Conversations With Myself

Week 2

2012-01-21T21:29:00.001-08:00

Okay, so I've slacked on the updates but the Great Leopard experiment continues. I kicked off week 2 with a bang in this newly acquired leopard sweater.

I took the kids to the newly reopened Natural History Museum with a friend and her 3 little kids. The kids loved it and we laughed to ourselves when, while viewing the coyote display, my friend's daughter was so excited because there were bunnies AND coyotes in the same diorama; she proclaimed, "Look, Mommy! The coyote has a bunny in its mouth. How cute!"Ah, childhood naïveté. Why spoil her excitement with a lesson in harsh reality? We immediately moved on to the more inviting raccoon display.The best part of the day personally was that since it was the MLK holiday and Kiko was home from work, I was able to sneak in a Cardio Barre class. Man, I am out of shape, but it still felt amazing to have an hour to myself and to get a great workout in. I like to think the sweater helped motivate me to workout. Day 9 was a zebra underwear day, and day 10 I kicked it up a notch with some kick-ass leopard boots I forgot were in my closet.

These were some hand-me-downs from my mom and help me put an extra spring in my step. When you live in the city, you can't take yourself too seriously when you're wearing leopard boots.Days 11 & 12 were animal underwear days...- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Days 5, 6 & 7

2012-01-14T18:38:00.001-08:00

These last three days, I've taken the easy way out with my animal attire. Two days in a row I wore a thin leopard print headband from J. Crew, but I only wore it while running errands because when I wear headbands for too long, I get a headache. I also realize that leopard headbands (or any animal-print-accessories) seem to demand that the rest of my outfit be plain, which can get a little boring.

I am hoping to spice things up next week and branch out from my headband rut. I did discover that I have more animal-print underwear then I realized, so this may be my go-to clothing item for the next few weeks. When I have animal undies on, I can wear anything from a dress to workout clothes over them, and they are a nice, personal reminder to be fierce and fabulous, if only in my head.

Day 4

2012-01-12T15:07:00.000-08:00

Wednesday I wore animal print underwear again...I forgot to take a picture of them before I put them on, and as a matter of principle, won't take a picture of them after taking them off, so you'll have to use your imagination. (Note - most of my readers are female so this is not meant to be exciting.)

They were black and white zebra undies with hot pink lace trim. Totally classy.

Nothing notable happened while wearing them, but it was day 3 of preschool for my son. He cried again at drop-off, but he seems very happy when I pick him up 3 hours later so we'll continue on with his preschool education...for now.

I was also able to get a little work done on an outline for a new script I'm writing, so that's 1 point for zebra undies.

Day 3

2012-01-10T22:10:00.001-08:00

Today, my leopard item was

underwear. I only felt fierce and sexy in them for about 15 seconds when I was putting them on. The rest of the day I forgot I about them. I did not remember them when I was at the playground, or when the baby was spitting up all over the new shirt my mother gave me for my birthday. Oh well...maybe I need to wear visible leopard or there is no point.I was also thinking I should take a gander at the Kardashians' clothing line at Sears. I am sure there are some quality animal print items in that collection, right?- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Animal Print Experiment - Day 2

2012-01-09T17:12:00.000-08:00

Today I wore some lady-like bejeweled Tory Burch leopard flats. Who doesn't love a little blinged-out leopard every now and then? Actually, I bought them in Vegas so at the time, they seemed subdued.

These shoes don't really make me feel ferocious, especially because I usually just wear them with jeans and a white t-shirt. And after a while they hurt my feet, which in my mind, totally defeats the purpose of wearing flats. If my feet are going to hurt, I might as well wear high heels.

But today, after dropping Joaquin off at pre-school someone cut me off and turned left in front of me, nearly causing an accident, and so I flipped them off. Yes, I gave this a-hole the finger while honking at the same time. And it felt kind of good. Maybe being an angry driver is not a positive thing to come out of this experiment, but at least I tried to unleash something on that jack-ass behind the wheel.

It was certainly some un-lady like behavior for some very lady-like shoes...

Leopard Lady - Day 1

2012-01-08T21:45:00.001-08:00

(originally drafted 1/8/12)

Today is my 33rd birthday and I feel compelled to challenge myself to do something crazy. No, I am not going to jump out of a plane or get a tattoo or anything really bold like that. But I thought it would be fun for the next 33 days to try to work some type of animal-print accessory into my wardrobe each day, whether it's underwear, a hair clip, or a sweater, etc., I am going to force myself to get in touch with my inner "animal" each day.

The thought occurred to me while my husband and I were having a much-needed date night last night for my birthday. I was so excited to be able to fully focus on him and engage in some adult conversation, since most of our days and nights are spent talking about our newborn and 2 year old. I was also excited to put on a non-nursing top and high heels. The heels I chose were leopard calf hair high heel. The rest of my outfit was understated - black skinny jeans, a white silk top and a red coat. But the shoes were hot. I don't think Kiko noticed them, but I didn't care. I noticed and they made me feel powerful. This morning we woke up at my parents' house, and I dressed in a leopard print sweater I've had for years. Coincidentally, I'd packed 2 leopard print items for the weekend without putting much thought into it and I thought about how the sweater made me feel... Since becoming a mom, like most moms and other busy women alike, I am terrible about making time for myself. My days and nights are spent changing diapers and practicing the ABCs, breastfeeding and racing Lightning McQueen, kissing my kids' boo boos instead of my husband. It's hard not to loose track of the person you were pre-kids, but with a little effort and a lot of animal print, I think I can remind myself daily that I am a lot of other things besides some one's mom...for some reason that sweater made me feel cute, care-free, stylish and a little silly, words I would not typically use to describe my "mom" wardrobe.

So here's my challenge for myself: Wear something animal print each day for the next 33 days...as a reminder to be fearless and strong everyday, and also not to take myself too seriously. Please note, I am not Snooki and I definitely won't do Jersey Shore or "Married to the Mob" Michelle Pfeifer-type leopard, but I think I have enough "classy" animal print accessories to get me through at least a week without repeating my attire. I am woman, here me ROAR......

;)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Waiting is the Hardest Part?

2011-10-31T10:23:00.001-07:00

Joaquin was born on 11/6/09, which was 12 days before his estimated due date (11/18/09). I was just over 38 weeks pregnant, and I went into pre-labor on a Wednesday.

Tuesday was my last official day in the office and we were having network testing for a pilot called THE QUICKENING. The actors testing for the lead roles were all a little thrown to see a very pregnant woman sitting in the room with them and I think many worried I would go into labor during their auditions. Fortunately, or unfortunately, no one's performance was earth-shattering enough that it brought on labor, but we did find people to cast.

The next day I had a meeting in the morning with one of the actors from THE CLEANER, the Benjamin Bratt show I worked on that only went two seasons on A&E. We met at one of my favorite places, The Alcove in Los Feliz, because I'd be working from home that day and wanted to stay on the east side. He had some show ideas he wanted to pitch me so so it made sense to take the meeting on that side of town.

Then I went downtown to meet Kiko for lunch. All the while, I was having contractions, but nothing major. They ranged from being normal Braxton Hicks to being mildly uncomfortable. Still, as a first time mom, I felt like labor was imminent.

That evening, I passed my mucus plug. Yuck! I wasn't prepared for that and freaked out a little when I saw it. Fortunately, our house keeper, Jorgelina was home, and she (a mom to 2 kids herself) reassured me that everything was normal. Now, I was convinced the baby was coming any minute and Kiko needed to get home. (I am strategically leaving out more details of this story for gross-ness purposes...)

That night, we went to bed, feeling anxious and excited, only for me to wake up just before midnight with more consistent contractions. These were the real things, I just new it, so we started timing them. They were ranging from coming between 4 and 7 minutes apart (strange for these early contractions, I know now) and NOW I really knew, the baby was on his way. We remembered from our birthing class that we should try to do something to distract myself in the early stages, so as not to run through our bag of tricks too fast. We watched FATHER OF THE BRIDE 2 on the TV and Kiko eventually feel asleep, but I stayed up all night, not able to ignore the excitement that our baby would soon be here.

At 6 am I called the doctor, who told me I could either come to the hospital to get checked or just wait till my 10 am appointment. I decided to try to wait it out for the office appointment, which gave me more time to clean the house and take care of last minute things. We went on a mad cleaning spree, because my brother and sister-in-law would be coming over to stay with the dogs over night. I needed the sheets to be cleaned, the floors had to be mopped and vacuumed. It was a sudden obsession. We left the house, saying a dramatic goodbye to the dogs and telling them "next time we see you, we'll have a new baby with us." Hospital bags in toe, we left the house.

Well, we were wrong. At the doctor, I was barely 2 cm dilated and she sent me home. I was so disappointed and also completely exhausted. She urged me to rest, which of course was impossible. I waited out the day at home with Kiko, trying to get stuff done and trying to relax, all the while feeling discouraged about when the baby would finally come. How will I know when it's the real thing?

That night, we kept our plans to take Matt & El to see a live taping of the NPR show "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me," mainly because our doula urged us to stay busy and keep my mind off things. We had dinner at Islands and I enjoyed a chocolate milkshake. My brother teased that we needed to call the radio show "Wait Wait, Don't Have Me," since I was having contractions throughout the performance. I think there was a part of me that truly believed Peter Sagal would be delivering my child. It didn't happen.

We went home after a fun night, and Kiko immediately passed out in the bed, exhausted from our "false alarms" the night before...I knew sleep was what I needed, too. If only I could force myself to fall asleep...

I lay on the couch, listening to my Hypno-birth tracks on my ipod, trying to relax and get in the zone, and the contractions kept coming.

Eventually, I started to cry, mainly because of exhaustion, but also because the intensity of the pressure started to really pick up. Not wanting to wake up Kiko, I kept to myself, but the tears kept coming. Eventually, I didn't know what to do and I worried that if I told him "this was it," he would not believe me after our previous experiences....I cried louder, convinced he would have to hear me and he would come to the den to rescue me. No dice.

