One of the ways is that we have moved over to a wordpress site- so please, come check us out at
If you sign up there you can have the option of being notified when new (hopefully) blogs are written.
Insanely fun, I know.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
New Site!
I know it has been awhile since I last wrote- but things have been a little hectic around here. In so may different ways.
Monday, August 6, 2012
More serious reflections.
You cried out in terror last night around 10:30pm, I know it is against the rules, but I nursed you back to sleep. I had to. I couldn't deny you. I don't know how to, not when you are scared like that and really need me. Your whole body relaxes and a huge sigh escapes your nipple filled mouth the second you two make contact. That you can go from ballistics to serenity in that short amount of time baffles me and makes me wonder how nursing you could ever be wrong.
I think that because I have had such a hard time learning how to soothe myself (without the aid of alcohol or drugs or a plethora of other destructive distractions) that it is extremely satisfying for me to be able to soothe you so easily. It's a guilty pleasure, and not one that I am in any hurry to give up.
After I laid you back down, contented and back asleep, I proceeded to lie awake in bed for 2 hours tormented by my racing obsessive mind. It began with me reminiscing about our day at the park with all the other new mommy friends. There was a distinct moment that has haunted me ever since. I asked at one point, how many mom's co-slept, thinking that in this modern group there wouldn't be many. I was wrong. All of them did, except for us. I felt strange and left out suddenly. LIke it was weird that we didn't co-sleep and that I was somehow doing something wrong, very very wrong. Now I know this is erroneous. There are plenty of people I know that don't and have happy thriving children, of which you are one, and don't regret it one bit, and I feel awesome when I am around them. But I can't always be around people that are exactly like me. It's not possible. And my impressive impressionability is killing me. I hate it. How quickly I can doubt something that is working great for our family just because I am in the minority, for an hour tops. Strange. I would like that character defect to be removed, please. If anyone is listening.
Then I moved on to thinking about the last blog I wrote, where I was reflecting on our last year together and I realized how many important things I had left out that I really wanted to put down on 'paper.' How I remember vividly that first moment when your body touched mine. How slimy blue and grey you were and how I was in total shock that you actually existed. Or when your Dad came running back into the bedroom with you that first night at home, terrified because you coughed and we thought you were dying. Your first giggle. The first fight over what to do when you cried. The pain and confusion about having to negotiate something so emotionally charged with someone I loved so much about someone I loved more than I ever thought was possible. Nursing you in the moonlight, falling in love with your breath. Smelling your head, ears, neck, arms, legs, and butt. Squishing you over and over again, making sure you are real. Your first crawl, your first step, the first 10 steps, then you are walking. Wanting to hug you so tight with my head buried in your neck and you pushing me away so you can go explore. Me, letting you go, realizing it is just the beginning. Holding you on my lap this morning and when I sighed out of frustration for a minute because you wouldn't let me put you down, he reminded me that there will come a day you won't want to be in my arms. And he is right. And it made me want to cry. So many wonderful incredible things.
Thinking about them all made me realize again, how different I am today. And then it started- the grieving process. I am not even entirely sure what I am grieving, but it feels substantial. There is a death of some sort going on- maybe the death of the old me? It sounds so self-helpey, i hate it. But it might be accurate. And in this time between the birth of whatever I am becoming, I feel a little lost. It is an arrow pointing directly to my agnosticism. Exactly where I don't have any faith. I am coming out of a pretty in depth experience seriously looking at all my old ideas and behaviors and really honestly sincerely asking for them to be removed, knowing that the fear underneath it is this fear of losing my "identity." And it has happened, I've lost it, the worst has happened, so now what? I heard myself talking out loud to my best friend yesterday about whether or not to take this UCLA extension course on getting your memoir to the next draft. And I could hear, so clearly, the lack of passion I have for this body of work I have toted around for years. It has defined me for so long, and I am just realizing, it no longer does. That is the death I am mourning. The death of Deprivation Junky. I am burying it. It is filled with associations I no longer associate with. It is written in a voice I no longer have. It is a story I no longer want to tell, because it isn't true. In realizing how blessed my entire life has been, up until this moment, it would be heresy to put that version out there, because none of it then is true. The lense it was written in is fucked up. And I am no longer fucked up, in that way, at least. I have to be authentic to who I am today. Even if I have no idea who that is and I feel boring and bland and average. A worker among workers. A mother among mothers. I used to think I needed some grand societal gesture of acceptance to feel that I had arrived. That's not the case anymore. And not yearning for that has left a hole in my psyche that hasn't fully been filled up yet with...whatever. I am in limbo and a little bit of fear of what will fill that up. Teaching is in there somewhere, it is growing like those things you put in water and they expand and I am grateful for that. I just feel the empty space and I am so used to it being filled with all this desire for "success" that it feels hollow. But maybe hollow is good. It's simple. It's clear. It's calm. It's peaceful. It's serene. It's everything I have ever wanted, really.
