Caution

Jack had his end of the year parent teacher meeting a few weeks ago. The kid's doing just fine in case you were worried. His teacher says he's often passive in conflict situations, and we should allow him to solve more of his own problems. You know, to build confidence in this arena. I know she means, let him punch a kid in the face once of twice for taking his toy, just to see what happens. But I figure it's good for him to be more autonomous in other areas too. So I've been trying to get him to get himself dressed, pick his own clothes, blah, blah, blah. He's a boy, so 90% of the time he doesn't care what he wears. My friends with girls say outfit changing happens 3-100 times a day. Around here, we're lucky if we can get him out of his jammies. "Why would I take off these super comfortable clothes to put on other clothes just to play?" He's right too, but SOMEONE around here is a stickler for the rules and not walking around looking like a hobo. Hint: it's not me. 


To that end, I took him with me to get some things he needed for school. This is what happens when you let a four year old pick out his own water shoes: 

This makes me question if he's actually my child. My eyes are burning from their hideousness. And of course he wants to wear them every day now. ALL THE TIME. FML. (that was for you Nipper Knapp). He might as well have just punched me in the face. 

Oh my toe! The one where I don't even tell you what happened to my toe, it was THAT BAD.

Yesterday was the worst day of my life. Worse than the day my dad told me my parents were getting divorced, worse than the day my grandma passed away, worse than the day my egomaniac boyfriend told me he had taken his ex-girlfriend to New Zealand with his family over Christmas vacation for two weeks, after we'd been dating for over a year, worse than the day... Ok, ok, you get it, yesterday was bad. Maybe not as bad as all those days. Maybe that's hyperbole, but it was pretty bad. Not a memorable day. Not one I'll be able to pick out of the other 365 when I think back on this year. But one of those days that makes you lay in bed and fantasize about emptying your bank accounts to take the whole family away with a full time nanny and a masseuse to Hawaii for 2 weeks. That might cure the shit day that was yesterday. 

It began normally enough. I woke up. I had two kids, a house, a husband, I felt like I was coming down with a cold, and I had no real plans. I suggested we go to get pizza for lunch after Jack's swim class, since Nipper didn't have to be at his first audition until 1:45. Sounded like a good idea, until Jack SOBBED when Nip told him we were going to get pizza instead of my original idea of picking up In&out burgers, which we've eaten so many times this week I'm actually ashamed. (that number should be 1 time, but it's way, way, way, more). What kid cries when you tell him we're having pizza? My kid. You'd think I'd have said we were having brussels sprouts and liver. Jesus. Ok, note to self, more meals at home, and no more separate kids meals. Yeah right. I saw an expensive cookbook in a fancy store on La Brea last year that was about cooking for "picky" kids. Most of the recipes had stuff like shrimp and rutabagas in it. The book cost $45. This bitch obviously had never seen a child or a rutabaga in her life. It reminded me of the time I went to photograph a piece for a magazine a few years back. This Pacific Palisades socialite had written a book on table manners, and how to set a table. We were shooting at her parents bajillion dollar house in Malibu canyon. And...I shit you not, when I got there, she had me set the table for the shoot because she didn't know where the utensils were supposed to go. But I do. I do, because I was raised in the midwest...here on EARTH. How do I live in this world without so much as a switchblade?! 


So fine, we go to pizza, but the only way we get Jack there is to say he can play with Nipper's iphone when we get there. "Is this really a good idea anymore", I'm wondering as I stuff pizza in my mouth as fast as I can because Nipper is holding the baby because he was too hot in stroller and started to cry as soon as we got there. I mean if one kid won't eat the pizza and won't take his eyes off the fucking iphone, and the other one is dying of heat stroke so one parent has to forego eating and just bounce and coo like a dumb dumb, are we really having "family pizza"? IS this what a meal together has come down to? I have lost the war...

I find myself thinking these battle/war questions all the time. I want us all to eat around the table all together more often. I also want to eat a meal without saying "can you take a bite" and "can you please sit down" 17,821 times. I also want to eat at home more, but our schedules seem to drive us all out of the house at different times, and Nipper and I are never ready for dinner at 5:30-6 when Jack is having his, so... Lunch, that's it. I have 4 opportunities a week for us to have a meal together and it's lunch. Starting in September when Jack is in school 4 days a week, I'll have 3. You'd think I could make that happen, but no, and one kid is only a baby! 


So as I'm shoveling in the pizza, and having this argument in my head, the day is unfolding. Nipper is going to take Jack to his 3 auditions because we no longer have a babysitter (10 million word blogpost brewing in my head about that situation). He has promised him he can play games on the ipad, which is like telling a junkie he can have a wheelbarrow of crack. He's in. He woke up at 5am again and was out of his mind tired, so I offered to take him home with me and Charlie instead of being dragged around to work with daddy. NO WAY. He was going to get to smoke some serious ipad, why the hell would he want to go home with me and REST?! Narc. 


