Year One

Approximately one year ago (give or take 3 weeks) I began this blog. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, I just knew that my friend Stefanie Wilder-Taylor said I should. We had just met, I thought 'she's funny as hell and seems to have it together as a mom, I'll do whatever she says'. I know, that's ridiculous. In my defense I was sleep deprived, and she's pretty.

You: Dude, you are such a name dropper.
Me: I know. Sorry.

But I'm glad I did. And so I've been up here more or less consistently typing into the void of the interweb sharing my panic about this parenting thing, and my love of the tiny boy with the big head, the endless nights of sleepwalking, our shortfilm fundraising efforts which succeeded (woot!), a possible huge move out of the state (which isn't happening by the way), and the continual unfolding of realization that this choice we made to be parents just changes the whole playing field in ways I still don't fully understand.

The shockwaves run the gamut: finances, career, friendships, marriage, personal identity. For me it's been a bit extreme in such groundshaking, earthquaking ways that it looks like a crack the size of South Dakota and feels like the crushing loneliness I felt driving through that state when I was 20. I feel a little ridiculous by how thrown I am by this new life, and while it's definitely getting easier, glimmers of the existential angst remains.

But I'm here, and you know what?  It's getting better and better. It's actually turning out to be an incredibly sweet life, and the likelihood is that the darkness I've seen this year is what brought me into this light. Sure the PPD fairy left her mark, but her fairydust doesn't choke me anymore, thankfully that little beyatch is flitting about more on the periphery.

So now that I've linked my way through some highlights of the year, I'll also share some faves that are unrelated. If you've got a minute or 14, wade on through...

* Cute hubs on our anniversary
*A big creepy fight outside our house
* A lovely moment of happiness during the holidays
* Sad (long) story of my brother's journey with schizophrenia
* During the movie review phase - Away We Go
* The birth story that I wrote in SWT's class. This was Take 2.

I'll leave you with this. One of the only ways cute hubs and I made it through the year is through knowing Larry and Linda - The Untroubled Couple. They are amazing and have a beautiful way navigating the stormy waters of love. Please watch the trailer for their webseries and become a follower. You won't regret it.




Untroubled and pretty happy about it,


PS - Link count: -  14 of my past posts and 2 other sites. That's a lotta linky!

PPS - Can't leave you without one pic of the BHB. This is his sign for Light.

Sunshine Cleaning

Anyone seen this movie? I just netflixed it (the verb, to netflix) and I have mixed reviews on it. Basic premise is that two sisters start a cleaning company that cleans places where people die  - be it through natural causes or otherwise. If it sounds sorta gruesome,  it is. There is some heavy backstory about suicide, which is hard to watch this week due to an anniversary of a dear friend who left the planet that way five years ago. And that's not why I didn't love it. The main reason I was sans love is that I found it a little clunky in the dialogue department. It was a little "Hey! Here's how I'm feeling. Oh you didn't ask? Oh that's okay -let me tell you anyway, yes! Here comes a monologue!"

Ohmygod! It's just like blogging. Harumph. Well, that's a revelation. So here comes a monologue - even though you didn't ask.

This motherhood thing is for sure the craziest experience I've ever had. I've never been so simultaneously strung out and annoyed and enchanted and bored and overcome by love surges all the while wondering how I can make it to 7:30 pm. (aka: bedtime) and then miss the little sweetfaced dude when he's asleep. I mean, that is seriously koo-koo-pants. Can anyone relate?

Let me illustrate my little reality with a little story.

The other day I needed to go see a man about some shots in our short film that we are trying to fix up. The shots are not happy because of some evil combo platter that happened between our dolly speed, shutter angle, f-stop and craft service coffee chemistry. Basically the shot is a jumping, juddering mess and it's nobody's fault but I don't know, god. So there are these people who are like god's in fact that they have giant machines that might be able to use their fancy logarithms to fill in the frames and make this pretty, pretty shot live on in our opening sequence. Here is a still from it - you'll see why I want to keep it. 

Scott Subiono as Jonathan in Nov 1st. 

(I love how blue and sparkly the look is and the dolly move is pretty darn cool too).