I slowly walked into our room, leaned over the bed, and called "Kiko, Kiko..." He finally awoke, and rallied quickly to be an amazing support system, and yes, this was the real thing...

A little after midnight, our back-up doula, Joni, arrived at the house. We had never met until that night, but she assured me after going through one contraction together, we'd be like sisters...She wasn't wrong.
(Our original doula and my dear friend, Amy, contracted the swine flu and wasn't able to come near me or within a mile of the hospital, so she hooked us up with Joni.) I was initially skeptical of meeting someone new at this intimate moment in our lives, but Kiko texted her and insisted we get the help. I am so glad she was there.

We labored at home until about 8:00 am, at which time we all felt my contractions were coming fast enough that we could go to the hospital...well, it wasn't until about 5:40 that evening that Joaquin Porter Ochoa was born, so after about 19 hours of active labor, we had our little miracle.

Some day I'll write about the rest of the birth story, but for now what I am fixated on is this waiting...this pre-labor that can last weeks, days, or hours, depending on the individual. I find myself clinging to my experience with Joaquin's birth, replaying the events in my mind like a broken record, trying to remember the magnitude of every early contraction and all the other things my body was doing in preparation for his birth.

I reflect back to this because it is what I know, and there are so many unknowns in childbirth. My rational mind is trying to tell a logical pattern I can follow to help me know how this next birth is going to go. The thing is this - every birth is different and every baby is different. Though I had one type of experience with Joaquin, this one with #2 is already unique and different and I am realizing that no matter how much I try to get ahead of what my body is doing and to guess when she's going to come, it's really not up to me. Other than trying every natural way to induce labor I have read about, I have to realize that all I can do is be patient and wait...

She will come when she is ready and I need to be ready and rested whenever she (and my body and the other pregnancy gods) decide it's time.

In the meantime, it's so hard to just chill and go about with my life. I feel like at any moment, my water will break and it will be a mad dash to the hospital. But that's not the case. Though I am excited and anxious, I know patience is what I need to practice. Besides, today is Halloween, and I am determined to go trick-or-treating with Joaquin. In fact, I'd be heart broken if I had to miss out on it so now I am pleading with her to stay inside just a little longer...

Our plan was to take Joaquin to Disneyland for trick-or-treating one of these nights the past few weeks, but we just couldn't bring ourselves to pay the additional money it cost for the extra Halloween event...

So today we will wait...and we will do our Halloween thing with the soon-to-be big brother, and what will be his last Halloween as an only child...

Now if I can only learn to relax and enjoy this pre-baby time and realize that being pregnant at this stage is still probably easier than having a newborn.

Amen to that! Happy Halloween. Wishing everyone lots of treats...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

A Day at the Beach

2011-10-18T07:39:00.000-07:00

One of the many reasons I love living in Southern California is the ability to access the beach or mountains with a relatively short car trip. Last week, Joaquin, his auntie and I ventured to Santa Monica for a day of fun in the sun.

The weather was perfect, not too hot and not too overcast, and I had to keep reminding myself that it is mid-October and we are at the beach. Awesome!

I realized that Joaquin hasn't seen real waves since he was a smaller baby, so at first, the waves really startled him. If I would start to walk into the water, he would scream from the shore "Be careful, Mama!" or "Don't fall!" But by the end of our time there, he was gleefully cheering "I want to see more BIG waves!" Our other beach trips to Orange Beach, Alabama, Hawaii, and Marina del Rey all had calm, still tides so the crashing waves were a new thing to him.

Hopefully, we can squeeze in a few more fall beach days before baby sister arrives...

Dear California,

2011-09-23T03:37:00.000-07:00

I am realizing now that I am home, I have left you all in suspense, wondering what I am doing with my daily life...Okay, that's probably not really true, but one thing I've been doing is counting my blessings that I live in California.

Since arriving back here almost 2 weeks ago, I have felt like I am in a state of euphoria. Sure, our state might be going broke, we might have earthquakes from time to time, and some undesirable air-quality in Los Angeles, but I'll take my poor, shaking, polluted-haze of a life in Southern California to that of anywhere else in the country. Everything just seems more beautiful since being back. Even the strip malls seem pristine and nice, compared to their Southern counterparts I visited in Alabama. The weather is gorgeous; Joaquin and I love being able to go outside once again without feeling like we are in a sweat house. Taking the dogs for walks, which was just part of our normal routine before leaving, now feels like a huge luxury, and even the Pasadena heat does not feel that bad compared to what we came from in Alabama.

Before I left, I questioned whether our small-ish house was ready to welcome another resident once the baby comes, and after living in our shoebox apartment in Montgomery, I feel like our house is Buckingham Palace...it feels huge. Okay, so the closets are still a little cramped, but all in all, it's nice to have some breathing room and it feels wonderful to be home.

I've been on a nesting craze trying to get ready for the baby girl's imminent arrival. We are setting up a playroom for Joaquin (and his future sister) in the detached office, and that is turning out to be a bigger project that I'd originally envisioned. We are also getting a new couch for our living room, so we will have a comfortable place to receive guests once the little one arrives. I think because I am not doing a full nursery this time around (the kids will share a room) I am transferring my nesting instincts to the rest of the house, unfortunately for our budget and my husband...

There is some sort of magical gratitude and newfound appreciation for home that overcomes you when you are traveling. I've experienced it while touring Europe and other countries, on trips when I've been in magnificent places, and yet still home seems like a paradise. Mainly because it's home. It's familiar and it's yours. Our 5 weeks in Alabama ended up being a good experience --- I use the adjective good here, not because my thesaurus is out of reach and I can't come up with more a descriptive, less banal word, but actually because it seems the only way to describe it. It wasn't great, terrible, life-changing, monumental, inspirational, miserable, fabulous, or anything else...It had its special times, and it had its "why me" times, but all in all, the positive outweighed the negative, leaving me satisfied with my label of "good." One other wife whom I became close with, and also struggled at times with their temporary situation, said of being a military-spouse (her husband is former full time Active duty) and of living in Montgomery, "Well, it certainly will make us stronger."

In some poetic way, perhaps it did. I guess doing anything you really aren't choosing to do might make you stronger. I knew we'd make it through, and of course though dramatic adventures we did have, we did manage to have a lot of fun along the way. We were able to visit with relatives we seldom see in Memphis, which was terrific, AND we even met some new relatives for the first time, who of all places, live just outside of Montgomery. (I will post on this later, because this was a highlight of the trip.) The best part was the new friendships we made, and for those, I am extremely grateful. But in terms of me being a stronger person, if anything, it has strengthened my bond with California. Of course this is where our families live, and this is where I've always lived, but there is something about this state that just grounds me here and makes me feel like myself.

Being back in my own bed was one of the best feelings of all...and now it is 4:00 AM, and even though I cannot sleep, I know the cause of my insomnia is not my pokey mattress or my fear that ants are going to crawl on my face while I sleep...(Did I post about the ants in our apartment? Yes, we had 'em.) My insomnia rather comes from the overwhelming thoughts that I am to become a mother once again, that we haven't settled on a name yet for the baby, and other wandering ideas that come in and out of my head when I should be sleeping.

Still, I remain awake, blissfully happy to be back home, even if I will feel tired all day tomorrow, at least I know I will feel tired in California, and that's good enough for me.

Memphis

2011-09-06T05:14:00.000-07:00

It's Tuesday morning, and I once again am finding myself shockingly happy to be back in my Montgomery home.

After a truly wonderful weekend in Memphis with Kiko and Joaquin, where we visited with relatives, ate, saw the famous Peabody Ducks, ate, walked on Beale Street, ate some more, etc. I am feeling grateful we made it home safely and unharmed after driving through a treacherous storm last night. The drive home really made me miss my all-wheel-drive SUV that awaits us back in California, because that would have made us feel a lot safer driving through the storm last night. I can't keep track whether Alabama and Mississippi were getting remnants of Hurricane Katia, or if this was that tropical storm Leo effecting the Louisiana and other coastal regions, but whatever it was, there were downed trees, flooding, and accidents all along our 5 1/2 hour drive back to Montgomery from Memphis.

I am anxious to post pictures of our trip, because it was a really fun getaway. But for the moment, I am still shaking off the drive and really feeling happy we are safe and sound in our apartment. I dropped Kiko and Lt. Luongo off this morning at base around 6:30 and fortunately was able to get Joaquin back to sleep.

Back in Montgomery

2011-08-30T05:35:00.001-07:00

I never thought I'd be happy to be back in my "Montgomery home" again.
Sure, the floors are still grimy. Yes, we picked up an ant infestation in the bathroom and the kitchen while we were in DC due to a hidden Cheerio or two under the bathmat and one under the fridge. (Luckily, since Kiko beat me home, he got the ant problem MOSTLY under control before we came home.) And yes, there is still that faint smell of musty cigarettes. Now, not only does our TV not work properly, but the dish washer is broken and my bedside table lamp is out of order...however, in the midst of all of these less-than-ideal circumstances, we are back together as a family in our temporary Southern home and I feel I can breathe a sigh of relief.

I never thought I'd be so happy to be in that springy, uncomfortable bed again, but at least now I am next to my husband and more importantly, I made it safely out of DC with a healthy child....Though I actually had a wonderful time in DC, the last few days were rough because Joaquin had a fever of 102 for three days. Sometimes I wonder if I am the only mother that thinks her child is going to die every time he is sicker than the last. Normally, I am a fairly laid-back mom, but when he was sick this time, it was the first time he's been really lethargic and not showing signs of his normal, happy, inquisitive, chatty self. Add to this worry the fact that we are in someone else's home, imposing on their generosity, without a car, 3000 miles away from our pediatrician and everything familiar to us, and I was a basket case. The poor kid has been dragged from time-zone to time-zone, to new, unfamiliar place, to new, unfamiliar place and he has been a trouper!