So that is what was running through my head till 1am. Then you woke up at 5am.
Ahh..the joys of motherhood.
We are all going to be fine.
MOm
I think that because I have had such a hard time learning how to soothe myself (without the aid of alcohol or drugs or a plethora of other destructive distractions) that it is extremely satisfying for me to be able to soothe you so easily. It's a guilty pleasure, and not one that I am in any hurry to give up.
After I laid you back down, contented and back asleep, I proceeded to lie awake in bed for 2 hours tormented by my racing obsessive mind. It began with me reminiscing about our day at the park with all the other new mommy friends. There was a distinct moment that has haunted me ever since. I asked at one point, how many mom's co-slept, thinking that in this modern group there wouldn't be many. I was wrong. All of them did, except for us. I felt strange and left out suddenly. LIke it was weird that we didn't co-sleep and that I was somehow doing something wrong, very very wrong. Now I know this is erroneous. There are plenty of people I know that don't and have happy thriving children, of which you are one, and don't regret it one bit, and I feel awesome when I am around them. But I can't always be around people that are exactly like me. It's not possible. And my impressive impressionability is killing me. I hate it. How quickly I can doubt something that is working great for our family just because I am in the minority, for an hour tops. Strange. I would like that character defect to be removed, please. If anyone is listening.
Then I moved on to thinking about the last blog I wrote, where I was reflecting on our last year together and I realized how many important things I had left out that I really wanted to put down on 'paper.' How I remember vividly that first moment when your body touched mine. How slimy blue and grey you were and how I was in total shock that you actually existed. Or when your Dad came running back into the bedroom with you that first night at home, terrified because you coughed and we thought you were dying. Your first giggle. The first fight over what to do when you cried. The pain and confusion about having to negotiate something so emotionally charged with someone I loved so much about someone I loved more than I ever thought was possible. Nursing you in the moonlight, falling in love with your breath. Smelling your head, ears, neck, arms, legs, and butt. Squishing you over and over again, making sure you are real. Your first crawl, your first step, the first 10 steps, then you are walking. Wanting to hug you so tight with my head buried in your neck and you pushing me away so you can go explore. Me, letting you go, realizing it is just the beginning. Holding you on my lap this morning and when I sighed out of frustration for a minute because you wouldn't let me put you down, he reminded me that there will come a day you won't want to be in my arms. And he is right. And it made me want to cry. So many wonderful incredible things.
Thinking about them all made me realize again, how different I am today. And then it started- the grieving process. I am not even entirely sure what I am grieving, but it feels substantial. There is a death of some sort going on- maybe the death of the old me? It sounds so self-helpey, i hate it. But it might be accurate. And in this time between the birth of whatever I am becoming, I feel a little lost. It is an arrow pointing directly to my agnosticism. Exactly where I don't have any faith. I am coming out of a pretty in depth experience seriously looking at all my old ideas and behaviors and really honestly sincerely asking for them to be removed, knowing that the fear underneath it is this fear of losing my "identity." And it has happened, I've lost it, the worst has happened, so now what? I heard myself talking out loud to my best friend yesterday about whether or not to take this UCLA extension course on getting your memoir to the next draft. And I could hear, so clearly, the lack of passion I have for this body of work I have toted around for years. It has defined me for so long, and I am just realizing, it no longer does. That is the death I am mourning. The death of Deprivation Junky. I am burying it. It is filled with associations I no longer associate with. It is written in a voice I no longer have. It is a story I no longer want to tell, because it isn't true. In realizing how blessed my entire life has been, up until this moment, it would be heresy to put that version out there, because none of it then is true. The lense it was written in is fucked up. And I am no longer fucked up, in that way, at least. I have to be authentic to who I am today. Even if I have no idea who that is and I feel boring and bland and average. A worker among workers. A mother among mothers. I used to think I needed some grand societal gesture of acceptance to feel that I had arrived. That's not the case anymore. And not yearning for that has left a hole in my psyche that hasn't fully been filled up yet with...whatever. I am in limbo and a little bit of fear of what will fill that up. Teaching is in there somewhere, it is growing like those things you put in water and they expand and I am grateful for that. I just feel the empty space and I am so used to it being filled with all this desire for "success" that it feels hollow. But maybe hollow is good. It's simple. It's clear. It's calm. It's peaceful. It's serene. It's everything I have ever wanted, really.
