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.

Toy Story 3

Oh Pixar, why are you so great?

I've loved you since the beginning Pixar, long before you got so cool with your little lamp hopping in 3-d. I got how brilliant and talented and amazing you were long before you did this on again off again romance with Disney. I mean, I get it - that mouse is cute in those red pants and who doesn't love a castle? But if you wanted to be with someone really devoted, you'd be with me.

JESUSAGECHRIST this is an awesome movie! Anyone else see it? Since my mom has left town movies out are no longer really part of the plan, unless one of us sneaks off while the other one hangs at home. As it was tonight. We've had a wicked rough couple of days that involve, uh, well - that involve stuff that can't be discussed on the internet much - let's just say it's a combo platter of wrenching anxiety mixed with crushing disappointment and some betrayal thrown in the mix. Delightful.

So I took myself out tonight. Dammit, that's what I did.

First stop - sushi dinner. Perfect alone meal, me and the sushi chefs laughing and relating while I throw back some Sake and beer and delicious fish. Or it might have looked a little more like me relating with my iPhone, some perrier with lemon and a very annoyed sushi chef enduring my 'handroll no rice' order.

Sushi chef:  Everything okay?
Me: Yea, sure. Thanks!
Sushi chef: Yea but everything okay?
Me: (confused)
Random person next to me:  He wants to know if you don't want rice on everything.
Me: Yes please. No rice.
Sushi chef: No rice on everything.
Me: Please. No rice. Thank you so much.

Me: looking like asshole because I didn't understand him.
Him: Annoyed.

How did I get okay from no rice? Jeasus.

Next stop, therapy~! Hooray! I do enjoy beating the crap out of the couch and screaming my head off. It's seriously good times.

Last and final - Toy Story 3 for some laughing and crying (not kidding) and delicious popcorn at the Arclight where they use real butter don't you know. Those people at the Pixar really know how to tell a story and they have the technoweenie wizardry to back them up. Luckily there were some good laughers there in the late night showing, so I didn't feel alone in my belly laughing or the sniffling.

That is - my friends - one of the best g'damn movies I've seen in a long time. Screw the animation category, they should win it all next year at the Oscars.

Here are some pictures that have absolutely nothing to do with this post. It's an argument for taking the kid out to dinner though, he was a blast this day at a Thai restaurant where he pounded vegetable curry and cucumber salad. He's a fantastic eater and I'm gloating while I can. I know, karma works fast.

Your friend in the appreciation business,


PS - Thanks for your comments about my lil' green facelift - appreciate it! I'm probably going to be fancing this place up somemore soon, stay tuned.

7 Year Itch

The longest I've ever lived in one spot is 8 years. 1st grade through 8th grade I lived in Texas. Houston, y'all, it was awesome.

Runner up? Seattle for 7 years. Next runner up? This current beautiful and ridiculous city for 7 years. Perhaps the constant movement of my childhood has set up this little timer in my gut that goes off and rattles my brain and my life and off I go. 

St Louis, 6. San Diego, 5. And then there was that Florida adventure - 6. I'm not saying when what happened but I think what I'm really missing when you look at the US map is the northeast. 

My foot n' shadow. Perceptions aren't always accurate. Something to think about...

The move from Houston to Florida was the hardest. I had finally gotten to be one of the cool kids, finally shook off my uncool-fat-kid-rep and was sorta popular. FINALLY for effin' sake, why would parents move a little girl out of such a precarious spot as the teetering of actual popularity? And then make her to go to a filled-in swamp for high school and start over? Oh sure, Houston was a swamp too, that's an interesting thing to note. They promised to buy me a horse. They didn't do it. But bribe's work man - not that I had a choice.

Anyway, I'm feeling a lot like that little 13 year old girl right now. I mean, we are finally making some headway with our dream here - (our film is coming along swimmingly, thanks for asking) and I have many dear friends that I love so much it hurts my heart to even pack a box. I've had a headache for two days from too much crying. (or perhaps it's caffeine issues, can't be sure)

But the bets are going down now for how long we can stay away. The shortest I've heard is 6 months, someone else suggested a year. I predict we'll come back in 5-6 years, but you know, what the hell do I know? I'm just the one renting the moving truck.

I just want to be settled when BHB gets to school age. It's only fair.

13 going on 39,

Telethon

I am watching this Hope for Haiti Now telethon and it's so incredibly moving. My confession is that I've avoided the news for the last 10 days because I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the images or the facts. I hate that about me, it's not that I don't care or don't want to know. It's just that knowing makes me feel like someone took a potato peeler to my skin and is lurking close by with a juicy lemon and a smirk.