So off they go. I return home with Charlie, my throat now on fire from the beginnings of this cold. I'm praying for a nap. The boys won't be home for 5 hours. Surely at some point the baby will sleep and I will close my eyes when he does. Hahahahaha. Stupid woman. Don't you know, you should have kept that hope a secret, even from yourself? Of course Charlie doesn't sleep, and of course Nipper texts me from his 2nd audition that Jack has dropped the iPad, and smashed it to pieces. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. 


Jack is devastated. He can't stop crying. Nipper is pissed, but trying to console Jack. It was an accident. I'm now, sick, tired, mad, sad, trying to tell Nip to not be too hard on Jack, and Nip is texting me that Jack is inconsolable, and he sort of wishes that it hadn't been an accident, because he's so mad, but obviously not at Jack, and... You see where this is going. How can you be mad at a 4 year old when he breaks your $800 toy. You're the grown up who gave it to him. Dumb dumbs... I tell him that I'm going to give him a big hug when he gets home and I wait.


Well obviously, Charlie falls into a deep sleep 20 minutes before they get back around dinner time. I'm too fried to even get irritated at this point. I lay on the couch with my eyes opening and closing involuntarily. Watching my baby sleep, wishing for sleep myself. Listening for the car door slam, so I can get up and hug Jack as soon as he gets here. 


I made an appointment for Nipper to take the iPad to the apple store at 8:50pm. Thank the "geniuses" at the "genius bar" for having late appointments. Figured we might as well find out the extent of the damage ($) as soon as possible. ($419 in case you were wondering, and they just give you a new one. So now we have a $1200 iPad) Also figured both kids would be in bed. MARIJA ARE YOU REALLY THAT STUPID? The universe had a good laugh at my expense yesterday. 

Because Jack was so sad and sleepy and shaky, I told him, he and I could crawl into my bed and watch a movie and have popcorn after I put Charlie down, and daddy left for the apple store. Because you know Charlie has gone to bed at 7 every night for weeks. No problem. But guess what? They were both up until 9:45 last night. 9 forty fucking 5. For those of you without kids, you might be thinking "big deal". But 9:45 is the parent equivalent of 4:18am to you. I need that extra hour or so at night. I need it to clean the house, write emails, watch R rated tv, talk to Nipper about everyone we hate, and just stare into space. Oh, and I was sick. so... Boo-fucking-hoo. 


Poor Jack was so patient as I kept getting up from our movie, and then from our bedtime books to try to rock Charlie, pacify Charlie, and finally nurse Charlie back to sleep. He finally gave up on mommy and fell asleep looking at Pinocchio. Poor baby. He asked me as I was getting up out of the bed for the last time "mommy, when is Charlie going to be a big boy?". Sob...

Oh and don't worry, I was positive, sweet, and patient, with the kids the whole time, lest you think this post is about how I lost it. I was texting Nipper stuff like "FML" and "FUCK THIS WHOLE FUCKING DAY". But the kids, well, the one who is conscious, and most likely to remember this day, will only remember that we laid in bed and watched Pinocchio while mommy tried to get that his rascally baby brother to sleep. Because fuck all if I'm going to turn my day from hell, into theirs. 


I'd tell you about how Jack ended up in our bed, and because I was worried about him getting enough sleep I got up (now fully sick) and took Charlie, who sounds like a badger when he nurses, into Jack's room to nurse, and tried to go back to sleep at 5:45am, only to lay there, with Charlie only being happy to sleep ON ME, until my arms fell asleep around 7am. But I'm too tired. 


Oh and yeah, I wrote this post yesterday but forgot to post it because I was brain dead. In better news, Jack rode his bike, saw a lizard, had a "seaweed" popsicle, and I saw Midnight in Paris, which revived my hope for humanity. I also had a dream that apple started making iphones in jadite green. SO... one day up, one day down...

Cinephile

Movie Charlie

Today Charlie and I went on our first adventure together. The AMC theaters here have Monday morning mommy and me movies. You can take your baby, or your kid, and it's ok if they cry of poop, or lean over the seat and talk the whole movie. The movie is usually whatever is the big new release from the previous weekend. It's AWESOME. As someone who loves movies, it's the thing that saved me from feeling like a leper when Jack was a baby. The first movie we went to was Hairspray. I cried. Not because Hairspray is a tearjerker, but because being a dark movie theater with my baby (Nipper) and Jack, made me feel so fucking normal. 

This is what he looked like in the most exciting parts...Not really, he was snoozing. 

So Charlie and I went to see Super 8 today. We loved it. He nursed when we got there and slept on my lap for most of the movie. Heaven. I didn't cry, but almost. It's such a relief to get a glimpse into the future normal, after weeks and weeks of nothing but diapers and sore nipples.

Kind of love my fellas today. I promise to bring back the snark and venom very soon...

midnight gardener

This rarely happens at night...