So! I go to see the men about this moving picture. But as you all know, there is this little man who must accompany me in this meeting because, well, that's my life. Despite the fact that I need to go and act like a hot-shit professional to encourage said men with fancy machines to give us a screaming deal on their fixing skills, I need to first:

a) wait out the insanely long nap that would usually be welcome but of course made me late

b) change the poopy diaper that threatened to wipe me out of an entire case of wipes

c) figure out what a WAHM/Director chic wears and how to best accessorize with my son who will be strapped to my back. Here is a model wearing him as I did that day...

Kim Rhodes wears BHB in the Ergo on a recent hike. Good grief she is pretty. She is in our movie doncha know.

He of course felt it was important to bring a tennis ball in one hand and an adorable but rather large alpaca stuffed toy that sat right behind my right ear and mocked me the whole time. I cracked myself up doing the very literal dance of marching through the giant facility going on about my credits and blablah director me and why they should invest in me and our film by helping us out all the while hopping, bouncing and entertaining the boy by shaking my butt and getting him to giggle. Thankfully the nice man was a Dad but I'm not quite sure how he kept a straight face.

Two days later I don't know yet whether they can fix our broken shot, and also very importantly whether they think free-ish is a good price. But I do know that the women in the fancy, fancy lobby thought he was very cute and lil BHB thought the giant machines and beautiful theatre where they projected our movie was awesome.

Maybe these worlds can live together.

Your favorite SAHMDC,

The Girl In the Cafe

This day, today, was sweet and fun and magical. And this day had some fun that exemplifies why I love where we live. One of about 113 reasons. In fact, I think I shall name them one by one in subsequent posts. Are we staying where we live you ask? Likely. Is it for sure? No. Is that fun? No. But I'm thinking the most positive thoughts that I have access to. (thank you Abraham)

Here is the story:

Today we met with one of the actors who is in our short film, Eddie Jones. Here is a truly delightful man, and holy crap is he talented. But I digress.

We met to have the lunch and provide a sharpie to him so that he may sign the still photos from our movie. Soon we will ship these out to our backers who paid above a certain level who get these cool still's from the movie with the fancy signatures. So there we were having our turkey burgers and laughing and Eddie was signing away while I drank bottomless iced tea.

Next to us was this a delightful man kept joining our conversation in an enjoyable rather than annoying way. Which as you can imagine is a tough line to walk, but he managed to. Turns out he is a writer who used to write on the TV show Becker. And since somehow Ted Danson had come up in the conversation, he piped in that Ted Danson happens to be a super swell guy - oh I know! Eddie performed with him on Cheers, no wait. We have to go back....

Because somewhere along the way delightful writer dude (we'll call him) somehow mentions that the gentleman who was until just a few minutes ago sitting next to him, is the guy who wrote The Deer Hunter.

Yes, The Deer Hunter! That is some iconic shit y'all!

So that's impressive of course but then it had also surfaced that Eddie worked with Robert Redford on the film Sneakers. Eddie played a bad guy but in turn said that Redford was just a lovely, approachable guy. Ok, I know I overuse lovely - so you know - I'm aware. Perhaps we were having the 'which celebs are lovely and approachable' conversation?

Which is what got us to Ted Danson but then, THEN! Deer Hunter dude walks back in and is just so hilarious and charming and I don't know, old hollywood in that 'What picture did we work on together?'  way. (Back then it wasn't a movie, it was a picture). As we were all being introduced to him there was some music playing and it somehow made sense that he would grab the nearest woman to spin her around and they do a little dance and at the time I think he knows her, but no, actually -not so much. Honestly that bit doesn't go so well, her purse sorta whacked him in the chest but huge kudos for effort, right?

By then the whole room of this little cafe is engaged in this sparkly and fun conversation and you couldn't spot on unsmiling face for miles. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that somewhere along this timeline Morgan Fairchild walks in and DWD (delightful writer dude) says hello to her and she says hello back and holy kee-rap does she look good and I'm going whoa dude, this is fun stuff.

So THEN! As we're leaving with our little blond shortie who is of course receiving his own celebrity treatment for being so round-eyed and quiet and a great eater of hummus, and Deer Hunter dude and his posse of Old Hollywood are all outside and all say goodbye with winks and sparkling blue eyes and 'Hello my name is Howard'. At that point I'm restraining myself from saying Howard Who? Dish it! I've got to IMDB you on my iphone on the way home.