But I'm watching. And trying to call, but the good news is I can't get through. When I go to the Hope for Haiti Now website I get a weird certificate message which is making me hold off on entering my credit card. Likely it's not actually an issue but ack, you know? I guess I'll wait until that is resolved or just donate to the Redcross which can also be done through the handy button over there to the left. Of course I'll admit I want to chat up Steven Spielberg or Sigourney Weaver. Or Leo. I love these conversations that they are showing us. How extraordinary and genius is thing that they've created in such a short time? George Clooney is truly a stand-up guy. How many people are like me and have been hiding from the news and are now watching these stunning performances and watching the Twitter map go off and just think of course I'll donate. Of course. Lemon's be damned.

I am always somewhere between embracing my sensitive ways or crucifying myself over it. But I am damn sensitive, it's just true. I'm sensitive to lighting. Fluorescents make me feel hopeless. Overhead lighting makes me angry. I'm sensitive to sound. Basically most of the time it's too loud and there are pitches that are perceivable to me and my brown dog, no-one else. And perfume? Let me summarize, by saying - Ugh. I can't wear it and if I hug someone who's got it going I often get it on me but where I don't know how to scrape it off and then I smell it all day and then...continued ugh-ness.

I watch BHB closely to see if he's got the same issues. I was once told by a psychic that he would be a 'sensitive child' and that I should buy the book The Highly Sensitive Child. While I'm not embarrassed to say this (okay a little) I'm all ears when it comes to the spiritual info that is downloaded onto me...I 'm going to wait and see before full tilt panic. Or book buying.

Lately I've been in the darkness again. I can't say whether that has something to do with ye olde PPD from days of yore. I have judgements about that - I think to myself - he's almost 10 months old! How is this still PPD? More like wtf getoveryourself which we shall initialize as GOYJ. But it is in fact why I've avoided the horrifying news from Haiti or for that matter our Senate. I just get taken down by this information and often don't recover for hours or even days. To truth is as I've shared before I have my own glimpses of psychic moments and also medium moments (I see dead people!) so I figure the whole sensitive bit is just par for the course. (regardless of how mysterious the course is to me....) But. I am looking for some solutions to get a little more de-sensitized.

Have you heard of the book The Mood Cure? Cute hubs picked it up and so far it's darn interesting. I haven't gotten very far into it, but I'm interested in the part that talks about overly senstive/overly emotional people and how this can be treated with diet. Since as I mentioned recently that I saw a family member successful treat a major psychiatric illness with diet changes, it totally makes sense to me that I could potentially find some relief from my endless weepy ways and inability to deal with bad lighting and bad news. Of course I've recently begun that journey by kicking the sugar to the curb but it may not be enough. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime please enjoy some pics of the BHB livin' large with big joy (and big drool) despite my temporary lack of it.

Hubs dressed him in this plethora of stripes. He was trying to be funny and it worked 'cause this is true striped awesomeness.

FB friends sorry for the repeat. It's just too good to pass up...

Yours in the search for ease n' grace,


PS - I know I have just over-linked to past post-ness. And I'm sorry but, uh, not totally. That last one is a personal fave and a shortie if you're willing...

PPS - Yes there is a movie called Telethon (on TV). No, I've never seen it but IMDB says it exists. Oh and for Monday? Vote my sisters! I promise to do your bidding!! And thanks too btw for voting to keep that in. That's really nice, I appreciate it. So I'll keep yappin' about movies...it's good for my brain.

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?

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.

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!'

 

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.

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.

Fight Club

Last night as we began the get-baby-to-sleep routine that sounds like Jewel's lullabies on the ipod and the sound of cascading water into bath, we heard another very strange sound coming from the street. Brown dog jumped up to contribute his own sounds of 'hey! wtf! what's going on!' and we all rushed to the front of the house to investigate.

What we heard was awful, what we saw was worse. The sound was primal, grunting. An unidentifiable cacophony of dangerous sounds along with a high pitch of crying female voice. In the waning daylight but mostly streetlight we saw about five people in the middle of the street all grouped together. It was hard to discern what was happening at first, but then it became quite clear. Someone was getting the crap beaten out of them. There was a woman outside the circle wailing for it to stop, but also holding up her phone as if she was video taping it. To which I thought, seriously? Is that for the cops or because she had the foresight to get this for the rights to someone's story. Then there was another dude close by with his pit-bull between his legs, adding to the danger and despair.

