Amateurs

Mike and I will be flying to Arizona in a couple of months to attend a friend's wedding. We're pretty psyched for the getaway, to see some great guys and get a preview of warm weather. But the anticipation of good times is in danger of being overshadowed by anxiety: I'm already starting to get the hives thinking about leaving HR at home. I know he'll be in good hands, and I've already made peace with the fact that we're departing on his second birthday (it'll be years before this means anything to him) but the longest we've been apart is one night and three nights... what is going to go through his head? You can't really prepare a child that young for an absence, so we'll just hope for the best. The time will fly, I'm aware of that. But the idea of being so far away scares me. And just the thought of not hugging him for such a long time, and of him missing us and not knowing what's going on, it gives me a lump in my throat. I can't even let myself picture it. The vulnerability of children will be the death of me.

I can't let my nerves about the whole thing spoil my fun. But they are very prominent, and very real. I swear I didn't have this many feelings before I was a mother. Ah well, yet another opportunity to thank Dionysus for wine.

That's All I Wanted

Today is one of those days that finds me tired into my bones. How boring. The weekend wasn't particularly action packed, so who knows what the cause might be aside from the general wear and tear associated with having a toddler roommate. HR did reveal a new trick: by accident, but then with some encouraging laughter, he's learned to say "Hi, dude," and it's about the cutest thing on the universe. Especially if you can see it in person, because the shape of his lips on the long O is priceless. It really is these tiny moments in parenting.

Also: I watched Burlesque. It got terrible reviews, I was aware of this beforehand, but such things don't deter me. And you know, it was kind of terrible. The choreography was flat and uninspired (let's all just fall back on the Fosse wrist snapping and rolling and call it homage, yes?). The storyline was dumb and implausible. But it was a fun weekend trifle. And (the unbelievably squandered) Alan Cumming and Stanley Tucci and Cher should be in everything always, and together. Who knew Christina Aguilera was so pretty? When she's not all done up in her drag queen get-up she's quite cute. I understand wanting to be glam and express yourself, but I think her look these days with all the boobs and the hair and the cosmetics is just trying too hard. Honestly though who am I to say? It's so annoying when people say, "You'd be so pretty if..." People wanna look how they look, it shouldn't concern me.

Back to the movie itself, it was sort of thrilling to see some former So You Think You Can Dance faces as the back-up burlesque-ers. And to see Kristen Bell in a dancing role, just because I love her so dating back to Veronica Mars. Jumping tracks, she's also great in House of Lies on Showtime which is a show I do enjoy, but I'm just gonna put it out there - for all the parts I like (Ben Schwartz, great characters like Don Cheadle's awesome kid and dad) there's this undercurrent of misogyny that I can't quite get away from. It's not like it's shocking that all the male characters are out there getting tail left and right - I get it, they're bad boys of business, good for them. But then the one female star has an on-the-road fling and it's revealed--only through the stoner wisdom of the sensitive singer-songwriter one-night-stand-partner, of course--that she's adrift in a sea of daddy issues. I think it does a disservice to her character, and comes across as square, lazy and cliche to make excuses for her sexuality. I'll keep watching, but the writers are officially on mental notice.

Tune in tomorrow as I reveal yet more layers of my rich mental tapestry. This remains one of the great creepy-good songs of all time. 

What's That Song?

Going through my blogroll this morning, one of the the authors posed the question: "What did you accomplish creatively this week?" And I was like, aw fuck. Because I couldn't think of anything. I wrote in here, which occasionally calls for me to tap the keg of my creativity, but other than that, bupkis. And I decided then and there that I always, always want to have an answer for that question. At least one creative thing per week. It doesn't sound like so much to ask, just one thing a week, but a lazy mind is a tough, tough bitch.

I go through these phases, they occur a couple of times a year, when I am keenly jealous of performers and musicians and anyone who got to go to performing arts school (here's where you start thinking, "haven't I read this before?"). This morning I may or may not have been listening to Les Mis for the hundredth time on the way into work and I got to thinking about the structure of a musical, how there's a pattern of reprises and how they all work so gorgeously and it's mystifying to me how a mind can put something together like that. How there's all these pieces that make a whole and how do you even begin? But I realized that even though I don't know dick about writing songs, I could learn that. That structure. It's like math or science in its way and though I don't remember much now, I was actually really good at math and science once. I have a fine working brain and I could help write a musical, which is something I've always wanted to do and I've been dragging my feet about for years, just ask my ever-patient brother. It's within my power to figure it out, even if I never had a chance to go to the Fame school and twirl around on cafeteria tables. Lack of training is not a valid excuse. And then my Liz Lemon muscle started flexing, thinking about while I'm at it lets jump into comedy writing! Yeah, I tend to go big when I get on my kicks. Which is why nothing ever gets done.