Fortunately, we went to Laura's pediatrician who was amazing. If I ever move to DC, Dr. FInkelstein will certainly my doctor of choice for my kids. We waited 5 minutes in the waiting room before they took Joaquin and me in. Both Dr. FInkelstein and his nurses were patient, kind, and very talkative, asking us all sorts of questions about Joaquin, what we do, our time in DC, etc. Turns out, Joaquin just had a bad virus and not an ear infection or strep throat, like the doctor first wondered based on his symptoms.

And his last fever (knock on wood) was at 4:45 AM yesterday morning.

So though the beds in our DC hotel and Dan & Laura's were like beds in the Four Seasons, I wasn't getting much rest in them because I was worried about my little guy.

Even though he was ill, and operating on little sleep, Joaquin was still a fairly pleasant travel companion. Sure, there was the two temper tantrums. First, he was upset because he wanted to get on the airplane and wanted to hold his ticket, so he sat down in the walkway repeating "I want to get on airplane...I want to get on airplane...I want my ticket." I could feel the glares of other passengers like daggers through my spine, as they prayed they were not siting near me and my heathen child. Then came temper tantrum #2, when we were seated on the plane and I broke the news to him that he did not get his own seat and had to share with Mama. Luckily, both tantrums lasted about 45 seconds and he quickly recovered. The rest of the flight he was happy, and is slowly grasping the concept of having to turn off all electronic devices until the captain says it's okay to use them. I explained to him about the light above our seats reading "Turn off electronic devices," and how it's not possible to watch Go! Diego Go!, Handy Man, or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while these lights are on. (We have broken up with Dora, temporarily, after the Swiper incident.) He says to me, "Mama, turn off that light. I want to watch Diego!"
With every airplane he flies on, he's learning he can't always have what he wants when he wants it.

There is something about traveling that always makes you appreciate things getting back to "normal." And, quirky though this city is, I am enjoying my time in Montgomery and want to make the most of our less than 2 remaining weeks here. (Hooray for going to our REAL home in just a short time!)

I know this blog is like free therapy for me and to any of you who actually read it, thank you...I always feel better after I purge my latest adventures on this site and today I am feeling particularly grateful for a healthy baby and a reunited family unit. Oh, and minus our TBD Labor Day getaway, we only have 8 nights more here until we come home....) Cheers!

(pictured below is the charming house I stayed in while stranded in DC...Isn't it awesome? Though, not a great picture...) Thanks again, Dan, Laura, & Siena!

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Hurricane Irene

2011-08-28T20:08:00.001-07:00

We made it through hurricane Irene, er "tropical storm" Irene....Daddy had to leave us on Saturday night, just as the worst of the weather was coming into DC. Luckily, his whole JASOC class was able to get out on what was one of the last flights leaving DC that night.

Joaquin and I were supposed to leave later and had to connect in Charlotte, North Carolina. So not only did it not seem likely that our flights would not happen, but Joaquin woke up that morning with a fever, which persisted off and on all day Saturday, so the best option seemed for us to stay in DC until Monday and wait out the storm.

Fortunately, we have amazingly hospitable friends in Dan and Laura as Joaquin and I shacked up with them the last couple days. The stranded hurricane house-guests took refuge in Colonial Heights. And throughout the storm, their house never lost power, so we all felt very lucky, as just a block away, houses were dark and streetlights were out. I don't know what we would have done without their kindness and I am truly grateful for their warmth and friendship.

Tomorrow, we venture back to Montgomery to spend time with Kiko while he finishes his last two weeks of JAG school, then it's back to California to get ready for baby número dos and to resume our routine. Hooray! Among other things, I miss our dogs so much it hurts...

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Joaquin & Siena

2011-08-26T07:15:00.001-07:00

Joaquin giving Siena a ride in her doll stroller. By the look on his face, he takes this task very seriously.

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Joaquin Showing his Teeth

2011-08-26T07:03:00.001-07:00

This photo is taken from our favorite lunch spot in Montgomery. It's actually in Old Town Cloverdale, and it's called Filet and Vine. It's a bottle shop, butcher shop, and deli, and everything we've tried has been delicious.

We realize Joaquin often looks really serious when we take his picture, even though in general he is a smiley little boy, so I thought I'd share this shot.

Other notable things about Joaquin right now, at 21 1/2 months, are:

-He can count to ten, but he always skips 4, 5, 6, 7 & 8. So it sounds like "one, two, free, (pause) eight, nine, ten!" He loves to jump in the pool, and always counts like this before he jumps into your arms.

-If he's walking in between two adults, he'll ask for one of each of their hands and say "I wanna woo," which in Joaquin translates to: Please pick me up and swing me, saying "woooo!" while you do it.

-He is obsessed with Thomas the Train. He has two Thomas trains with him, and one is "Thomas," the other is "another Thomas." The same goes for both of his Percy trains. He likes to have Kiko or me "be" one, and he hardly ever offers for us to "be" Thomas. Usually, it's "Mama, you want to be Dash? Wanna be Dash?"

-He likes markers, too. He always offers for Kiko or me to "be" brown or yellow. He is particularly fond of the purple and blue markers.

-He likes to stack all of his markers together so they make a marker sword.

-He loves all animals, particularly dogs, cats, horses, giraffes, and dinosaurs.

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things i am learning from traveling with a toddler

2011-08-26T06:49:00.001-07:00

saying "wee!" during take-off and landing makes flying more fun.

you can never have too much chocolate milk stashed inside your purse.

you also can never have too many napkins or shout wipes, because it is highly likely the over-abundance of chocolate milk will end up sprinkled on the outside of your purse, your shirt, or your pants.

there are a lot of kind people in the world; I learned this when a 250 pound retired Marine offered to let Joaquin put either his head or his feet in his lap while he (Joaquin, not the former Marine,) slept in my lap on the airplane. he obviously was a dad and empathized; either way, i appreciated the gesture.

it can be emotionally unsettling to watch someone take your car seat or your suitcase away at check-in, but this sadness is quickly forgotten once you retrieve them at the baggage claim. i look at the baggage carousel with a whole new appreciation after seeing it through the easily impressed eyes of a toddler. it's like a choo choo made up of suitcases that goes around and around...

airplanes are easy to confuse with the Disneyland Monorail.

everyone, even a stranger, becomes a fair target to play Peek-a-Boo with when you're on a plane.

yelling "we're so high, we're so high!" when you reach cruising altitude is perfectly acceptable.

if you wear sandals all day during travel, including on your walk through a dirt path in the park, when you take your shoes off at night your toddler is likely to tell you, "Mama, you have poo on your feet!" I guess that was his way of telling me it'd been a long day and it was time for me to bathe.

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Adventures in Washington D.C.

2011-08-26T06:23:00.001-07:00

two californians arrived in washington, d.c. after getting up at 4:15 in the morning, riding on 2 airplanes, and almost losing our car seat at the airport, just in time for the biggest earthquake to hit DC in over 100 years!

our dear friend, laura, picked joaquin and me up at Dulles International airport with her precious 15 month old daughter, Siena. Siena and Joaquin haven't seen each other in quite some time, but Joaquin was sharing his new airplane toy with her in an instant and making eyes at her in the back seat.

joaquin also started calling Laura "Tia," which is what he calls his aunties on Kiko's side because "Tia" is aunt in Spanish. Laura is a dark haired beauty like his west coast tias, `but I am not sure if he was confusing her for his Tia Alana or Tia Livvie, or if he just felt like calling her Tia. Either way, Tia Laura it was and I think she was touched.

Laura drove us to her house, which is in a charming part of D.C. called "Colonial Village." The neighborhood is comprised of period 1930s homes, all with similar colonial architecture, and it's bordered by Rock Creek Park. I immediately fell in love with the neighborhood, and of course, Laura's hospitality made it hard not to feel relieved to be in someone's home after being in hotels and a seedy apartments for 3 weeks.

While we were feeding the kids lunch, all of a sudden the house started shaking and dishes rattled. (Now, Laura is also from California, and between the two of us California girls, you'd think we'd know what to do in an EARTHQUAKE! But we're in DC....there are no earthquakes in D.C.! Or so we both thought....)

We grabbed the kids from their chairs, then stood under one arched doorway then another, then she's like "let's go outside," which seemed like a great idea to me because this house was old...and likely has not been through many earthquakes like California structures.

As we scurried outside, her neighbors were all coming outside also, calling from their front porches, "Oh my god! Oh my god! Is this/was that an earthquake?"

Of course, then Joaquin, being the parrot-child that he is, starts saying "Oh my God! Oh my God!"

I tell him, "we're okay, we're okay," and then Siena starts crying, and Joaquin repeats "we're okay, we're okay." It was very sweet.

So we decide to move our lunch outside and have a picnic on her front lawn, just so we can be ready in case there's an aftershock. I am still not sure if going outside was our best move, but it made us feel a lot safer.

I am glad I arrived when I did, because apparently, traveling in and out of DC for the rest of the day was not easy. Kiko and the rest of his JAG crew got stuck in Atlanta as their plane was delayed, and public transportation and traffic in the greater DC area was a mess well until the evening.

I guess being from California, I felt like a somewhat seasoned earthquake veteran, even though it still got my heart racing and my blood pumping...

After the earthquake, we took a nice long walk through Laura's neighborhood. I enjoyed the architecture and also was amazed at how there is a woodsy park in the middle of Washington, D.C. Our capital city is pretty amazing! It was also wonderful to reintroduce Joaquin into being outside, since the weather in Montgomery has kept us more or less cooped indoors and near the A/C unit.

Side note - I am not the best on airplanes, but if there is anything to get me over my fear of flying, it was the idea of spending 5 days alone at our place in Montgomery, while Kiko traveled to DC with his JAG classmates...I've never been so happy to get on a plane and go somewhere!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Second Trip to the Zoo

2011-08-22T12:22:00.000-07:00

Joaquin & Maddy enjoying their ice cream cones.
Joaquin asking me, "Mama, you want some ice ceam?" (No, that's not a typo. That's how he pronounces cream.)
A far-away shot of the baby bison at the zoo. These animals are amazing to look at. "So cute," says Joaquin.
And here is Joaquin with the baby Maddy loaned him. He was putting her to sleep by pressing her eye-lids closed. Good practice for baby sister!