Cute hubs had the boy in his arms, sporting the white-trash-diaper-only look. He thrust him into my arms and ran for the phone. We closed the giant door and I retreated to the couch to sob. BHB was oblivious to these events and kicked and cooed on my lap while I cried and cried as hubs talked to the 911 operator. Why was I crying you ask? It was this mental mix:

We can't stay here another day. But I can't take another move, or for that matter afford it. How can we raise a baby amongst this terrifying behavior? Is that poor guy okay? LA sucks. But I love the weather. I love this house. I'll miss my friends when we leave. My stomach hurts.

But I think it was really just the visceral reaction to violence that made me cry. It was truly terrible, and mostly the sound of it. It wasn't the Hollywood soundtrack of a punch landing and angry voices mixed in. It was, as above, such a weird mashing of grunts and the sounds of lost breath. I can't explain it, but as you can see I keep trying.

It was especially odd to close the door on that event and tune into Jewel's sweet voice singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' and the bright lights of our cute kitchen and the sound of a welcoming bath. We had to move back into normality to get the baby into bed and then try to process what happened. The police helicopter overhead didn't exactly help, and as the cruiser's arrived to quiz the neighbors (they didn't come to us) I retreated into the adorable nursery with the adorable child.

Once BHB had taken an enormous amount of milk out of me, I stumbled back out into the brightness and found that my body was suddenly weak and feverish. I went to bed without eating with hopes of kicking it, but awoke with what appears to be a flu. Well, not yet puking but all over body aches and sore throat and the rest. Officially not good times.

Sorry for the text heavy post. I've got nothing to show for the above, I don't think as fast as that girl with her camera phone. But hopefully something of a lighter nature coming soon.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

Let's start with the Good:

1) Shoot on Monday was amazing.

Thanks to the supporters and senders of love. The result will be posted here soon, but suffice it to say - discussed profound shit with random strangers and I think it will make for some quality entertainment.

2) I only cried hysterically once that day when I was away from the big-headed-baby.

Of course it was probably my only chance as I was alone for those 10 minutes, and the water shot out of my face with much force and soaking power. Of course y'all knew that was coming. But I felt better and only called the cute sitter once to check on them. Quite an impressive achievement if I do say so my damn self.

3) Brown dog is better!

If you' don't know what the heck I'm talking about, back story here and here. What a joy to have him back and on hikes with us and generally just being his good doggie self. Huge, heaving sigh of relief.

4) We hit a milestone.

It's been threatening for months, but it finally arrived. And I'm talking about the roll, kids. We saw it go both ways this week, front to back and back to front. Proving that our child is gifted. A genius. Extraordinary. And actually I little late with this one (he's almost 6 months old) but frankly I'm probably going to trip him if he tries to walk too early so that's a-fine with-a me. Pic at right documents the first time it actually happened on recent trip, but we didn't count it due to help from a hill. So we'll call it Sunday the 20th as the actual first.


Next, the Bad:

1) BHB has a little cold that won't go away.

It's freakin' my shit out. I hope his little snotty nose stops it's snotty attitude soon. It started on the trip and then waned and then sorta jumped back in again today. Um, fellow Mommy's? What's a girl to do about such things? Since he's getting the Mama milk I thought he was immune to this kee-rap? Dawg.

2) Remember the wonder-twin producers I told y'all about? Well. Wonder-twin powers, deactivate.

This morning I got the first email of walking away from said project and then this evening I got the call from the other one. If you remember I had begged them and they said yes, and well, I kinda get that reluctant yes will likely eventually lead to 'or maybe not' but the fact that it didn't surprise me didn't stop me from full tilt panic. So there's a few other folks who might step in but what's scaring me the most is the idea that I might produce this monster myself. Ah-my-gawd, just shoot me.

and the Ugly?

1) My visage due to lack of sleep.

I posted a new profile picture that happens to be from a beautiful sunset on our trip and lets get honest, that is some damn good lighting. God bless fill light. But the reality? Hardcore. Notice that I'm not featuring a picture of the reality. Don't you hate it when you go to someone elses house and you see yourself in the mirror and you're like "What! Gasp! Seriously?!" because you've gotten used your bathroom-lighting-version of yourself. That happened this week. Full tilt sadness. The ridiculous part is that the BHB isn't stealing my sleep. Well not directly, he's just stealing my waking hours with his drools and smiles. The amazing fact is that the boy is only getting up once a night these days - godbless his giant soul. Trouble is that naps have gone microscopic, he gets it done in :30 or less or the pizza is free so daytime does not offer me any productive time 'tall. That nap issue was a gift of the trip. Hopefully, that will evolve into a better place.