So tonight I pruned my roses in the dark after the we put the kids to bed. When else am I going to do it? I went out there when it was still light to water this new GIANT fuschia plant I have in a hanging basket in the breezeway. But then I noticed the roses were looking kind of leggy, and no Roberto, so... I got out the pruners. By the time I got to the second rose bush it was pretty much dark out, and while leaning in to get a distant branch, I got a leaf in my eye, which made my eye automatically close AROUND THE LEAF. Have you ever felt an entire leaf under your eyelid? It didn't really hurt, just felt weird, but then when I got inside it was bothering me, so I decided to watch baby videos of Jack. You know so I could cry my eyes out, but just to clean out any leaf dirt. It's going too fast.

Pushing Charlie to Village Pizza

Oh also, apologies to those of you who don't like my Faulkner like stream of consciousness posts. I don't have the energy for structure. And no I'm not saying my writing is as good as Faulkner's, although that wouldn't really be something I'd say anyway, because I can't read Faulkner because he's SO boring, but my dad likes him, so... good night. 

someone get that lady a straight jacket

Peonies from Trader Joes. Perfect!

And then sometimes you run into Lisa from Smacksy when you're getting out of your car in South Pasadena and you are trying to cram a GIANT diaper bag, that you're already mad at yourself for bringing, when you're just going for a stupid walk, but what if the baby poops, or needs a change of clothes, or you know a hat. But really, you're going to walk for like 1/2 an hour, and you are 4 minutes from home, so you needed the suitcase? But there you are CRAMMING it into the bottom of the overpriced stroller you bought when you were pregnant with Jack, that you and Nipper Knapp HATE, but now it's like, you've committed and by god you're not going to spend one more penny on strollers, because this one DOES IT ALL!!! And you say hi, and then because you are embarrassed by the diaper bag, and the stroller, and the fact that you haven't spoken to a human being who wasn't related to you in weeks, you commence to verbally vomit on Smacksy about how Nipper is at a Target audition, but you want him to come home so you can go to the actual Target store for FIVE minutes, and isn't it stupid that you brought a diaper bag, and how your 10lb baby is killing your boobs, and oh you're just out for a walk. But you feel even weirder when you start talking so you try to shut up. But you feel like a freak because you think she's probably wondering why you are parking your car at the park, to go for a walk with your baby and your diaper bag, and you are SO HAPPY, she didn't walk by 5 minutes before to see you eating your In&Out burger in your car, like a criminal. So then you mention the In&out burger, but only in passing, and you wish you could shut up, but she's right there in front of you, A REAL PERSON, and a MOM no less! 

and Charlie sleeps through the whole thing...

You manage to shut up for long enough for her to say, "have a great walk", and pretend that you are behaving in a totally normal manner, only to run right into her and another mom 1/2 a block away. And when the mom politely says you look great for having had a baby 2 weeks before you say something about pacing around in circles in your house, which makes no sense at all, and probably she wonders if she should wrestle the stroller out of your hands, and call someone, but you know the walk is going to help, so you only slow down for a minute, and then you're off again. FITNESS! FRESH AIR! The jacarandas are in bloom! But you don't mention that. She also smiles politely because she's a mom, and realizes you are hormonal and insane, and she should let you pass. 


Later when you tell Jack that you saw Bob Rosenberg and his mom on the street, he says "Oh... you mean Action Bob?"


"yes, I saw Action Bob and his mom on my walk" like it was all no big deal...

Then later this happens, and you die of love

twice

and then this comes in the mail, and you think everything might be just fine...

Thank You

hiccups

I want to thank a few people who helped make yesterday pretty great. In no particular order:

I would like to thank Jack's babysitter for being a no show. It allowed me to spend 30 minutes in the swing chair with both of my boys under a blanket telling the wizard of oz story. Which Jack said he thought "Charlie really likes". 

I would like to thank Charlie for going to sleep after nursing, so that Jack and I could crawl into bed and watch an episode of Spiderman.

I would like to thank Jack for cuddling up next to me while watching Spiderman and falling asleep. His first at home nap in bed with mommy in what may be a year. 

I would like to thank Charlie for continuing to sleep all the way through my nap with Jack, and our grilled cheese and apples lunch, another thing we haven't been able to do in a long time. 

I would like to thank AMC for running Die Hard in the middle of the afternoon while Nipper took Jack to swim class, so that I didn't DIE of boredom while Charlie nursed for 17,000 hours. 

I would like to thank Nipper for taking Jack to swim class, where he reportedly did the pancake float all on his own, the only kid in his class to do it. Then for taking him to Menchie's and getting this picture. 

I would like to also thank the inventor of Limonata, for you know, inventing it. 

And I think that's it. 

As you can see, anyone that helps my boys nap, me nap, provides desert, action movies, or lemony goodness is alright in my book.

Now what?

I've decided I need a whole cupboard full of these. Sorry Nipper Knapp.

I don't want to say that my life is now complete. But I'm pretty sure my living room is... Never mind that I've just started a closet overhaul (we don't actually have a closet in our room, just armoires...), haven't finished Kary's quilt, need to clean my office, because 1 year later, I STILL haven't posted pictures, and oh yeah, I'm cooking a baby. 

