Sunday, March 13, 2011


Our lil BHB is almost 2. I can't believe it. If you have a new-ish baby and you're reading this, let me be the 412th person to tell you this 'It goes so fast!'.

Are you annoyed? I sure was.
But, holy crap, it goes so fast! Hold on, wait, that's not true. The first 6 months took about 6 years. 

But since then, it's been blazing by in a blur of sweet and firsts and 'oh I should write that down' or oh I should blog about that'. But there are no lack of pictures my friends, the boy is documented at the very least in photographic evidence. Here are a few recent goodies:

Kale smoothie
ASL - the letter V. Or peace.
In other news...

I don't know about you, but my heart and brain are just breaking apart the last few days with the news of the Earthquake and Tsunami in Japan. That event is the true meaning of devastation, and I never know what to do with the overwhelming feelings that crowd my synapses at times like this. It's such a mix of unreasonable sadness and helplessness and the weird relief that distance provides. Although living in LA which by all accounts is 'next' when it comes to anyone's guess for earth shaking disaster zones isn't exactly providing much in the way of 'thank god that's not us'. Cause it so totally-ottally could be and likely in our lifetime will be.

So there's that. 

In recent months I went into a power scramble to get our 'kit' together and did a pretty good job of making it happen thanks to this place and this site and of course the cute hubs who just totally obliged my freaked out state of mind. And that feels somewhat better. But. When I watch the footage of that horrifying blob of water creeping across the land makes me wonder what the heck our collection of  bottled water and snacks and bandaids will do in a moment like that?  I shudder when I say, 'Oh, not much'.

Being a parent just really puts a giant amplifier on these types of moments, doesn't it? The fears and sadness the 'whelming empathy I feel for those families come from a place that's so different now. Being the one who that tiny laughing boy with the big eyes counts on just makes me feel so responsible and useless at the same time.

Like tonight I want to sleep under his crib so that if the earth moves even the tiniest bit I can grab his little sleeping body and somehow be good enough to save him from whatever the hell is going to happen. Guess what? I can't do that now, nor will I be able to do that when he walks to school alone and has to cross the street where there are big trucks that are driven by dudes with big egos and big addictions or when he wants to skate around town with his ipod and knit hat pulled down over his eyes, or when he becomes a pilot or when he...ok, you get the idea.

So I guess the best I can do is enjoy his little snore and be grateful for the running water (hot even!) and for the safety of my loved ones and the bed that beckons and even the loss of an hour due to random time scrambling.

I just want to say that my deepest sympathies are with you Japan and your beautiful people, I am so very sorry for your losses and continued troubles. I cannot begin to know.


PS - If you need some cheering up with some deeeelicious foodstuffs, be sure to drop by this blog. My friend and a supporter of our movie cooks and writes these amazing recipes up, I'm so going to cook the current recipe for our own warmth and cheer and try to figure out how to ship it across the sea.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Christmas Vacation

We didn't go anywhere, we stayed put with the mysteriously warm days mixed in with crazy ass rain.
We didn't make plans, we sorta faked it. There were no demands, we weren't willing to have them.
And it was good. Spontaneous delight appeared.

We opened a few gifts, well...whatever other people bought us. BHB's gifts were then wrapped with that same wrapping paper. The dog did the unwrapping anyway. (video evidence below).

Boy that kinda makes us sound a little. Um. Cheap? Sure. How about 'on a budget?'. Which is true, too. Cute hubs and I don't buy gifts for each other anymore. Sometimes that makes me a little sad. Mostly it's a relief.

Let's just wander through the days of our vaca, shall we?

Are you kidding me with this?

Mom, Boy and God?

Christmas Morning with Kissy Whale and Daddy

Yes we call this sleeping buddy the Kissy Whale instead of the Killer Whale that it is. I know. Damn left-coasters.
New Years Eve we took the BHB to his first Sushi. He beat me to this 'first' one by 21 years.

BHB has a dear friend who he knows from hiking. She's appeared up here before, as you can see. This day he rolled his hand around in her hand for a really long time giggling. She was both enchanted and confused by it. They often fight over each other's cheerios as we make our way up the hill. And they talk about birds.

BHB has a great habit of repeating the word, Yea. Yea! Yea. Yeaaaaa. Yea. 

He awakes with this idea in his mind sometimes, we hear him yelling it from his crib. We call it his morning affirmations. I bring this up because his blonde girlfriend will often talk about him when they are apart by saying 'He says Yea! Yea. Yep. Yea'. 

I hope he always feels this way about life. 