So that is what was running through my head till 1am. Then you woke up at 5am.
Ahh..the joys of motherhood.
We are all going to be fine.
MOm
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Reflections
A year. 365 days. I had no idea. Not a clue. How incredible this journey would be.
I can't believe it's already been a year, I keep reflecting on all the great and not so great moments. Sitting in the bath with you tonight, giggling and playing "Where's Pony" again and again and again, I was overcome with such immense gratitude for this life, but most importantly for you and your Dad. I think I was born with a horseshoe up my ass, a saying your Dad loves and one I thought was reserved for other people. Not me. But not any longer. I LOVE being your Mom. And it's not easy, hell no, it is the hardest thing I have EVER done. But the divine moments in between the whining and crying and lack of sleep more than make up for any emotional inconveniences or wringers.
You have irreparably changed me, Pony. I am unrecognizable to myself. And that is a good thing.
Although, I don't really know who I am, today. In a strange sort of limbo, a hazy peaceful serene state of wonder, awe, and complete curiosity only about, "what is next?" My whole past has fallen by the wayside. It no longer seems to rule me. I have this sense of letting it go and forgiving completely and freely those I "thought" ever wronged me. I don't care anymore. I have been so blessed my entire life, I know that with every fiber of my being, because if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here today, right now, living this life with you and Tim. It wouldn't be possible. The evidence is irrefutable. I have lived a charmed life. I guess I have to throw out the "memoir" and begin anew. It's an old story I am sick of telling anyhow. No longer relevant. No longer do I care.
Now. This. Is. IT.
So rad.
I don't yet understand the women that tell me "uh-oh, she's walking?? Watch out..." because watching how happy walking makes you, the freedom and independence it gives you, is such a joy. I am loving it. And the day you decided to crawl up all the stairs by yourself, just suddenly, one day, out of the blue, the look on your face when you reached the top was priceless. I want to savor every juicy minute of these days. I feel like they are really precious, when you are this age.
One year old.
It's an awesome age.
I am really digging it.
I feel like we are communicating on a whole other level and it's so fun learning who you are, what you like and don't like. What you think is funny. Farts. You think farts are funny. And burps, and sneezes. You love lapping up streaming water like a dog. But forget about swimming in it. You have begun to lounge on things, pillows, couches, the bed and smile like you've just smoked a fat joint. Sometimes you look at me like we've been best friends for a lifetime and I've just done that thing again that you think is so immature and weird. It stops me in my tracks.
Who are you?
Where did you come from?
I swear I've met you before.
Thank you for picking me. I am honored to share this life with you.
Mom
I can't believe it's already been a year, I keep reflecting on all the great and not so great moments. Sitting in the bath with you tonight, giggling and playing "Where's Pony" again and again and again, I was overcome with such immense gratitude for this life, but most importantly for you and your Dad. I think I was born with a horseshoe up my ass, a saying your Dad loves and one I thought was reserved for other people. Not me. But not any longer. I LOVE being your Mom. And it's not easy, hell no, it is the hardest thing I have EVER done. But the divine moments in between the whining and crying and lack of sleep more than make up for any emotional inconveniences or wringers.
You have irreparably changed me, Pony. I am unrecognizable to myself. And that is a good thing.