So one thing at a time: first, I need to get back to writing fiction. For the millionth time, just write. Finish that WIP. Even if it's one chapter a week, it's one thing to add to my creativity roster. I was thinking about this yesterday, about what I want most in this life, when I get to the end of it, and it's that I'll be remembered as a good person. A kind, loving and fun mother and wife and family member and friend above all else. I want my legacy to be of light and warmth, and that's something I hope I'm making happen day by day, just by living the way I choose to live. As long as I can do that, my life can't be considered a waste. But it wouldn't hurt to have some other accomplishments to tack on, some work with a wider impact, something I made, of which I and my family can be proud. Who knows if these creative aspirations will ever really come to pass, but yes or no it's up to me. The meat of life, as well as the gravy.

Alex Chilton inspired the Replacements and so here's my inspiration of the day.

You Ain't What You Ain't

There are days when I go to the writing well, send down a bucket, and it comes back not only empty but with "GFY" scrawled on the bottom in neon yellow. Today is obviously one of those days. So unless you want to hear about how HR's new and mysterious tendency to poop in his sleep is the latest night-wrecker (it's a safe bet you don't), I've got nothing else, so I'll jog on already.

Oh, but not before saying Happy Birthday to my newly-married sister. Hope you're having a great one lady! 

I've been wanting to link some John Prine forever. Take it away, Johnny.

Anti-Trollin'

I understand that, to a certain extent, the world operates on negativity. War's pretty much the first thing that ever happened when there was more than one person. Strife and conflict are cornerstones of the human condition. I just don't understand why it has to be that way. Really. Why? Why all the bad and the hurt? Why can't people be happy... being happy?

I'm not a complete imbecile.  In the simplest terms, for something to be good, there has to be bad so you can tell the difference. Dark needs light and vice versa. And there are very real reasons to get pissed off--debate is healthy! And to fight, when you've been beaten down and oppressed and your rights are taken away and the conditions under which you're living become unbearable. Yes, get angry! Don't take it anymore! It's necessary to stand up for yourself, to push back. But there was some pretty low stuff that had to happen to cause uprisings in the first place. And I want to know, why that? Why greed, and powergrabs? Why not operate with reason and logic and compassion?

I don't want to live in a world of greyish complacency. I'm not saying that. Without fire of the human spirit we'd lose a lot of the art of the world, a lot of amazing accomplishments are borne of grief and depression and what-have-you. But there's enough death and tragedy that comes about organically, and I just can't figure out after all these years I've lived why people have to go out and create fights and drama and toxic feelings.

I don't mean to be cryptic, there's not one thing that's pushed me to a Network moment. It's a lot of things coming to a head at once, like the nasty political climate and the realization that Mob Wives is a thing and that people love it. That there's evidence all around of people being impossibly immature and self-centered, that more statuses I read on social networks dwell on the bad, on snark and superiority, than promoting joy and humor and fun. Society is bringing me down, man, and I don't want to be susceptible to that any more.

For some reason, even though I've gotten jaded over the years, I'm basically wired to seek happiness. To look to the positive. I do not exist in a state of permanent denial (though I think if we don't all exercise a certain amount of denial we'll never be able to get out of bed in the morning). There's shit to be mad about, and sad about, and some of it is in my control but most of it is not. So I guess I have to exercise my option to create, to tailor the world I live in to be the world I want to live in, that I want for my loved ones, especially my child. If there's the bottom line, it's that.

 Just needed to get that off my chest. As you were.

The. Best.