Things I've Noticed in Montgomery

2011-08-22T05:24:00.000-07:00

-There are a lot of billboards for hunting conventions and gun shows.

-There is not a general sense of concern for the planet. If you take a reusable grocery sack to the Winn Dixie, they'll bag your groceries in plastic, then put your plastic bags inside your reusable bags, unless you stop them in time.

-At Wal-mart, the checkers put only one or two items in each plastic bag, unless you intervene.

-They love their fast food restaurants. Some new ones to me are: Sonic, Steak & Shake, (awesome milkshakes, actually), Hardee's (same as Carl's, Jr.), Checkers, Zaxby's Chicken.

-Just like checking your egg carton at the grocery store, check your ice cream carton before you bring it home because someone may have tasted it in the store. Seriously, this happened to us. We got home and our carton of Hagen Dazs Chocolate Chocolate Chip ice cream had been pre-sampled in the store. Gross!

-They call pants "breeches."

- They think L.A. Stands for Louisiana.

-Moms might take kids to the bathroom to tinkle. (This brings back specific memories of my southern mother not allowing me to say "pee" as a little girl. A lady never says "I have to go pee.") Good think we are teaching Joaquin to say "I need to take a leak." Wink, wink...

-There is a Waffle House at every freeway exit.

-People in general are very friendly and talkative. Whether it's the maintenance man at you apartment, the clerk at Dillard's, or the host at a restaurant, they like to know where you're from, how long you're staying, how old your baby is, etc. They also like to tell you about their new Ipod Nano, their next-door neighbor's dog, and the farm they used to own in Mississippi. They are very warm and friendly, unlike in LA, and it's endearing.

-People drive fast. Really fast. This might be because there is hardly ever traffic.

-They are not used to ethnic-sounding names. "Ochoa" really throws them off, and "Joaquin" might just get you a blank stare.

Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorer...

2011-08-18T13:18:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I am not even going to begin to touch on the controversial subject of toddlers and television, but let it be known, we let our 21 month old son watch TV. Now, it's certainly not a babysitter for him, but heck, the kid's been obsessed with Winnie-the-Pooh since he was 8-months old, and that obsession didn't just emerge from the books we read to him...although, we did read Winnie books to him quite often...

His latest TV infatuation is with Dora the Explorer. Okay, harmless enough, right? One of my friend's little girls, who's one very smart cookie with an extremely advanced vocabulary took a liking to Dora at an early age, so I figured what's the harm? She was identifying leather-backed turtles and jaguars by age 2, so something about this show must trigger even the youngest and hungriest of minds.

What I didn't expect was a new insecurity directly inspired from the show...If you're familiar with the program at all, you'll know that there is a pretty rigid formula for all episodes. One component of the show is that Swiper, the fox, "loves swiping," and often, will swipe whatever tool is necessary for Dora to complete her mission. Now, Swiper is not exactly evil, but he doesn't usually help Dora or Boots, her pet monkey, accomplish their goals.

All of a sudden, two nights ago, Joaquin became obsessed with the idea that Swiper is going to "swipe" his choo choos, his "B" (AKA blanket), or even worse, Mama! At nap time, he says, "Mama, Swiper going to get my choo choo trains?"

I assure him, "No, sweetie. Swiper is not going to get your choo choos."

Then he persists, "Mama, Swiper going to take Mama from me?"

It's both sweet and heartbreaking at the same time. How can I explain to him that it's just a show and that Swiper is not really bad? More importantly, he is way too young to understand the fourth wall. But all I want to do is not let him watch anymore for fear that the insecurity will get worse.

Is it because we are away from home, thus his insecurities are peaking because of unfamiliar surroundings? Or is it because he is really attached to certain things? I am no child-psychologist, but I definitely thought I had a few years before movies or TV started to scare him. Watch a horror film when you're older, or even a Harry Potter movie when you're 10, and then you and Mama can talk about being afraid...but now! Ack! What do I do?

(Of course, the worst idea I had was to play on his insecurities to get him to give up his pacifier. Since Kiko left for JASOC in July, he's been especially keen on his "paci." He even will ask for them by color, i.e. "Mama, I want my orange paci..peez!" It's the "please/peez" that puts me over the edge. We figure he'll outgrow it in time, but the thought did cross our minds...Would we be setting him up for a lifetime of insecurities if we told him "Swiper must have swiped all your pacis...." Ha, I think we'll opt out of that parenting trick for now, and just focus on making him comfortable with his boundaries with fictional characters.)

Alternative Housing Arrangements?

2011-08-15T14:25:00.000-07:00

Hooray for the weekend! When Friday night came, I felt a huge sigh of relief. Not only had we had a great day at the zoo, followed by a fun afternoon of swimming at the base pool, but now we had 48-hours of uninterrupted Daddy-time ahead of us. Woo hoo!

Friday night, we went out with 3 other couples to a local Italian/Greek place and had a great dinner, (except for the fact that my lasagna didn't arrive until everyone else was finished.) Fortunately, I filled up on salad and tzatziki and our waitress voluntarily took it off the bill.

Saturday morning, we had some errands to run, including stopping by the Air Force Inn to inquire about getting family housing on base. Here's a little taste of our exchange:

Kiko asks the woman at the desk, "Excuse me, ma'am? I was wondering if there is an TFL* available?" *Note, it might be TLF, I am still getting used to the military acronyms, but basically we were asking for temporary family living arrangements. If Kiko was full-time active duty, maybe I'd take the time to learn all the secret codes...

Her response was a terse, "no!"

So Kiko starts to walk away, when I said, "Wait a minute. Why don't you find out if there might be any openings any time in the next week or two."

Then he retreats back to the desk to ask my question, to which she responds: "I don't know. I know handle TFL so you'll have to check back on Monday when the person is here who deals with all of this."

So basically the "no" she originally gave wasn't really correct, but rather it was a "no" I am not going to help you so why don't you just mosey on out of my office...

Great. Nice to know the civilians employed by the Air Force are ready to go that extra mile for you.

Can I Live at the Montgomery Zoo?

2011-08-15T14:19:00.000-07:00

In my 8 days of being in Montgomery, my favorite place so far is the Montgomery Zoo. It's great, even as far as zoos go. Now, if you know me even slightly, you know that I love animals. But sometimes zoos give me the willies. Something about seeing all those animals in cages, with people gawking at them and yelling doesn't always sit right with me. But there are a few zoos that I love, including the Santa Barbara Zoo, and now the Montgomery Zoo.

It is clean, small, shaded, and the animals seem to have big places to roam around. Plus, did I mention it was shaded? It was the only time since I've been here I've actually been able to be outside 5 minutes without feeling like I was going to pass out from heat exhaustion. The pathways at the zoo are heavily wooded with trees, and they have misters throughout the park if you so choose to stand beneath them.

The best part was that Joaquin had a blast with his new friend, Maddy. Maddy will be 3 in October, and they became fast friends the first time they met at Saza, a restaurant in downtown Montgomery. Joaquin shared his Peter Pan figure with her, and since then, they are inseparable. He was especially impressed when I took her to the potty the other day and he saw she was wearing Dora the Explorer underwear. I don't think she could be much cooler in his eyes after learning who is on her skivvies. Thank goodness he's still in diapers, or I know what he'd be wanting me to buy on our next Target visit.

The pictures above show Maddy and Joaquin feeding the giraffes; I was amazed at how friendly and docile the giraffes were. The baby, Rafael, was especially cute. You can see his long, black tongue pictured above.

Now, if only our apartment made me as happy as the zoo did...

Day by day...

2011-08-13T20:13:00.000-07:00

Day by day, things are getting better in Montgomery.

On Friday, we had a play date at...Chick-Fil-A. Now, I am not sure about you, but I've never made plans where a Chick-Fil-A fast food restaurant, or "Mormon Chicken," as it is affectionately called by some of my friends, is the destination. It's usually a stopover en route to another destination. However, in Montgomery, AL, it is a destination in and of itself. This is mainly because it has an indoor playground with A/C, which is a rarity and a huge plus in the south.

I met two other JAG wives and their kids there and we had lunch, chatted, and watched the kids play, just as if we were at any park. Our trip was a success, and after three hours of play, 2 boxes of chicken nuggets, one fruit cup, one apple juice, and one chocolate shake, Joaquin and I left feeling exhausted. And it was the first day he actually took a nap close to his normal "Calif." nap time! Momma was able to get some writing in, and Joaquin , covered in the grime from his Chick-Fil-A playground romp, took a 2 1/2 hour nap. Hooray!

So all in all, our fast food play date was a success. And while it's not something I would like to make a habit of, when in Rome with a 21-month-old, you will do anything for some air-conditioning and a playground.

Maybe next week we'll try (gasp) McDonald's.

Sweet Home Alabama?

2011-08-11T05:25:00.000-07:00

Originally drafted in an email, 8/8/11.

Well, I am here. I am settling into my new "temporary" life as a military wife in Montgomery, Alabama. I reunited with my man Saturday night at the airport, just in time for his birthday on Sunday. The flight was surprisingly easy, and Joaquin had a great time on both flights...I stress JOAQUIN had a great time...Mama has a different song to sing. Being 6 months pregnant and traveling with a 21 month-old, with a bunch of carry on bags including a big camera and a laptop, does not rank at the top of my list of fun things to do. But at least he didn't throw up on me like he did on the flight to Hawaii.

The reunion with Kiko at the airport was wonderful and tear-filled, as Joaquin squealed with delight when he saw him. He then ran up to him and proudly said, "Daddy, I have money," showing him the quarter I'd given him earlier. If only a quarter will make him that happy in the years to come...

It was late so we pretty much just drove back to the apartment (more on this later) and went to bed...I was so happy to see him that the reality of our living conditions didn't really sink in until sometime later the next day.

