Wordless Wednesday: Sunset Hike Edition

Happy New Year!

Just a few words on this wordless Wednesday. So my friend JJ does this thing, (or oops, not today, but usually?) I don't know if she made it up or what but I think it's super neat and I've meaning to join in the fun for a long damn time. New Years time makes you want to do thing things you've been meaning to, so here we go.

Some recent pics from recent sunset hikes in the beeyootiful Griffith Park.

Avatar

Okay! So here @ LCD I've decided to start a new thang. It's called Monday Movie Musings. 
Magic
Masterpieces
Wait! Back-off strikethrough, jesus!  I like that last one.

Monday Movie Masterpieces.

What do y'all think? Here's my thought. Let's talk movies on Mondays. It's as if I have a life and go out to movies on weekends and since I am a big-shot film school graduate (oh yea!)  I'll use big film geek words and talk about why I think films are in fact achieve Masterpiece status or live in total crapland. Or something inbetween. I know what you're thinking - whatever Jane! We can just go to Metacritic or Rotten Tomatoes and hear from a REAL film critic. But, but I say to you. Where else can you hear from the POV of a new-ish Momma, a sensitive little soul who cries in every movie, a filmmaker about to break through and a total smart ass? Here, that's where. Game on y'all!

(deep breath)

I saw Avatar today and HOLY CRAP IS IT GOOD!

But let me back up and say this.
I seriously didn't want to go. I am not a fan of guys who are mean to their actors. In a recent NPR interview he said that meanie stuff was just legend. But Kate Winslet got into trouble for saying she would never work with him again. Oh, hold on, maybe she was misquoted. She said she'd never work with water again. Ok. Well, you decide what you think based on this evidence. I was upset because I have a friend who was an extra on the set of Titanic down in Mexico and she said he terribly mis-treated not only crew and extras (often treated like kee-rap) but even his stars. He tried to drown them. Or well, no. He didn't try. He just almost did inadvertently and then said 'let's go again'. Insensitive. Driven. Jerky.

but.

A fargin' genius.

My estimation of Avatar? Yep, a masterpiece. I was truly blown away by this movie. And yes I cried my head off. For anyone who's seen it, um hello, the tree scene? Were you bawling like a baby, or was it just me? OMFG. I gasped at the beauty. GASPed, not once but many, many times. The world he and his team created can only be described using E words. Extraordinary, exquisite, elaborate, enduring and well extra-terrestrial yes with such a loving wink back at earth and also the rave scene.  One of my favorite scenes of all times that induced the ol tear roll down cheek was in Wall-E. You know - when the use the fire extinguishers to propel themselves through space? There was a scene in this movie that rivals and possibly surpasses that scene. Oh no, I'm not kidding. I do not say this lightly people, I heart Pixar so deeply. But. This. is. Stuuuning. On the aforementioned review sites I saw that one of the reviewers called it the new Star Wars. I totally agree. In fact, that was one of my thoughts as I stumbled blinking back into the light today with my mom. I can't wait for 2010 or so when I can show this to BHB.

Only drag is, if you've ever read that lil 'Story By' over there to the left you know that I dreamt of making the next Star Wars. Dammit! That's done. I guess I'll be happy to make the next Garden State. I'm not enough of a sci-fi geek to have been that guy anyway, but I am a Joseph Campbell fan so expect a hero's journey with all the trappin's.

Ok, I forgot to use big words. This is my freshman effort,  I'll bring those and some more complex sentences next Monday. Having seen Avatar 3d today I'm still in this amazing space of sitting in it and near it and just wanting to breathe in the goodness of their planet. (with one of those breath-ee things on my head of course) Oh and I will say this. If When Mr Cameron wins a bajillion Oscars for this and goes up there for the fourth time (Editor, Writer, Director, Producer) to take home Best Picture, if he even THINKS about pulling a "I'm the King of Pandora!" I will personally kick his ass.

So, did you guys like it?

Elf

Merry Christmas!

Baby on Bored invited me over to her space to talk about a little Christmas miracle. My life sans hooch. If you're interested, pop on over there and check it out. Or scroll down for my midnight Santa ramblings.

Hope you're enjoying the magic of this sweet lil day!

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

It's Christmas Eve and all through the house, not a brown dog is stirring, not even the skunk that totally kicked his ass last night.

The matching stockings (hell ya!) were hung by the fireplace with care. (there's no chimney, just a hole where you shouldn't put fire) In hopes that ol Santa would do a drive by and hook a lil family up. 

I in my ugg slippers and Pa in his cap have settled our selves and he'll be seeing about a long winters nap since I"ll be up typing this for way too long obsessively checking to see that it's a) funny b) touching and c) fit for such a fine occasion as Christ-mas. 

Christ-mas!! Christmas Ricky! (name that movie for 20 points)

Okay that's enough of that silliness. Let's talk about why Grinch was probably totally justified in stealing this consumeristic lame little holiday that allegedly has something to do with the Christian faith but mostly concerns itself with the bottom line. I say heave ho that bag of crap off the top o the mountain you green faced lil freak, DO IT!

But I don't really mean it.

And yes, you totally know where I'm going, and here I go. It's BHB's first Christmas!! It's so sweet. He won't remember a g'damn stitch of it but I suddenly care just a little bit. He's my little Cindy Lou Who but he's better drawn. One tooth, (well two but only one really reads in pictures). A ready grin. A fantastic squeal. A new zest for solid foods. A joy that can be witnessed by his gummy little hands opening and closing in unison. Dammit I love him so much.

I am the Grinch. I totally am. As you know from the previous post (scroll it on down if you care to) I was so not into this thing. I was feeling obligation to care and since my folks are in town doing lots that looked like caring. But this week and it's manic nuttiness has brought home a new range of the emotional goods.

My heart has grown three sizes this week. I'm just blown away by the highs and the lows of this thing. Momma's, can I get an amen? Never have I been more physically, emotionally stretched. Never have I been more afraid. Never have I been more in love. It's all so Ginourmous and gorgeous and overwhelming and UGH comon' fingers -comon'! These typed words can't stretch their truth around the magnitude of the LOVE...yes that's it but I need more emphasis or italicises or bold to say it, yell it. I love this silly baby person and the person who made him with me. I love him! It's crazy love! Both of these boys. And the brown one too.

But y'all know, right?

I can feel my heart going stretchee stretch. Every time that kid lights up when he see's me. Everytime he squeals with the sheer whatev's of it. When he falls alseep in the Ergo as we shop for Christmas dinner and his soft little downey cheek smooshes up to my chest and his long eyelashes relax and despite the clanging noise and shopping fury he his so soundly asweetly asleep. Ohmygod. My little Grinch heart is bursting out of my chest. What a mess. It's so wonderful.

Cute hubs and I watched It's a Wonderful Life tonight and wrapped presents and baked pumpkin pies (this was a first folks) and I panicked because I didn't know it was so liquidee when it goes in? Is that right? And holy dairy festival! But anyway. As you can see we pretty much followed the Christmas eve brochure to the letter and it was awesome.

Merry Christmas beauties! I hope y'all are having a wonderful day with your littles. Thanks for making my season so bright.