I have to include the following video. Our brown dog developed a new talent this Christmas, is David Letterman still doing stupid pet tricks? "Cause comon', this qualifies.


With the warmest wishes for a Happy New Year!

PS - Shout out going out to Corrie Davidson who is one of our backers for our short film. She is a film producer, social media goddess type and a mascot. How genius is that? You can find her here or here

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Time Bandits

It's pouring here. Buckets and train cars full of water slosh from the sky. I am lucky that unlike other Los Angelens, I do not live near the edge of a cliff or under the shadow of a mountain so it is without reservation that I celebrate the influx of wet. Huzzah! Bring it! (with a little shout to any Angelens who  are in either of this situations, eep. sorry).

It has been raining, storming even, for like six days. It's easy to love it because I know it ends. Also, I don't commute anywhere. Plus I figure we were overdue, so let's gather as much of it in the ground or reservoirs as possible. Of course most if it runs off, creates havoc and is useless but I like my pollyanna vision of little ponds with frogs and ducks getting filled with clean, fresh water.

Here are a few pics from a recent rain hike where we got whipped by rain and wind but the BHB was a total champ under his plastic tarp.

Rain makes me have deep thoughts...

Overdue is a quick apt description to my reality at the moment. I've got a library book so overdue I even got the wtf robot dialed phonecall on my cell phone. But getting to that library one mile away sounds hard. I'm a disappointment as a citizen and a human being, I realize that. But it's raining! I need a boat to get there.

And I'm overdue with my updates here. Overdue on several emails. Overdue to spend QT with friends, I wonder if they remember me?Overdue to get the kid out on playdates. I've got that big stamp over me at the moment, but I'm strangely peaceful about it.

I recently transitioned from SAHM who REALLY needs to be working to WAHM with waaay too much work. I felt like that desperate, dehydrated desert traveler who stumbles onto water and gorges on it until he is sick. Ah! Did you see 127 hours? Like that. That was me. Still is.

And honestly? It's been fantastic. I've had two jobs of late, one is editing behind-the-scenes videos for various artists. Here is one of my favorites so far:

So while I cut away in my office, the BHB has several girlfriends who come over in the afternoons who party with him at the park, entertain him here at home, or do laps n' snacks in the red stroller that he could sit in for hours. It's pretty darn sweet, he love these girls and I'm right here if I'm needed. When the day ends, he and I do the dinner dance, bath, book, bed and I go right back to work...usually til the wee hours of the night. Or get up at 4 or 5 to work again til late morning when cute hubs needs help again.

Which finally brings me to the title of this post. While it's been a super sweet time, it feels like there have been bandits who have taken late summer and fall away. I feel DAMN lucky to be able to work at home so I can have meals with the dude and see him off to bed. Sure sleep is back off the list of things in abundance, but it's a fair trade for the laughing contests I get to be a part of....


Oh, and is there something happening this week? Something to do with Jesus or the Mall? Remind me ok. I'm kinda out of it.

Soaked in goodness,

PS. Sending out some love for our friends in the real estate business. Holiday is the perfect time of year to buy a house, prices are lower and sellers are eager and you've got time to cruise around in the rain with our buddy Brad. Go grab a house before interest rates go up!

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Big Daddy

* Note to google stumbler who is searching for Adam Sandler silliness - sorry to dissapoint. I like to name my posts after movies. This movie offers a title I like. I've never seen it. We cool??* 

My Dad died when I was 20. I don't recommend this. I think waiting until you're 40 and up is a more preferable time frame to say goodbye to a parent's presence on this planet. Anything before 30 and it's going to be a life definer. Anything before 20 and it's so big all of your therapy will never quite get you through it. So I fall in the almost no recovery but not quite; certainly a life defining moment category as a member of the dead dad club.

My Dad was always going on diet's. He was built pretty much like a bear anyway, add the beard and fuzzy hair-do and he definitely had the 'bear' thing going for him. To lose weight he'd eat a mono diet of crackers for many days. Not kidding, the cracker diet. He'd drop about 10 pounds in 5 minutes 'cause you know, it's a male thing, they can do that.

He wore blue short sleeve shirts with a collar and a pocket. Do you know the one? Not the stiff starchee one, the soft kind. The pocket held is cigarettes. And a lighter that was always falling out when he bent over. He had these really great looking calves, like a tennis star. The only trouble is they were always really dinged up by coffee tables and any low flying objects. Benches, things like that. He had an eye disease called Retinitis pigmentosa. If you're not into following links, I'll say this:  He was loosing his eyesight very slowly, moving from the periphery in. What he could see, he could see well, it was just a very limited field. Take a pin, poke a piece of paper, look through that.

