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.

Walk the Line

The BHB (big headed baby) refuses to walk.

He's a fast as hell crawler.
He's pretty much at a run - as long as you've got him by the hand.
He's about 14 feet tall.

But no walking.

I finally stopped opening myself up to the following nonsense:

Me: "Oh he's 19 months old. Yea. Not walking yet. He'll get around to it"
Them: Nodding earnestly
Me: "Must be a procrastinator like his Mom!' awkward laugh
Them: The Speech.

You know the one.

OH all babies are DIFFERENT. They all do things AT THEIR OWN time and pace. It's NOTHING to worrry about. I mean. My baby starting walking when she was NINE MONTHS OLD, well running actually, HA HA so you should feel lucky....

Really?
REALLY?

Ugh. I totally deserve it actually. When BHB was just a tiny nugget and tucked into my chest in a Moby wrap, I met a family with a cute toddler person. They shared that he had just started walking at like 16 months or something, only finally crawled at 15 months. They looked stressed about it.

ME: Oh I hope this one does the same thing! That sounds about right...
THEM: Nodding earnestly.
(internal monologue) Really. REALLY?



CUT TO: Now.

AND I'm done with it.


I know, I know it's fine. He's fine. But it's just a bit of a drag honestly. He's got the skills, just not the willingness. But carrying him everywhere or doing the one handed walk is making my body hurt. Wah to the wah, right? As if I've got problems compared to I don't know, a real problem?

I just want him to feel the joy of running. And he will soon. And then I'll be sorry.

Leaning to the right,

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.

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,

sweet dreams

I want to be good. I want to be layered with subtext and make tiny choices with big consequences. I want to be inspirational to smaller girls and lucid old people with twinkling eyes. I want to do something extraordinary - really extreme. Like those crazy Olympians. Yet I want to do it in a small ordinary way.

I think of the filmmakers who made Once. Have you seen that movie? It was a small undertaking that turned into an extraordinary thing. It's magical, and the title track to the soundtrack makes me sob without fail.

Like a David Whyte poem. Like this poem.
I pasted it below too....

I don't need need fancy dresses, I dress like a teenage boy in real life, why pretend and wear other people's dresses? (I'm thinking of the Oscar's of course). I just want to be grace and love and magic personified. I want to drop all of my bad habits, negative thinking and random bullshit that y'all have surely noticed over the last 3/4 year but have granted me pardon because I'm funny at times or my kid is too cute to pass up. I'm guessing anyway. Is that it?

Can you tell I'm working in a 'dream board' this week? I'll have to scan it and share it like a big old geeky crafty scrapbooker when I'm done.

I've got to get some vision back into this picture as it's gotten a dangerously dark and gloomy around the edges. As it is, that big ol' life change I've been threatening to dish about has finally come to pass in an official way. Our tenure in Los Angeles is coming to a close, this little family is moving east to be near cute hubs family. So the thing in the box over there to the left? About leaving LA for free babysitters? It's happening.

We're moving to Utah. I hope the saints are nicer to outsider's in 2010 than they were in the 1840's.  Hub's family is delightful and not a part of that scene (for the most part), but that part of the equation is an x factor that makes me uncomfortable. I'm reading Under the Banner of Heaven, which it turns out, isn't a great idea. But it is a great book.

I love LA in an unreasonable way, mostly because of the people who I love here. And the sun I love here. And the way people dream big here.

For the record I'm going to keep dreaming big up there in the valley near Park City, I just have to do it in the snow. (shudder)

So for now I'll leave you with this poem that a dear friend of mine sent me in an email six years ago. She didn't stick around the planet for long after she sent it to me, I think this kind of living is hard to do. But I love this poem and her memory in the same fierce way.

Heavy hearted-ly yours,




Self Portrait

It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God.

-- David Whyte
      from Fire in the Earth 
      ©1992 Many Rivers Press

Flash of Genius

Our son is a genius, I mean - it's the only explanation.

I mean, sure he isn't walking or talking or anything stupid like that. Oh no, that would be weird. But! He's a problem solving hero and let me explain...

As you know, we live in LA. It's pretty and sunny here. It's sunny and we drive alot. We drive alot and the boy hangs out facing the wrong way. Toward the sun.

Which is totally donkey, but safe.