Big Love! (obviously)


PS - Check out the Santa-on-Santa action! I couldn't help but think about Billy Bob in Bad Santa but the whole standing in line talking to other Moms and making a total ass of myself trying to get him to smile totally got me into the spirit. God bless us all, right?

Home Alone

Ah. Home alone on a Friday night...just me and my miracle brown-dog and the big-headed-baby.

Ok that's not really alone, is it? But it's quiet. Little BHB sleeps peacefully in his little room with his little blanket all cuddled up with his weird-ass rhinoserous head attached to a tiny blanket thingee. You know, a lovey. A lovey. Just one of the bajillion things I had never heard before this year that now runs my life. I once spent 3.5 hours searching the internet high and low to find another one of the the weird-ass rhinoserous head attached to a tiny blanket thingees while completely panicked that I had 'attached' him to something completely irreplaceable.

And I was right, that's basically what happened.

Which means I'm screwed. I mean, sure I could find some other little fuzzy magic blanket that's way overrpriced that I can buy 20 of and slowly ever so slowly over time gently remove rhino-head from his plump little fingers and replace it with the new fuzziness. But. I can't. I won't. I don't care right now, I just don't have the juice.

To the right is the closest thing I can find by the same company. A horse is NOT a rhinoceros dammit, and um. It's $26.50. Comon'!

Which brings me to my topic for tonight. Supermom. Why I'm not her but continue to strive to be her and stress my ass out while feeling a mix of jealousy, disdain and despair at my inability to be her. And when I recognize her out in the world or in my in-box I get that wash of delicious chemicals, JDD let's call it, (jealousy, disdain and despair for those of you skimming and not really paying attention) it sweeps over my endocrine system and marches around all of the Jane cells making me look sorta washed out and lost and feel very, very tired.

By the way, have you noticed my obsession with initializing things? I do enjoy. Ok, back to the action.

I know y'all know, I know you do. And what I've noticed is that we Mom's seem to fit pretty squarely in one or the other camp. Argue that with me, I'm happy to hear it because I would like to enjoy some gray here myself, but right now I'm pegged pretty far over in the not so SM at all camp.


My buddy JJ has been talking about a book called Bad Mother that deals with this exact topic and you'd probably say to yourself, gosh why don't you just read it and find some relief? Harumph I say to that. Requires effort.

Jane: But, where do I get that book?

You: Well you just linked it on Amazon jackass, go there.

Jane: But then I have to walk into the other room to get my creditcard and then wait for it to arrive on my doorstep.

You: Seriously?

Unfortunately that basic exchange is the gist of every conversation going on for me right now. Even this second.

Jane: I'm hungry.

Other Jane: (the one you played in the last one) Get up and make some Miso soup out of the cool packet thingee that you bought at Whole Foods yesterday.

Jane: Ugh. Then I'd have to stop typing and get up and there's boiling water involved and oh yea. No.

OJ: Seriously?

Let me just share what has prompted this little affair of despair. (note: I just made that lil phrase up and I kinda think it's genius)

I have a cousin, who I adore. He married a lovely woman and they live in a lovely home and they have a 3-ish year old and now 6 month old twins. I mean, cool right? Our kids are basically the exact same age, BHB only has 2 months on those lil ones. Oh but wow, the difference in is his reality and theirs - they'll never be able to relate. Let me illustrate.

It's taken us like five days to get the lights on our tree. I was damn proud we bought it, and that was only possible due to the grandparents who are still lurking around. Godblessem. Ornaments are feeling a bit optional at the moment, but I would like to put them up so I can stop tripping over the boxes. I'd really like to buy a few gifts for the boy seeing as how it's his first Christmas and all but as you know, I've got the ol' creditcard-in-the-other-room stumbling block and so sadly he won't be getting any presents this year. I guess I'll print out this blog for him and put it under the tree.

Today I got a link to an album of amazing pictures from the aforementioned family of the extraordinary events of their recent life, amazing places, holiday goodness, smiling family pictures, a trip to Rockefeller center. Their giant tree decorated. I was still doin' okay until the pic of the matching stockings came on the screen, that was it. Straw, camel. Breaking and splintering happening as I tumbled into a downward spiral and the JDD washed over me.

I want matching stockings.
Who thinks of ordering matching stockings in time to put them up by December 15th? Someone with six month old twins? I'm amazed. I'm impressed. Let's face it, I'm jealous.
I will never have matching stockings. We'll just have to limp by with this ridiculous Santa one that I guess is for the cute hubs and this pathetic sock looking thing for the dog and the gorgeous angel one my Mom made for me a million years ago and what about the baby? HE WON'T HAVE A STOCKING? Sob.

While we're at it.

I was GOING to be that Super Green Mom too. I have admired the fuzzibuns and superheineys and angeltushies and all of those brands of washable diapers and basically ended up at eww. Um. These Costco diapers are kinda doing it right now for me.  Oh yes, I'm that person. Curse me silently, curse me aloud. Swirling trash piles in the Pacific are haunting me, but not enough to deal with getting the spray thing attached to my toilet or figuring out how the heck you actually get the stains out of the damn things.

I was GOING to be teaching the boy French by now and since this is the window (it's closing in fact, maybe closed?) where he is best able to learn another language I have proven it again, not SM. My neighbors speak Spanish to him and I just nod and think. Right. He should learn that language, and so should I if I'm going to survive here. But I have not, nor will I. I am not her.

Oh friends I could go on, but, I will not. I think Miso will win out here. Plus I have about 14,000 things to do for our movie. Hmmm, hold. on. a. minute. That's the issue isn't it? The movie is robbing my SM status. DAMN YOU MOVIE! And funnily enough, that is the very crux of this blog. Can she be a Director and a hustling-get-this-thing-funded Producer/Director/Wife and a super Mom?

Short answer? Nope.

Our tree. It has one ribbon. Cute hubs did a fantastic job putting the lights on. Call it good.





Bongo is very festive with his jingle bells on. I will say however is that he is looking a bit like a guy who could use some extra attention...BHB looks like a five year old in this picture. And here's my cute Mom being, you know, cute.

The Miracle on 34th Street

I name all of my posts after movies. This season is ripe with possibilities! Too bad I'm too damn busy to take advantage of all of them. But there was a miracle friends, and while 34th street is far from here - we did indeed have a damn miracle.

So.

Remember the incredibly challenging situation with our brown dog? The last time I talked about it, things were dire. Backstory available by clicking on Bongo at the end of this post. Or you can just click on Bongo in my new label cloud. Ohhh, I'm excited about the label cloud. It's over there to the left. Down a little. I need to do a better job categorizing my posts with their lil labels. Ohhh, label cloud.

Anyway if you didn't go anywhere and you still wanna know, in our cliffhanger episode our cute brown dog was headed for eye surgery. Which no-one wants, no one does.

Around that time a friend had introduced me to a pretty groovey dude who is a healer. This healer friend was alerted to the Bongo situation. He pretty much came right to the rescue and started doing healing sessions on the dog, and on us as well. And our little smoochydoggie would look better for oh, say, 3 or 4 days and then he would start the same squinting and goo-ing and general dismay based in the eyeball. So it was clearly helping but not fixing.

ohmygod. Are you bored? Don't click away, I'll speed this up.

