The Joy Luck Club

I'm such a sucker for astrologers. And psychics. And mediums. Do you have access to some big cosmic picture book? Hotline to the goods?

I'm in.

I know what you're thinking....
Good thing you're in California Jane, it's so the place for you!
I know! And I'm glad we're staying.
(for now)

In case you are wondering what happened with the big move, basically a job situation we were counting on in Utah went away and another possible job situation opened here in LaLa Land. While nothing is solid or real and done or done in that job arena, we figured we'd better go with possibility rather than the not so much. Yep, it just seemed like we should stay. And so we did. Until we decide to go. And still we might. So how's that for non-committal? Welcome to my life!

But back to the stars. I recently saw an astrologer who told me that I have warring aspects. As a Capricorn, (sun sign) I am tied to the earthly pragmatic realms and ways and I have to work, work and plod along. My rising sign is Sagittarius which he said gives me the luck that often strikes and makes jobs appear out of the blue, or handsome soul mate, or super cool experiences that are so trippy and coincidental that most people are like NA-UH, you're so lying.
And I'm all NA-UH I am so not!

So my chart makes me a bit koo-koo because it makes it tough for me to determine whether I should just 'secret that shit' as my friend and I like to say, or work work work for a result. All that lucky juice makes me a little complacent, but since real life has been on the menu 24/7 lately - complacency ain't working. Of course we do get the magical whizbang wizardry that only a little person can bring, like his sudden and hugely hilarious laugh at a tiny antic I pull or his decision to put the butter from his toast into his hair as a moisturizer.

Blueberries are also an excellent face and hand moisturizer.

So what is my point? My point is that I'm hanging in the balance. That the waiting continues but I'm feeling much more comfy here on the precipice. I think this suspension that I've been strung out from the last five months or so has served the purpose of helping me to live between my warring aspects and do the foot work and trust the lucky stars.

And I should say that this book has helped me immensely. BHB pulled this off the shelf recently, it landed on my foot and opened to a page that said 'You do not have to make a choice'.

Really? Well shit howdy, that helps.

I read that chapter and have been reading it every night since, soaking up the wisdom and ease that her work brings me. Also my SIL (Sister in Law) reminded me in an email recently that I had given her this book years ago, and that I better get to the business of 'Loving What Is'. I guess the combo platter of baby luck and email-reality reminder has got me in good stead. And aspecting well.


Yours in search of (and finding some) inner peas,

PS - A dear friend told me today that she stopped seeing psychics and astrologers and the like and is now listening to her own still voice. How about that? She's inspired me however I'm really clear that I"m not there yet. Yet.

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.

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,

Bewitched

So.

Today I went to a super bitchin' coffee shop here in the LA area called Swork. There is an umlaut. I do not know how to create an umlaut. If you're curious, I linked you up, follow at will. If you didn't, just imagine the two dots adorning the w. Which is weird, right? Don't umlaut's usually live on vowel's? The exciting part about Swork is not it's odd lil' name, it's that it features a sweet little play area for shorties. Complete with endless blocks and other goodies, it's pure awesome I tell you. But I digress, as I often do.

So I'm walking into this place to meet a dear, dear friend and her almost 3 year old dude and I'm doing the purse/diaper bag/22 pound baby juggle so I'm a little out of breath and off kilter. Not that it's a good excuse, but there it is.

I see this dude on a go-cart scooting up the sidewalk. He's on a go-cart! Going 20! On the sidewalk! But what's more interesting is that the dude is like 45. But not an interesting 45, more like a frat boy all growed up 45. So I'm thinking something like this....

"OK dude, you are WAAAAYYY too old to be driving a go-cart".

I mean, wouldn't you?

But that's the problem. It was kind of a mean spirited (ok quite) thought and I'm not usually such a person as this. But there I was all juggley and judgey and I swear to you the following happened. As I walked by the guy said to me:

"I know, I'm too old".

Drat!
So busted!

So I sorta laugh and turn toward him and I'm about to apologize for what I said except that I quickly realize that I didn't actually say anything so instead I offer a halfhearted apology in the form of a laugh-turn-and-acknowledge as I stumble by with the unreasonable load of crap and cute hanging off my shoulders and arms.