He was a really kind man. People really liked him - you couldn't help it. My cousins remember him as someone who would make you feel like you're the only person in the room or even in the world. He was very present with you, you had all of his attention. It was like a light swung by and stopped on you and your little person needs. This wasn't of course always my experience as a little person, but I get why that's how they remember him. And I really like it.

My favorite memory of my father happened when I was thirteen and my heart got broken. I mean smushed flat and stomped hard for the first time. A boy named Sean broke up with me a few days before homecoming. From then on my parents called him 'Ob-Sean'. I grew up in Texas y'all, and let me tell you, football and homecoming is a BFD. So getting dumped by the quarterback a few days before the big rally and game was pretty devastating for anyone, and for this lil sensitive thing? Disaster.

I was a twirler. There were four of us, we didn't perform with the band, more like in the shadow of the cheerleaders with a microphone and boom box. We had a big routine to perform at both the pep rally and the game. As the scorned girl, I felt that time more than ever, I needed to get it right. There waas nothing worse than the thump. thump, thump of the baton down the wooden stage steps and having to scramble into the audience in my white jazz shoes, nude stockings and short skirt to pick it up.

So I was obsessively practicing my routine in the backyard. Steady tears, scratchy grass and waning twilight were my company as I did the routine over and over and over again. Somehow that flashing silver in the dim light was bringing me the slightest sense of peace, I drank it up until the day gave in to pitch black. As I walked into the kitchen door, I discovered a strange sight.  My dad was sitting at the kitchen table crying his eyes out. He was on the phone with his sister Jane (who yes I was named after) and she was trying to help him through my heartbreak.

He tried to compose himself but I'll never forget his beautiful hazel eyes all red rimmed and wet. After getting off the phone, he took off his glasses and hugged me. We both wept. And then laughed. And cursed Ob-Sean's name, which was easy to do thanks to the nickname.

Can you imagine? How loved I felt? How completely understood and cherished? The light swung by and held my sopping little heart. Sure I think it sucks that I missed twenty to thirty years of being an adult and a relationship with a Dad. But. I had a lot then.

Yours in weepy memory moments,

PS. - If you're wondering what inspired me to write this, please follow this link. This is a dear, dear friend of mine who is an incredible writer.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Walk the Line

The BHB (big headed baby) refuses to walk.

He's a fast as hell crawler.
He's pretty much at a run - as long as you've got him by the hand.
He's about 14 feet tall.

But no walking.

I finally stopped opening myself up to the following nonsense:

Me: "Oh he's 19 months old. Yea. Not walking yet. He'll get around to it"
Them: Nodding earnestly
Me: "Must be a procrastinator like his Mom!' awkward laugh
Them: The Speech.

You know the one.

OH all babies are DIFFERENT. They all do things AT THEIR OWN time and pace. It's NOTHING to worrry about. I mean. My baby starting walking when she was NINE MONTHS OLD, well running actually, HA HA so you should feel lucky....


Ugh. I totally deserve it actually. When BHB was just a tiny nugget and tucked into my chest in a Moby wrap, I met a family with a cute toddler person. They shared that he had just started walking at like 16 months or something, only finally crawled at 15 months. They looked stressed about it.

ME: Oh I hope this one does the same thing! That sounds about right...
THEM: Nodding earnestly.
(internal monologue) Really. REALLY?

CUT TO: Now.

AND I'm done with it.

I know, I know it's fine. He's fine. But it's just a bit of a drag honestly. He's got the skills, just not the willingness. But carrying him everywhere or doing the one handed walk is making my body hurt. Wah to the wah, right? As if I've got problems compared to I don't know, a real problem?

I just want him to feel the joy of running. And he will soon. And then I'll be sorry.

Leaning to the right,

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

The Natural

It's so exciting to have a genius in the house!

I'm amazed that we got to figure out his calling so early. I mean, that's lucky right? The kid is only 17 months old and we already know his fate, and for once this didn't involve a call to the astrologer.

Yes, and by the title of my post you know I mean baseball. And besides, he kinda looks like a mini-Redford anyway, right?


About to throw something. Run!

He's the nations next great pro-baseball pitcher. The next Nolan Ryan. (ahem. age myself much?) There is not a doubt in my mind about the greatness that is BHB's MLB career. Frankly I'm most excited about the various houses he's going to buy his loving, doting parents.

In the meantime? He's trying to kill us. More specifically, the brown dog.

We live in utter terror. He has the most amazing aim, and worse, his fastpitch is already coming in. It's a bit side-arm-ee but I think with the right coach he can perfect his form.