So I've tried some of those ridiculous window shades n' shizzle but they were plastic and lame and broke. And sure, I could get the ole Prius tinted in the window department, but uh, who's got tinting your window money? So I wind up doing really safe maneuvers like reaching over the back seat with my right arm and creating a tiny sliver of shadow with my closed fingers for Mr big blonde head who can sometimes be found thrashing from side to side to escape the relentless sun.

But! Recently I had one of those lil muslin blankets back there and got the bright idea to hold it up to shade him (don't worry, completely safe) and I was prepared to do this today when I traversed town in the west to east direction at the exact wrong time - ie sunset. But lo and behold, I looked behind me and this is what I saw. I won't say who the photographer is for this, I just repeat that it was completely safe.

He's holding the blanket up to shield his own eyes. When I saw it, I got a little misty.

So am I right? He's a super genius? I mean the guy isn't even one year old and he solved this problem like a complete champ and then left his hand mit-blanket up until we were clear of the sun. My husband would say that it's a result of all of the fish oil he gagged me with when I was preggers, and who knows? Maybe he's right. But geee-ross.
And then the poor kid gets fish oil in his apple sauce every morning. I mean, seriously gag me with a spoon right? Yes we do, gag him with a fishy apply spoon. Of course he thinks it's delish.

I've started singing this song to him: (to the tune of Spiderman)

Apple Fish
Apple Fish
Every baby loves apple fish
WATCH OUT!
There's fi--sh in your apppple sauce.

I know, it's ridiculous. And it makes us all really happy. The hubs loves it especially, he loves all of the inane songs I have made up for this kid. He's the musician and songwriter in the family, but so far I've written the tunes that are incredibly catchy like the original number:

'What do you say, super bean?" (there are several verses for this song, it was invented on our long road trip to Seattle)

or

The song I wrote when the boy was in his 'just watching' phase.

Everything he does is FAS-CIN-ATING,
everything he does is swell
Everything he does is AHH-Mazing,
he's the Daddy you can tell.
'Cause, Everything he does is FA-AHNtastic
everything he does is neat..
everything he does is SUPER-duper
he's the Dad he doesn't eat meat'.

I know, I know.
It's so good.

Ok, now that I've slipped into the utterly ridiculous land that I have, let me march deeper in and tell this story on the hubs. Because he is cute.

He recently came home from an event where he learned more about a particular brand of fish oil (gag). He was pretty excited about the flavor and the brand and wanted me to be the guinea pig because he clearly knows how much I enjoy taking this stuff. (gag). So he says something about it being apple flavored which of course I think he's kidding and kee-rack up about it because in my mind I'm already singing..

Apple Fish
Apple fish...

But he's looking annoyed.

Hubs: Oh yea, that's so hilarious.
Me: Um, yea, it is actually.
Hubs: So anyway, the apple flavor completely masks the fish taste...
Me: Oh no, you're serious.
Hubs: (more annoyed) Yes!
Me: The fish oil is flavored with apple?
Hubs: Yes!
Me: And you don't see what's funny?
(blank look)
Me: (singing)
Hubs: Oh my god.
Me: You seriously didn't think about that?
Hubs: No.

What follows is my laughing til I peed (not that this is a shocker, can I get an amen Momma's?) and landed on the kitchen floor and him laughing along - yes - but clearly not as hard. I'm not sure if this story is funny to anyone else, it just makes me squeal with laughter to think about how he listened to an entire evening of conversation about apple fish oil and didn't think about our morning ritual. But I digress, as I often do.

Back to the boy genius. I guess what's blowing me away is not only the problem solving aspect of what occurred today, but also the self care and the evidence that - yes - someone is completely home and thinks for himself and things are really starting to cook with gas in that big head. The fact that he can shovel food into his own mouth with his tiny hands (boy he does enjoy the yams people), he can drink out of his own sippy cup, that he can motor around and get himself into and out of precarious situations. That he figured out how to STAND UP on his own, (he's not getting any encouragement from me on that one). But how does it happen? It's so freakin' miraculous.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised because I consider people who have a good sense of humor to be smart. And we have big laughs all the time.  I personally think his humor is sophisticated, but I guess I'd have to admit that it's more likely that mine is super simple and juvenile. Tonight he almost fell over in the bath tub when I did the 'turtle appearing over the side' trick, it just killed.  'Cause there's really nothing cooler than sharing a laugh with a tiny boy who only a year ago was still swimming around in my belly.

I mean the genius baby who was in my belly, who made an appearance on the planet in early April. I'm so excited to celebrate him in a few days, afterall - he's loosing 'infant' status. Wowee.