It's happening: my kid's getting smart. Not by other-kid standards, I don't even want to know about that and make it a point not to compare. I simply mean that he's starting to connect mental dots, figure things out, and to witness this is blowing my mind. It started a couple of weeks ago when he first noticed that many of his books are inscribed by the person who gave them to him. He'd run his fingers over the writing, mesmerized, trying to figure out what was going on there. Then he started pointing to the printed words in his picture books while saying, "Doo doo do. Do do doo." That's how he reads to us, apparently. Now he does this thing where he'll hold up one of his plastic animals and point to a piece of paper, so we can write down the animal's name. He'll point to the word and make an animal sound. Never mind that the sound almost never matches up with the word he's pointing to, he's demonstrating an awareness of what letters and words mean. That reading is something. Holy hell, why didn't anyone tell me how thrilling this Mama business could be? It was one thing when he figured out how to sit up, or say my name but this... this is a whole new level.

This latest discovery is about the most magical thing in my life right now, including Downton Abbey (but come on, even though you just knew Matthew and William were going to emerge at the talent show didn't it give you the crazy goosebumps anyway? And is Anna not the greatest human being? That show owns me). But really.

That reminds me of a vow I've been meaning to make to HR since he was born:

Dear HR, as long as you are under my care I promise to never censor or restrict your reading. As long as you read, I don't care what it is. I may try to encourage you to read things that don't interest you, and I may read whatever you're reading first or alongside so we can talk about it if your choice is particularly concerning, but as long as you're reading, that's good enough for me. There are a million things in print that are disturbing or scary or I worry about you being exposed to, but just because you read them doesn't mean you'll take them to heart. Information is good. Communication is good. Please love books forever. Love, Mama

 Or, if you're reading this now,

Doo do doo. Do do doo doo. Baa baa. Ah-ya-ya, Mama

They're Just Like Us!

Clarification from yesterday: HR has been able to say two- and three-word phrases for a long time, ("Bye, doo-doo!" "I did it!", etc.) but the breakthrough yesterday was that he constructed the sentences himself and wasn't repeating. Subtle difference, but I just didn't want to appear to contradict things I might have written in the past.

So last might Mike and I made a nice dinner and some Rob Roys and watched Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory because we are super romantic like that. My fascination with the West Memphis 3 goes all the way back to the original airing of the first installment. I was still in college at the time but I went home for the weekend, taking advantage of the comforts of my parents' home, which included HBO. I remember going to my brother's little league game and coming home and watching that first documentary and it upset me so much I couldn't sleep for a long time. It disturbed me deeply, not just because it was pretty clear that justice was not being served but because someone killed three little boys--as if that's not terrifying enough on its own--but that person apparently got away with it, that person lived in the world and could do it again. It really messed with my head. Somewhere along the line I caught up with the middle installment, and I don't remember it at all. But the finale took a big chunk out of my soul, way more than the other two films, and I can tell you why: it's because between viewings I went and had a kid.

I do not mean to say that if you don't have kids you can't be horrified by what happened, not at all. I only mean that when you have your own kid, everything immediately and intensely becomes about that kid. You can't help but project. I can't even imagine going through what those parents went through--including the parents of the three young men who served 18 unjust years--and I can't even let my mind go to the boys and how they must have been feeling when they were killed, what must have happened. There is actual crime scene footage, you get to see those little stiff bodies. At first I was like, "Oh, it's a re-enactment. Those are mannequins." Would that I had retained that impression. I recommend the doc like crazy, I think it's an important piece of work about a very shady piece of American history, but it helps to know what you're getting into, whether or not you are a parent. And if you fancy a stiff drink, you might need a couple before you can fathom going to bed. And let's just say that I've never been grateful for a nighttime wake-up before, not until last night. HR was psyched because he got to cuddle in the big bed, but Mama and Daddy got the real benefit. How lucky we are just to get to hold him close, whenever we want. Obviously I've been stressing about our sleep woes, but after that viewing I think I've glimpsed the very definition of "don't sweat the small stuff."

To lighten waaaaay up, here's a song I'm loving, though I think it's a stretch for Snoop to be identifying as young anymore. I've had a soft spot for him since I saw an episode of Cribs where he doted on his kids and also ran a vacuum like he probably did every day. The he went down to his crazy posh recording studio. The point is I am a sucker for glimpses of humanity in famous people, however fleeting. And this song is fun and I kind of dig Wiz Khalifa.

Two Songs for Two Words

I'm not going to go dark today. I in no way support SOPA or PIPA - are you kidding me? If that mess goes through I'm all done here. And more importantly, intellectual freedom--which includes broadcasting plain ol' dumbness--loses. And I don't like losing. I get that from my Memere.