Cut to the chase: We went ahead and scheduled the surgery, but the eye surgeon we used last time wasn't available for two weeks. And healer man suggested another healer gal who specializes in animals to augment the process. She just happens to be the daughter of a famous dude. And I suppose has her own fame as well but holy crap she will forever be famous in my mind. Famous and exhalted as the woman who came over here and did some major doggie voo-doo and fixed his eye. Ok, that sounds ridiculous. And it is, and it isn't.

Let me 'splain. We've known All along that the issue was clearly emotional. Clearly, truly. I mean comon', it all started 2 weeks after BHB arrived and it was so obvious that when the baby would cry, in response the dog's eye would squint and leak. But when a surgeon says to you, uh-boy, your brown dog needs surgery, you brace yourself and your wallet. And then when you have a pretty lady who smells good come over and take your dog in figure 8's around the room and do some cool oovey stuff involving lazers and sprays that smell like flowers and all around general goodness you think, ok, that's cool. Fun story. Fun stuff. But what you don't really, truly expect is for it to just get better.

And that's what happened. Day by day. He looked better, he was more cheerful and his eye stopped gooing and squinting. Soon the surgery was upon us and we're going, um. gosh. I don't think he needs it! And so they checked it out, and remarkably they agreed. Nope, he's looking great.

God bless it. All of the times watching The Secret and What the Bleep do We Know? and I totally nod and go oh yea, totally. We are creating our own reality. Our thoughts make our lives. Abso-dam-tootly. Yet I'm still shocked when the dog shows me how that is really done.

It's a nice rack-focus reality slap of fantasy. (if that makes any sense). Perfect for the holiday season.

Please enjoy some pictures of Santa Baby and the Miracle Pooch.

Honest

Holy crap what a week. So good, so good I'm trembling to tell you about it unfortunately it's going to have to wait. Even though BHB has been a champion sleeper I have Not as I have been cranking on work deep into the night so I must go to bed Now, now now now now. I promise to dish the news soon.

But first! Let's have a quick award show. Drumroll please.

A fine and fabulous reader who we know as embracing my quirks gave me this shout out recently (well, somewhat - it's been several weeks actually, oh shoot I'm already going to lose the honest status right there!) - it's called an Honest Scrap. Ha.

So here's the scoop.

1) Must thank the person who gave the award and list their blog and link it.

2) Share "10 Honest Things" about yourself.

3) Present this award to 7 others whose blogs you find brilliant in content and/or design, or those who have encouraged you.

4) Tell those 7 people they've been awarded HONEST SCRAP and inform them of these guidelines in receiving the award.

10 Honest things about myself:

1) I am the busiest lazy person I know.
2) I love the smell of my dog's head.
3) I still think my husband is totally hot. Luuuucky!
4) I believe in past lives.
5) I forgive easily. (sometimes too easily)
6) I had a devastating crush on Davey Cole in 2nd grade.
7) I freakin' love to be on stage. (thus the blog)
8) Regarding #7 - I know that approval seeking is boring, I am trying to kick the habit.
9) Speaking of kicking habits, I don't drink anymore - I got it all done early.
10) If given the choice between a delicious salad and mac and cheese, I'd choose very well. You decide what that means.

And now for the nominations:

Baby on Bored - she got me into this mess and I totally love her for it (mostly). And. Okay, I"ll say it. I want to be her someday.

JJust Kidding- freakin' hilarious. Read this post, an all time fave.

Wellington Road - my new NZ ex-pat BF. I heart her. It's fun to see what's going on on the other side of the world from an American mom's perspective. Plus she backed our project on Kickstarter which makes her doubly, triply cool. Just sayin'.

Viva Joy Riot - name says it all. It's a mish-mash of mommy stuff and design and amazing pictures and great writing is the thread that holds it together.

Lulu and Moxley's Mom - I am finally reading her blog along with about the rest of the world. Go see why. Dry and fuuuuuny.

Shoot how many more am I suppposta do? Can't do. any. more. must. bed.
Award show over.

(here it comes...the signature that was voted in even tho B thought it was clothing designer-ee. I wish I was a clothing designer, then I would have much better style. The whole ballcap and sneaker director thing fits me well, sad to say.)

Home for the Holidays

(to the tune of the 12 days of Christmas, I know...I'm early)

On Thanksgiving weekend my sweet life gave to me:

12 cute hub kisses
11 hours o cooking
10 footballs passing
9 palm trees swaying
8 moods a milking
7 wine drinkers
6 (x 3) pounds of Turkey
5 Ba-by giggles!
4 Frolicking Friends
3 Pumpkin Pies
2 Pa-rents
and a Brown Dog wiiiith a kong.

If you don't know what a kong is, you're about to get really jealous of my reality. This red rubber thing comes bouncin toward our knees and the baby's head about 18 times a day as the dog looks on desperately with the highest and most fervent hope for someone to stop what they are doing, turn and head toward the kitchen, pull out a butter knife, open a peanut butter jar, and put said peanut sauce into said kong and then go off into the recesses of the house (as if it's that big) to hides the stinky lil thing.

Next this sucker person comes back to the not-so-patiently-sitting-dog and says in a high squeaky voice with arms raised in an I don't know expression. 'Where's your Kong?'. The tiptap of joyful brown nails skitter off in every direction but mostly the direction of where you left it because his brown nose is powerful stuff. Bounce. bounce, bounce. Sigh. Open door, jar open, butter knife hits sink, footfall on hardwood floor, pause. 'Where's your kong?'. Skitter. Rinse. Repeat.

Has anyone seen the title movie? Oh man, I should netflix it. As I remember, I kinda loved it. I think it was because it featured Robert Downey Jr (RDJ) oh yes I just went there initializing his name damn his genuisness and endless hotness as he was just knee deep in his addiction and apparently doing heroin during filming. And pretty much playing himself in the movie. I gotta say, he is just the freakin' poster child for recovery, isn't he? Gawd I heart him.

But I digress. As I often do.

This holiday weekend was long and good. I saw not one but two movies this weekend. TWO MOVIES! That is the fallout of a baby who sleeps - a filmmaker who can reenter the sanctuary that is Arclight cinemas and soak in the real butter and the comfy seats and laugh and laugh and almost pee laughing. Of course I'd be lying if I said I didn't come out of the theater and call my mom desperate n crying 'cause I wanted her to keep the boy awake so I could rush home instead of going to dinner to kiss his downey head before he slept. But. He was already asleep. So we went to Amoeba records and dinner and we acted like people with a life. Dawg I just love her and her 'baby is already asleep just go to dinner I love you' self.

Let's enjoy this picture of the cuteness, shall we?

The parents are leaving on Tuesday and I'm trying to not bawl openly and constantly. Thankfully they are not going far, like 50-some miles away to park in a pretty place and enjoy some nature and likely enjoy the time away from the constant buzz of baby and our lil' movie and get it done! and what's next? and crap I need to and can you just watch him while I? kinda stuff they've been doing with us for a month. A month! Ladies and gentlemen (uh, do any guys actually read this blog?) Ladies, can you imagine? A month of daily lovin' from grandparents who are truly good. Damn you time for your forward marching! Thank god they'll be back for Christmas.

I'm gonna get honest here. I am torn about whether this signature thing below is fabulous or totally obscene and cheesy. Let me know your thoughts while you admire the font and size I chose. I hope your holidays were delicious.