Wordless Wednesday: Meet the Cousins Edition

A Beautiful Mind

I guess we should have seen the signs. But we didn't know.

Even though a family member had at one time been diagnosed as schizophrenic, it didn't occur to us to worry.

Every two year old has temper tantrums. Tons of high school kids have drug problems. Lots of people have perfect pitch and vocabularies that surpass their knowledge and learning level.

You can't really worry too much about schizophrenia being a family trait when the affected family member managed to recover from that terrifying diagnosis through the use of self discipline and willpower. This is a fact. He stopped exhibiting symptoms and in relatively short order become not only a contributing  and well member of society, but a pretty incredible dude and artist as well. Add into the mix great teeth and an amazing combination of accountability and sincerity. How did he move out of that diagnosis you ask? He did it by getting really, really specific with his food choices. He went vegan. He started getting blood tests and managing every aspect of his blood chemistry, sugar, potassium, iron, etc etc you name it, he watched it. He meditated. He did yoga. You know what? He did it right and the result was miraculous.

So when my brother was in his late teens and dabbling in psychedelics we all thought, ah well... it's a phase. Sure it's ridiculous that he barely made it out of high school considering his remarkable IQ but. You know, drugs and alcohol, it's almost cliche.  It was about the time Tough Love was introduced, so we dished that up.

I had gone to acting school for two years and already beat-up and disillusioned by that career choice before the age of 20, I decided to move across the country. I arranged to waitress in South Dakota for the summer to raise money for my new life in California. A few days after I arrived there, my world crumbled. After a fun day of rock climbing with some brand new friends I got a note on my dorm door that there was an emergency and I needed to call home. After many calls with trembling hands I finally heard the word. My dad was dead. He had Lupus so it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but he was always insisting that the 'wolf wouldn't get him' and we believed him. So it was an unbearable surprise.

Now I see that it was the perfect storm. An angst-filled young man, drugs and alcohol, a terrible tragedy. The current reality is no surprise to any health professional or anyone who knows anything about mental illness. But we didn't know, we couldn't know. We were torn apart, blown apart by our loss and our grief and inability to know how to be a family. After the services I continued on to California. My mom found her way into grief groups and then an RV and traveled the country for a few years to deal with the loss of her beloved 46 year old husband.

And my little brother spiraled. More drugs. More alcohol. A diagnosis: manic-depressive. Then the jail stints. A car fire...was it an insurance scam? We wondered.

About that time I was making my way into film school, into the jagermeister bottle and up and down big rocks in Joshua Tree. My brother's dramas were far off and incomprehensible to me. I think about my early 20-self sometimes and wonder if she could have done something to help him. To alter his terrible path. And sometimes I let myself off that sharp hook with some of the words already written above. How could I have known? And sometimes the nails into my hands are very painful. I could have...I should have...If only. But I didn't.

The years have unfolded in a movie-of-the-week-after-school-special plot line involving more jailtime, homelessness and a long unsuccessful line of halfway houses. My mom has kept a running document of all of the events of his life so she can give it to the next social worker or the next counselor or hospital. By now if printed it would be about a ream of  paper.  In my late 20's I did a big rescue effort. I flew to Florida and hunkered down for two months to do my big sister duty. First I had him Baker Acted into the hospital so that he could finally get the help and meds he needed to get straightened out. The result wasn't great. Thirty or so days of hospital life and his voice in my head. 'I hate you for doing this, I'll never forgive you'. Awesome.

It's a fucked up disease, that's for sure. As a family member, it's impossible to know how to be. We have alternated between being very involved and very hands off and the results don't seem to change based on our efforts. Some suggest to deal with him like you do with someone addicted to drugs or booze. As in, do not help them unless they are helping themselves...they have to 'want it'. And while he has a dual-diagnosis (addicted and schizophrenic) I think it's much more complex. He's got rude and mean-spirited voices talking to him in his head. He argues with them all the time, sometimes they win. In fact more often than not they win. When the voices start arguing with me, I have to get off the phone at that point 'cause I am bound to lose and strain my own version of sanity in the process.

