school

8:35 – Back home. Fix hair, get dressed.

9:30 – First class

11:00 – Second class

11:15-11:20 (we hope) – Second class wraps up early. Drive across town to pick up cupcakes. Drive back across town to preschool, deliver cupcakes, take some pictures, and beat it back to university

12:30-1:45 – Third class

1:45-2:50 – Free time. Enjoy it. Will be the last for the rest of the day. Intend to take a power nap or get online, but will probably actually end up doing laundry or something I feel I “should” be doing.

2:50-3:00 – Pick up Eliza + leftover cupcakes. Go straight to Johnny’s school to wait in line because thirty minutes isn’t enough time to bother going home.

3:30 – Get Johnny. Drive home. Spend next hour supervising homework, shooing Eliza away from her birthday presents, and nagging people to pick stuff up.

4:30 – Pick Madalyn up early from track practice so we can go to Eliza’s birthday dinner.

5:30-5:45 (hopefully) – Return from birthday dinner. Eliza opens presents. Pictures! More nagging people to clean up things.

6:30 – Back to school, 4th class

7:45 – Return home just in time to shuttle the younger kids off to bed. If they are on top of things they will have showered while I was gone. Otherwise, spend several minutes shrieking at them to “hurry up and get in there.”

8:00(ish) – Younger kids to bed

8:30 – Madalyn to bed. Maybe I can sit down here.

Next!

Wednesday – Alleged “day off”

Wednesday is parent-teacher conference day in our district. Thus, my public school kids have the day off. Preschool child does not. I was looking forward to this, as I thought Mad, Johnny and I could hang out, maybe watch a movie, etc. However. I have a dermatologist’s appointment at 10:30. Also, Johnny’s teacher has scheduled me for a conference at 10:15, which I will have to move (can’t really move the derm., as it takes a month or more to get in there). So at some point I will go to Johnny’s school for his conference. After that I will go to Madalyn’s school for her conferences. It is “first come, first served” for her grade, so I could, potentially, have a bit of a wait if there are people ahead of me. Additionally, she has a different teacher for every hour so I have a lot of people to see. Then I will pick up Eliza at 3:00, come home and likely immediately start on dinner, which takes most of the evening. Day off? Not so much.

Thursday – Is it Friday yet?

7:00 – Wake up. All the same bullshit as Tuesday at 7:00, except for the part about presents. Thank God.

Take kids to school.

9:30-10:45 – First class.

11:00-11:20 or so – Second class (God bless indolent professors).

11:20-12:30 – Ding ding ding! Free time! Go take a nap, dummy!

12:30-1:45 – Third class.

1:50-2:50 – Meet my friend to work out.

2:50-3:30 – Picking up younger kids. Go home, immediately begin preparing to leave again.

4:50 – Drop Johnny off at guitar.

5:00 – Drop Eliza off at dance. Madalyn also gets out of track practice right now. May have to send her uncle to pick her up.

5:30 – Pick Johnny up from guitar.

5:45 – Pick Eliza up from dance.

5:50 – Home, and I guess this is when everyone finally gets to eat, but I’m sure as hell not cooking, because…

6:30-7:45 – Fourth class.

7:50 – Return home, and thank my lucky stars that it’s now my weekend.

Right now the only thing I have scheduled for Friday is taking Eliza out somewhere to spend her birthday money. I’m sure she will wheedle lunch out of me, too. That’s the kind of activity level I can handle.

If nothing else, all this will make me truly and deeply appreciate summer break!

Here is the case they came with:

Here’s the front view with the cleaning cloth that was included:

A little sparkle:

Hidden detail–design on the inside of the frame.

Not only all of that but they came with a little bag of microscopic replacement jewels in case any fall out!

Love!

He was a man; this much we know for certain. Many of the other details have been lost to history. We do not remember his name, if he told it to us, nor have we any remembrance of hair color or style, age range, or build. Of one other detail, however, we are both now sure: he drove a light blue Honda Civic. It was parked at the rest stop, thirty miles west of Tucumcari, where we stopped, in the rain, to fix a loose windshield wiper blade.