But I wasn't going home, I was going to my friends studio where he performed some visual effects magic to fix a little shadow situation in our movie. Which is why it's 12:15 am and due to this crazy lil day, I'm still buzzing. That and the iced tea.

Your starry eyed friend,


PS - Below is a couple of pictures of Eddie on our set. Just a lovely, delightful man. (kinda went for it with my favorite overused words)

Eddie Jones, over Scott Subiono's shoulder

Eddie Jones and Jennifer Nicole Lynn

Midnight Cowboy

Ugh.

I so relate to this blogger who recently pulled her blog down (I panicked because I love her blog) and then put it back up and just had herself a little existential crisis about it. I truly get that.

Recently I've had so much crushing uncertainty and strangeness mixed with the euphoria of possibilities back to plummeting panic (all with regards to the move) that I think..."Who wants to read about that? Who really cares?"  Plus what can I ACTUALLY talk about without either getting into trouble with someone or over-sharing or just hovering in this in-between space that is clearly boring because without detail, what the hell can you read about?

Nada.

So you've noticed.

We might not move. At least right now. It's still unclear and we're supposed to leave in a month. This has been the weirdest chunk of a life I tell you, it's crazy, wacky, nutty times. Long story short - some of the facts shifted, an opportunity opened here - a job went away there - and while that seems like enough information to make it obvious what we should do, it just isn't.

I repeat, ugh.

So let's talk about the short film, shall we?

It's almost done!

Our editor is here right now at 12:30 am and he's finishing the cut before he leaves the country for three weeks. He's been such a ridiculous gift of a person...Cheerful. Kind. Talented. He comes to us and works out of our home so we can be productive and be parents. How lucky, right?
Through a friend we found an amazing motion graphics person who just kicked ass and made us an amazing opening title sequence.
Our composer also killed it.

Three talented guys! Rushing alongside us and our ridiculously cute one year old toward the goal of completion!

So inside of these three (ok six) months of Are we moving? Are we staying? What can be done? What should be done? Should we do the financial program of that Christian dude who's got those nice white people going 'I'm debt free'? Should we go back to relying on the Secret? Why is the weather so great here?


This film has been a beacon of sweet and sanity and good. And it's almost done. And hopefully along with it's completion will also come a new place of knowingness and clarity for our little family. We can only hope.

Producers as Performers, Director - your bloggess, Writer as Cow

Yours in sweet confusion that only 70 degree weather can make ok,

Living in Oblivion

Helllloooo Racefans!

I have never in my blogging career - (right, all nine months of it) - been gone so long. It was so sad! I missed you people. I missed my incessant checking of Sitemeter and that hopeful check of my email in my constant longing for your comments. I missed reading all of your blogs (boy do I have some catching up to do) and obsessively word smithing mine.

But I'm back and I'm ready to dish.

I've been in a make a movie cave for the last weeks, it's simultaneously a very fun and painful place. It's like that trash compacter that they land in in the middle of Star Wars. I'm surrounded by soupy trash, the walls are closing in and yet I'm hopeful for a rescue of some kind. And when it comes, which, by the way, looks like reaching the end of the day and by some miracle all of the shots on the shotlist have been achieved, the pain of the stress and angst goes away and then I blow a hole in another wall and climb in again hoping that I don't find myself in yet another giant trash compacter with snakes under the water. (or whatever the hell those things are).

And if you're wondering why I love this job based on the description above, I'd have to say that I'd agree - it absolutely makes no sense.

Have any of you seen the movie that I named this post after? Holy bejeasus is it good. It came out about a billion years ago with Steve Buschemi and I think that it's required viewing for any filmmaker. I was completely living in that oblivion for the last few days. Complete with on-set drama and surreal scenes.

We shot Friday from 11am-11pm. Saturday from 11am-12pm-ish. Sunday from 3:30pm-3:45am and then Monday from 6:30pm-6:00am. (well those were my times in and out - thankfully my crew wasn't there as long, most of them anyway). Needless to say my eyes are still bleeding from lack of sleep but I'm also still running on adrenaline.

We made a movie!

We did it!

With a crew size ranging from 25-50ppl each day we all gathered and moved lights and rolled camera and acted and got mad and got excited and brandished a fake gun which required a cop to stay outside of our location and had a really talented actor suffering terribly in a giant dinosaur mascot costume. It's a beautiful blur and there were many moments that were so unbearably stressful. Like these!