His birthday was nice. He arranged for us to have lunch with some of the other couples so that I could meet some other JAG wives and not feel so alone. Then we came back to the apartment so he could finish an assignment and Joaquin could nap. It was during this time that I started to go into shock about where I was and what I was about to do...But, since it was Kiko's birthday, I bottled up my emotions and my longing to be home in our own house in Pasadena, and put on a happy face. We had a great dinner at a soul food restaurant named Mama Nem's...It was one of the only places open on Sunday. Apparently, in the south, most places are closed on Sundays, even the drive-thru liquor stores. Fortunately for us, Mama Nem's was open for business, and though they ran out of banana pudding, the mac n' cheese and cornbread stuffing were as plentiful as they were delicious.

Once the birthday celebrating was over, Monday came and Kiko left for class at 6:30, I opened up the bottle of emotions and they pretty much kept spilling out at all the wrong times. (Like, when we were parking at the JAG school to go have birthday cake during his lunch break, and one of his classmates walked up me as I was bawling and feeling particular out of place and like I was a big nuisance....Great first impression of Lt. Ochoa's wife...At least her response was, "Fucking military sucks and Alabama isn't much better....I suggest retail therapy.") Though I was embarrassed, it made me laugh.

The tears kept coming at various times, mainly because I suddenly felt like I have no identity. Since leaving my job, I have had my own share of personal pep talks with myself about who I am and what I want from my life, but suddenly, feeling like a "tagsy-alongsy" military wife, who doesn't even have an ID, so is not even recognized by the military as a wife, has left me feeling shallow, lost, purposeless, and very, very alone...

I am also emotional because I am hormonal and have not been sleeping. I couldn't sleep Sunday night because our bed is not that comfortable and I had anxiety about what the week would bring. I don't yet have my military ID (we've gone twice to get it, but such is the military that they don't actually tell you everything you need to bring, just MOST things you need to bring, because apparently I am an "unusual" case...) The other reasons I couldn't sleep were because I was:

-worrying if second hand smoke inhalation transfers to a fetus through couch upholstery

-a bed spring was poking me in the left thigh

-the A/C is great and powerful, but blows right up my nostrils and makes me sneeze (although, it's better than being hot)

-and I really had to go to the bathroom, but didn't want to walk on the bathroom floor without my shoes on, and my shoes weren't accessible.

So, you might have guessed our apartment leaves a bit to be desired. Kiko warned me that it was small. Small I can deal with. But the residual smell of smoke from the previous residents and the 1/2 inch of grime left over on the linoleum flooring in the kitchen and the bathroom, um, not so much. Call me a a princess, but I feel like Motel 6 might be a step up. This is the apartment the guy you had a huge crush on in college lived in and you tolerated it because he was so hot and he played football, or was at least a red shirt...This is not the apartment you want to spend time with a toddler and 26 week-old fetus with...Okay, so it's not that bad, and after a trip to Wal Mart to buy new sheets, a whole lot of Lysol, some Febreeze, and scented candles, I decided to make the best of it, and now it's a lot better. At least if I forget to put on my flip flops, I don't feel like I am going to get some foreign fungus on my toes. We have a small kitchen, an A/C, a dishwasher, and there is a Starbucks not too far away, so I guess things could be worse. One of the wives said to me yesterday, "Oh, we looked at your apartments. They were nice, but we saw 2 cop cars outside so decided to stay somewhere else..."

Thanks for telling me that. Now, my fears are not only validated, but escalated...

Kiko attempted to make me feel better by saying "Yes, I've seen cop cars here, too, but I think the cops live here."

Um, I am not up on my Alabama state laws, but at least in LA, cops DO NOT drive their cars home. I am pretty sure these cops weren't inside one of our units with their families watching The Big Bang Theory (BTW - does anyone else think that show is totally overrated?), but I am going to tell myself they were here visiting "friends" and leave it at that. The minute I spy one or hear a siren, I am checking into the Drury Inn & Suites around the corner.

For now, I'll tough it out, and quietly keep my eyes open for alternative living arrangements. Surely there are other options. And now, if this ever happens again, I know that I'll need to play a more active role in the search for where to live.

I am anxious to get on a routine, to get Joaquin back on his schedule so I can resume my writing, and to find someplace other than a Wal-Mart to shop. Not sure if they have Farmers' Markets or any non-chain anythings in Montgomery...

If there was anything I ever needed to make me appreciate living in California, this trip might be it. Oh, how I miss the weather, and everything else. Where is my adventurous spirit? Well, I hope to find it somewhere. I am sure it's there...

I am anxious to find the Alabama that Lynyrd Skynyrd sings about in his song "Sweet Home Alabama, where the skies are so blue," or to find the quaint southern town in To Kill A Mockingbird.

Trip to Kissy & Ta's house

2011-07-16T21:55:00.000-07:00

One of Joaquin's favorite things to do at his grandma and grandpa's house is to feed the "neigh neighs" carrots or apples, or whatever treats he can find. Since he was about 11 months old, he's been obsessed with finding the nearest adult (usually it's Ta, AKA Grandpa), to take him "outside outside" to see the "neigh neighs" AKA horses. Now he knows he cannot go outside with his shoes on, so his pleas will usually start out with "We need shoes ON. Go outside." Then he'll proceed to scan the adults in the vicinity to see who is wearing shoes, then he'll decide who he's "chosen" to take him outside.

The trip from the house to the barn is not met without it's own unique challenges for a 20-month-old. First, you must make it past all 6 dogs, which usually are either blocking the pathway, eager to find someone to play ball with them, or they are already running around, creating a stampede across the walkway every 6 feet or so. So just making it past the 6 rambunctious dogs is a feat in itself.

Sometimes Ta helps navigate the sea of dogs, parting them just enough so Joaquin can pass safely and make it to the barn.

On this particular feeding of the neigh neigh trip, we gave Geoffrey, the horse, an apple instead of a carrot because we'd already given him 4 carrots that day and we thought he might want a change. Apple or carrot, I think Geoffrey is satisfied. We are always careful to hold the apple or carrot at the bottom, away from Geoffrey's eager chompers.

Joaquin would like to announce...

2011-06-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

Most everyone already knows, but I am posting this on my blog for posterity.

Never Lie to your Mother...

2011-06-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I learned an important lesson: Never lie to your mother. Or your mother-in-law, etc. It's sure to backfire.

Here's the situation: I am 20 weeks + pregnant with my second child. Yesterday was our doctor's appointment, the one where we were supposed to find out the gender of the baby. Now, I suppose if we'd already made the decision to be surprised at the birth, then I wouldn't have left the doctor with the supreme disappointment we did yesterday when the doctor could not say 100% whether it is a girl or boy growing in my stomach. (apparently the hand was down there - hmmm, makes me think boy - and we were on an OLD machine - argh, more on this later...) But when you are planning on finding out a significant piece of information, then get denied, and are told, well, you can find out in a month, it can feel as disappointing as the day you learned the truth about the tooth fairy.

To make matters worse, my hub leaves for more military training in just under two weeks, meaning he will not be able to attend the next appointment. He might have been more disappointed than I was, proclaiming with a serious expression, "I really don't want to find out what my baby is over Skype."

Okay, let's digress for one minute to acknowledge that no actual tragedy occurred yesterday. We are very blessed that we have healthy baby, and for the most part, it's been a pleasant pregnancy. But we have a small house and lots of things to plan and want to know if Joaquin is having a little brother or sister, damn it!

It was also one of those situations where the more I thought about it, the more it irked me. Our OB's regular nurse, Linda (whom we love), was on vacation, so we got the new girl. New girl not only scared me about my blood pressure, (it's fine), but also apparently took us in the wrong room, so as our doctor is trying to check out the baby's goods, she is saying to us, "Well, I can't tell because we are on the old ultra sound machine and it's not a good picture."

Excuse me! OLD machine! Well, take us to the good ultra sound machine. I can walk. I don't even mind if you have to squirt more of that gross clear jelly on my tummy again, I just want to find out TODAY what we're having...It's not OUR fault your machine sucks and makes our baby look like a grainy jelly bean on an old black and white Zenith TV from the 50s. We want the good stuff!

We have a great tradition from our first baby, thanks to a friend's recommendation. At the doctor's office, we looked away when she zoomed in on the goods, and then she wrote it down on the ultrasound, tucked it into an envelope, and we left with the information burning a hole in our hot, sweaty hands. Then, we went to our favorite restaurant. Husband had a margarita and I had a Coke, and we opened up the envelope. It felt like the anticipation of Christmas when you're 8. Few moments in life have been that memorable, other then maybe dancing at our wedding, and when Joaquin was born. We loved it so much, it was our plan again.

Only yesterday, we were going to the doctor at 3:30, taking Joaquin to music class at 5:00, then going to our favorite dining spot to open up the exciting information sometime around 6:00. Here's where the lying to your mother comes into play. I deceptively told my mom (and other family members) that we weren't finding out until today, because I knew if she knew our appointment was yesterday, my cell phone would be buzzing incessantly for the rest of the afternoon and I would not be able to relax until I talked to her. We wanted to do something clever and cute to share the news, so at the time telling a little white lie didn't seem harmful. Then of course, my lie set off a karmic chain of events that left us still in the dark yesterday.

Enter the Glendale 3d Ultrasound Store to the rescue. Sounds totally cheesy, I know, but we have made an appointment, and are planning to shell out $50 for the Gender Notification package so that we can find out while husband is still in California. Yes, we are paying for something that we should have found out for free, and it is on the day that I lied to my mom about finding out in the first place. Who says your mother doesn't control your universe?

So this whole thing has taught me 2 important lessons:

1. Don't lie to your mother about important stuff. (Little things like when your baby went to bed, how much you spent on that dress, and if you liked the pot roast she made are still in the approved-lie- zone.)

2. Put up more of a fight at the doctor about demanding you get the best machines, the best care, etc. After all, she may deliver dozens of babies every week, and share the good news of "boy" or "girl," all the time, but to us, it was a really big deal...and we should have been more vocal about what we wanted.