Although, I don't really know who I am, today. In a strange sort of limbo, a hazy peaceful serene state of wonder, awe, and complete curiosity only about, "what is next?" My whole past has fallen by the wayside. It no longer seems to rule me. I have this sense of letting it go and forgiving completely and freely those I "thought" ever wronged me. I don't care anymore. I have been so blessed my entire life, I know that with every fiber of my being, because if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here today, right now, living this life with you and Tim. It wouldn't be possible. The evidence is irrefutable. I have lived a charmed life. I guess I have to throw out the "memoir" and begin anew. It's an old story I am sick of telling anyhow. No longer relevant. No longer do I care.
Now. This. Is. IT.
So rad.
I don't yet understand the women that tell me "uh-oh, she's walking?? Watch out..." because watching how happy walking makes you, the freedom and independence it gives you, is such a joy. I am loving it. And the day you decided to crawl up all the stairs by yourself, just suddenly, one day, out of the blue, the look on your face when you reached the top was priceless. I want to savor every juicy minute of these days. I feel like they are really precious, when you are this age.
One year old.
It's an awesome age.
I am really digging it.
I feel like we are communicating on a whole other level and it's so fun learning who you are, what you like and don't like. What you think is funny. Farts. You think farts are funny. And burps, and sneezes. You love lapping up streaming water like a dog. But forget about swimming in it. You have begun to lounge on things, pillows, couches, the bed and smile like you've just smoked a fat joint. Sometimes you look at me like we've been best friends for a lifetime and I've just done that thing again that you think is so immature and weird. It stops me in my tracks.
Who are you?
Where did you come from?
I swear I've met you before.
Thank you for picking me. I am honored to share this life with you.
Mom
Monday, July 23, 2012
1 year check up
You are in the 50% of height and 5% of weight. Seems we need to fatten you up a bit, you little bird you. Although Dr. Ayer is not overly concerned about it, she did say it wouldn't hurt to add plenty of Olive Oil, butter, and fatty dairy products to your diet. I'm on it.
Some remarkable things about you:
You love to eat water. It's quite unusual, Dr Ayer confirmed, for a child of your age to want to put your face in water. She says usually it's their feet they want in water, but not you, my heart, you want your face in it. And only your face. When we water the lawn and have you in our arms you dive for that stream of water like some dehydrated animal. In the bath you squat down and try to get your face in the puddle below you, and when you do, you dart up with this crazy astonished look on our face like you had no idea THAT would happen. Then you do it again. You used to inhale when you did this and it scared the crap out of me, but now you have figured out that it's more fun holding your breath. Smart kid, you are. In so many ways.
You understand SO MUCH. I asked if you wanted to take Stella (the name of your new soft baby doll which is also the name of your BFF in Sedona, by the way) with us to the Doctor today and you looked right at her and grabbed her leg. In the car I asked you where Stella's feet were and you showed them to me. Then I asked you where your feet were and you grabbed yours. I don't know much about babies Pony, but I think you are pretty amazing to do that. And belly, you love your belly. And slapping mine and Dada's. You knew where your ears and nose was tonight in the bath. And then I swear to God I thought I heard you yell Stella after me in the car on the way home. I was screaming it like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire and I could have sworn you repeated it after me, not only once, but twice.
I read somewhere today that you are now officially a TODDLER. No more baby. Wow. A toddler. What does that mean other than you toddle around? To toddle means to go on a leisurely walk. There is nothing leisurely about you. You are full of ambition and drive getting from one place to another although you do stop to sniff the flowers or whatever dried food you find on the floor left over from when you threw it off your high chair. I was chasing you around downstairs tonight after the bath, your little white butt was toddling ahead of me and your Dada remarked that there is nothing in the world quite like listening to your laughter while he's making dinner.
The shots get harder the older you get, no one tells you this. They did it in your arms today. Your tiny little arms that were wrapped around my neck at the same time. You screamed into my ear. I wanted to scream with you. Nothing can prepare you for this. It's just something you have to endure when you make the decision to vaccinate. Which I am glad we did. But it's still bloody fucking hard.