So! I'm staying up til all hours typing emails to various crew and researching giant costumes and typing into this white box and then fighting with blogger to post my pictures in some reasonable way. Because if honestly is required I will tell you that Blogger sucks ass for picture posting, at least in my experience. Which is why I'm only dishing a few pics tonight so that I refrain from obsessively posting and re-posting to see what is going to make the stoopid pictures line up.

2) I'm sure there is plenty more ugly to share, but I think it's best to refrain...

Let's go back for one more good, shall we? The daily 20 minute meeting (Dig deep! You'll see it at the end of that post!) with the cute hubs has been one of the most extraordinary things we've ever done as a couple. I mean, other than make a damn cute human.

We both have the ability to procrastinate and seriously stall in ways that compete with 7th graders and their book reports, but with our new found commitment to this little movie - and the commitment to be together gabbing about it everyday, things are happening in amazing and astounding ways. I have to say it's giving me hope. Hope that anything is possible, even this movie.

'Cause this week we've managed to find our DP, our Editor, a friend who's hopefully going to Production Design, a Stylist, and another friend who is going to make a movie poster for us. I mean, how freakin' cool is that? So with that progress, I am feeling some Hopeful tingling Hope despite the new hunt for a producer person.

Courage! Courage!

Gonna go a little Disney on you here, ready?
Why do we have the dreams we do?

Why do I dream of directing feature films that make people laugh and cry in a dark theater? (It makes me heart drop to even type that) Why should I be inflicted with this practically impossible dream that countless other saps have? Why, damn you, why~!

Medium shot: Jane crying in the rain, crane shot as we lift up and away from her as she shakes her fists at the sky.

I've often wished for a more 'normal' or realistic dream. How about becoming a Dentist? Or a Contract Lawyer? Sure these are tough professions but not freakin' insurmountable. In fact, so sweetly simple. You go to school, you get mounds of debt, you buy a shiny car with seat warmers, you buy a big-ass house, you pay off debt, you raise a couple of kids and freak out when they want to become musicians or filmmakers and do you know why? Because it's a painful, shrapnel filled road filled with disappointment, phonies and existential crisis rendering, gut-wrenching doubt.

So I'm sitting here in my rented house with the sweet, sleeping baby in the next room and the handsome husband typing in the other room (he's pounding out his novel) and my throat closes as I listen to "Title and Registration" on my itunes because this song just about sums it up for me. Dreaming, wishing - reaching and wondering. Will it happen? Or will I die with the disappointment and regret of not doing the thing that I feel somehow destined to do and simultaneously scares the shit out of me?

Ugh. I hate this post. Can you feel my angst? I can't type hard enough into this keyboard to give these words the urgent bold, italic juice that this topic requires. It all sounds so pat and obvious. But. How will I achieve this impossible dream? Cue all of those damn quotable magnets that say shit like 'whatever you dream you can do, do it, get off your ass loser' Oh wait, that's the way it rolls through my addled brain.

Or any of these others that lift my spirits and inspire me in that sparkly, otherworldly way and simultaneously piss me off to no end...



So let's summarize. I need courage, and fast. This fall my mom is going to roll into town to help us out and take care of the ankle-biter so we can shoot our short film...which is a fundraiser for our feature film. Today the husband and I met about it during nap #2 and ohmygawd even talking about it riled up my nerves. Ridiculous? Totally. I can shoot anything for anyone else any day of the week and feel no concern, but when it's the script that hubby wrote that I love, love? I'm shaking in my flip-flops.

Rough New Prizes

Listen, I will be honest with you
I do not offer the old smooth prizes
But offer rough new prizes
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is called riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve.
However sweet the laid up stores,
However convenient the dwelling, you shall not remain there.
However sheltered the port, however calm the waters, you shall not anchor there.
However welcome the hospitality that welcomes you,
You are permitted to receive it but a little while Afoot and lighthearted, take to the open road
Healthy, free, the world before you the long brown path before you, leading wherever you choose.
Say only to one another:
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love more precious than money; I give you myself before preaching and law:
Will you give me yourself?
Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?

extract from Song of the Open Road - Walt Whitman

I got married to the cute husband in 2001. Fall 2001. September 2001 to zero in on it, and okay, shit here it is: September 29th, 2001. Hey evil doers - I don't use my anniversary in any passwords. Just fyi.
Annnyway. We had the above read at the ceremony as seen in above picture by above dear friend. 18 days after 9.11 we all needed another good cry as well as a reason to celebrate, and our wedding proved to be quite a lovely affair offering time for both. This poem (okay, excerpt) really sends me into my love of falling water from my face.