Disneyland for Toddlers?

2011-05-16T13:43:00.000-07:00

(This photo was taken at about 9:00 am, after an early "Magic Morning" in the park. He is 16 months old here.)

(Picture above is from his 3rd or 4th trip (who's counting) last August with Daddy's cousin, Donna. He is about 9 months old here.)
(The pic above with the castle is from his 2nd trip in April of 2010. He is approx. 5 1/2 months.)

Hey, I know a lot of you Disney-doubters question whether Disneyland is really a good place to take a baby or a toddler, arguing that it's either germ-filled, over-stimulating, or that it's just plain pointless because the little kids just won't remember spending the day at the Magic Kingdom when they're that little. But I beg to differ. I think Disneyland is a great place to take young children, especially if you live close to Anaheim, or if you have an annual pass, thus can justify taking several shorter trips rather than one big trip, where you feel the need to pack everything into one day.

Here are some of the reasons why I love taking my toddler to Disneyland:

It's Kid Friendly. What place could be more kid friendly? So your child is crying or better yet, screaming with delight over the sight of Mickey Mouse. He's in good company, because chances are, there are at least 10 screaming kids within shouting distant of your loud & vocal tot, so scream on. He's not alone.

There are myriad food options, even for picky eaters. What I love is that most restaurants in the park not only have kids' meals, but toddler meals, and for a mere $3.99, you can get mac 'n cheese or chicken & rice, etc. with apple sauce and a milk. Our favorite options are either at The Hungry Bear restaurant, which serves the best mac 'n cheese in Disneyland. (Yes, the different restaurants serve different versions of the cheesy goodness.) Or the Pollo con arroz from Zocalo. It's always a hit!

Disneyland is super-convenient when you have babies that are nursing or kids in diapers. Bathrooms are always close by, and they all have baby changing stations.

There is even a Disneyland Baby Care center, which offers a private area for nursing, super clean changing tables, and even sells essentials like diapers, formula, etc. in case you find yourself in a jam. They even have a sink where you can wash bottles or sippy cups out with Dawn dish soap and steaming hot water.

Another great reason is that it's free admission for kids under 3. Of course, adults have to pay and parking is not cheap and neither is the food. But hey, how many places give you anything for free, right?

If you stay in one of the Disneyland hotels, they offer what are called "Magic Mornings," which means they open the park an hour earlier than normal to hotel guests. This is awesome, especially with little kids because you can hit all the Fantasyland rides, which often get crowded, before the park even opens and the rest of the crowds come. Truly magical.

My son is 18-months, and while he was only 4 months at his first trip to the Happiest Place on Earth, every time he goes, he gets something new and different from the experience. It also makes a difference that his favorite characters (all Disney pals) are Pooh, Tig-Tig, Eeyore, Mou-mou, Woody, & Buzz etc. From the time he was about 10 months old, he would wake up in the morning and ask for "Pooh." So a trip to Disneyland for him is like going to his best friends' house, where all his best friends live together in the coolest pad ever.

We love exploring Toon Town and playing at Goofy's playground, a great place for young kids who need to get out energy by climbing or playing on the slide. His favorite rides right now are the "Neigh neighs" (merry-go-round), Dumbo, Small World, and of course, the Winnie-the-Pooh ride. (Side note about the Pooh ride: I really think that ride represents a lousy effort on Disney's behalf. They took out the Country Bear Jamboree (a personal fave) to do a poor job re-interpreting some classic Pooh stories into a ho-hum ride that really should be called "Pooh on Acid," because when Pooh has the heffalump nightmare, the whole ride turns into a neon-colored world with scary, psychedelic images.) The only redeeming quality about the ride is they left the familiar faces of the deer, moose, and buffalo from the walls of the Bear Country Jamboree, so at just the right moment you can spy Max, Buff, & Melvin beaming down from above. Also, the cupcakes in the Pooh Corner shop right next to the ride, or a photo op with the Pooh characters, make a trip to Critter Country infinitely worth-it, even if you skip the Pooh ride.

Disneyland means different things to different people. For me, it's a place I enjoyed visiting with my family as a child. We didn't take a lot of fancy vacations, but we always went to Disneyland, at least once a year, and for that I felt very lucky. It was a place I enjoyed with my older brothers, who were quite a bit older than me. So now as an adult, having an annual pass and taking my own family is really special for me, too. Sure, there are fun rides and plenty of tasty food options, but it also provides a momentary escape from normal life. It's a time to take a different view on the world and let yourself dream a little bit, just like when you were a kid.

I know over the years, my toddler will only get more and more out of his Disney trips. Even though he won't remember these early adventures in the park, his parents will remember and tell him about how cute he was when he was boiling over with glee at the sight of Winne-the-Pooh, or how a simple balloon made his day...

Caught Red-Handed?

2011-04-07T14:03:00.000-07:00

There are so many firsts in a baby's new life: first smiles, first steps, first words, first time to eat ice cream, first time to use a potty, etc. With many of these firsts bringing great joy and a sense of accomplishment to a young life, I've discovered how magical it can be to share these firsts with your baby. While I've anticipated a lot of milestones, there was one first that I wasn't quite ready to experience...baby's first time to shoplift.

I've made it 30+ years without ever stealing so much as soda with a water cup from a fast food restaurant. (Hey, don't laugh. This is serious. A football player I went to college with got arrested for filling up his water cup with Root Beer at In 'N Out. Don't mess with the soda fountain!)

So is it a bad sign that my young son (almost 17 months) has already shoplifted? Is he destined for a life of crime and breaking the rules? He does share a name with famed outlaw, Joaquin Murietta, after all. Hopefully, this was just a flash in the pan incident and we'll all be able to move on.

It all happened so innocently. Joaquin was riding in his stroller while Mom browsed the latest affordable fashions at H&M (remember I recently quit my job, so shopping is definitely what I should be doing.) Occasionally he gets a little antsy in clothing stores, so I handed him some bangle bracelets to play with, which he loved. They make noise and he can stick his arms through them; what's not to love? Then we were standing in the checkout line, near the hair accessories, and I guess that's when the "slip" happened. All I know is that 20 minutes later, we were in line at Coffee Bean, when something blue and sparkly caught my eye in his stroller. Upon closer inspection, I saw that tucked under Joaquin's left hip was a light blue lace headband with a large sequined butterfly adornment. Oh no! I definitely didn't pay for that, and here we are, blocks from the store, with something we didn't buy!

"Don't panic," I thought. There is a perfectly logical explanation. My mind racing, I fantasized for a minute about Joaquin saying to me, "What, Mom. It's just a headband. They'll never know!" My worst nightmare! Because I'd know. The rest of my life, I'd know I have a son that steals things! I couldn't bear the thought. Barely taking the time to put the straw in my ice blended mocha and to hand the thief his chocolate milk, we raced out the door, back to H&M to return the stolen goods.

Thank goodness it would be something I would never buy -- it was quite ugly and not my style -- so if it came into question I could swear to the store's manager that it was all a big accident. Fortunately or unfortunately, when I walked back in the store, the queue was really long, so I decided to casually slip the hideous headband back on the rack, and walk out as if nothing happened. My heart raced as I approached the hair accessories stand. I looked left and right to see if our rogue ways had been discovered. Ah, safe. It was back with its other sparkly, tacky friends, and we were innocent once again.

After all good had been restored in the world, I walked out of the store, still feeling slightly uneasy. I didn't know why I felt this way, but I guess I couldn't stop thinking about how easy stealing could be and how it probably happens all the time. Then I thought if I felt this guilty over an accidental hairpiece hi-jack, how would I sleep at night if he'd actually stolen something worth over $10?

Then I retracted that thought. The worse part about the entire incident might be was how ugly the headband was. It was sparkly and lacy. What does this say about his taste or fashion sense?

From now on, I think I'll stick to shopping solo, and we can save other "firsts" for places other than retail centers.

My Own Toy Story Sequel

2011-03-23T16:07:00.000-07:00

My son is like most spoiled American kids in that he is not suffering from a lack of toys. He has cars, trains, stuffed animals, puzzles, blocks, balls, etc. But of his plethora of toys, none bring him more joy than his most prized possessions --- the 7-inch-plastic Woody and Buzz figures that Uncle Rob bought him in January.

He calls them by name. First, he could just get out "Woo" and "Buh," but now most of the time, he gets out their whole names. When he gets the "zzz" out on "Buzz," it's especially endearing.

I am not exactly sure when his infatuation with these two toys began. He has seen snippets of the TOY STORY movies here and there, but not enough to really understand the roles these two characters play. All I know is that if he has a security item, it's these two dudes. He wakes up in the morning and calls out "Mama," then quickly follows "Mama" with "Woo-ey, Buh-uz?" If he didn't fall asleep with them in his crib, he must find them within minutes after waking up. He takes baths with them, feeds them, and has story time with them.

I wonder if part of his bond with Woody & Buzz happened when we took two cross-country trips. On both trips, Joaquin was accompanied by these two friends. They rode with him on two flights to Montgomery, Alabama. They were there for him when he stayed on a strange military base in 30 degree weather. All of his surroundings were new and unfamiliar, but one thing remained constant --- the companionship of Woody and Buzz.

Following Alabama, we ventured to Hawaii, again with Woody and Buzz in toe. When Joaquin got sick and threw up all over Mom on the airplane, Woody was there to comfort him and Buzz was there to clean up the mess with his space ranger strength. (Mom only wishes this were true. Fortunately, we were seated in the row right in front of the restroom, so clean up wasn't that difficult.)

He played with Woody and Buzz in a tropical paradise, enjoying the sunshine and the sand on his feet. But when it was all over, and he was back home, he still had Woody and Buzz.

Well, last weekend, during a trip to see both sets of grandparents, it happened. We were about 1/2 hour south of Santa Barbara when I wondered, "Did we get Woody?" Kiko's face turned blank as he struggled to remember.