So I'm writing to my representatives and doing what I can to make sure this travesty doesn't go through. Not because the world needs my daily parental word-barf and charmingly horrible musical selections. But because it doesn't need thought police operating under the guise of protection.

FUCK. THAT.

And yeah, I also wouldn't be able to express myself though the medium of someone else's copyrighted (and fully attributed) brilliance. And that just makes me sad. So if you want to keep seeing just how crazy I can get with my song links, I suggest you start clickity-clacking as well. The amazing folks at Wikipedia make it easy to do right here.



HA! When I think of terrible music, why does my mind always immediately go to Bread? And man, just think of how sucky your day would be if you couldn't marvel at my capability to reach such lows? Right?

Apologies for burying the lede as it were, but this morning HR lobbed another milestone marker at us: a two-word sentence. I know, big whoop, other babies younger than him have been doing it forever. But he never has. And when we were playing around with stickers, putting them on different body parts, and he said, "Daddy knee." And, "Mama knee." Frankly I'd never heard him say "knee" before, even though he knows what they are. So it was an exciting morning in Casa Joyberry.

Now here's an actual good song, to reward you for sticking around. If you did.

OH MY GOD Levon Helm was such a sex machine.

Not To Be Confused With "the Horn"

Terrific long weekend, lots and lots of cuddling time and chilling out. And now for a three day week in the office... I could get used to this. I'm once again suspending all talk of sleep because I'm starting to get the hump* about it and it's basically out of my control so I'm not going to feed into my obsession by writing about it. Rinse, repeat. Our boy is healthy and happy and a joy in so many ways, I just have to keep focusing on that and not get caught up in the things he's not doing.

Strange development I have to write about though: HR is now afraid of half of our living room for some reason. Our main floor is basically one big room, but our sectional sofa is set up so it feels like two. The biggest part of open space is basically his playroom, but the other half, where the TV and coffee table live, is home to plenty more toys and books and he's always moved freely back and forth. Up until the past couple of days, that is, when anything past the arm of the couch was suddenly hot lava. He won't pass the imaginary line on his own, no-how, and will only consent to being carried in with extreme diversionary tactics. I'm not sure what is spooking him, maybe something he saw on TV? But it's very mysterious and sudden and all I want to do is be able to fix it. It's times like these that I really wish he were more of a talker, because if he could verbalize his fear, maybe we could make it go away. Whatever, kids are weird. And if there's one thing I embrace, it's weirdness. We're not forcing him, and I'm sure we'll get it sorted out, hopefully before the next thing.



*Do only Louise Rennison devotees understand what this means?

Lies Like a Rug

I'm all jacked up on endorphins and caffeine, and I'm feeling so good I've decided it's ok to break the promise I made like two days ago and talk about sleep. I am an untrustworthy narrator, get used to it.

It only took two nights of concerted effort, and HR is back to putting himself down peacefully at bedtime. EXCELSIOR. He's still not sleeping all the way through the night, please, but he's sleeping a lot longer before his first official wake-up and I am in no position to complain. It's funny how when we first got him "trained" he used to regularly sleep all the way through until 5, and in my brain that wasn't even good enough at the time. Then everything went haywire and I was begging him to stay down until even midnight. Ah, lowered expectations: the key to true happiness. Kids are geniuses at getting you to operate under barely-survivable conditions and think it's perfectly OK. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, whatever, we're all getting sleep, we're all good.

As of this morning I left my tiny captor having a staring contest with his daddy and it's nasty out but we don't have any snow to shovel and after tomorrow it's a long weekend and I hope that everyone will have but a moment of joy and appreciation this deep and satisfying before the day is over.

WWJBD

I'm all over the place today, trying to channel... something. Anything that will make me feel accomplished and useful beyond my workaday chores. Not that my work-work isn't fulfilling, but it doesn't allow for a lot of creativity and I find, especially at this time of year, that I have a raging need to tap into that side of myself. So I'm employing my most tried and true tactic, a little game I like to call, "What Would Judy Blume Do?" Of course there are only two correct answers to this, that apply in any situation, and they are 1) WRITE, and, 2) be awesome.

Here's to a day of writing and being awesome.