* we've only got 1 hour to get the three shots with the kid in it before the studio teacher shuts us down! (many faces were mad, but we got through it with a mad talented kid)
* we've only got 15 minutes before we lose the cop or he goes into overtime and kills our already stretched budget! (we did it, no overtime)
* we've only got :30 before we have to leave the liquor store. (we were out in 5 minutes to spare)
* our permit just ran out, that lost shot? (we didn't get it. sigh.)

And then there were moments that were so freakin' awesome. I guess it's like any extreme sport, sometimes it just hits. Like this!

Clarity, magic and genius collide. The right exact words tumble out of my mouth and the actor says 'ah-ha!' and the shot is just exactly the right size with the right lens, with the rich color and the backlight and all of these pieces play into a sweeping little symphony including the pacing of the dolly moving just the right speed and the light flare hitting and the performance reaching it's warm and exacting peak and then the valley comes and the dolly is done and I yell cut and do a Tiger Woods fist pump (I know he's a jackass, but a talented one so I'm going with him on this fist pump thing) and then we're on to the next. 

And we try again to find that sweet, sweet spot.

I guess that's why I'm wearing my Princess Lea buns on my head and willing to wade back into the water. That altered state is what the yogi's meditate for, the athletes train for, the actors find and lose, the artists take drugs and wander back to. It's frustrating that I need a BUNCH of damn people and a place and a script and a lot of money but sometimes I get that lucky too.

Wheee. That's all I can say. Fawking wheee. Lucky me.

With wild eyes and grateful heart,



P.S. - If you're wondering how the hell I did this project along side my husband with a one year old in the house, I'll tell you - it's a one word answer. Grandma. This film would not by any chance in a million been made without her incredible generosity. She just moved in and did the deed, she was Mom and Dad rolled into one cute Gram for 5 days and much of the days leading up to the shoot. We're amazed and our gratitude could never truly be expressed...

P.P.S. - This picture for some reason sums it up for me. The dinosaur butt coming out of the back seat along with our gaffer that day posing under the starlet just makes me really happy...more pics to come fo sure.

Gold

I feel so trite saying this, but here I go. I too want to go for the gold, only I don't want the round disk that all of those folks up in Canada are after - I'm more interested in that shapely hottie they call Oscar.

I think I've been too embarrassed to say it, especially as a resident of Los Angeles. It's just so obvious. And the Academy Awards are so. You know. Such a swell of pretension and glitz and comon' tell the truth actual awesomeness but they certainly have been known to roll around in a stinky pile of lameness. Like the King of World moment. Ugh.

But I'm going to out myself here. I want Gold - and it's on my five year plan dammit.

I'm excited that Kathryn Bigelow might beat James Cameron this year, making Oscar history by being the first woman director to win. I say hells ya. Or, actually? It would be okay with me if I was the first. Sometime in the next five years.

Sometimes I get annoyed with the fact that I've been dicking around doing other for so many years when I know that my true dream is to direct features. I feel lucky that I've been able to carve out a living doing what I love - I mean - that's kinda bitchin'. But, you know what? I've been really beating around the bush....

For fun - let's look back down the road full of bushes, shall we?

Corporate vids - Big fun! Nice money. Lots of control over the creative! A product that only makes sense to a tiny segment of the population. I know, I know, I've already subjected you to some of it here.

TV Ad's - Big fun with someone else's big money! A perceived sense of control! Lots of people talking in your ear. And a product that's reallllly short. But seen! Sometimes salesy and lame. But. Fun! Be subjected here.

Here is one of my favorite commercials that I've directed: 



Short Films - Not so much on the money. But so, so much closer to the prize. A narrative. Actors. Creating a world. Hard ass work. Nice reward when we go to Sundance. (hello Secret)

Viral Vids - No money at first. Some fun. Some success. Later on, perhaps some money. Need to see some?

The reason I'm going ON about my career (or whatever it is) tonight is that I'm in a reflective mood after watching something super fawking cool happen. One of my BFF's from Seattle just walked with her Olympian husband in the opening ceremony.  He was the guy waving the flag for Peru. He and my girlfriend met on the internet and fell in love long distance about six years ago. I remember I was one of her only friends who wasn't going, "Are you nuts? Some dude from South America? From the internets?" Not me. Being a fate-lovin' ridiculous romantic who had just a few years before met her hubs on a plane...I was cheering for her instant messaging love. 