When we arrived at the rest stop, I surveyed the area and decided it was probably safe. In addition to our car there were several other cars, as well as a few semis. At this point, there is a bit of discrepancy in recollection. Robin will tell you that the blue car was already parked in the lot when we pulled in, a few spaces away. However, the way I remember it, the blue car arrived after we did. But, whatever the sequence of events, the car was there and its lone male occupant got out.

The man approached us, after exiting the restrooms, and inquired as to whether we needed help. Robin, standing outside the car, conversed politely with the man while I, sulky, sat inside the car and pretended he didn’t exist. Now, I must explain my lack of attention starting from this point. You see, in those days it seemed to me that guys paid an inordinate amount of attention to Robin. Whether this was truth or merely my cynical perception, when I saw the man approaching I thought, “Here comes another one.” I assumed he was trying to hit on thin, blonde Robin, out here in the middle of nowhere, and not-thin, not-blonde me didn’t appreciate it. That is why when he walked up and began talking to Robin, I completely tuned out. I didn’t look at the man, I didn’t say anything and I didn’t watch when he walked away and got in his car. Fortunately, Robin was a little more alert than I was that night.

The man seemed eager to engage us in conversation and kept talking long after most people would’ve walked away. He was from San Francisco, he said, after seeing our California license plate. He asked where we were from. (Robin, being appropriately vague, gave him the name of the largest city in our county rather than the towns where we actually lived.) Well! By great coincidence, he’d just driven through there not too long before, on business. I wondered why he wouldn’t just go away.

Even then, annoyingly, the small talk continued; Robin wrestling with the wiper blade and saying, “Mmhmm,” politely, and me refusing to acknowledge his existence. After a few moments, he did start to leave, only to stop. “Are you sure you don’t need any help? I have a screwdriver in my car.” (A screwdriver? For a rubber wiper blade? Sure, and if you’ve got  butcher knife why don’t you go ahead and bring that over, too?) Robin brushed aside the offer and the man returned to his car, sat inside momentarily, then departed. Minutes later, Robin had succeeded in forcing the wiper blade into submission and we were back on the freeway, as well.

There in the slow lane, life was still uncomplicated and innocent. So, when we found ourselves approaching the man and his Honda Civic, a few miles down the road, Robin said, “I’ll honk my horn when we pass him, and you wave, to say thanks.” She did and I did, a grumpy jerk of the hand without even looking at him, our chivalrous fellow Californian. I was glad to be rid of him. But then we weren’t rid of him. Although we had come up fairly quickly behind him, passed, and then continued at that rate of speed, he was now catching up to us again. What occurred next was a bizarre game of leap frog, with the man zooming up to pass us then moving over and slowing down so we would go around him again. Robin, more alarmed than I, made a mental note of the Honda’s license plate and said, “That’s enough of this. I’m getting away from him.” She took off like the proverbial bat exiting Hades. As we sailed down the road, we decided that we would welcome a highway patrol pulling us over so we could tell him what happened. We also began to realize how slowly that blue car must have been driving after leaving the rest area in order for us to catch up to him at all. He’d had about a five minute head start. Creepy? Yes. However, as far as we could see, the man didn’t seem to be pursuing us. Perhaps….perhaps we were only paranoid. Sure, he must have been driving under the speed limit in order for us to catch him on the interstate. Certainly he meant no harm. Things like this didn’t happen to us. It was a movie script. It was a “Dateline” episode.