Not long after the big rescue effort came the 'I can only love him from afar' era. He can be incredibly manipulative when there is money or musical instruments to be had, which to my mind is confusing. How does he have the prescience to be able to manipulate reality to his preferred end? It's strange but true. So to avoid getting caught in that trap, I decided that I wouldn't give him money or material things, only my ear over the phone and my love from 3,000 miles away. Needless to say, my mom has been through the ringer on this one. About eleven years after my Dad passed she married an extraordinary guy. He's seen the both of them through many, many variations on the themes of hands off to very hands on and miraculously has the willingness to answer the midnight calls and go on the jail visits. I think we all consider ourselves lucky that our new family member would be such a giant of a guy to be able to handle such a brutal and constant source of pain and awkward and unruly variables.

For years I had strong opinions of how my Mom 'should be doing it' and for some reason I was convinced I had a line on what correct action was. Interesting how the birth of my son has ripped that smug knowingness from my gut. I realize now I know nothing. I do know that schizophrenia (and addiction) is a family disease and you'd be right if you thought 'Gosh I bet that scares her a little bit'. You betcha. If my son starts to go down these roads in a few years, can I help him? Can I save him from the horrible fate of loneliness, despair and social outcast?

For those of you who have been around LCD, you might remember the PSA that I made about an organization that helps mentally ill get off the street. Remember, the one that should have won that damn Emmy? I'm putting it here again.

Thanks for watching and reading. Oh and voting, if you please (to the left). Tell me what to type about for Movie Monday.

Yours in joy and pain,

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

But I don't really mean it.

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

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

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

But y'all know, right?

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

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

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

Big Love! (obviously)


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

Home for the Holidays

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

On Thanksgiving weekend my sweet life gave to me:

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

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

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

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

But I digress. As I often do.

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

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

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

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

Meet the Parents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About a Boy

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

So let's talk boy:

1) He's a laughing machine.

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

2) He's a sweetheart.

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

3) He has no intention of crawling anytime soon.

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

4) He's ready to eat solid food.

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

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

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

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

Love Actually

Tuesday was our 8th wedding anniversary, and it's got me spinning a bit this week about the love of my life...the mister, the cute hubs, papa to the big-headed-baby. In fact, come to think of it, he is the reason that baby has a big head. No paternity question here.

I've heard and read that the first year of the baby is often the hardest year of a marriage. And while I'm absolutely on board with that statement in as much as the first year of the baby is likely one of the hardest year of a life therefore by definition impacting marriage, I'd also suggest that it's a simplistic and flat point of view. So far this has been the most interesting, okay hard, let's go with topsy-turvey year of our marriage but in the most explosively beautiful way. It's the emotional equivalent of going from the crayola box of 8 colors to the ginourmous box of say 120. Seriously, it's that good. And there's a sharpener in the back.

I've never experienced this aquamarine shade of sweet. Or this brick red shade of anger. Or this much raw umber all over everything! But it really does require the help of the metallic crayons and an unwieldy number of those wax sticks o' goodness to find all of the subtle ways that I newly love the man. The way he shows up. The way he sits on the glider footrest and rocks the boy and me while we attempt first round of babysleep. The way he makes a killer bowl of oatmeal. The way he got us through the constant weeping and freaky-deaky nature of my bout with PPD with grace and gentle suggestions of homeopathic cures. He's a gem this guy, I am a fawking lucky person.

So in recovering from the madness of last Sunday night we stumbled into the day that marked eight years since we hitched n' stuff and it passed with not much fanfare. Hubs worked, I posted a "hey we're an old couple check us out' status update on Facebook and you know, that was more or less it. However (comma) we are going on a DATE on Sunday night. (Gasp!) That's right, a date. It's all thanks to my dear friend who gave me a coupon for two nights of babysitting at our baby shower. While I always thought that was pretty cool, I had no idea the true value until BHB showed up and I realized that going out together ever again was going to be virtually impossible since we are living a no-extended-family-in-town life.

And as y'all know, I've hired a babysitter in recent weeks and the value of the gift is even more apparent. That sitter thang is a luxury item! After dinner, popcorn and such, a date is pretty much the equivalent of a mortgage payment. But more than that, how can I trust anyone else sit and listen to the monitor with rapt attention in the dark of night? But since 8 years of marriage is certainly cause for celebration I guess it's all about that coupon, my adorable friend and a leap of faith. Yes. We are going people, going out, to dinner and a movie. And I know I'm supposed to like read the Variety daily since I'm a big ol film geek and totally know what movie to see, but well... you know. Help a sister out. What should we go see?