And now they are hanging out in Olympic Village with their adorable two year old and preparing for the race of a lifetime. What about it?

It's just so amazing to see a dream of that magnitude come to fruition. So inspiring. So fantastic. So like me going to the podium and trying not to trip on my fancy-ass dress when I accept my Oscar. Don't you think? I mean I've been mentally prepping for that moment for a long damn time. In fact when I went to film school I would go on my nightly runs through Balboa park, pictured to the right. And as I would run on this road toward the fountain with the sky going through it's pastel wonderland into black, I would accept my Oscar. Pumping my legs with my eye on the shooting water I would thank my peeps, crack a great joke, stand to the left to show my good side,  and then give a shout out to my Dad on the other side. For the record? This was in the mid 90's. I, like Oprah, was practicing the Secret long before the australian home-chic made that cheesy movie. Of course Oprah seems to be better at it.

I have to say, I miss the Hollywood YMCA. I used to run on the treadmill there before Mamahood. I'd always choose the machine that looked right into a blank wall which must appeared to be an odd choice because that wall was maddening, like two feet away. But I loved it, it was perfect for projecting a fantastic future onto. I would replay that moment, that dream moment - me, dress, moderate heels 'cause I suck at walking in them, and the feeling of 'dream come true'. So if there is anything to that Secret madness, I've certainly put in some time.

Hmm. Guess I better go back to my bookshelf filled with manifestation books. Here are two of my faves:



So hang with me people, I think it's going to work. Tonight as I watched the faces of people I love and adore march across my television, I thought.

Yep.

 I can do it too.



With big dreams and big bags under my eyes to match,

PS - Please cast your ballot about Movie monday, I know we're all watching the Olympics but I'll blather on about a movie anyway...

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.

Fantasy Island

When the super sappy stringee opening music of Fantasy Island filled our parquet-floored living room, my little bare feet came a runnin'. My grandmother lived with us when I was a wee one in the 70's and this was her 2nd favorite show, The Love Boat being the top winner. But if you remember (ahem, shout out to the old people) these shows were back to back and so it was a Saturday night winning combination. My little brother and I felt pretty lucky to stay up late and watch in our soft PJ's on our creaky leather black couch.

For those of you playing along (I clearly like this phrase) I've been naming my posts after movies for some time now and right now you're thinking - dude, why mess up that amazing run of creativity and magic by naming this one after a TV show? To which I might answer, well, in honor of the Emmy's tonight, I think I should give TVland a little love. But instead, I have a better answer. Fantasy Island the movie is in development and allegedly Eddie Murphy will play the Ricardo Montalban role, among others. Among others? Oh comon'. Please don't. And furthermore, since this article announcing the film is from 2007 it looks like no-one else thinks this is a good idea either.

So two paragraphs of blah-blah just to get the title of this post justified. But thanks, I do feel better.

So what do I want to say about my Fantasy Island? Well. When I go there, I definitely want Ricardo not Eddie greeting me, and I want my visit to solve the epic dilemma that's putting the squeeze on my heart right now with a magic trill of strings and pretty 1970's film. Here it is. So as you know, I want to have this life, this amazing life of directing feature films and oh shoot, okay if I must-for-a-paycheck direct-TV-shows-preferably-HBO hour-long and whatever the heck else sounds fun to me. Award-winning doc? Sure! AND. And, I want to be here full time for the adorable BHB. Sounds like a great plot for a cloning movie doesn't it? This is the true definition of a dilemma as it is not solvable. And it's got me staying up late typing to you.

Tomorrow I'm going to do another shoot, the 2nd time since the arrival of Mr. pouty lips. This one is for a mini-doc that is going to be used for promotional purposes for our short film which as you know is promotional purpose for our feature film and if this is reminding you of a nesting Russian doll I think your brain is amazing Just like mine. The movie inside a movie inside a movie.