Meet the Parents

So my Mom is in town. And my Step-dad. Here's the thing: these people are really good people. Not like, oh you know, good as in they are well groomed, wear matching jewelry, listen to NPR all day and wear LLBean.

No these people are Good (capital G), as in, are loving and always of service and cheerful. Really! Cheerful pretty much all the time. Frankly it's a bit tough being around them because any impulse I have to throw a snit or complain or whine about dumb crap gets quashed by their laughter and Can-do attitude. Oh and I should say that they are well groomed too, but not so much on the catalog outfits.

In fact, it's been hard to come up with stuff to write about up here because I think alot of what I do here is thrash around about my garden-variety angst which has been minimized by all this damn loveliness. Of course the other thing I do is talk about sleep which I know y'all are probably over hearing about. And frankly? Nothing to say right now - drama done for the moment. OK. Okay, wait..I know you won't mind just this one little tiny eensy bit...

The boy sleeps. I put him down. He goes to sleep. As I'm leaving the room, he smiles at me. I'M NOT KIDDING! He does this at night, he does this at nap time. And then he sleeps - 3 hours during the day, 11-12 at night. Ridiculous. And if I wasn't me, I'd hate me too.

Back to the parents. They live full time on an RV, so they are staying in their lil traveling house about a mile from here. So. Life is so sweet with our routine of getting up and making coffee for Papa L. They arrive at nine, he drinks it makes jokes and starts doing all kinds of stuff around here. Like fix lamps. He goes to his favorite hardware store. He watches the stock show. My mom gets the baby up from a nap. She changes him into a cute day costume. They sit together and coo and laugh while I flit around trying to get something done. And meals are made, errands get run, the baby is so beautifully taken care of since his naps are totally honored and yet, something unique for this household, still stuff gets done! If I could freeze time I would. I do pine for my Mommy and Me groups and a little bit, but not enough to miss a minute of this magic.

They were originally going to be here to help us BHB sit while cute hubs and I made our short film. And then, if you remember, we had a reality check and realized that we didn't have a huge chunk of the budget required to shoot the short in the manner we'd like to. Meaning: pay people something, not steal locations or shoot without permits. It turns out law-abiding is an expensive habit. Harumph.

Soo, we decided to do some fund-raising type thingee's while they are in town so that we stay focused on making some art while we get the benefit of some delicious Gramma babysitting and Papa L tasking. So last weekend we had a fund-raising party and today we threw a fund-raising Garage Sale. Both only mildly successful in terms of actual dollars compared to the work put in, but strangely fun and also came with the great house purging and house prepping that a g-sale and party (respectively) will do for you. Picture above: Boy and Grandma prepping for garage sale with couch on porch.

The place we're really hoping for some magic is our online effort. Last week we mounted a computer-to-computer Obama type funder on a super bitchin' site called Kickstarter.  Perhaps you noticed it the widget over there to the left? Give it a click, or go right here. On the page you'll find a video of cute hubs and I yapping to the camera and some real fun comes when BHB makes an appearance (about 3 minutes in).

If you can, pledge a few bucks. Really, just 2 is seriously great. What's even better is if you can pledge a few, and then forward to some friends and say 'Hey! Check this out! These people have a small child (with a big head) and still want to shoot an ambitious short film. I think they are kinda nuts but in the best way and I pledged a little, can you help them out too?' Then the magic of the interweb comes to life with all of the forwarding and hey-ing and tweeting and lovin' and then our movie gets made thanks to you. Seriously.

I hope that sounds good. I've backed a few projects up there and it's super damn fun to be a part of their projects. Artists are crazy people and I enjoy being counted among them, especially in times like these - we're hanging out on the edge.

Also, this is our movie poster. Our friend Bob designed it. We love him.

What Dreams May Come

You know, I should have left this title for a super oovey-groovey post about Angelsnshit but I am too lazy to come up with another way of saying - dreams do come true. It can happen to you, if you're tough at heart....

Well, not heart tough actually, more like heart-filled with love, tears coming down your face but loving your little person enough to set a boundry and help him learn something all the while with endless love you are psychically sending from the next room as you are furtively writing down the times and resetting the timer and walking in and carefully leaving in thirty seconds and sighing and crying and hoping it will end soon. But here's the result.

It works.

He's sleeping Through, not around, not beside, not above, not below and not any other preposition. Through the night.

Can I hear a what, what?

Last night was the one week anniversary of the first night of letting the boy cry which as you know from the recap sucked. And the rest of the score?
Check it out:

Night One - 1:01
Night Two -: 20
Night Three - : 04
Night Four -  :38 - * I speculate it was rougher here due to the fact that we were stressed around here getting ready for an event the next day...
Night Five -  :28
Night Six - :03
Night Seven - :02

Last night he slept from 7:03 pm to 6:30 am. I'm beside myself (and more prepositions). The previous two nights before we only heard about four minutes of crying somewhere deep in the night. You know deep in the night, the part where I used to jump and and run in there and feed his little face sometimes a little dangerously because I couldn't remember doing it? That part. Now I raise my head and my hand enough to jot the time and make sure the crying doesn't go past five minutes, because then I would have to do something. Holy hallelujah.

So I do not intend this as cyber bragging, it is not. It is me saying the following. When I birthed this little boy I said 'hellsnonowaynohow am I letting him cry it out, those people are savages'. No offense to you people, I know you know. But now after the last four months of the rocking, swaying, singing, feeding, rocking, swaying, feeding singing to sleep and the four and five times up before actually finally going down making it a three hour process sometimes, I've changed my tune.

We did it all in one fell swoop. Nights, weaning from night feedings as well as naps. All at once. All from the Sleepy Planet program. Totally recommend this, it's working great as his naps are even shaping up really well too. Today he was down for two this morning, and I just put him down for midday and we heard 30 seconds of crying and then nothin'. We'll see him in an hour or so. Peeps, I'm just sayin'. It's a freakin' miracle.

Here's the link again. Big shout out of love to those purty ladies, big ol recco on the DVD as well. Sorry this is a big commercial for them, but you know - I want to say to my comrades suffering out there - I'm out of baby jail and life is pretty sweet.

Liar, Liar

Night # 3. I put him down at 7pm. He cried for four minutes.

(space for emphasis!)

I checked in a bit later and found that he is doing his usual starfish impression with the flung out arms and adorable peaceful face. Not a peep since.

So dear friends, needless to say, I've joined the ranks. I'm a believer. He's learning a new skill, and doing a freakin' great job. Clearly all of the fish oil that cute hubs gagged me with is working. Our son is a genius.

I thought you people were lying. No offense, but I really didn't believe you when you said that it's not just selfish people wanting a life back (I mean, how rude!) but it's better for the child. You said, Jane not only is it better for you, but guess what? better for you is better for the child and he's got a skill for life, blah blah blah. I thought y'all were mean-spirited cry-lovin' people and you were all trying to make me into a baby terrorist.

But now, I'm an evangelist for your team. I mean, four minutes? Really? God bless him, I do think he's happier. I used to feed him all the way to sleep, now he doesn't have to wake up :40 minutes to burp.  Or wake up going 'Ok. I don't think I drank that  much, but last I remember I was in her arms and it was warm and now I'm in this crib, wtf wahhhhhhhhh!' God forbid it was looking like beginnings of a black out drinker. I just saved him from hours of life not having to go 'Hi my name is...'