You are transitioning from 2 naps to 1. It's a fascinating process. Every other day it seems you skip your second nap. And it's strange because you seem tired, you should be tired, but I will lay you down and you proceed to get right back up and start playing for over an hour. Finally I give up and just go get you. Then it's no sleep till bedtime. Weird. You've thrown me off my game. I am losing my nap confidence. I like 2 naps. Come back to us....oh elusive 2nd nap you...
I love you Pony.
Let's eat some cake.
Mom
Some remarkable things about you:
You love to eat water. It's quite unusual, Dr Ayer confirmed, for a child of your age to want to put your face in water. She says usually it's their feet they want in water, but not you, my heart, you want your face in it. And only your face. When we water the lawn and have you in our arms you dive for that stream of water like some dehydrated animal. In the bath you squat down and try to get your face in the puddle below you, and when you do, you dart up with this crazy astonished look on our face like you had no idea THAT would happen. Then you do it again. You used to inhale when you did this and it scared the crap out of me, but now you have figured out that it's more fun holding your breath. Smart kid, you are. In so many ways.
You understand SO MUCH. I asked if you wanted to take Stella (the name of your new soft baby doll which is also the name of your BFF in Sedona, by the way) with us to the Doctor today and you looked right at her and grabbed her leg. In the car I asked you where Stella's feet were and you showed them to me. Then I asked you where your feet were and you grabbed yours. I don't know much about babies Pony, but I think you are pretty amazing to do that. And belly, you love your belly. And slapping mine and Dada's. You knew where your ears and nose was tonight in the bath. And then I swear to God I thought I heard you yell Stella after me in the car on the way home. I was screaming it like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire and I could have sworn you repeated it after me, not only once, but twice.
I read somewhere today that you are now officially a TODDLER. No more baby. Wow. A toddler. What does that mean other than you toddle around? To toddle means to go on a leisurely walk. There is nothing leisurely about you. You are full of ambition and drive getting from one place to another although you do stop to sniff the flowers or whatever dried food you find on the floor left over from when you threw it off your high chair. I was chasing you around downstairs tonight after the bath, your little white butt was toddling ahead of me and your Dada remarked that there is nothing in the world quite like listening to your laughter while he's making dinner.
The shots get harder the older you get, no one tells you this. They did it in your arms today. Your tiny little arms that were wrapped around my neck at the same time. You screamed into my ear. I wanted to scream with you. Nothing can prepare you for this. It's just something you have to endure when you make the decision to vaccinate. Which I am glad we did. But it's still bloody fucking hard.
You are transitioning from 2 naps to 1. It's a fascinating process. Every other day it seems you skip your second nap. And it's strange because you seem tired, you should be tired, but I will lay you down and you proceed to get right back up and start playing for over an hour. Finally I give up and just go get you. Then it's no sleep till bedtime. Weird. You've thrown me off my game. I am losing my nap confidence. I like 2 naps. Come back to us....oh elusive 2nd nap you...
I love you Pony.
Let's eat some cake.
Mom
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Happy Birthday!
One whole glorious incredible challenging transformational excruciating year filled with emotional and physical bumps, bruises, and awakenings. I had no idea what to expect, and I am so glad I didn't. Look at your face here, you look as amazed and befuddled as I.
After the party was over and all the excitement was done, you did some miraculous things. First of all, you ate an entire white nectarine down to the pit. I've never seen anything like it. I was only handing it to you as a distraction, I never intended for you to eat it. You've never liked it before. But suddenly, now that you are such a big one year old, I guess, you are full of new surprises.
And secondly, after your bath, and way past what usually is your whiny time, not only were you not following me around begging me to nurse you, but I was practically chasing you down to keep up with you. Your little legs are your primary mode of transport now, it seems, and I fear, the things that will take you away from me, little baby step by baby step at a time. But that's okay. It is as it should be. You are growing up so fast, my little peanut. You are such big girl already and my heart just wants to explode every time I see you.
I love you.
Happy Birthday
After the party was over and all the excitement was done, you did some miraculous things. First of all, you ate an entire white nectarine down to the pit. I've never seen anything like it. I was only handing it to you as a distraction, I never intended for you to eat it. You've never liked it before. But suddenly, now that you are such a big one year old, I guess, you are full of new surprises.