To Everything, A Season

Ah, great weekend, it flew by as usual. I had an excellent time chilling with my family, chowing down and being loud, like we do. Saturday night after our afternoon of buffet-style delicacies, present exchanging and a cocktail or two, Mike and I got to go out to a bar with my siblings and cousins and my parents dealt with my not-so-easygoing baby when he woke up and found I wasn't there. They were all fine, and I was thankful to have a couple of hours of solid, carefree adult time.

Now that the book is officially OFFICIALLY closed on the holidays, it's kind of nice. As blue as I can get when the season's over, I'm ready now to be on civilian time. Not to mention if HR gets one more toy our house might explode. Save for the odd offended donor that hasn't yet received his tax letter, work's rather agreeable. At home, calm and routine are the order of the day, and the ideal conditions are set for getting the boy to sleep reasonably well. We're actually off to an OK start in that respect, even though bedtime last night was rough on both of us. I got him to put himself to sleep, but it was not my preferred method (me staying in the room with him wasn't helping at all so I let him howl it out alone for the 15 minutes until he finally crashed. What would I do without my blessed video monitor?). I was secretly pleased when he woke up an hour later and I got to rock him back to sleep, as if I could make up for abandoning him earlier. From past experience, it should be less difficult by the night now that we've got that first one overwith, but for that reason, I'll be glad when the next few days are past.

I really don't want to write about sleep any more. Ever, actually, but realistically at least not for the next few days. No matter what happens, I promise I just won't bring it up. 

The new year is really in swing, and here are some things I'm especially psyched about right now:

-Season 2 of Downton Abbey, and the return of 30 Rock and Portlandia

-Finding my serious groove, treadmill-wise

-Increasingly longer days

-The first great-great grandchild on my Dad's side being born in a couple of months

-Impromptu get-aways and celebrations popping up

-And as always, every expected and unforseen development that comes with life with our busy, charming curly-topped dude. He really is my top reason to be psyched, every moment of every day.

All This Sleep Talk Could Put You To Sleep

This latest bout of sleep regression is really kicking my ass. We had a decent night last night, if you consider having the baby in our bed from 11 p.m. with only one wake-up at 4 a.m. to be decent. These days, I do. I know HR's not 100% right now which means any sleep related efforts will only cause us all frustration with no progress, and he's been carted around and had his routine messed with since Thanksgiving... which is about when everything began its descent into madness. So after this weekend, once the family has cleared out and the boy is feeling reasonably well, we're going to have to go back to sleep training. Round 3, mothafuckas. My kid needs to remember that he knows how to put himself to sleep which, even when he returned to night wakings awhile back, he was at least doing this like a champ until the week before Christmas. He's mastered bedtime before, he can do it again.

Glad we had this pep talk. Anyway, other than that I'm looking at a really fun weekend and having my family in is worth any additional baby sleep woes. It truly is. Plus I get to go out--like OUT out--while my parents take over the night watch on Saturday and that's something that should prove to be good for all of us and our collective mental health. 

After awhile in this state you start to assume that most of the world is like you, seeing through the eyes of extreme sleep deprivation. Like, how else could this have been made if all parties weren't hallucinating a little bit? Drugs or crazy toddlers, same effect. To me it shows you have to be a little off, in some way, to make true art.

Sleepblogging

I never talked about my New Year's did I? It was low-key, but lovely. For the past two years we've had a "supper club reunion", which means getting together with members of our old supper club. That sounds more formal than it actually is. We and three other couples used to take turns hosting themed dinners once a month, and these gatherings were always great times. The food and company were top notch, and the party would always rage into the night. Then babies kept coming  and two of the four couples moved out of state and we realized New Year's was pretty much our shot to relive old times. This year there were two more babies than last year, bringing us to a total of 6 kids under age 4. And my boy decided to wake up at 11:30 and not go back to sleep, so he's the only one who got a midnight kiss from me. But we did have a stellar dinner and it was great to be back with everyone.

Last night was one of the worst nights we've had in our house since HR hit the magical four-month mark, and the snot-faucet that replaced his nose this morning might explain why. I'm pretty sure he caught a cold from one of the New Year's revelers (not saying which), but if he didn't get it there, he would have gotten it elsewhere. We made it this far into the winter without one, so I count us as lucky. And oh poor me getting to escape to the office while Mike is housebound with an under-the-weather boyo. Here's hoping it's mostly out of his system before this weekend's scheduled get-together.

