Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The Longest Nap

So this is what happened.

First nap began at 8:30.
I did a few things, soon it was 9:00.
where did that time go?
So he might be up in a half hour, or he might not.
what can I get done in a half hour?
If I turn on the shower, the opening screech might wake him up.
So, no.
I'll answer a few more emails.
Oh god the dishes are piled and sticky and clambering for my hands.
But. If I clink dishes too loudly, he might wake up.
That warm water will feel good on my skin.
But it's too loud.
So, no.
I'll read a few blog posts.
And send a few emails.
It's 9:30.
he could be up any minute
I'm cold, I'm gross. I need a shower.
If I get in the shower, it will wake him up.
Then I'm sopping wet and he's screaming.
So, no.
I'll check accuweather to see if it's going to warm up.
(I mean, comon! It's like like 50 degrees here in LA sheeeesh)
Now it's 10:00.
wow this is a long nap!
I totally could have taken a shower.
And scrubbed a few dishes.
But no.
I'll read some more blog posts.
I should be folding laundry.
And do a few searches.
And answer a few emails.
See? this is productive...
And get on a phone call.
But no.
I will not finish the phone call.
Because now it's 10:45.
And he's up.

Oh long nap, how I love you. If only I could know your heart (and duration).

Circling the house in search of,

Monday, March 8, 2010

Message in a Bottle

Oh man, this sounds like a relapse post. It's not. If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, go back here. There you'll find the post where I dish on Stefanie's blog about leaving the world of boozin' good times and choosing a clean, fresh world of perrier and other natural soda.

Head roll, knuckle crack. Sigh.
Let's begin.

I am walking along the shore and there are millions of sparkling bottles lining the beach, clear and green and brown and they bob and pop and sparkle - all of them calling to my arms and hands. Pick me up. Read me.

Write back.

I want to hear the words and feel the emotion of the messages contained therein - it's just that they are too far away. Between here and there is the feeling of being bisected by my too tight jeans and the bedazzled look my tshirts have all decorated in baby snot and bits of mushy food. As I walk, I stumble over the crushing, jagged anxiety about the jobs that have flirted and flown by. The tree fairies who I hike to commune with swear that I'll be getting the call any minute about the next big and great job but they seem to be lying, flying little beyatches because the calls haven't come. At least the ones that say, 'You're booked'.

I love being freelance. I have been lancin' along since 1995 when I graduated college with some debt but a sassy attitude. I started a business, I had boom years. I changed directions and spent some money to start shooting commercials. It worked, good times followed. However like many people in my industry and every other industry, I found 2009 (and into 10) to be an ass-kicker bordering on doom.  Of course in some ways the timing was great - lil BHB came on the scene and so me not being on the scene (as it were) directing was actually swell by me. Except for the whole money thing. Money is helpful.

sandbox of germs? where did he get this cold anyway?
In other stumbling news, the sweet boy has his first full blown horror of a cold. And ear infection.

Sleep has been completely elusive. We're back to the fuzzybrained newborn days with the-once-an-hour 'hello how are you?' typa thing. His cough sounds dangerous and deep and the fever is scary to me when his belly throws so much heat I don't know whether to cover it more or put him in a cool bath. So far the highest of the high is at about 102.somethin' but who can trust these damn digital thermometers? I know, we could bust out the vaseline and the old school thermometer but holy keerap that boy hates his diaper changed as it is, I can't imagine the flip-over-insert-instrument scream that would follow. No thanks. Not now anyway.

With the ear-infection diagnosis came the antibiotic prescription that I had filled on Friday in a bit of a panic. And then I read my copy of "How to Raise a Healthy Child in Spite of Your Doctor" and we talked ourselves out of the pink biotic-killing goop in the fridge. But now, with the cough from hell and the continued fever I am 2nd guessing our 'ride it out' ways and wanting for a quick release for him and for us. Damned dilemma.

So I see the glittering lil bottles with their allure of a dream and a dance. How I want to write about our new BFF's and a new spiritual path, the way a life can be touched by the most simple act and moment.  Walking along the misty shore, I want to read and talk about the Oscars, Katheryn Bigelow, those pretty pretty dresses. What about all of the paths to God, my philosophy and the gathering storm clouds at once gorgeous and troubling? About extraordinary coincidence. About sweet thoughts that inspire good behavior followed by a shy smile. I have them all here for you. I just need to figure out how to walk over the broken ones to get there.

Elusively yours,

PS - Thank you for your kind encouragement last week about the milk dilemma of 2010. I do feel better. I'm grateful for the easy, soothing solution I can offer during this sickness - how great when he won't eat anything else. Of course the new demand has me busting back into an old 'where'd you buy those' look, but the teeth seem to be retracted for the moment.