Wait, sorry - side note. Am I a big dork for linking to my own posts when I only have like five so far? Please let me know. K, we're back.

I'm embarrassed to say that I didn't realize at the time that this is an excerpt of the poem. It wasn't until I googled 'smooth old prizes' recently did I discover the whole she-bang. It's a long ass poem in comparison, and if you're missing your 12th grade AP English class check it out. However I hope you'll agree that this lil cheesy wedding version above does pack a good heart-tugging punch.
I'm finally going to get to the point, thanks for staying with me. I've been living in smooth old prizes land for quite some time now. Married and happy. Rockin' good friends. Work comes and goes, freelance is freaky at times but we've always been well taken care of. In fact I feel pretty damn lucky that I've shot stuff that made me giddiously happy and gotten paid really well for it. Despite my ability to create drama, it really was a pretty easy life swimming around in the calm waters.
Enter adorable, squishy, munchee face, big-headed baby who is now an inhabitant in my household and heart. As I've already shared here, not so smooth, not always so easy. World has officially gotten rocked.
In fact, I almost named this blog Rough New Prize, because that is what he is I think. I have remained too long in the sheltered port and now I see that I must Afoot and Lighthearted take to the open road.

Even when I feel trapped in my own house and domesticity.
Even when the PPD Fairy kicks my ass like today.
 Even when I can't figure out how to schedule a dentist appointment because it's an overwhelming task.
Even when my heart and tired brain ache for simplicity and ease.

I can see the long brown path before me and ohmygod I hope I do right by this fresh, new person. Ohmygod I do.

heartbreaking job of staggering proportions

I've always been an excellent crier. I'd consider putting it on my resume if it was somehow considered a good thing to anyone at all besides me and waterproof mascara marketers. Growing up I always got the feeling my Mom didn't really like my cry-baby ways, and thought it was sorta mean of her and boy don't you know I took that to my therapy bank of childhood wrongs. In fact I featured her in a film that I made about this hot topic called "The Girl Who Couldn't Stop Crying".

Or for faster service, here it is:



So I imagine this won't the the last time I say this, but, I kinda get why my Mom was that way.

(space for emphasis!)

Because hearing that boy cry his little guts out makes me want to stab my eyeballs and run into traffic. It's freakin' devastating. Little dude has been on a bit of a crying jag at night, not so much during the warmth of the day where it's mostly cooing, gurgling and general good baby stuff. But when the sunset show starts and we rev up our bath, singing, changing, feeding and book reading routine, he looses it. I mean, whoa. Based on the screeching and wailing you'd think some terrible baby-hating person is hiding near by and shooting him with rubber bands. You laugh, but I check.

My usual PE routine is to hike either in the morning or evening just about daily. And boy-oh-boy don't you know these warm summer evenings are just cracklicious with the lingering light and cooling-down-the-city breezes. Just beeeoyutiful. But seeing as how we're supposed to start our "please baby go to sleep" routine around you know, 6 or 7 it's seriously cutting into my hiking time. Damn baby!

Tonight I went anyway, because I have a bad attitude clearly.

This is a shot from a recent hike, you can see how ridiculously cute the little bean is hiking along in the Moby wrap.

So anyway, the bedtime went late, the crying party started and that's my point I guess. As I was driving home the short distance from the mountain to my house he started up and it quickly escalated from 'huh' to 'what the hell!' to 'what the f is your problem lady!' and was so committed that he produced REAL TEARS. Oh people, really. At 3.5 months old, I really haven't seen this much yet and when I do it's too much for one heart to bear.

To try to appease his hysteria, I pulled over and changed his diaper on my lap. Unfortunately this little party trick is about to be done because he's just too damn big now. So while simultaneously kicking me in the milk machines, and doing a suicidal back bend, he screamed and screamed. Good times. So by then I'm crying hysterically and wishing I still drank alcohol, (ooooh, fun topic, stay tuned!) but instead carefully drove home to get some back-up from the father figure.

Because when he gets into that crying machine, with the punctuations of wails and thrashing, my heart turns inside out. You know how you bend a pomegranate in un-natural positions to get all the sweet little pods out? Like that. So my juicy little heart pods are strewn around my car and house tonight, and I am hard pressed to remember a time in my life that has been so bittersweet.

Btw - just want to give a little shout out to the followers that are now following. Hot damn! That's really cool and makes me feel just a little bit better about my existence. Thanks for slowing down this existential crisis!