The first night after I wrote the last post, skeeeroll down if you want to see what I"m talking about, turned out to be a pretty rough night. I stayed up typing to you to give him the preemptive 11:30 feeding, went great, he went right back down. Bed at 12. I was planning to feed him again around 3:30 to avoid the usual 4:30 or 5 feeding. It's the way the pretty ladies at sleepy planet recommend you wean night feedings: wake him up an hour before he usually eats. Feed him some. Slowly each night make it less and less, then you're done. We'll see, but so far, so good. I gotta say, I kinda want to make out with these chics. Not in a hot MLF on MLF kinda way, in a OMG you've just saved my life kinda way.

Back to the action. Unfortunately he beat me to the preemptive 3:30 feeding and woke-up and cried at 2:30. So. We did the routine. Check in at 5 minutes. Check in at 10. If he stops crying for longer than :30 seconds wait to start a new round. Moral, it was 45 minutes of this. Then I had to wait for 15 more minutes to make sure he was back down to go back in and wake him back up to feed. Did that feel broken? Yes. Poor guy just got back to sleep and I'm in there bugging him with a boob.

But! He fell right back to sleep and slept very peacefully til 6:30.

However I did not. I could not get back to sleep. Could not, no way, not happening. So, on night one I got 2.5 hours of sleep altogether. But! if last night (only 20 minutes of half-hearted protest and no problem going down both times I woke him to feed) and then this four minute magic tonight have any bearing on my future...I think it will clock in as fawking worth it.

But we'll see. Ebbs and flows. Teeth will come. Sleep will go. Illness will come. Peace will go. But you know what? I think I just got out of baby jail. I can hire a babysitter and go out after 7. I feel like a blinking stumbling hostage who wandered into the sun with just a little bit of rope burn and a silly big grin of freedom. My nights! Are back! Ahhhhhhh maaahhhh god!

Thanks again for your support y'all. It is truly, totally, utterly helpful.

PS - He doesn't sleep on our bed anymore- he's a crib lovin' dude. And the blanket is not over his face, I swear. In fact, here's the close up:

PPS - How cute is this?

PPPS - He's starting to cry right now. Drat. This is the result of the gloat, karma moves fast.

PPPPS - It's not a cry, it's a little coo-ing whimper. Hmmm, now what? Damn I wish I had a video monitor.

Cry-Baby

Yep, we're doing it.

We're 'sleep-training' or 'sleep-learning' or any other euphemisms you'd like to throw around which basically means, our tiny boy is crying until he sleeps. Tonight is Night One. I know what you want to know, and keep reading, I'll tell you.

LCD regulars will tell you I was deeply troubled by this idea. In fact, I was even all the way to (what? No!) judgmental about it here. Quick aside, how freakin' pretentious is it that I've initialized the name of my blog? Um, seriously. AND, it makes me really happy.

So I wanted to throw up all day. This morning I watched the DVD from the nice pretty ladies at Sleepy Planet. Let me tell you what, no other book - not even theirs got me there. But their lovely little faces being all super genuine and I don't know, mothering totally put me over the edge onto 'this is a good idea and not only am I going to do it, I'm even going to do a totally ridiculous fist-bump with the cute hubs that means game-on'. Because you can't go back on a fist-bump, I mean. That wouldn't be right.

Let's be clear - as a filmmaker I can be pretty sensitive and - let's be clear - critical of all things video. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't totally annoyed with the music. But otherwise? It's a good piece of media. Good graphics, good talent, good other mom's that we follow through the harrowing experience of 'sleep learning'. My mom and I watched it and I just wept. Wept. She's so sweet she encouraged me all day when my little eyes would grow big with fear and when I would convince myself that he was teething! we couldn't do it or that he is sick was that a cough? we shouldn't do it and that the moon isn't full enough or do you think we should wait til the economy is better to do it? but really we shouldn't do it because of my hangnail because I can't handle any more emotionally, so we really, really shouldn't do it.

God bless her, right? Example enough that this parenting gig is tough, seeing as how she has had to put up with this hot mess for so many years.

But tonight at 7pm when the show was all set to start, she was so outta here. I can't say I blame her. I'm sure she was so worn out from supporting me all day with the pre-cry crying. And helping with preparations for this film fundraiser we're holding this weekend. And the cleaning out my fridge! I mean, really? What on earth did I do in a past-life to deserve this much goodness? Man, I'm grateful.  She even dropped off some delicious tacos from Hugos before her exit.

So the cute hubs and I sat there with our digital clock and pen in hand and listened to the dreaded soundtrack. Here's the craziest part of all. I didn't cry. Not until I saw some welling in the big blues on the cute hubs and then I melted a bit. But it was a strangely dry-eyed experience for me. But! Don't worry friends, there's always tomorrow. Or later tonight.

And the answer to your question is one hour. I think most people don't have to endure it that long, but for us, tonight, with various breaks at various intervals the total was one hour, one minute.


I'm putting this picture here because it's a good visual on the BHB mid-cry. I'm a jerk too because my mom and I had a good laugh at this moment - we said together 'that is ONE pissed-off-pumpkin!'

 

City of Angels

Sometimes magical things happen that are inexplicable.
And sometimes they don't.

Almond Joy has nuts, Mounds don't.

OH MAN I am showing my age. If you're young and fabulous and you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, move along. And if you're old and fabulous then yes I just dragged that catchy tune that tortured you from your childhood into your mind, you're welcome.

Back to the topic, thanks for going with me on that. I live in a city called Los Angeles, loosely translated: " city full of pretty people who drive like completes shitheads and have a shocking lack of confidence which is hilarious considering the attitude". No wait, that's not it. According to wiki the full name is "La Ciudad de la Reina de los Angeles" - or The City of the Queen of the Angels.

And who is that you might ask? The Virgin Mary is apparently the Queen of the Angels. Now this makes no sense to me because according the Doreen Virtue's Angel Cards, Angels are totally hot. And from what I remember from bible study Mary is a no-sex-havin', virtuous holy gal who you know, hangs out with sheep.

Man, I keep wandering off here tonight. Clearly I'm tired. Okay. Here's what's up.

I am going to reveal something kinda embarrassing and ridiculous and/or totally bitchin' depending on your point of view. But here goes. I talk to the Angels. Like. All the time.

Yep. Uh-huh. Totally.

I am tempted to close the post here and see what happens, but foolishly I"ll go on. I've referred to the oovey-groovy side of myself a few times up here and just sorta whitewashed over it. But I'd be remiss in sharing a real picture of this little Momma if I didn't just overshare a little bit on this topic.