Now that I look at it, that thing holding the dvd player and playstation could use and update. (again, sorry Nipper Knapp)

BUT, my rug problems are finally solved! I have been lamenting the fact that I waited too long to buy my dream rug at Anthropologie and it sold out. My stepmother gave me a gift card for my birthday last year, and for Christmas, and my mother gave me one for Christmas too. I was planning on saving them up, making myself take a couple of headshot jobs in my lazy state of pregnancy couchdom, and then voila, free rug! But like I said, it sold out. I found it from another supplier in Georgia, but it was $600 more. And I didn't have any gift cards for that store, so basically it was completely unaffordable. 

How perfect is it with my Amy Butler upholstered chairs!

SO today, it's 82 degrees, and sunny, and all the windows are open, and I'm pacing around the house like a crazy person because it's so nice outside I don't know what to do with myself, and Nipper basically tells me to get out, not because I'm making him crazy, I'm sure. Just wanted me to enjoy the day. Right. I tell him I'm heading for The Container Store where I'm going to plan our our Elfa system for the closet I'm fixing to make in our room. But I've got these gift cards burning a hole in my pocket, so I think, I'll just stop at Anthropologie quickly and pick up four of those pretty green latte bowls. They're only $5 a piece, and I mean, I'm too pregneto to buy dresses, what else am I going to do with the gift cards now? 

And with the crewel pillows I got out of the sale room last year!

I wander in, pick out my bowls and head back to the sale room (force of habit). Just as I round the corner, I get a text from our nanny "Jack has a little fever, can you come pick him up?" They were at a local playground. But I just saw him an hour ago and he was FINE! At the exact same moment, I see them. A pile of GIANT rugs on the floor of the sale room. Sophie's Choice... Ok, I can do this. I haul the first one out of the pile and spread it across the tiny sale room floor. I'm already sweating. I text the nanny that I'll be right there. I haul another one out and spread it on top of the other one. Neither of them are the one I was looking for, but one of them is one that I had said I would settle for. It's called the Festival Rug. The other one actually has more of our colors in it, but the background is forest green, and I decide I can't live with it. Plus, I kind of like everything to look like crazytown. I fold them both back up as neatly as possible, never mind they weigh 10 tons a piece, and haul the first one, my four latte bowls, wallet, phone, and keys, up to the register. 

I heart my new rug!

Did I mention it was HALF OFF! OMFG! Basically what that means is that it's free. I have enough in gift cards to pay for it, and the latte bowls. I just paid the tax. SO now, I'm paying, and the girl is fiddle faddling around with it, trying to fold it up neatly and wants to put it in a bag, and feel like shouting "FEVER, FEVER, MY CHILD HAS A FEVER!!!" But then that wouldn't be fair, since I'm the jerk who chose a sale rug over my sick child. it reminded me of that scene in "Love Actually" where Mr. Bean is wrapping and wrapping the necklace for Alan Rickman's girlfriend, and he's afraid his wife will come along and find him. Except this girl wasn't Mr. Bean, she was more like Edie Brickell or Janis Joplin, but fastidious. 


I'm dragging my crewel work elephant out of the store and the alarms go off, and the very nice girl at the front, very nicely directs me back to the cash wrap, where neatnik Janis Brickell, who just folded my rug for 3 hours, says, "hum, I wonder if there's a hard tag on that?" Did I murder her? No. I told her, I'd be happy to bring it back if I found one, but I was pretty sure I didn't see one when we were folding it, and I had to run. That didn't seem suspicious I'm sure. RUN! Did I ever tell you guys the story of the Easter Sunday stolen lobsters? Remind me sometime.


I dragged the titanic back to the front door and out to my car. I drove at break neck speeds to the playground, where the nanny then texted me that Jack had fallen asleep. You mean I could have shopped more?!?!?!  Just kidding. A little. I was only 15 minutes later than I would have been...tops...don't judge. He's fine by the way. One hour of laying in bed watching scooby doo, snuggling with mommy, and he's a-okay. Not really, he does have a fever, but not too bad. Sue me. 

this foot was made for walking

Stage make-up is stupid. 

You all know by now that I don't have a clue. It's like I have life ADD. I routinely undertake projects that are way over my head. Get pregnant and have a kid? Sure. Shoot a tv pilot with a new camera? No problem! R2D2 cake? I'm your girl. 

One time in college, I needed 3 credits to keep on schedule for graduation. I was doing the play Iphigenia at Aulis at the school theater. I told the Director that I had EXTENSIVE make-up experience, and had done make-up when I performed The Nutcracker with the Pittsburgh Ballet. Never mind I was 11 years old, tops, and I'm pretty sure all I was allowed to wear was some blush from the grocery store that came with it's own brush. "Maybe she's born with it!". 