He remembered when we ate dinner, Joaquin stuck Woody's face in his rice saying "nummy, nummy, nummy," and he remembered that Joaquin sneakily dropped Woody behind the couch cushion only to call out his name so everyone would join in the search to look for him.

Sure enough, moments later, Nana called to say we'd left a loyal friend behind.

"Uh oh," we thought. "Do we turn around?"

Had it not been pouring rain on the 101 and after 10:00 pm, we probably would have turned around. This was a serious leave-behind. Instead we thought, maybe we'll go to Disney tomorrow and get a replacement Woody...Realizing that was a little crazy, we tried to wait it out.

Well, the three days without Woody were a growing experience, both for Mom and Dad, and for Joaquin. The first night, he woke up in the middle of the night, dutifully calling for "Mama" and then "Woody..." Of course, Mama was there, but I could not help him with Woody. He went back to sleep and Mom stayed awake, wondering what would happen tomorrow when the realization that Woody was gone (temporarily) sunk in. Of course, with an older child, you might be able to reason with them and explain the situation. But he's still a baby. He won't understand.

Days passed, and in Joaquin's world, Woody was no where to be found. He'd pace around the house, calling his name, with Buzz in one hand, and the other hand empty. We'd tell him that Woody was at Nana and Papa's, safe and sound, and he soon would be traveling back home. He'd then go the front door, point outside and say "Woody, woody, woody" with hope and longing.

It's heartbreaking and precious at the same time. Maybe this is a great time for a life lesson in acceptance and understanding. Or in not getting emotionally attached to material objects. But really, I just want him to have his friend back and to be a happy kid once again. He has the rest of his life to learn those lessons.

I am sure Woody is enjoying his adventure in the mail, as he makes his way back to us in Pasadena. It brings a smile to face to think that he is having his own "Toy Story" moment; hopefully, Woody is anxiously anticipating his reunion with his kid as much as his kid - Joaquin - anticipates seeing him again...

Until then, it's all on you, Buzz...

2nd to Last Day at A&E

2011-03-10T11:18:00.000-08:00

Here's something I was thinking about on 3/10/11, my second to last day at A&E...Not sure why I didn't publish it then...so here goes...

When I went back to work after my "sabbatical" while Kiko was at basic training, it was like my re-emergence into a foreign universe. Only, actually, I suppose when I left and had a taste of "full-time mothering," that was really my foreign universe. For 10 years, I have been immersed in the TV industry. So things like meeting celebrities, watching shows and movies before they've been released, etc. didn't seem like a big deal to me.

My first day back, the first thing my assistant asked me was what Oscar nominated movies I needed him to track down for me so I could be ready to watch the Academy Awards. We went over my call sheet, and my lunch appointments for the next several weeks.

I couldn't help but think to myself: Enjoy having an assistant now because who knows when you'll have one again.

So I went from being consumed with all things industry related, reading the trades and Nikki Fink (www.deadlinehollywood.com) to reading City Mommy and Baby Center and back again, in just a couple of weeks. It's amazing how the two worlds become so separate, yet really they aren't that dissimilar. I mean, being a mom and being a TV executive shouldn't be that different. After all, the demographic that every network wants is that of the 25-54 year-old-women. Hello! How many of those women are mothers, too? So in some ways, keeping working mothers employed should be a priority so they can keep in contact with their key demographic.

Week One - (originally drafted 1/12/11)

2011-03-07T17:23:00.000-08:00

Day 4 of being home with Joaquin was awesome, except for the fact that I didn't sleep last night...This was the first day I actually had to get up and dressed and out of the house by 8:40 to make our 9 am music class. To think, just last week, I was dressed, ready for work and out of the house by 8 am, and this morning it was the amazing race and an almighty miracle that I actually had Joaquin dressed and fed in time to get to class.

Music class was a lot of fun, if not slightly silly. It was exactly like what they make those classes look like in the movies --- a cheerful and goofy teacher with a friendly face and a nice voice singing songs in a highly animated form...It was amazing, she knew all the kids names and worked them all into the "hello" and the "goodbye" song. Joaquin's favorite part was when they got to choose their own instruments from the box. He chose a drum and did not want to part with it when it was time to put the instruments "to bed."

Our day of fun continued when after a morning nap, we went to the Disney Studios lot to see Uncle Rob for lunch. I don't know what he liked more - the fact that Uncle Rob took him to the studio store to buy toys, or the really docile squirrels that almost let Joaquin pet them.
We finished off our activities by going to the post office to send Daddy a care package. Hopefully Kiko has earned the privilege of receiving his mail.

Teething Bites - (originally drafted 1/11/11)

2011-01-13T21:24:00.000-08:00

Okay, so my husband is going through basic training and sleeping 4 hours a night while marching all day and studying his officer handbook, blah blah blah, BUT I AM THE ONE CHASING AFTER A 1-year-old! Who's more tired? Me or him?

Seriously, I feel like I have no right to complain about being tired when I think about all he's going through, but man, am I beat! Two nights of a restless, teething baby and tonight I am a zombie. Not to mention all the work-stuff I've been cramming in while he naps and once he goes to bed. Being a full-time mom is hard work. And the teething...does it really last until they're 2? Yikes. Poor baby...he's like a drool-monster with icicles of drool dripping from his mouth and the big teeth he already does have protruding out from his little gums. It's cuter that I make it sound, but he really does channel Chunk from the Goonies and convinces me that any minute after the drool he's going to break out into the "truffle shuffle."

Looking on the bright side...

2011-01-10T21:59:00.000-08:00

(Originally Drafted 12/30/10)

My husband soon will be leaving for basic training, or COT, which stands for Commissioned Officer Training. He has joined the US Air Force Reserves and will serve in the JAG Corp. So basically, he has to go to lawyer bootcamp for a month in Alabama. We have been married for 3 1/2 years and we have one child, a son, who's almost 13 months.

I have had to explain to my family that his joining the JAG Corp is actually an amazing honor for him and a wonderful opportunity to serve without making the full commitment of going into active duty. He gets to have his cake and eat it, too, to be trite. Deployment overseas is unlikely, and most of the year, he'll work his "regular" job at a law firm and not be subject to the whims of the service, with all do respect to the military. So some of my family members seem to think it is like he is going to race-car driving school or fantasy football camp or something like that, but then I must defend the decision saying it will be full of sacrifice for him and the rest of of the family, but that in the end it will be worth it for all. I keep telling myself this, hoping I will actually believe it. What helps is knowing how much it means to him to do this and knowing that I am doing everything I can to support my husband in his dreams and goals in life. But selfishly, I will miss him. I like having him around.

I try to look on the bright side and think of the positive things that come from having your husband gone for 5 weeks on the other side of the country. Here's what i have come up with:

1. I won't have to shave my legs as often as I normally do. Especially in winter, this is a plus because of all the goose bumps you get in the shower when you shave and there is a cold draft in the bathroom.

2. I will miss him. This fact goes on the positive and negative list because of course I will miss him very much and it will be hard not to see him, although sometimes the longing to see someone can be romantic and make you appreciate each other more. I am hoping this goes both ways.

Well, that's pretty much all I've got now. The most important positive thing to come out of this is I will have a happy husband, who is also an officer in the US Air Force. I know he's going to look damn fine is his uniform, so that could be a potential "positive thing #3," except for the fact that he just as easily could have bought a JAG costume and worn it around the house without all the fancy training that goes with, so I am not convinced this belongs on the list.

Basically, it is going to suck the big toe to have him gone. But life is an adventure and I am a big girl. I will miss him every day, (well, mainly at night because during the week, I don't really see him except for at night anyhow.) So, every night I will miss him like mad, but I will relish in his accomplishments and feel proud of him for this achievement and this sacrifice he's making.

But if I had it my way, we'd be like Paul and Linda Mc Cartney, and never spend a night apart...(of course until she died of cancer, (sigh). ) So, I am content just being us...and I know the best part of all of this will be when I get to see him again at his graduation. He will be in his sexy uniform and I will shave my legs for the occasion.

Sent from my iPad

So Long, Dear...

2011-01-09T23:18:00.000-08:00

Today is January 9th. It's the day after my birthday, the day after Elvis' birthday, a Sunday, and also the day that my husband left for Commissioned Officer Training (C.O.T.) in Montgomery, Alabama. This morning I woke up around 5:00 am to drive him to LAX so he could begin his journey to Alabama. He'll be gone for 5 weeks in total for this first round of training. I, of course, write this with mixed emotions. I am excited for him and all the new adventures that await him, but also sad for me and Jaq that we'll be without him. Still, with the wonders of modern technology (cell phones, Skype, email, etc.) we should be able to keep in close contact and I will relish all of our interactions. And one can only hope that the old adage about "absence and the heart growing fonder" proves to be true.
His departure for C.O.T. brings not only a big change for our family, but also coincidentally marks the beginning of a big change for me as I take some time off work. Most of you reading this probably know what I do. I am a creative executive for a cable television network. It's actually a pretty great job; sometimes I marvel at the fact that people get paid to do what I do. I mean, the hours are long and there is a lot of pressure, but the basic job functions I perform are: reading scripts, watching television, taking meetings with writers and producers, and then talking to those writers and producers (sometimes agents, too) about those scripts or shows that I've read or watched. We also approve actors for casting, and basically oversee all elements of TV production for shows on our air. I've been in the business for almost 10 years now, and it's one of the best jobs that I've had. I work with a lot of creative, talented people and deal with a lot of celebrities, pseudo celebrities, difficult personalities, and mega-egos, but that all comes with the job. I actually think I do well dealing with eccentric personalities, and at the very least I have some good stories to tell at the end of the day and can appreciate my relatively "normal" life.
But now, for the next few weeks, there is only one ego and eccentric personality that I care about, and it's that of my 14-month-old son. In one day, I've basically gone from TV executive in a fancy Century City office building, to stay-at-home mom and military wife. (This almost sounds like the makings of a TV show itself.)
So, while my big man is away, I am ready to embrace this adventure and make up for some lost time with my little man. Of course I am sad that I won't have my husband around, but I am comforted at least in knowing that his absence is giving me the opportunity to have some quality time with my little guy, and heck, check out the other half-live...all you stay-at-home moms watch out, because I am going to get a little taste of what this is all about...I know it too is hard work, but I am ready...