It seems like ever since I gave birth and had my self, physical and otherwise, split open I've been exactly that, more open. I'm getting more 'information' from you know, guidesn'shit. And taking care of this little tiny Angel-faced person has inspired me to chat up the other Angels more often. I 'read' the Angel deck, pulling cards for every reason I can. What's amazing about this is how often the information is so freaky-deaky truly uncanny and also quite soothing. Or how I'll ask a question and the same card will come up again and again. Seriously. In a deck of like 44 I think, I ask the question get a card. Shuffle. Shuffle again. Ask the question again, here comes the same card. Fuuuuhreaky


In fact, when I was preggers with BHB I talked to a psychic and she mentioned that he will love unicorns. Well, that remains to be seen - his only interests at this point involves my anatomy. But at some point I'll be able to confirm this and that will be hella interesting. In the meantime, anytime I would ever ask a question of the angel cards that relates to the boy, I get the same card over and over again that happens to be a damn Unicorn. Unicorn Angel. Which is nuts, right? In so many ways, but I mean in the 'whoa, that can't be a coincidence way'.

Tonight I went to a class to kinda purse this new line of thinking some more to see if all of my talking to Angels and various other folks seen and unseen was a reasonable thing to do. But you know, when you go to a place promoting such activity you're not going to get any kind of helpful perspective. So I don't have any. So instead of going on here, I  am going to go chat up the Angels about sleep. Mine, his and yours.

Btw, thanks so much to all of you who commented on my previous post about that topic, I totally freakin' appreciate you. Nothing has been resolved over here, in fact the cute hubs is singing song #4 right now as I type to see if he'll go back down. I've already offered way too much food for 11:42 at night and so now we're into the Opera (again). I will keep you posted.

Sigh. Now a new song is in your head, isn't it?

Says she talks to Ang-el-s, they call her out by name..

Boys Don't Cry

Or do they?

Oh how I hate this conversation I'm about to have with the virtual you, the person out there, over there, my friend, my new friend and yet a stranger. It's just so hard and stupid and annoying and we'll never agree and we'll go in uncomfortable testy circles until one of us will get mad and stomp off.

Boy that just sucked you right in, didn't it? Deep breath, here goes.

Did you do it?
Did you let your baby cry?
Are you one of thoooose parents?

Or did you sleep with, cradle and rock, let him nurse himself to sleep until he was 3? Did it solve itself magically at 16 months? Then you stood victorious and gazed down upon all the fallen ones shaking your head and wondering how they could be so dangerously mean and awful and those poor dear children who are scarred for life wondering if their parents love them. Knowing they don't.

Did you regret letting him cry?

Are you so glad you did?
Are you the one who can say my kid sleeps 12 hours a night it's non-negotiable he's an amazing sleeper and is so well adjusted and I'm a better parent and we're all happier and it's a beautiful gift and what is wrong with teaching your child an important skill that they need for life?

Or are you like me. Living somewhere in the middle of this dangerous battlefield. Working for the little man. Then when there's nothing more that can be physically done, sucked dry of milk, unable to hold the squirming body that threatens to jump out of your hands. (god forbid) Unable to sing the way the Dad does. You let him cry for 11.5 minutes.

Did you regret caving and going in there and being the one, the only one that can make that horrible sound stop? The one that is greeted with a giant tear soaked smile and a little elvis hip-shaking dance? Getting to pick up the sweet smelling person and having him go heavy in your arms with relief? Knowing that tomorrow night is another night of hours and hours of trying, rocking, dancing, singing, nursing, wondering, what-am-I-doing-here-and which side will I run to?

When the cute hubs gets home I recall the tears, his and mine. I ask him. Where will we end up? Will we regret it?

I send up the white flag. Please tell me what you did. In the meantime check out the gorgeous pumpkin.

La Belle Vie

Sometimes, despite the dumb ass shizzle that abounds and multiplies, life tastes good.

Today is one of those days. Today I went and heard my meditation teacher speak. He tumbles wisdom out of his mouth with such force. I try to record the thoughts between my synapses and come up with mostly. Yes. What you said. Yes. And I remembered why I meditate and realized that even though there is a baby person taking up oh so much of the time, that I remembered that I do, I could, I can and I must have 20 minutes twice a day to find. What's up naptime! Since the boy always, always wakes up at 7:00 am, I bet if I got up at 6:30, I could meditate. Could, can, will, must? Will.

Today I didn't eat sugar. Again. This was Day 3. Well, at least blatent stoopid sugar like ice cream and scones. I suppose I did have a little slip onto a trail mix that had cranberries off the sugar tree. But who wants to eat cranberries without some sweet? That's a pucker-rrefic experience. I guess the answer is me, I'm committed to cutting out all sugar. And I shoulda read the label. So I'll be starting over with Day 1 tomorrow but I have that head start of already feeling so damn much better. As you can tell by my jaunty words. I feel so damn much better.

By the way I won't be going on about this here anymore, I've splintered off to another blog to talk all things sugar. I hope you'll follow me over there, it's a project that's been in my heart, mind and off and on my body for ten years. I've had some fun spoofing the F U Penguin blog and my site is of course called F U Sugar. Fun and prizes to be had over there, comon' by...

Today I woke up at 7:20 to the sound of the BHB just cooing and muttering to himself after having slept most of the night. I'm talkin' 8 hours in a row. Whaaat! That is some rock solid goodness right there people. Yep. I know. Clearly I'm an amazing mother.

Today we went to the farmers market. We bought stuff to smoosh into baby mush. We sampled tasty wares. The sun was slanty and shiny and our feet moved across the ground with ease. You know what I mean? Warmth on back. Everything through the amber sunglasses looks good. We run into a family that seem really effin' cool for the third time so we get their digits. Like that. 

Today we went and saw a great friend who is helping us with our short film. I've been remiss in sharing updates about said short film, but it's still grinding along. More on that later, let's just say that we're not shooting in two weeks, more like 2 weeks x 10. Let's just say that my idea of stretching a budget and what is actually real and possible didn't match up, so we're moving into a fund raising phase. Which is awesome. And by awesome I mean Ack. Let's just say it's time to suck it up and start begging.

But back to today and it's delicious tart and fresh offerings. On the way home from dear friend the cute hubs got the boy into a full tilt giggle that just wrecked me it was so good. Thankfully I didn't wreck the car. Here is some photographic evidence of the overabundance of cuteness.


How I could go from a state of 'giant-potato-peelers-took-off-my-skin-and-there-are-giant-lemons poised-to-squirt' feeling to a super yummy 'I'm-a-meditating-sugar-free-rockstar-momma-with unreasonably-cute-boys-in-my-life' in one week is beyond me. And you too I bet.

The Fly

*I planned to post this last night. Blogger was down (whatthehell!) so I was unable. Please ignore the one day-off-ness of it all....

Four days ago bhb had his first bite of solid food. He enjoyed the first few bites and then grabbed the spoon and shoved it in his mouth. Gifted child.

Three days ago bhb and I wrestled with gravity.

Two days ago I told the internet about it.

One day ago brown dog started blinking and looking miserable with his left eye. We’ve seen this all before. You may remember that he recently had to have surgery on his right eye.

Today we find out that indeed he needs surgery again. I worry that when you ask people who perform eye surgery if a dog needs eye surgery that you’re going to get the answer “He needs eye surgery”. Unfortunately the last time this happened and I wanted a different answer, I went to a holistic vet who said. “Well, there is a danger that the eye can explode.” Or was it implode? “Get the surgery.”

So we did.

My logic was, our dog has really pretty eyes. And he probably likes having both of them. And I’m not interested in exploding eyeballs. And here we are again, same story, but but now we’re looking at (get it?) the other eyeball. Cute hubs said to the vet:

"Thank god he's not a pet fly!"