I "researched" period make-up, bought stage make-up from Ben Nye, which if you've never used, is something straight from HELL, and showed all the actors what their faces should looks like. Spoiler alert: Agamemnon sacrifices their daughter Iphegenia so that the soldiers can go kill people, Clytemnestra her mother loses her shit. Everyone looked SUPER Greek. Actually I'm pretty sure everyone looked like they had 10lbs of Ben Nye grease paint in a vague Cleopatra theme. The theater was about as big as my living room, so I'm sure the effect was profound. I got my 3 credits. So I didn't go to Harvard (shut-up Nipper Knapp)

THIS is a walking foot and it's SCARY!

So I'm following this pattern to make the sea view quilt, and I get to the quilting part, and realize I don't have a "walking foot", whatever that is. I call around a few sewing places here in town. No one has one. Finally some ancient lady at International Silks and Woolens tells me, I have to go to the Pasadena Sewing and Vacuum Center. They have everything. She's right. They have the foot I need. 

However, the guy who showed me how to put it on my machine was from Norfolk Virginia, the fact that I was in the store 7 minutes, and know that, should tell you everything you need to know. His demonstration, was folksy and brief. There was something about unscrewing my chassis, or nut, or something, and latching the prong. I've had it for 2 days, and haven't had the courage to try to put it on the machine yet. When I asked if they had one that just clips on, like the other feet I have, he just laughed at me, like I had asked for a 3 legged table. "Well there's no such thing little lady!" Ok, so he didn't say "little lady" but it was implied. 

80 degree January beach day. I HEART LA!

Today, rather than clean my office, attach that foot, quilt my quilt, answer emails, or do anything productive at all, Jack and I went to the beach. I got lots of wet sandy hugs, and I love you momma's in between fighting the waves, shouting at my baby belly like a drill sargeant "YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW BABY BROTHER AND PLAY WITH ME!", and snacks where Jack kept saying "good friends" and then insisting I say "good food" in a scooby doo voice. Perfect underachiever Sunday. 

Galactic speech impediment

This morning, I asked Nipper Knapp if he thought Jack had a lisp. Daddy says it's not a lisp, just an undeveloped tongue. He pronounces his L's like Y's, and various other little kid speech things. It's pretty cute actually. For instance, he calls one of his favorite movies, STAR WHORES. I promise you, this is not the movie he's been watching...

  

How To Sing The Blues

Blind Willie Johnson - Let Your Light Shine on Me

We had to tell our beloved nanny today that Jack is starting preschool in the fall. It was awful. I was nauseous and spinny all day. Nipper did the actual telling. I did some tearful texting from afar. We agreed to not talk about it when I got home. She stayed until 7pm just talking and both of us looking at Jack in disbelief. So maybe I can't sing the blues, But I can listen. 

I don't know who wrote this. I got it in an email today. Good stuff. Enjoy some of my favorite blues while you read it.

Blind Willie McTell - Delia

How To Sing The Blues

1. Most Blues begin, "Woke up this morning."

2. " I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, 'less you stick something nasty in the next line, like " I got a good woman, with the meanest face in town."

3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes ... sort of: "Got a good woman - with the meanest face in town. Got teeth like Margaret   Thatcher   and she weigh 500 pound."

4. The Blues are not about choice. You stuck in a ditch, you stuck in ditch; ain't no way out.

5. Blues cars: Chevys and Cadillacs and broken-down trucks.
Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sport Utility Vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft an' state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a major part in the blues liftyle. So does fixin' to die.

6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues. They ain't fixin' to die yet. Adults sing the Blues. In Blues, " adulthood" means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis .

7. Blues can take place in New York City but not in Hawaii or any place in Canada . Hard times in St. Paul or Tucson is just depression. Chicago , St. Louis , and Kansas City still the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the blues in any place that don't get rain.

8. A man with male pattern baldness ain't the blues. A woman with male pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg 'cuz you skiing is not the blues. Breaking your leg 'cuz an alligator be chomping on it is.

9. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is wrong. Go outside to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.

10. Good places for the Blues:

a. highway
b. jailhouse
c. empty bed
d. bottom of a whiskey glass

Bad places:

a. Ashrams
b. gallery openings
c. Ivy League institutions
d. golf courses

11. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be an old ethnic person, and you slept in it.

12. Do you have the right to sing the Blues? Yes, if:

a. you're older than dirt
b. you're blind
c. you shot a man in Memphis
d. you can't be satisfied

No, if:

a. you have all your teeth
b. you were once blind but now can see
c. the man in Memphis lived.
d. you have a retirement plan or trust fund.


13. Blues is not a matter of looks.  It's a matter of bad luck. Tiger Woods cannot sing the blues. Gary Coleman could. Ugly white people also got a leg up on the blues.

14. If you ask for water and Baby give you gasoline, it's the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:

a. wine
b. whiskey or bourbon
c. muddy water
d. black coffee

The following are NOT Blues beverages:

a. mixed drinks
b. kosher wine
c. Snapple
d. sparkling water

15. If it occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So is the electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or getting liposuction.

16. Some Blues names for women:

a. Sadie
b. Big Mama
c. Bessie
d. Fat River Dumpling

17. Some Blues names for men:

a. Joe
b. Willie
c. Little Willie
d. Big Willie

18. Persons with names like Sierra, Sequoia, Auburn , and Rainbow can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis .

19. Make your own Blues name (starter kit):

a. name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)

b. first name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi,etc.)

c. last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.) For example, Blind Lime Jefferson, or Cripple Kiwi Fillmore, etc. (Well, maybe not "Kiwi.")

20. I don't care how tragic your life: you own a computer, you cannot sing the blues. You best destroy it. Fire, a spilled bottle of Mad Dog, or get out a shotgun. Maybe your big woman just done sat on it. I don't care.

Lightnin Hopkins - Trouble in Mind

The Kids Are All Right

We did it, we paid the people our good money and they are saving him a space. How did this happen? I just brought him home. He JUST came out of my frickin womb! My god! Now I'm sending him away to be with other kids. To a place with lots of trees, and letters on the wall, and a tool bench because he likes that kind of "guy stuff". To learn how to learn, how to get picked on. How to laugh at jokes, how to sit quietly while the teacher is talking. How to be bored at school. How to find a best friend. How to have your heart broken. How to skin your knee (he still hasn't ). I have cried spontaneously 14 times in the last 48 hours. When I was trying to go to sleep last night I had that racy heart, pit in my stomach feeling I used to get in my twenties when my heart was broken by a boy. Little did I know that was just practice. I told Nipper Knapp that I'm excited and ill at  the same time. My heart ACHES.

I'm the big talker too. It runs in my family. We're all really "tough". And by tough I mean, we say lots of tough things to cover up for how sentimental and softhearted we are. I'm the one who's usually saying things like "he needs to learn how to do it on his own" and "he'll only do it once if it's going to hurt, it's the only way he'll learn". Meanwhile I've been carrying him around on my hip for three years and I have the bad back to prove it.

We went to see the movie "The Kids Are All Right" yesterday. GREAT MOVIE. It's an indie so for those of you not in LA or NYC it might take a bit before it gets to your local theater, or you can wait and rent it. It's all about marriage and families, and kids growing up. The perfect movie for me yesterday. I got to cry my eyes out in the dark while eating popcorn. Perfecto. Nipper Knapp and I held hands almost the whole movie. Something we did not do when seeing Predators last week.

I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say there's a college drop off scene in the movie. The oldest kid, the daughter is going away to school. The moment it started, I started to cry. I have distinct memories of dropping my brother off at college. My little family that was on the verge of what we all kept telling ourselves was a "very amicable divorce", (as if there is such a thing) one short year later, was all together that day. I've been looking all over the house for the picture. My parents asked some passerby to take our picture in front of my brother's dorm. I was wearing a purple shirt. My dad had his arms around all of us. I think it was our last family picture. You see? Sentimental.

I don't know if my brother and I had this same exchange that day, that the kids had in the movie, but I'm sure we were thinking it:

little brother "It's going to be weird not having you around"
big sister " I'm sorry I'm leaving you all alone with them"

My brother and I drove my mother crazy. We were always nagging each other and playing stupid games to irritate the other one. There is a picture of us in Italy. We're sitting on a bench on a beautiful precipice overlooking Verona (?) perhaps. Josh (15) and I (11) are sheepishly doodling circles on the bench, eyes cast downwards. My mother's arms are in mid-air, as she's informing us that we are ruining her vacation with our shenanigans. There are two young Italian men behind us, leaned against a wall. They are laughing. At us. My dad is standing off to the side photographing the whole scene. This is my family. I love them.

I wasn't going to write about this at all. It seemed too personal. To raw. Too indecent. But it's just on the tip of my brain all the time lately. I thought I'd wait until we were pregnant. Until had another kid. Or maybe never. Last October we had a miscarriage. We went to the fancy ultrasound doctor for our genetic tests and our 3 month 3D ultrasound. I was finished with the dreaded 1st trimester, and looking forward to feeling good before I got too big and unwieldy. We were having the conversation with the doctor about "did I REALLY have to have the amnio, since I had just turned 35 two months before?". We were giddy to see the baby. The office has these big screen HD tvs on the wall. Fancy. So I'm laying there on the table, and Nipper is video taping the big tv screen on his iphone. The doctor doesn't say anything. He's moving the thing around, and the baby isn't moving. I knew something was wrong. He says he wants to move us to a different room to use a different machine. I KNEW something was wrong.

Before any of this becomes very clear poor Nipper Knapp has emailed the video to our families. They are all excited about the baby, and we all thought maybe we'd find out that day if it was a boy or a girl.

We move to the next room where the doctor then tells us that in fact there is no heart beat. He assures us that based on what he was seeing there was something wrong from the beginning and it was nothing we had done. It just happened. This kind of thing just happens. After it happened, I heard from many other women that it had happened to them. Many just like me, had it happen after, or in between, other completely healthy pregnancies. We never talk about it. It's just too sad. It's too painful. No one wants to hear about something like that. It feels like bad juju to even say it out loud. I don't know if this counts for saying it out loud. But I just thought maybe if there were other women, some of my readers who were out there, who this has happened to, who feel like they shouldn't talk about it, or CAN'T talk about it. I know. All the awful details, I know. But mostly I know about the sadness that sneaks up on you when you are really not expecting it at all.