As the man remained absent from our rearview mirror and we approached Tucumcari, our stop for the night, we began to think that maybe he’d just been playing around. Bored on a long cross-country trip, maybe? All things considered, however, we felt it best to get off I-40, so we took the first available exit. It was a long, curving off-ramp that looped around in a u-shape. As we got halfway around the “U”, I turned in my seat and looked back over my shoulder at the freeway and saw a sight that gives me chills even today, in this moment, 18 years later. The light blue Honda Civic was exiting behind us. We’d left it in the dust on the freeway and yet, somehow, the man had caught us. Robin floored it coming off the exit and we rocketed down Tucumcari’s main street. As we swung into our hotel parking lot, which, providentially, was close at hand, we cut the lights and engine and ducked down. When we peeked above the dash there was the Honda driving, driving so slowly–half the speed allowed on the street–and the man was peering intently out the windows.

Being ducked down as we were, we didn’t see exactly where the car went after he passed. All we knew was that when we popped back up the car had vanished and, relief of reliefs, it wasn’t in the parking lot with us. We decided to run for the office to check in. When we got out of the car I noticed that several blocks away, on the same side of the street, there was some sort of light-colored car parked facing our hotel. It was a gas station parking lot but the car wasn’t anywhere near the pumps. It was too far away to tell exactly what color it was and the glare of the reflecting street lights on the windshield prevented me from seeing if there was anyone sitting in it, so we were never sure if that was our pursuer or not.

Once inside the hotel we informed the manager’s wife, who checked us in, what was going on. She was surprised and disturbed by the story. Thankfully, we had especially chosen hotels to stay in that had access to the rooms only from inside the building. Indeed, the only way to enter the hallways of this particular hotel was by going through the front door and coming in contact with the desk clerk, or by having a key to open the back door. We thought we were being safe when we made those reservations, but we never realized just how crucial such safety measures might be. We went back out to our car, with the manager’s wife keeping an eye out from inside, drove around back, and locked ourselves into the hotel with no further sign of the blue car or its occupant.

The next morning we packed and loaded up the car, still keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings. We drove around the side of the building. Robin went inside to check out and I remained behind, cleaning out the car. After ten minutes, she still hadn’t returned so I went inside to see what was delaying her. I found Robin in conversation with the manager’s wife, and what the woman had to say was chilling.

Fifteen minutes after we’d checked in a man had entered the lobby. The manager’s wife felt he was looking for something and he inquired about rates, even though the rates were on the marquee outside. Strangely, he had approached on foot instead of by car. When he left she shrugged it off and went back to work. A minute later she looked up….the man was back. Where could he get something to eat? She suggested the prominently-marked Denny’s, blazing with lights, just a few doors down. The woman was disturbed enough after his second departure that she encouraged her husband to close and lock the lobby doors and windows, an uncommon procedure for them.

With the now certain, unassailable understanding that the man had come for us, we drove across town to pick up breakfast to go. While at McDonald’s, Robin called her parents back in California and gave them a rundown on the situation. She also gave them the man’s license plate. (They, in turn, passed it on to their next-door-neighbor, a highway patrolman.) With assurances that we would be careful and call them as soon as we reached Oklahoma City, we once again resumed our eastward progress, with its unchanging landscape of tarmac, vehicles, tarmac, vehicles.

Somewhere in Amarillo, a driving lifetime away from Tucumcari, we had been lulled into bored complacency as we hurtled along the freeway in the middle of three lanes of traffic, keeping pace with the car around us. Suddenly we were catching up rapidly to the car ahead of us in our lane, and Robin was slamming on her brakes. “It’s him!” I looked, open-mouthed, incredulous–but not at the car. I was looking at Robin. You see, in my fit of pique at the rest stop and on the dark, rainy freeway, I had wrongly perceived the color of the Honda Civic. My mind recalled it as silver and the car now in front of us was pale blue. Robin, though, knew. She knew that we had dodged a bullet only to be fired upon again. She recognized the license plate number of the car that had been keeping up with traffic until our approach, when its speed dropped to under the posted limit.