Comon! You gotta give it up for the hubs on that one. Funnnnny. I laughed heartily in fact. The fact that we are joke cracking and guffawing is pretty impressive for people starting down the chute at another freakin' expensive event, and of course since it is Surgery (capital S) he has to go under - gak. Also here comes another three weeks of the cone of shame, putting goo into his eye twice a day and a cooped-up-not-hiking-frustrated animal who can vibe like no-body's business.

Tonight when we arrived home from a slightly contentious (ok...maybe it did get to us) trip up the local mountain I found myself having to convince brown dog to come out of the back of the Prius. He was reluctant. I took the muzzle-to-face opportunity to plead with him to stop manifesting these crazy-ass physical expressions of his emotional despair about having a new baby-person stealing away everyone’s attention. Ironically I said this with a hoarse voice due to the brutal and breathtaking cough that I currently have. And I leaned a little funny to the right because this morning I trashed my shoulder and neck by tweaking it during a coughing fit. The fact is that I have been in nauseating pain all day.

Guess I should listen to my own speech. Let’s try it. “Hey, Jane, stop manifesting weird physical shit that’s clearly the result of your emotional angst.”

Harumph.

Unfortunately the aforementioned contentiousness leaked into the house and as we were putting bhb to bed I stomped around here annoyed with it all. And I even tried to fold laundry angrily. Have you ever attempted this? Haughtily folding sweet smelling fresh laundry and slamming it down into neat piles is not very satisfying.

The worst part? I’ve decided to stop eating sugar. Again. For anyone who knows me, I’ve done this no less than 200 times. A few times I’ve been successful, like years-at-a time-with-no-sugar successful. I made sure our wedding cake had fruit on the top so when we did the obligatory stuff cake into each other’s faces I wouldn’t have to eat sugar. Can you say freak?

But.

I always feel so much better.

I always lose weight.

And I always cry at least a few times in the first few days.

The first five to seven days will suck-ass as I’m forced to feel my feelings and notice how uncomfortable I am. Well, damn. I’m uncomfortable anyway, might as well get rid of the ‘crack’ (that’s what I call the white devil). So I’ll keep you posted on all the fun I’m having.

Anyone want to join me? Comon’! It’ll be awesome. No, really.

Tonight I leave you with some pictures of our first born when we first adopted him @ 3 months old.  He's a ridiculously cool dog...

Falling Down

Today started out like any other day. Stayed up too late last night, slept in while the boy hung out with the cute hubs. This is an almost daily ritual, while I fade in and out of sleep, BHB sits in his bjorn bouncee chair doing his screaming banchee thang and kicking himself into a rockin’ rhthym while Hubs does the dishes. And if you’re wondering why I”m such a lucky Momma that gets to sleep in and did I say Dad does dishes? I did. I’d say I wonder too. But since I am the one on the hook to get up during the night, I think it might be semi-fair.

Went to the Feeding Little Foodies workshop and met some awesome other Momma’s and got some handy tips on how to make baby mush. It was great. I totally recommend it. I feel that much more capable and willing to make the food and freeze it and ya know, if I open a jar, I open a jar.

So in all the excitement about learning how to be feeding a little foodie I had not put any foodie in my body and since I’m still producing all the food for the little doody, I was famished.

To solve this problem I skipped loading the boy into the car and left him in the Ergo carrier and wandered down to the main street. Wilshire. I immediately found a cool little snackee place next to the El Rey theater that has found a hilarious line between Indian Food and Mexican. It’s called Cowboys and Turban’s and um hi, how fun is that? I ordered a chicken tandoori quesadilla (seriously).

I sat outside with my big-headed baby as we waited for this wacky concoction. In recent days I’ve realized he’s no longer the patient lap sitter he once was, he’s now a guy who needs entertainment. You know, like toys n’ shit. And in my haste to find nourishment, I dropped off the diaper bag that contained such things in the car and so I was caught basically empty handed. This is where my perfectly lovely day became other than.

BHB has been enjoying practicing his standing skills on our laps and laughing into our eyes. Needless to say looking into his starry blue eyes is uber sweet and this is what he was up to in this moment.

My arms are looped around him (imagine like a basketball hoop) and he leans into the left arm. I laugh at his laughing while the hand at the end of the right arm digs through purse for something fun for him to hold onto and or stuff into his tiny mouth. Two thoughts, lightening fast. Give him the glasses case. Take the glasses out first. So I avert eyes to open hinged case only I realize now the boy is missing. He’s down, he’s fallen down, he leaned back too far over my arm and flipped onto the marble below. My six month old child is screaming bloody-murder, no wait that scream was me. Now it’s him.

Before the brain has time to think, don’t pick him up he could be seriously hurt his back could be broken he’s up in my arms and I’m moving on the tiny patio in circles my voice says My baby, My baby oh my god I dropped my Baby and the nice Indian Man is out of the door saying, he’s okay, he’s okay I dropped both my kids yesterday this is what happens this happens all of the time until they are five then a nice guy who I noticed a few moments before as a hipster lanky guy with kind eyes is next to me saying He’s okay, he’s startled he’s okay he’s startled and I’m thinking or speaking Startled? Are you fucking kidding me? he hit the marble, that floor is marble is that cement or marble oh my god I dropped my baby as tears stream down my face and I try unsuccessfully to contain hysteria.

And now I’m also trying to get him to eat. Doing anything to create a sense of normalcy, my usual very modest public breast-feeding has become completely national geographic tribal and I just don't care. And the nice Indian man is yelling, seems to me he's yelling You have to Calm Down, He’s not going to calm down unless You calm down. And they are both very close to me, everyone is too close to me and I’m finally sitting down and the crying baby is thinking about latching but is too busy being upset. Like me.

And then he eats and it grows quiet except for the buses thundering by.

And lanky guy says, okay did he hit his head? And I’m looking at his perfect little head and I don’t see anything, not a mark. Lanky notices the angel's kiss on his forehead and thinks that is a problem, no I say, it’s a birthmark - there is literally not a single bit of evidence. I’m circling his fuzzy little head with a frantic hand as he feeds. It feels perfect.

And I call the pediatrician, only a nurse practitioner on duty today, she is going to call back.  And I sit there, on the patio looking down at the place where he fell. And he eats and he falls asleep. And the Indian man eventually comes out and brings the quesadilla. And lanky comes by a few more times and shares more kindness...and concern, what if he has a concussion? He should not sleep. So I wake the poor guy up, even though I know in my gut he is okay. Somehow he managed to perform a triple Lutz onto cement or was it marble three feet below and leave his head out of it. I guess all of that belly time paid off because he kept his head up.

After about 40 minutes, after the nurse practitioner called and we rule out head injury due to the fact that his head is not scratched and the fact that he’s giggling and banchee screaming and focusing fine and just basically behaving perfectly normally. My breath is finally coming back. The tandoori and cheese is good comfort food but you know, too rich but I’m not ready to be separated from his sweet breath by a car seat so we continue to sit there. I steal glances at the spot on the marble or is it cement where he landed.

Split seconds change a life. These moments which were orchestrated by random facts. I  didn’t bring food for me. The weather was nice so I walked. I found a place where we laughed. I looked for something for him to do and he was gone.