Before I go, has anyone else noticed how yummy this night is? Here in LA it's pretty balmy and tree sway-ee and the moon is just soft and delish on everything it touches. If you're wondering...yes, we bravely went outside into our front yard and despite the excitement of the week, it felt totally fine to be there. What a difference a few days makes. And if you don't know what the heck I'm talking about, scroll it on down and check it on out. (I've already linked to the last post so in all fairness I just can't do it again...)

I'm leaving you with these two gorgeous images. One is of the wedding quilt that my dear,  talented cousin made for us. This is the first anniversary we celebrate with it as it took her 7 years to make. You can see why due to it's magical magnificence and ridiculously amazing craftsmanship. It's like hanging out in a museum having this thing in my house.

And this is a glimpse of a recent sweet moment. You can see why I'm such a fan of my man. He's John Lennon to our Baby Yoko.

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.

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

Reality Bites

Home. A mix of sensations as we return from the long journey. Relief to have a sturdy changing table instead of the precarious balancing act of changing pad atop various luggage pieces in the back of the Prius. Please to witness.

Relief to see the brown dog (especially now since he's without his big old Elizabethian collar!) Relief to be in our comfy bed. And bhb to be in his own bed too.

But alot of ah well's too...

I feel sad to loose that day-to-day-what-is-next, it's-all-new and especially the every meal is something pretty darn delicious and likely dairy and wheat based. I suspect my body is excited to see about some veg and hiking again but (sniff) I'm going to miss you scone.

I think the hardest adjustment involved in a homecoming is all of the crap that you got to leave sitting on the desk and on kitchen counter and especially on all of the mental shelves that get alerted to your arrival the moment your plane lands or the car hits city limits. All of the to-do's, don't forget's and in my case the 'why has it taken 2 months to get to Target to get the springy rod thing for the bathroom drapes?' kinda thinking. I can tell you that springee rod didn't get one iota of my time for two weeks and now it along with a hundred other stupid tiny things are sitting on my head again like one of those funny little marmots.

And BB (before Baby) that list was long and hard. Now? That list is long and staying long not getting touched. Tomorrow we'll be reading our new favorite book 'Is Your Mama a Llama?' and I'll look up in that mirthful way, look past the dog shedding in my direction, and admire the way the curtain is sorta perched on the window instead of hanging. And my choices are? Pretty much suck it up.

But we do have a new adventure that got rolling today that is pretty great. And likely to kick my ass and make for some good blog fun for any of y'all playing along.

Yes, I'm talking about the short film. Two friends have graciously offered their time to help us produce this thing. (ok well to be clear I begged and I'm a pest) but end of day it's a truly kind and magnanimous act to help us since even though I'm a damn good director,  I'm only a really mediocre producer and I'm producing along with them. But! Since I feel massive pressure to stay up and on top of it so as to not waste their time I actually think it might work. Think. Hope. Think. Hope and Hope.

Let's refer to them going forward as the wonder twins. If they want me to reveal their secret identity, they can say so. But we met today and kicked off the process. T-minus two months and counting to gather a huge force of people to practically but-not-totally-but-pretty-much-donate their time to help, actors (preferably a famous one or two) to commit a bunch of lines to memory, places to trust us to shoot and not hurt the space we inhabit, equipment to pull out of thin air and just a melange of all around magic has to occur. I truly don't know how we're going to pull off this shoot - to do it properly we should have literally 10x the money we do.

Deep breath. So here's my first question to you guys. Anyone know any of the famous dudes on this list? Some are just stoopid famous and would likely never come near our set but you know what? Life is crazy and magical and who the hell knows, right? And so we're working that 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon here, if you've got a degree or two and want to share that connection, oh please do. Please email me at jane at turtledreams dot net.

It's a good script, it really is.

Peter Krause
Ron Livingston
Billy Crudup
Eddie Jemison
Justin Kirk

Richard Jenkins
Tony Shalhoub
Christopher Lloyd
Ian Holm
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Campbell Scott
Stanley Tucci
Morgan Freeman
Scott Adsit
Kevin Nealon
Kevin Bacon (Bacon number 0).

But before we get too excited about the new adventure, let's take a moment to look back at the one that just commenced. A few faves out of the literal 600 pictures we took:

The night we left...

Bear down.

 

I think this is one of the two of us is one of those shots that will live on. Not sure why.

Elf got loose among the giant redwoods.

This trip was given to us courtesy of 'family bonding' funds from California State. And while you wonder why we accept money from our broke-ass state, I must say family bonding it truly was.