So what is my issue, you ask? Tomorrow is the first day I'm leaving smoochy with a babysitter all day. 'Cause the handsome hubs is part of this process of course and so he and I are both going out to do the shoot. And yes, truly, the gal who is coming is lovely. And awesome. And from Texas so she's all kinds of good in that sweet girl big probably used to have big hair kinda way that I know and love so well*.  But does her adorableness and the fact that the baby seems to just love her help with my anxiety? Oh no. My lip has gone out in a prep-the-pout look all day when I think of him here, wondering where the heck we are, all day -pining for my bad singing and hilarious bookreading with the occasional tummy time while I check my email but not for long I swear. And all of the pumped milk in the fridge that awaits their time together only makes me feel the tiny bit better.

To cheer myself up, I'm offering up some more of my faves from the recent trip. Hope you enjoy..

Roadside feeding just after a little rainstorm. Photo Credit: Cute hubs 


Contemplating new backseat buddy.

Enjoying the Japanese Tea Garden in San Francisco

Life is pain, Highness!

...Anyone who says differently is selling something.  (name that movie for a giveaway!) Ahem, I don't have giveaways yet. But a girl can dream.

So for those of you playing along, I apologize for not posting in a while. I've mentioned my slap-down from the PPD fairy more than once, and yes, that sparkly little beeyatch got a hold of me and swung me around by my hair a bit in recent times. It's a strange phenom to one moment be a normal person mildly annoyed by the incessant gardening that goes on in my neighborhood and the next...

Quick digression: By gardening I don't mean harvesting string beans and red-leaf lettuce, by gardening I mean the horrific buzzing created when those pick-up trucks arrive with 14 leaf blowers and tiny men to drive all crap into the air and into our house. I literally run around closing the windows to protect my surfaces 'cause lawd knows I'm not going to dust.

Ok we're back...moment I'm a weeping wonder with not a hope in the world for a better time. It's a freak show of "we're all going to die, not even Obama can save us, why did we bring a child into this awful world, and why do I suck so bad as a Momma". I know Brooke Shields and others have written about this terrible affliction, but let me just add my voice to the din and say this. Holy Kee-rap it Sucks Ass. Truly.

So I am writing from a new land. It's a little bit better. But then last night happened. The cute hubbers offered to put the boy down while I wandered off to a WIF meeting. I recently directed two PSA's for those lovely womens, and a fun fact is that one of them is nominated for an Emmy. Touch me, right? Let's be clear, it's a local LA Emmy, so I'm not going to hang out with Liz Lemon and other such celeb. But it's still pretty cool. So I went to you know, network and stuff at the meeting and he bravely stayed here for the Italian Opera which what we affectionately call the putting-the-boy-down process.

Apparently our little opera star wasn't having it as he has come to expect a large intake of milk and delivered in that special way that well, only the Momma's got. Sure he takes a bottle people! We didn't f that up at least. But sadly I've made the fatal mistake of having the sleep association run by the aforementioned delivery. Okay, I'll say it. I nurse him to sleep and yep, it's by the book wrong, I know. I know! Go ahead and feel free to tell me again, but I know. So god bless hubs, last night turned into two hours of inconsolable wailing. When I got home the baybee had just gone to sleep, apparently just flopped onto Dad's chest from the pure exhaustion of singing the No Momma Blues.
 picture featured: father's day 2009. Back when sleep was easy...

Oh man.  That was me, just trying to be a networking chic. Looking down the chute for another gig to feed this little machine we've got running here. And what do I get? An email letting me know that putting down the baby with out me is not an option, and that the pain was too much to bear. I know that married people probably shouldn't discuss really important shit via email, but, we did. I emailed him back the quote that opened this post which was preceded by...

You mock my pain!

And by that I wanted him to know I wasn't mocking his pain, or the boy's. I'm just flailing around here trying to find a way, some way to make this all work. And I agree, it's painful at times.

But my current angst is that my boobs and I are probably not going to be attending the Emmy ceremony. Damn.

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.

ease n' grace

Sometimes I use this as a mantra. Or a wish list anyway. I would like do this thing (Mommahood), or anything, with some E n' G.