Acting on instinct, Robin floored the gas pedal and streaked past the car on the left. We were doing eighty, again praying to be pulled over. We seemed to shake the Honda and then shot down an off-ramp, hiding in a grocery store parking lot until we were sure the man must’ve passed. Cautiously, we crept back onto I-40 and maintained the speed limit. A mile down the road–so far, so good. Had he continued east, assuming we were ahead of him, hunting for us? He must have. Except….he hadn’t. We rounded a curve in the road and our jaws dropped, for there, sitting on the side of the highway, was a light blue Honda Civic. And our stalker, the man, our very own homegrown psycho, was standing by the car watching the passing traffic. No time to think or form a plan; remembering a piece of advice I’d heard regarding being followed, I locked eyes with the man and stared him down as we passed. “I’m not afraid,” the look said. “We’re onto you.”

It was our last encounter with the man in the blue Honda Civic.

Had my brief, drive-by confrontation with the man really worked? Was it serendipitous car trouble that prevented him from following us? We’ll never know. But the lesson we learned, the reality that sucker-punched us in the gut as we looked back over our shoulders and saw the car following us off that Tucumcari off-ramp, was this: be aware. Pay attention to your surroundings. Robin did, those two days in the southwest, and it very well might have saved us.

So for anyone who’s not up to speed I will give a brief summary. Jesse Carmichael, hippie keyboardist extraordinaire for Maroon 5, is missing in action. Oh, he’s not actually missing in the sense that no one can find him. I mean he’s literally missing in action–music action. Since January 12th, Jesse has missed all of the band’s public appearances and performances. This includes a gig at the House of Blues in L.A. (which, incidentally, is where the band lives), the Super Bowl, the Grammys and, today, Mardi Gras, where the band was Grand Marshal for the Krewe of Endymion parade.

We know that Jesse is not sick, nor does he seem to be depressed. We know this from Twitter, where Jesse has been tweeting cheerfully, as normal. At the time of this writing he is in Berkeley at a conference on craniosacral therapy. (Told you he’s a hippie.)

I should also point out that this is not the usual m.o. for Maroon 5. They first hit the scene ten years ago, and, as far as we know, none of the band members has ever voluntarily skipped band functions. There may have been some absences for illness or other unpreventable issues, but to just decide not to go, not just to one event but several? It’s unprecedented. (FYI, the band is not currently keyboard-less. They have been touring with a second keyboard player, PJ, and he has been there in Jesse’s absence.)

Needless to say, this has the Maroon 5 fan community in an uproar. I think what is bothering people (including me) the most is the utter silence from both Jesse and the rest of the band. All of them are merrily sailing along as though things are completely normal; as if they haven’t suddenly misplaced a nearly-six-foot-tall ginger-haired piano player. Not one of them has said a single, solitary word of explanation or even just plain acknowledgement that Jesse isn’t there. Are we supposed to not have noticed? News flash, boys: WE NOTICE. Do they think we’re stupid?

You know, I’m not one of those types who thinks that because someone gets famous he surrenders all right to privacy. I don’t think celebrities owe fans all the details of their lives. But when you are in a band that has been playing together for more than fifteen years, and has been on the popular music scene for a decade, and has millions of devoted fans, and one of your members suddenly stops showing up to work? Yes, you do owe some sort of explanation. Even if it’s a lie. I mean, if you, as a “regular” person just stopped showing up to work one day, there would be people demanding an explanation, right? That’s what really gets me. Okay, so maybe he’s having personal issues. Maybe he’s questioning whether he wants to continue spending his every spare moment being in a band that’s as busy as Maroon 5. And maybe he’s not ready to share that with people. Fine. So make something up. Play it down. Just SAY SOMETHING. Say that 2011 was a really long, arduous year for the band (it was). Say Jesse wanted to take an uninterrupted month off to relax before things really kick off again this summer. Don’t simply ignore the fact that he is not performing with the group any longer! How can they just pretend things are copacetic? I don’t think we, as fans, have the right to intimate details of Jesse’s life, but I do think we are owed some sort of answer to our questions…even if it’s a fib or has a publicity spin put on it. We are loyal fans, we support them, and we love Jesse. We truly care about his well-being. Do you know, when people on Twitter first started realizing he was MIA, he hadn’t tweeted in several days and we were honestly worried about his health. I was upset all day when I finally clued in what was going on and no one had heard anything from Jesse. Just poof...no explanation from the rest of the group, who were at the Grammys, and no word from Jesse. I had actual, genuine anxiety about his welfare and I know others did, too.