How fleeting. How dangerous this place. How much do I want to lock my family into a padded house with single ethnic food (no need to mix) and just laugh into each others eyes and steer clear of all hard surfaces. Needless to say I’m so grateful he is okay. I’m so sorry that he potentially wasn’t. I don’t know how anyone would survive this same moment going differently, I just don’t.

The good news is that I know what happened. After he backflipped out of my arms, he was caught by angels who then carefully lowered him to the ground where they placed him on his belly. The reason he cried was because I screamed. And cried. See Lanky was right, he was just startled. It's the only explanation that makes sense.

Psycho

Ok so that's not a nice post title to use after the heavy duty PPD post (below), and for that I'm sorry!

Just need to give a shout out to my friend who created this super AWESOME banner for me. I'm still trying to figure out how to make it fit correctly (Sand Dollar Template- why do you torture us so?)

I had a post up here that I took back down for construction. It will be back up momentarily. If you're looking for some Mama Drama, we got it.

Coming Soon...

Dancer in the Dark

I've alluded to post partum depression in past posts, (say that five times fast) but I won't link you because

a) I'm anxious that I link past-posts too much and it's annoying.

b) The mentions are minor and in passing where I basically call it the PPD fairy which makes it sound all sorta swell and almost charming and not the insidious mother fawker that it is. Yes I'm afraid of balls out swearing, dontcha know my grandmother reads this blog? The one with the abs of steel, ya, that one. Damnit! I just did it again. I have no self control.

Oh crap, fine. Here are the PPD ones. Here. And here.

But whatev's. We're all here now right? And let's get to the problem.

That charming little insidious beeyatch fairy is back. She's flying by dropping her thought bombs including these hits: 'Oh you're wasting your time on this planet and worse everyone else's' and 'This poor child will never survive with you as the Mother' or 'Darkdarkdark thoughts that one does not write out loud or certainly not put on the interweb'.

I know it's been documented and thank god for the Brooke Shields of the worlds who make talking about this dark-ass shit somehow okay but it's hard to come clean about it. Especially so publicly. I mean seriously god bless her, she admitted that she herself was suicidal and even wanted to hurt her child and sure that sounds freakin' nuts - but I get it. It got that bad for me on two separate occasions and it scared the living keerap out of me.

Today I didn't have to go all the way there, just enough into the darkness to remember what there felt like. It's a strange phenomenon that I will try to describe. I know this movie is damn old, but has anyone seen The Blob? Here's the trailer. Try to subtract the campiness of the movie and imagine what it might be like to actually get eaten alive by the blob. As if the worst feeling you've ever had came over you and enveloped you intending to kill you. You can't shake it, because it's slimy and stuck and worse of all, it's spreading. This is a great time for a panic attack, so you have one. Hopefully your Mom or sister in law or someone is there to hold the tiny helpless baby so you can go shake in the shower.

I find that the most insidious aspect is the mental discussion that insists that I'm at fault...especially now. 'What hormones? Comon' it's been six months...GET OVER YERSELF' kinda dealio. So that's where I've been these last few days. The only thing that's cheering me up is the gorgeous soaking that the LA basin is getting. At this very moment I hear rolling thunder (no wait, that's someone taking the trash). Damn. But it's raining buckets which is just the sound of hope, renewal and a tiny dream of green for our burned forests. Photo credit.
 
I think BHB is aware of the shift in me, which makes me feel even worse. He's still a laughing-banchee-screaming-guy with a ready smile but he no longer has any interest in going to sleep at night. Yep, we've resorted back to the three hour 'go-to-sleep-baybee' opera. I guess the bragging up here came back to kick me in the ass. Karma is a bitch.

And if you're wondering how I treat the PPD, back then I used acupuncture and homeopathics. Please email me if you want more info, I am so happy to share the 411. Today I used the Haagen-Daz cure which will only make it worse because sugar is evil dontcha know but sometimes you just gotta.

About a Boy

Okay! This is the best of them so far, don't y'all think? My obsession with naming my posts movie titles has sent me into the dark abyss of writer's block a few times. However, clearly this one is a total winner if I do say so myself...

So let's talk boy:

1) He's a laughing machine.

For some reason we've seen an odd yet delicious little joy spurt right before bedtime the last few nights. Anything, and I mean ANYTHING we do is freakin' hilarious. As a once comedian I can tell you workin' for an audience that easy is noteworthy. It's like being the 4th comedian out of 10, everyone is 1.5 cocktails in and you're hi-freakin-larious. Your teeth are white and your jokes are hitting. Which is why, I love this guy.

2) He's a sweetheart.

I wonder if you can really tell what you've got in the way of a new family member when he's only in the 6th month of a life? I must say thanks to the gathered evidence, I'm feeling uber hopeful. I recently talked to someone who commented on his sweet spirit and I said something like 'Oh yea, we'll see' and she gave me a little head tilt like 'You're odd' but then said reassuringly. "You know who he is, you do." It was a little poke of poignancy actually. So what I do know is that he's a sweetie-pie-lovey-faced angel-breath-of-a-boy. Totally. Which is another reason why, I love that guy.

3) He has no intention of crawling anytime soon.

Or so I think. Is it wrong to hope for this trend to continue? I meet a super cute family tonight with a stoopid cute kid who is 15 months old. They told me that he didn't walk until about a month ago (quick math, 8 more months of no walking? Oohhh, sounds good...) AND he apparently didn't crawl until a week before he walked. For my money they hit the jackpot, and I told BHB so. I whispered into his wispy little blonde hair-do 'Walking is whatev's. Crawling is creepy. Let's stay here in the banchee scream and roll around on the rug phase for a long, long time'. Karma says I'm going to be reporting on his walking status in a month. Praying for a Not on that one. But he's taking his time now, which is another reason why, I truly love this guy.

4) He's ready to eat solid food.

And this won't surprise you, I'm not ready for him to. Either I am one lazy chic or I'm terrified of change or fill in the blank with your own judgmental thought here. ______________
Whichever one we go with I'm going to just have to get over it and serve up some mush. I have been waiting for him to hit every single marker which is:

a.. Sits up. (He almost does, but not without something to lean on or a faceplant follows in short order)
b. Doubled his birth weight. (Done and Done - we're 3 + pounds up from there)
c. Looks interested in food. (He's watching me eat as rabidly as my dog does. Between the two of them I feel like the star of a reality show while just trying to eat a damn sandwich)
d. Losing the extrusion reflex. (Well, I don't really know about this because I'll have to put something in that little mouth to see if he pushes it right back out. But seeing as how excited he gets to eat the little teething tablets that I ply him with I'm guessing he's down for some swallow action.)

Thankfully I know a super fabulous and sweet Momma who is damn savvy about food mushing and I'm going to take a class from her soon to gain some confidence and skillz. Plus I shouldn't be afraid because that milestone will provide some awesome comedy and fantatic photo opps. Which is why, I will still love that guy, even when he's eating and flinging veggie mush.

I'm sure there's more numbers of things I can say about a boy. As you've likely noticed, he's pretty a magical little guy. By the way, I get that this is such a 'Girlfriend needs a baby book' post but thanks for staying with me. Sure do love you for coming by.