And secondly, after your bath, and way past what usually is your whiny time, not only were you not following me around begging me to nurse you, but I was practically chasing you down to keep up with you. Your little legs are your primary mode of transport now, it seems, and I fear, the things that will take you away from me, little baby step by baby step at a time. But that's okay. It is as it should be. You are growing up so fast, my little peanut. You are such big girl already and my heart just wants to explode every time I see you.
I love you.
Happy Birthday
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Gratitude for having some of it.
Some women are discussing this notion of "having it all" and the fact that in the 21st century, we can't possibly have it all- the family and the big high paying powerful job/prestige/success etc...I answered that I don't want it all and maybe that makes me a low achiever but it feels greedy to even say "I want it all!" What about, "I want some of it, but not all." Not as catchy. I guess I've always tended to be more single minded in my purpose. When I was an actress, that was all I wanted. When I started writing, being published was all I wanted. Now that I have had you, being the Best Mom and Wife for my family is all I want. But I also love my job- helping kids tell their story. That is pretty cool and feels like the cherry on top of a bonus dessert after the perfect meal. I kind of pinch myself every morning when I realize not only do I get to be your Mom and Tim's wife, but I get to go to work part-time. My life is rad. I have no complaints. Except for the extra skin flopping around on my water bed belly- that is new and slightly disconcerting but I am sure eventually it will right itself. And the mass around my arms that was never there before. That hopefully will fade away at some point. Right? I guess I'll have to put a little elbow grease into those two areas of concern but other than that- what do I have to complain about? Nothing. What a relief that is. I have spent my whole life complaining that things weren't enough...fill in the blanks. Now I look back and instead of the arid wasteland I thought I traversed this entire time I see a field of flowers and bountiful gentle beauty every step of the way. My life has always been blessed. I just didn't know it until now.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
It was a perfect day
I think there is no better feeling than stepping out of a shower after a long day at the beach. It's why I have suddenly found myself fantasizing about raising you in Laguna Beach, the place I grew up in, the place I swore I would never return to, the place I ran away from. Only in hindsight do I fully appreciate all that Laguna Beach had to offer. The lifestyle was amazing and I was oblivious. It's not that I didn't know it was incredibly beautiful and that I was extremely lucky to go to the beach, beautiful clean beaches, 300 days out of the year, but I didn't know I would ever miss it. I thought I hated it's homogenous demographic and uber conservative bubble of ignorance. But after living in Los Angeles for over 20 years, I miss the lifestyle the most. The smell of salt water. The tingling of my skin from a day full of sun. Los Angeles beaches are not the same. You couldn't pay me to swim in the Ocean up here. I would rather drive over an hour for an OC Beach. I am a total snob and I now know and embrace it. I want you to be a beach snob too. I would love for you to be a little mermaid or a junior lifeguard, Pony. I would. But I hear it has changed. That there is a lot of "new" money and people aren't the same. That they are rude and mean. That Laguna has lost it's charm. That sucks. It was suggested to me that San Clemente was just as charming, less expensive, with nicer people. I don't know if I could "do" San Clemente. I'm not even sure what I mean when I say that. I'm not sure any of this is ever going to be possible. It's just fun to dream and I am surprised that my dreams have started moving South. For a long time now they were facing North, Big Sur, Portland, or Seattle as places I romanticized living in someday. I have been in LA most of my life, longer than anywhere and that was never my intention. Not that I think there is anything "wrong" with LA. It's a fantastic city and we have certainly found a wonderful niche up here in The Mount. I just miss Summers at the beach, swimming in the good ole Pacific, washing sand out of my ass at night. But don't get me wrong, we have it good right now. Life is good. Perfect even, I would say.
Absolutely Perfect.
I love the look of joy on your face here as the wind whips your greasy sun-blocked hair. We were showing your cousin Keegan Balboa Island in Newport. It was a beautiful day. Nay, a perfect day. And you, my love, are perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Love, Me.
Absolutely Perfect.
I love the look of joy on your face here as the wind whips your greasy sun-blocked hair. We were showing your cousin Keegan Balboa Island in Newport. It was a beautiful day. Nay, a perfect day. And you, my love, are perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
Love, Me.
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