At first I was simply concerned and sad at the implications of this hiatus. Now some time has gone by, and the guys have had numerous opportunities to offer an explanation or, hell, just acknowledge the elephant in the room, yet they choose not to do so. I am still concerned and sad, but I am also angry and disappointed. Adam always goes on about how grateful he is to the fans and how much they (the band) love us, but is this gratitude? Showing us, very clearly, that we don’t matter; that we aren’t even worth a made-up excuse? Treating us like we are stupid and haven’t noticed the enormous hole where Jesse’s rig has been every show for the past ten years?

Since we have ruled out illness and personal tragedy (thank goodness!) there are only two potential explanations, the way I see it. One, Jesse is merely exhausted after their whirlwind year last year and wanted an uninterrupted month (or however long) off. Jesse is a very chill person; I don’t think he buys into the whole “rock star” thing, so I can see how it might wear on him. He might feel like he needs some time off to pursue some of his other interests. Maroon 5 had a packed schedule last year and it’s shaping up the same this year. I am not sure they ever had much more than ten days straight at home all of last year, so I can see how it would be hard to schedule any leisure activities. However, if the explanation is as innocent as that, then why not make an announcement? I’m sure there are plenty of people who have shown up to the events he’s missed, wanting especially to see him, so why not let them know he’s simply on sabbatical? No, I’m afraid the apparent gag order points to something more sinister; namely that Jesse is considering separating from the group for good…that he’s taking this time away to think about it, and the band is holding his spot and refraining from making any sort of announcements until he is 100% sure on his decision. (I do think if he’d already left for certain they’d have made the announcement.)

What does this mean? Well, I can’t say for sure what it’ll mean for Maroon 5. I do think it will change the band dynamic. Jesse and Adam are best friends and have been since junior high. Jesse is so creative and offers so much to the creative process. It will change them, for certain. As for me, it will change my feeling about the band, as well. As fascinating as I find Adam, I go to see Maroon 5 live to see Jesse just as much as I do Adam. I am not sure my heart would be in going to see them if there was no gangly, red-haired hippie behind the keyboards. I just don’t know. I don’t like it. I don’t think it will be good for the band. Selfishly, I don’t think it’ll be good for me, either. As I told Robert the other day, “It’s a good thing the Beatles were broken up before I was even born.” I get entirely too attached to and invested in my favorite bands and I take these things very hard. But until we have some news one way or another, there is still hope, and I’m going to hold onto it.

Big shout out to my Twitter pal, D., who wrote about this same issue on her Tumblr. If you’ll read it you’ll see that I am not the only one who feels this way. I agree with everything she says.

1) Maroon 5 loses out to Amy Winehouse & Tony Bennett. Seriously? Okay, they only had the biggest song of the ENTIRE YEAR, but give the award to the dead lady because you feel bad and it’s the only thing she was nominated for. Up yours, Grammy voters. It’s not just that my boys lost; I don’t condone pity awards.

2) Jesse Carmichael, Maroon 5′s piano/keyboard player (and my other favorite, alongside Adam) was not with the band tonight. This has caused GREAT consternation amongst “Marooners” on Twitter, along with wild speculation. Normally I wouldn’t pay much attention to unsubstantiated theories but it is really weird that he wasn’t there to perform. If they’d merely been attending as nominees, maybe not such a big deal. But not playing with the band? Plus he hasn’t tweeted in two days. It’s a bit unsettling. I hope we hear from him soon. Jesse is a wonderful guy, insanely talented, extremely chill, with a lovely soul. He’s a darling and I don’t want to think of seeing Maroon 5 again without him.