I ask you - is nothing sacred? Is my bad mood private thinking no longer an option? If every thought I think is out for public consumption (um hello, the fact that I'm putting this on a blog is not lost on me, I know I'm ridiculous) I'm seriously in trouble.

I'm going to try to live tomorrow as a transparent mind. It will be a delightful experiment and I will share the results. But here is a little sampling from today:

• "This June gloom matches my mood beautifully. Sure I hate everyone and everything but at least this diffused lighting is flattering on all of us."
• "I love my friends, they are ridiculously great. I'm annoyed at their greatness. Will I ever find new friends this great?"
• "Good grief this is a cute kid. I love his soft white limbs, they are like white bread. Umm, white bread."

and other hits.

And finally, I'll leave you with the reason I love facebook. Today I posted this quote from The Prophet by Kahil Gilbran.


“Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep in your heart the miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy. And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief."

and got this response.

To proceed very far through the desert, you must be willing to meet existential suffering and work it through. In order to do this, the attitude toward pain has to change. This happens when we accept the fact that everything that happens to us has been designed for our spiritual growth.— M. Scott Peck

And two things happened. I thought, how weird! I'm moving to the desert. And then I thought. And there must be a higher reason. But you probably knew that's what I was thinking.

Cloak and Derwood,

PS - Here is a little spot of joy from my afternoon yesterday.

Message in a Bottle

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

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

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

Write back.

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

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

sandbox of germs? where did he get this cold anyway?

In other stumbling news, the sweet boy has his first full blown horror of a cold. And ear infection.

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

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

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

Elusively yours,




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

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.

Lost In Space

ahem. attention!

hello?

I'm just hanging out here, a tiny zipcode of IP magic thanks to Blogger (well Google) who gifts me this lil' piece of the Interweb. But why do they offer such real estate? In case I become Dooce and sell s-loads of diet coke ad's next to my witty banter cascade of whining, anxious, yet hopeful words?

Nah, doubtful. Google knows what it's doing, and as it's becoming more and more obvious, I clearly do not. I guess that's what I'm spinning around in tonight, the vastness of the space. I was going to say cyberspace, but I got a little slap down doing the research, here's what Wikipedia says...

Cyberspace as an internet metaphor

While cyberspace should not be confused with the internet, the term is often used to refer to objects and identities that exist largely within the communication network itself, so that a website, for example, might be metaphorically said to "exist in cyberspace." According to this interpretation, events taking place on the internet are not happening in the locations where participants or servers are physically located, but "in cyberspace".

I found this gorgeous image in my search to understand the above. Apparently it's a visual representation of what a piece of the internet might look like. By the way, did you know that we might run out of internet space? Pretty freakin' nuts, right? Time for some IP addy hoarding to save yourself. Well, 'cept you won't, just like most of us LA citizens who do not actually have an earthquake kit. Our family is pretty much ready because we've got about 5 extra jars of TJ's almond butter and 3 cans of black beans. The end of the world will be a gassy, sticky affair. But I digress.

When I'm typing into this black hole of inter-web-inter-connectivity nothingness, I feel both excited to be reaching and yet lonely not knowing where it's landing. It reminds me of the first setting on our sleep sheep. It's supposed to be 'white noise' but instead it's a whale's whooping cry that rings out into the darkness of the big headed baby's room. (bhb photo to left for your enjoyment) The trouble is that no other whales ever answer because it's a loop. Freakin' depressing right? I imagine a giant gray whale swimming alone in a vast dark sea pinging the sonar again and again, but. Nothing comes back. Kinda like trying to talk on the ATnT wireless network. Is there anything worse then chatting along and then finally figuring out that the last two paragraph's of a self-obsessed monologue has fallen into the gap of dropped call netherland? I get that twangy mix of embarrassment and loneliness.

So this basically my round about way of asking...Hi, um, who are you? I know a few of my buddies have signed up as followers, god bless 'em (even though they'll never be back to read this). But hey! If you are here, reading, can you give me a shout out via the comment thingee? I promise I won't ask again.

Oh and I"ll be sure to follow your whale song back to your part of the ocean too...