I know all about having to wait 4 whole days before I could get a D&C, thinking the whole time "I'm still pregnant, but I no longer have a baby". I know all about wishing I could take a little mental vacation from my body. I know about having to sit in the same waiting room as the families waiting for babies to be born at Cedars, to have the procedure to remove my baby. I remember thinking it was some kind of sick administrative punishment. I know all about crying talking to an obgyn I'd never met because mine is mysteriously out of town AGAIN (she didn't deliver Jack for the same reason). I know all about throwing up in my mothers day sweatshirt that was on my lap in the wheelchair on the way out of the hospital because the candy striper couldn't find a barf bag. I know all about being "tough" and going to a callback straight from the hospital (post barf cleanup, and post NK protests), and booking the job. I know all about spending the next two days in bed with oreo cookies and tea, and visits from Jack, and Nipper's sister Jenny who came out to take care of all of us. But mostly to take care of Nipper. I know all about feeling that it must be harder on the husband because nothing is worse than something awful happening to someone you love, much less two people you love.

I thought we were going to have a May baby. May came and went, and it felt like the LONGEST month.  I've thrown myself into work, into cooking, into tickling Jack until he pees a little and begs for mercy. Into hoepfully being a better wife. A better sister. A better daughter. A better mom. I'm hoping we are going to have another kid. We're working on it (not as diligently as Nipper Knapp would like). I just want Jack to have someone to pick on. Someone for him to be able to roll his eyes with when his parents start arguing about whose definition of "clean" is the "right" one. Someone for him to give a quick look to when I am doing some crazy mom thing that will bond them to each other like soldiers in war. (Yes mom, now I know, all moms are a little bit crazy, and now I know why) Someone to share family pictures with when he grows up. He's going to do that. Grow up I mean. I'm not ready for it today. But I'm working on it.

The weird thing is, even through the veil of this sad event, I feel like this has been the best year for our family. Jack is growing into his own inevitable awesomeness. We laugh all the time. We are healthy and happy. And we've had too much good fortune and too many hijinks and capers to list. That's the best thing about family. Through the terrible stuff you're able to appreciate the best stuff you've got, which is of course, each other. (oh, I just threw up a little on myself again. Sorry... blurgh...)

Preschool here we come! I hope they have a spot in the parking lot for the weepers.

Baby Assassins

This morning Jack pooped within 3 minutes of me waking up. Nothing says GOOD MORNING like a poopy diaper. We're doing pretty well on the potty training, but poop is a full stop. He's afraid that it will stick to him if he does it on the potty. I'm all "DUDE, YOU ARE POOPING IN YOUR OWN PANTS, THAT SHIT IS ON YOU!!!"

Contemplating my demise

I don't know about you, but I am not very functional before I have coffee. I often pour Jack's milk into his sippy, handing him the carton, and put the sippy in the fridge. I'm uncoordinated and confused for a good 30 minutes after I wake up. Nipper Knapp is out of bed and dressed before I can even open my eyes. He must be part ninja.

Once we got the whole diaper disaster handled, I made coffee, and started breakfast. Oatmeal! Yes, he says, I want oatmeal, or as he calls it opiemeal. I ask him if he wants to watch Super Why while I'm cooking it, and he says yes. He wants to watch the Beauty and the Beast episode. I no sooner get the oatmeal out of the cupboard and he is shouting in this very specific voice from hell "MOM! MOM! MOM! I want to watch the BIG GAAAAAAAME one!!!!" Over and over and over. I shout back from the kitchen, "No Jack, you can watch that episode while Mommy makes opiemeal, or go play, we're not switching back and forth". This falls on deaf ears, and he continues to shout "The Big GAAAAAAAAME" over, and over, until I go into the living room and (calmly) tell him that his options are, watch the Beauty and the Beast episode, or go play. Oh and please stop shouting. He says fine, and settles in on the couch to watch. I go back in the kitchen.

They say they come in peace, and in such cute convincing packages, but I know the truth.

90 seconds later, and I've got the oatmeal on the stove. I hear kitten sounds coming my way. "Mew, mew, mew". Jack is suddenly by my side on all fours head butting my leg. "mew, mew, mew, I'm giving you kitty hugs!" "Oh hi kitty!" I pick him up and let him "help" me make the oatmeal. We finish up, put it in a bowl, sit down to eat it. I get myself some yogurt and granola. "I WANT SOME YOGURT" he shouts. "ok, let's finish our oatmeal and see". He does. "I want BLUEBERRY YOGURT!" ok. I get the blueberry yogurt out. I stir it up and put  it in front of him. I turn to get a napkin and the blueberry yogurt is in his lap. It's my fault, I should have put it in a bowl. Those stupid containers are too tippy tommy for a kid. My fault, my fault, my fault. As I'm cleaning it off his lap, he says "It's ok, it's ok".  "That's right bug, it's ok, mommy should have put it in a bowl for you" Poor baby.