1) Parenting through intimidation DOES NOT WORK. All crap like that does is make the parent feel big and strong and superior. It does not fix the kid’s behavior. All she’s going to do is go more underground and hide even more stuff from him.

2) Parenting through humiliation also does not work. It may appear to yield immediate results but not for the long-term. Again, it merely makes the adults feel superior and relieves their angry feelings but it has no benefit to the child except resentment and mistrust. And, NO, I’m not saying you shouldn’t discipline your kids so they won’t become upset with you. It’s about the way you do it. There’s no reason this couldn’t have been taken care of within the family and it would’ve been just as effective. If you can’t rely on your parents to have your back, who the hell can you rely on?

3) SHOOTING something? Really? Teaching your kids the solution to problems, specifically interpersonal problems, is SHOOTING something? Wow. Awesome message. I’ll have to remember that threatening my teen with firearms is a viable parenting tool in a few years from now.

3) All that guy did was read the daughter’s Facebook post, get his poor widdle-bitty ego bruised, get pissed about her cursing and knee-jerk react to force the girl back down into her “place.” It sounds to me like the kid is stressed out about school and maybe other things. But I suppose talking to her and trying to figure out the root of the problem would be too much effort. Teenagers put on a front when something is bothering them, and that sometimes includes the “I’m a big badass” act. Just because she says those things, or sounds whiny, doesn’t mean she actually feels that way or believes her life is so bad. Maybe she’s tried talking about her problems and is not being heard.

4) If the kid really is spoiled and ungrateful, gee….how’d she get that way? I sincerely doubt they have a bunch of angelic kids and one “bad” one, like she was just born that way. Sounds like this guy’s trying to close the barn door after the horse is out. Parents are usually to blame for these specific types of character flaws (selfishness, greed, ingratitude). You want her to get a job? So make her get a job. Don’t just half-assed suggest it and then call her lazy when she doesn’t follow through. She’s 15. She needs to know exactly what’s expected of her and sometimes that includes either/or choices. (“You need to have a job by the end of the month or we will no longer be paying for your cell phone and it will be cut off,” for example.) Make her do it or shut up about it. Don’t pussyfoot around and then hold it against her.

5) Other parenting tactics that don’t work: Calling names. Swearing. You’re supposed to be the mature one in the relationship and you should be able to express yourself without belittling the kid. See previous point about it being your own damned fault she’s like that in the first place. You have no right to tear her down and treat her like she’s a bad person when she wouldn’t be that way if you’d done your job a little better.

6) I absolutely loathe when adults pull that “When I was your age I had eight jobs AND made all straight As in school AND built my own car from scratch AND got a Master’s degree at the same time.” Well, congratu-bloody-lations. You should be proud. What you also don’t mention is your dad ran out on the family when you were two, you were on public assistance, your mom had to work two jobs and some weeks you went to bed hungry because the money had run out. You did those things because you had to, not because you thought it was a jolly good time, or because you thought it would build character and you were just that responsible. You didn’t have a choice; you did what you had to do. Hillbilly dad wants to divorce the kid’s mom, take off, never pay child support and plunge them into abject poverty, I’m sure she’ll end up being as totally super-awesome as he was. Or he could just get over himself and realize that their situations are probably totally different and that’s a GOOD thing. (Note: I’m not saying that was this guy’s situation, specifically, since I don’t know; I’m just saying that usually when teenagers have to go above and beyond like that it’s because they have no choice and they are in fairly desperate circumstances, and who would want their kid to find herself needing to do things like that?)

7) Telling someone how to live her life and criticizing her for the choices she’s made WHILE YOU ARE SMOKING A CIGARETTE? Are you fucking kidding me?

At any rate, here are my current ringtones.

Default: Moves Like Jagger – Maroon 5 (Oh, come on…like you expected something different?)