Movie note: I'm only about five years behind the curve on this one, so I guess that's ahead of my own curve, but I've been really into "mumblecore" movies these days. It's curious to me, my attraction to these films, because though they are written with wit and realism, they're not particularly funny. And the verisimilitude in regard to human relationships is spot on as to make me super uncomfortable. So much miscommunication and awkwardness, eee. I don't even think I really like them, but I'm drawn to them. My outsize crush on Mark Duplass might have a lot to do with this infatuation, but he's not even in all the titles. So, anyway, if you identify as a mumblecore enthusiast, wherefore? I need to understand myself, maybe you can help me.

Off now to make up for last night's lack of rest with lots of caffeine-y goodness.

Third Day, First Month

I haven't been 100% honest about my rekindled verve for exercise. Yes, I do love a good run and the commitment to logging miles and eating well is made with the overarching intention to be in good health for my own sake and for that of my family. But for the short term, I'm working out pretty much solely so I can wear a bikini when we go to Mexico in December. I don't care what I weigh, just how well I can work it in two-piece. Oh, and I mean to have a different bikini for every day we're there. I'm doing it big. It's the shallowest, girliest goal I've ever set for myself, and probably the most delightful one since a few years back when I added "learn how enjoy whiskey" to my life to-do list. I think it's important to set at least one goal per year that's purely fun - it's a way of being kind to yourself. If it's all work, what's the point? That's a personal theme, of sorts.

Anyway. It felt good to get that off my chest. I know myself, and I realize beyond the shadow of a doubt that I'm deflecting the far heavier subject of my beloved grandfather passing away, which happened four years ago today. It's also the 21st birthday of my awesome cousin and goddaughter, and it only makes me feel a little (lot) old that she's hitting this milestone when I was, let's say, "mature" enough to be in the room when she came into the world on this day over two decades ago.

Life, what a crazy ride.

This song is pretty old, but then again so am I. Love it.

Mas. Por Favor.

Like I said, I don't make resolutions. But I do get caught up in the newness of the year, the promise, and it inspires me to get excited about things. So here's a list of... more things. Because there are things I'm already doing that I want to make a point to do more in 2012 and beyond.

-Drink more champagne. This one occurred to me on New Year's Eve. I love champagne, but I rarely drink it, outside of super special occasions. So, MORE.

-More running. Mike and I are having quite the honeymoon period with the new treadmill, and I think I'm just now reclaiming my stride on it. I'm in no way planning to be the psycho I used to be in my before-baby life, my life now and clamoring mama's boy don't allow for more than 30 minutes at a time as it is, but if I can keep up with an average of four runs per week, I'll be feeling just right.

-More writing! Not just quantity wise, but in terms of content. I need to put in the time to write more thoughtful entries that aren't just dashed off "watch this space" boringness. I feel like real writing has been especially lacking here. More commitment to the work-in-progress, of course, for heaven's sake. But in general just more. No excuses.

-More grown-up friend time. Both combined parent-and-kid dates and actually-get-a-babysitter dates. Friendships don't tend themselves, and I know this, but I've let myself get caught up in the every-dayness of the every day. This goes for my marriage as well, especially since he's a stay-at-home dad, it's easy to take my husband for granted and though I know he knows I love and appreciate him, I need to make sure he's more of a priority. It's just a good idea in general.

-More taking advantage of what's available to me. We're pretty great at being city dwellers, but we've been members of the Museum of Fine Arts for years, and we get there, like, once a year if we're lucky? So more. More exploring and visiting and trying out the neighborhood Zumba class and hitting up this restaurant and taking HR to mommy and me yoga when he turns two. Oh christ, this year he turns two. Which brings me to...

-More relaxed, go-with-the-flow living with this dude.

It's not like I'm ever going to stop obsessing about my child in one way or another, but I realize his babyhood is almost all used up and if I'm spending more energy worrying about this or that little thing (like, remember how crazed I was about breastfeeding and that's already been over for nearly a year?), I'm going to look back and realize I forgot to enjoy it. That would be egregious. So now that we're feeling like maybe we've got the hang of the basics of parenting, it's time to really savor the piece of work he's become.

MORE is my philosophy, my rally cry for 2012. Do YOU want more?