As I take the soppy mess of blueberry yogurt paper towels to the sink,  he says "But MOM, I want APPLE YOGURT!!!". I say no, and place the blueberry yogurt that he asked for, not 3 minutes before, in front of him. As I'm walking away, he makes a little sound. It's very distinct and the hairs on my neck stand straight up. It's the sound of the alien from the movie Predetor. Kind of a clicky warble. OH MY GOD! It all makes sense. He's been sent here to kill me. Slowly. He's a baby predator. Look at that giant forehead! It's not going to be violent, no decapitations or mudbaths, but it's clear, little by little, he's going to kill me. He must a new higher form of predator that has learned to infiltrate and destroy. He's really really skilled. Good thing I'm biologically coded to love him beyond all sense of self preservation.

Here's an article from New York Magazine that Nipper Knapp sent to me this weekend. It's called Why Parents Hate Parenting, All Joy and No Fun. I can't say I enjoyed it. But I did relate. It says a lot about our generation having kids later in life, and how nobody's having any fun, but everyone is smitten. It's sort of depressing and validating at the same time.

Welcome to the darkside

My brother and my beautiful 6 year old niece Anoushka visited last week. They live in Seattle and have been coming down once a year to visit and take Anoushka to Disneyland. She is like many girls VERY into princesses, and can name every single princess buy their first name, even Cinderella, who's real name I just learned is Aurora. Wow Disney, taking to another level with this generation huh?

When she was 4 going on 5

The first time they came down to go to Disneyland Jack was 4 months old. Not old enough to appreciate the "Disney Magic" and I spent the whole hot day huddled under the monorail with my pink cheeked baby sending Nipper text messages like "unhappiest fucking place on earth" and "How many fat people in wheelchairs does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Terrible. It brought out the worst in me.

Sweet kiss from his cousin under the shade of the monorail

But now he's almost three, and save one family we know, we are the only parents in LA who don't take their kid to Disneyland monthly. When we tell people he's never been, they eye us suspiciously, like they are trying to figure out if they should wait until we leave to call social services or if they should just grab Jack and run. The dad of one of Jack's friends exclaimed "What are you guys COMMUNISTS or something?" To which I say, "ask my designer shoe collection."


So off we went last Wednesday. We packed the kids in the car, slathered in sunscreen. Filled a bag with baked organic snacks (maybe I AM a communist!), film in the camera, or iphone in the pocket that is. Jack napped on the way, and woke up cheerful as hell. It was like he had already breathed in some of that sweet Disney elixir and was ready to bubble and moon through the park with the rest of them. Sorry my insides are a gnarled and wicked thicket.

When she was 5 going on 6

But I'm not completely craven. I mean we went to Disneyworld in Florida when I was a kid. And I loved it! Although my brother reminded me this wasn't until I was 7 or 8, which means he was 11 or 12, meaning his entire youth was spent bereft of any kind of normal American frivolity. But basically we were kibbutzniks minus the Judaism. I seem to remember some birthdays at Farrell's. Oh old timey candy sticks and gibson girl costumes, wherefore have ye gone? My parents seemed to eye most consumer events with derision and contempt. Mcdonalds? For fatties. Six flags? Rubes. Zehnders chicken dinner and neopolitan ice cream? Why on earth would ANYONE feel the need to go there? As much as I promised myself I wasn't going to raise Jack with the same indifference to mainstream pleasure palaces, I often find myself totally understanding why my parents abstained. Mcdonalds IS for fatties. I've never ever met a roller coaster I liked, and Zehnders? No comment.

We got to the gate, paid our small fortune and entered. I was trying to keep a stiff upper lip and a brave face. I was talking a in a really high squeaky voice that sounded both unnatural and slightly terrified. "OH LOOK JACKIE, IT'S MINNIE MOUSE!" I chirped. "who?" he mumbled. Poor baby. But then a few minutes passed. We got on the omnibus which took us through all the shops, successfully bypassing one of the things I dreaded most about the day which was the unending places for kids to beg for plastic crap made by children their age in Myanmar. We headed through the gates of the castle and I started to relax. The kids were both happy, smiling, stunned. We went on the teacups and Jack looked completely delighted and asked to go again. We had their faces painted and ate lunch at a picnic table completely forgoing the snacks I had packed. We bought two $9 Buzz Lightyear cups, a snow white sparkle purse and glove set, 6 mini notepads and pens with all the disney princesses on them, two balloons (princesses for Anoushka, Tinkerbell for Jack), ice cream, cotton candy, two swords, and a light saber, and didn't look back. We had fun. Not just any fun. Family fun.

Glee!

Isn't she just the bees knees?

We won't be ordering up our yearly passes. But next year, when it's comes time for Anoushka's yearly Disney visit, I will be filled with anticipation instead of dread. Because I am a good U.S. of American...