Madalyn: Sweet Child o’ Mine – GN’R

Johnny: Super Mario Bros. theme music (original)

Robert: Star Trek: the Next Generation theme

Mom & Dad: Home Sweet Home – Motley Crue

I should add that the default is about to change, as it does every year around this time, to the BC Clark jingle. It’s just not Christmas in Oklahoma without it. My mom’s will change to her favorite Christmas song, “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Vince Vance and the Valiants.

By the way, not to be content with micromanaging my own phone, I have taken over others’ phones, as well, and assigned myself ringtones. When I call Robert he hears “California Gurls” by Katy Perry, and when I call Madalyn she gets the Glee version of “Just the Way You Are”…..not in reference to me, but to remind her that’s what I think about her every time I call. (For anyone unfamiliar: “When I see your face there’s not a thing that I would change, ’cause you’re amazing  just the way you are. And when you smile the whole world stops and stares for a while, ’cause, girl, you’re amazing just the way you are.”)

If I ever get my MacBook it will have Garage Band on it and, I’m told, I’ll be able to make my own ringtones. Make. my own. ringtones. You think my phone is customized now. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

It’s even better to have a friend who also watches, with whom you can gently skewer said show afterward.

**”H50 Bingo” = EW’s Five-0 Bingo

It’s the little things.

That picture? That was my reality Thursday night. Sixth row, center, for one of the best concerts I’ve been to in a long time.

I saw Maroon 5 back in July and didn’t have a great experience. When I was able to snag a seat so close for this show I had high hopes and expectations for a wonderful night and they did not disappoint. I was close, y’all. The picture doesn’t do it justice. Damned iPhone. I was closer than it looks like I was and I could see all of the boys’ faces very well, and it was heaven.

I have been to a lot of concerts. I have seen musicians who looked like they wished they were somewhere else during the performance. On the flip side I’ve seen musicians who appeared to be having a good time entertaining the crowd. But I have never seen anyone who came close to enjoying himself onstage as much as Jesse Carmichael did last night. I’ve never seen someone standing on stage playing and being present in the moment like that. He just seemed so into the music and happy to be alive, right there with us. It was an absolute joy to watch and it touched my heart. He’s a brilliant musician and then to see him being so invested in the performance and taking such delight in it was very special. I wish I could spend some time talking to Jesse because I feel like he’s got a really positive outlook on the world and seems like a genuinely good human being.

I would’ve been happy just to watch Jesse perform but….then there was Adam. Oh, Adam. No matter what was going on elsewhere around the stage, my eyes kept being dragged back to wherever HE was. The boy is compelling. He smiled a lot, which is unusual for him and probably part of why I kept staring. I got a whole different vibe off him than I did at the Paso Robles show. He seemed friendlier, more engaging, more relaxed and like he was having a good time. There was a girl in the general admission section with a sign that said “How” on it (one of their songs). They haven’t been performing it at all – but Adam sang a verse and a chorus just for her, while she bawled. He was simply lovely. And, God have mercy, those eyes. I was close enough to see them pretty well. He’s absolutely beautiful. You have to wonder when you see people on t.v. – do they really look like that in person? They may have twelve tons of makeup on, or be airbrushed in pictures. In Adam’s case, he looks in person just as he does on television – or possibly better.

The only complaint I have is that the show was too short. I could happily have gone for another hour, at least! But was I did get was a thrill. You know how I know it was a good show? When the band left the stage for the final time I had that moment of, “No! Wait! Take me with you! Please!” I haven’t had that since I saw Paul McCartney. I’d have given a kidney last night if they would’ve just agreed to let me stow away in a cupboard in the tour bus. Tonight I felt jealous of the people in Dallas who were watching them perform. And I felt sad that the tour is almost over and that I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to see them again.

Worth every penny. And then some.

(One last random, odd thing I noticed is that the guys’ sizes ran true to expectation. Sometimes you will see people on telly, then you see them in person and they are utterly and completely wee, and you had no idea they’d be that way. Not so with Maroon 5; they all looked as I’d expected.)