Walking onto set I am often mistaken for the craft services person, or the PA. Know why? Cause I'm nice. Directors aren't supposed to be nice, more often then not they are blowhard cap wearing', beard sportin', coke snortin' meanies who like to yell to make sure they still exist. Hello King of the World, you know who you are. I like to act tough in meetings so that agency or whoever is hiring knows I can kick some shotlist achievin' ass, but they'll find out soon enough, I'm sorta overly nice. Not completely in that desperate 'please like me way' there's a program for that but well, uh, you decide. Do I really have to strike up a conversation with the breakfast burrito dude before we get the first shot off? Probably not.

I guess my point is that Easn'grace that I am currently looking for is something I feel like I've found in my work. I can be my superfunohmygod jump-up-and-down-when-I-like-a-take girl there...

Yep, this is me jumping with joy at the sight of an excellent take.

I'm looking for her now around here.

But as you can see, I am mostly finding piles of laundry and the wear and tear of desperation to see that a nap is achieved. Wow, I'm airing my clean laundry here. See if you can find the carbon based life form in this pile.

I know, I know. He shouldn't sleep with all of that stuff around him. I KNOW!

ahem.

Whoops lost the EnG there. A little high strung from the lack o' sleep. Perhaps when the sleep becomes a little more, shall we say consistent...I'll find my inner joy light again. I do, I do want to because this little guy has tons of it.

Motherhood - Take One

So yea. I'm a mom now, it's still even creepy to say that out loud, ok type it out loud.  Let's try it again. I'm a Mom.

Eeeps! I get a little squeamish. Even though I'm 3.5 months into this new gig, I'm not in total ownership and I think it's (no offense) due in large part to the other Mommy's that I meet.

It's like anything that comes on too strong. Like flavored liquor or even the most expensive perfume, too much of a great thing is still waay too much. And Motherhood seems to bring that out in women - the desperate over-achieving passive-agressive wackadoo hovering person who was not so long ago, reasonable.

For example...
1) Do we have to talk in a voice that's 14 octaves above hearing range? My dog thinks it's neat but my ears are bleeding. This is referred to in one of the 45 parenting books that I obsessively skim on a daily basis as 'parentese' and sadly, this voice is encouraged.

2) Can we PLEASE talk about something else? Let's be clear, I am saying this to myself as well - but the discussions about cracked and elongated nipples and sleepee sleepy-by schedules and the milestones like how amazing little baby is because she looked in the same direction for 14 seconds in a row is so booring. Boring. I mean I get it, but ohmygod, let's find a new topic. Like what happened in the last half of the 30 Rock season? I dearly and desperately miss Liz Lemon.

* I'm going to take a quick break from this mean spirited sounding list to qualify myself as a much nicer person. K. Well, since I need to say that I guess you can believe what you want.

3) How about we forgo the comparisons? "How old is he? And HOW much does he weigh? Wow, you've got a big one there..." 'Cause I don't know the percentile and I don't care. Or I'll pretend I don't anyway. "Does he hold his head up yet? Oh gosh that's too bad you know my little sugarface has been holding her head up since she was born...He'll get around to it."

4) And no NO. Nope, he's not sleeping through the night. He's not even 4 months old! (Dear Jesus... I don't talk to you much but if I could just stop by and ask you to please help me through this - that would be great....thanks ever so, amen)

I guess you can say I'm a procrastinator since I've waited until my 38th year to join this club, and you'd be right. I'm a procrastinator. And it didn't really seem to bother me 'cause I was busy building my career as a Director of things. Commercials, short films, webisodes, corporate blah blah videos, whatever can be written/directed and sometimes edited for money - I'm your gal. Or was, wait -still is! It's a confusing time when identity is on the line.

And I guess that's what hurts and why I rail against the monologues of the Mommy set. Who am I now? Am I still one of the relatively rare directors with boobs (only now they produce massive amounts of milk)? How is that I used to be able to run a whole set filled with big guys and their big gear and this little tiny guy can take me out with a few short screams?

When I was pregnant, I had such swagger. I said, Aw - it will be easy. Of course I'll still work, anytime you want. I know it's a full time job, hahhaha, of course I did. Ok People magazine, here's my confession that you won't care about to print. I didn't know. I really, really, really didn't know what I was getting myself into. It's impressive how not knowing I was of what we speak. How is that such a smartee pants director lady who has had her own production company for ten years and done stuff and more stuff could enter this new phase of life so cluelessly? Well, she did.

But I must say, I do love him. He's a big-headed beauty.
 Please to enjoy a picture from the second week of his life.