Today we pulled all toys that have any heft or sharp corners out of the toyboxes. I hate giving him his sippy cups because they are sure to be launched and provide heavy-plastic-water -filled danger that explode in both thud and wet. Thankfully he's started developing 'the look'. He cranes around me, looking for the brown target and when he's got the poor-pooch in his sight, there is a focus that comes over his face and is both eerie and helpful. That's my big chance to either remove or catch the missive. However if I happen to wander off to you know, cook, or pee or glance at my phone? No-one is safe.

Here's how it goes down:

SFX: Crashing plastic block, dog's nails skittering on wood floor as he escapes.
Me: "No Thank You, NO thank you, we do not throw blocks at Bongo"
BHB: Laughing hysterically.
Bongo: Skulking away
Me: You can throw a ball. Let's find a ball. Ohhhh Look a ball! You can throw this!
Me: Ducking

So other than this 'No thank you and let's find what you can throw' plan, do you guys have any other advice? I'm desperate.

I'll leave you with an image that I've put up here before. Anyone who has ever pitched a baseball can vouch for me here, he's got the perfect finger placement.

Gifted child.

Yours somewhere in-between terror and pride,

PS - The other day I tried to ignore dawn patrol by crawling back into bed with the boy and his morning bottle. Hubs snoozed away, and I got a few more winks as the milk went down. Bad idea. Upon completion cute hubs got the fast pitch at short range - literally a foot and a 1/2 away the bottle flew at his nose at full speed. Poor hubs. Not my proudest parenting moment either, as I carried the star player into the other room I asked him (in the not nicest way) what the eff he was thinking. Yea. So please help.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Cold Mountain

Today we needed to do 400 things. But, as always, one of our main priorities was to get up and down or local mountain. I'm pretty sure mountain is a bit of an exaggeration. Ok fine! I'll check the definition.

In the Oxford English Dictionary a mountain is defined as "a natural elevation of the earth surface rising more or less abruptly from the surrounding level and attaining an altitude which, relatively to the adjacent elevation, is impressive or notable."

So great, in relative terms - land forms that rise 400' above Los Feliz should definitely be called a mountain. Or fine, it's a nice hill. And we go there daily to rise above it all, admire the smog-ee smogginess or just notice that all of those cars filled with angry people are really not going that far or fast, it's sweet how their nasty little honks can't affect us up there. It's a nice little bite of perspective on this sprawling city of angel sandwich.

In fact, getting up and down that hill has become so critical to my peace of mind that I call it sanity mountain. Which is dangerous because if I don't get there?

Yep. I'm total koo-koo-pants.

Sometimes I go up twice a day, like today. The first trip I pushed BHB up in the stroller. The 2nd trip he rode on my back. I know, I'm really, really special. And strong! But mostly, sane.

But the story I want to tell is the morning epic. In the AM cute hubs and I gathered our forces and our selves:  brown dog, a big-headed baby with big hair, and the set of weary parents. We galloped out the door. Ahem. Limped? After the 10 minute car trip, the stroller was being set up at the base of the mountain (yep, I'm sticking with this mountain theory), and the transfer from car seat to stroller was taking place, a deeply disturbing fact was uncovered. Well, two.

1. A giant, foaming, overflowing poo diaper was in play.

2. The diaper bag with the nice wipes, clean diapers and other clean pants was woefully missing from the car.

What's a hike-needing family to do? Well, I remembered that there was one diaper in the stroller basket. Sure it was sorta crumpled and a little shredded but clean. And it exists.

Then! I remembered there was a buncha wipes in the back where the dog hangs out. Sure they were dried out and furry, but, wipes nonetheless.

Poor BHB. Perched in the back of the car filled with dog hair, he yelped while his little bum was  swiped by dried out wipes. Yuck-a. And the fact that the pants were blown out with a smear of poo juice made us go:

"Forget it. Let's go home"

'Cause doing the white trash diaper only thing wasn't do-able, it was a cold morning.

So back the stroller goes into the car, dog coaxed back up, baby buckled in. However, upon spotting a cute striped long sleeve shirt on the floor of the car, I had a brilliant idea.

"Look! Upside down pants!"

I mean really. Why should poopy pants come between us and the mountain?

So, with a relatively clean butt, warm legs and the crows and distant skyline to keep him company, we took to the hill.

Here is some of the fun with improv pants and the Ugg's we got at a shower that are clearly still too big.

Notice the far-away city...nothing that small can be that bad!

Checking out awesome boots. Witness the neck hole at the crotch.

The 2nd trip up looked like this. Mom = Sherpa

Improvisationally yours,