Happy New Year & going back to work

2011-01-05T10:20:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Yesterday was my first day back at work after taking off just over a week for Christmas. Leaving yesterday morning to go to work was almost harder than it was the first day I came back to work after maternity leave. But yesterday, it was hard not because Joaquin was so tiny, little and helpless, but because he is so much bigger and more aware when I leave. And because he bawled his eyes out when I started to leave. He awoke only 10 minutes before I needed to leave for work and he would not let me put him down. My normally well adjusted 1-year-old was clinging to my side, gripping my hips with his little thighs like he was riding a pony bare-back, holding on with all his might, determined not to fall off or let his feet touch the ground. I handed him to my hubby, then went outside to the car, and the sobbing continued. It was heart-breaking, but I think it was harder on my heart than his. I needed my key-card out of our other car, so I spent more time in the driveway than usual, and the whole time I was out there, I could hear the cries from inside the house getting worse.

My husband then said he cried for an hour after I left. It makes you feel loved for an instant, and then you just feel awful that at that moment in their young minds, they are inconsolable and they don't understand why mommy is abandoning them.

Then, last night, after a really long day at work, I got home a little after 8:00 pm, so excited to see him again, especially after our tearful goodbye. And he didn't want anything to do with me. I tried to pick him up and he turned away from me, reaching instead for his daddy. This cold-shoulder treatment lasted only a couple of minutes, and then he was hugging me and saying "Mama" with some of his best annunciation yet.

I needed to get this story written down so when I am having a hard day with him, I can remember what is was like when I had to leave and remind myself how lucky I am to be spending more time with him.

Oh yeah, in case you didn't know, starting next week, I am taking several weeks off work, while my husband ships out for basic training with the Air Force JAG Corp Reserve, so these tearful goodbyes will soon be a distant memory.

But if I needed any reassurance that I was making the right decision to spend more time with him, I got that reassurance yesterday...

My Paleo Man

2010-09-23T15:39:00.000-07:00

Perhaps you've heard of one of the new, dare I say, "fad diets" sweeping the nation? (Or maybe it's just sweeping Los Angeles?) The Paleo diet is of what I speak and it's a diet similar to what Paleolithic man would have eaten, a diet comprised of food that was available in pre-agricultural times. Curious for the real facts? Click here.

Basically, to eat Paleo means you eat lean meat, fish, veggies and some fruit. On this diet, you can't have any dairy (boo hoo), grains (waaa!), or sugar (double waaaa!), so it's very similar to other low-carb diets out there but there is a bit of a twist.

Anyhow, why is the Paleo diet now part of my everyday vocabulary? Because my husband has gone truly APE for the paleo way of life. Thank goodness he has not started dragging me around by my hair or referring to me as "WOMAN." Naturally, by osmosis, I now eat mainly paleo meals at home with him. (Don't worry, since I am still nursing, I most certainly have my carb fests during my weekday lunches. Bring on the sandwiches, muffins, and the mac 'n cheese!)

Even though I give him a bad time about his current diet obsession, I must say in a lot of ways, it's a great diet. I feel good, we are eating and cooking a lot more vegetables at home, and it is fun for me to have him as an active particiant in our meal preparation and planning. We've always loved to cook together and now he's taken an even more active interest because his paleo reputation is on the line...

Recently, he even entered a Paleo diet weight loss competition at his gym and by golly, HE WON! He dropped over 20 pounds and has kept most of it off...Now anyone that knows my hubby would agree he looked good before and did not need to lose weight.

So from time to time, I'll share some of our favorite paleo recipes with my loyal readers. The biggest downfall of the diet to me is the "no dairy" rule, and I have been known to cheat...Like last night, we made PALEO BISON CHILI and I of course brought myself to the modern era and sprinkled some grated cheese on top to make it even more yummy!

ME WOMAN. ME LIKE MY CHEESE!

Pumpkin Pie Makes Everything Better

2010-09-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

Today I ate a piece of pumpkin pie and it was so good, it made me want to cry. Literally. Like, I shook for a moment on the inside and had to fight off actual tears. Every bite I took filled my mouth with that sweet, nutmeg and cinnamon-y goodness of pumpkin and I could almost close my eyes and pretend it's Thanksgiving.

Thank you, Costco, for serving up delicious pumpkin pies for under $5 in early September.

By the time it is actually Thanksgiving, I am usually so full from eating other things (turkey, stuffing, cheese logs, Sees candy) that I feel like even though I bake the pies, I never really savor them.

So what better thing to do on Wednesday afternoon that taste a bit of holiday goodness a little early?

Next time you're feeling down or craving something delicious, try it. You'll give thanks that you did.

They may have worked for Julia Roberts...

2010-09-14T14:40:00.001-07:00

Okay, so time for a heart-to-heart with the fashion world. Is anyone really going to embrace the seemingly ubiquitous, over-the-knee boot trend that is EVERYWHERE right now? I'll admit the black patent leather pair worked like a charm for Vivian, Julia Roberts' character, in PRETTY WOMAN, because she was, in fact,... A HOOKER. But with every fall catalog, fashion magazine, and E-blast I get showing these hot-to-trot over-the-knee styles, I am left slightly flabbergasted by the way this style is being literally whored out to dominate all of fall footwear fashion.

Look, anyone that knows me knows I have a weakness for a beautiful shoe, and yes, a lot of these boots look beautiful, but I just don't know who is actually going to wear them? Where do you wear them? To work? Never. To a bar? Maybe? On a date? Can you imagine wearing them to the movies? I have enough trouble keeping popcorn from going down my shirt, and I certainly don't need the top of my shoes to have an opening at the thigh for stray popcorn kernels and Raisinets to make their way down there...

Maybe it's me, and maybe in my new-mom state I am having a stuffy reaction to a hot new trend? Maybe in my old life, I'd snatch up a pair of these hot high boots and strut around town in them on weekends or when I wanted to feel especially sexy and powerful, but really? I just can't even imagine EVER finding a way to work these into my lifestyle.

Maybe I watched PRETTY WOMAN one too many times as a kid (because I am pretty sure I wore out the VHS tape), but I just think this is one trend that I won't be sad to see walk away.

(Please, though, I'd love to be proven wrong. I'd love to see some of my friends wear these and show me just how versatile these can be. Maybe a conservative flat pair with leggings and a simple top? Or if I am right about the trend not translating to real-world fashion, maybe the Lohmans and Marshalls of the world will be flooded with the left overs and NEXT fall I can rock this trend for a fraction of the price? For a good deal, after all, I can find an excuse to wear almost anything...)

Gonna Make a change...

2010-07-08T16:38:00.000-07:00

Hello followers...I have been remiss about writing on my blog because, well, no excuses, but I feel like my life consists of two things: 1. working, and 2. taking care of my baby.

It's the same story from all working mothers, I am sure, where they wonder what ever did they do before they became a mother? I must have had a ton of free time, and just sat around blissfully with my husband thinking "What do I want to do today? Take a hike...watch a movie...bake a cake...read a book." Those are questions I can only dream of asking myself, but that's okay, because I LOVE BEING A MOM. Sure, most days I don't brush my hair, and I am always putting on make-up while sitting in traffic on the freeways, and somehow "working" has become my "break," but I wouldn't trade that little bubba for anything in the world.

I do have lots of things I want to share from the past several months of my dark period...the little one turned 8 months yesterday and I suddenly am a believer of everyone that says it all goes by so fast once you have kids. You truly must remember to treasure every moment, because they come and go all too quickly.

More than anything, though, I am on a mission to become a Stay-at-Home-Mom. Correction, I want to always be a WORKING mom, but I just cannot hack the 11-12 hour days away from him, and need to find a way to be closer to him while I work. And I need to work up the courage to make a change, whether it's figuring out a way to telecommute a few days a week, or even finding a new job, I've got to do it...for my own sanity, and for everyone around me that is probably growing tired of me complaining...

The PS to all of this is, I am very blessed. I recongize that. I feel very grateful for my job and for my loving husband and beautiful baby. I always feel that if I had everything all figured out right now, and everything was just the way I wanted it, that life might be slightly boring. So, here's to my quest to "figure it all out."

Help keep me honest and true to myself in my goal to make a change!

Taking your top off at work

2010-03-01T15:42:00.000-08:00

There was a time in life when locking my office door and stripping down to where my breasts are fully exposed probably seemed scandalous and naughty...

Now I do it every three hours in my office...alone...while I am expressing breast milk for my dear, sweet little baby.

My, how things change when you have kids.

Sure, I am getting 1/2 naked several times a day at work, but the real scandal to me of pumping is nothing more than me feeling slightly shy when I take the fruits of my labor - small 5 oz. bottles of milk - down the hall, to our communal refrigerator to be stored until I leave for the day.

I just have to make sure no one decides to switch from Coffee Mate to breast milk...yuck!

Working Girl...Again

2010-02-15T22:45:00.000-08:00

Thoughts from 2 weeks after giving birth...

I wear these dark circles like a badge of honor.

The softness of my empty belly reminds me of the precious gift it once carried.

Everything is different, yet I can't remember what it was like before he came.

Will my life ever feel the same? Will I ever look the way I did before I was pregnant?

It doesn't matter. But still I wonder,

Will I ever love anything more?

Tomorrow will be my first day back at work after having my baby. Tonight, I feel like I did the night before the first day of school. Even though, the difference is I already know who I'll be having lunch with (tomorrow, it will be my sister-in-law and the baby) and where my classes are, I still can't shake this feeling of jitters and nervousness.

On one hand, I am looking forward to exercising my professional muscles again. Even though I have actually worked some during my maternity leave, going into an office everyday is an entirely different routine than what I've been doing the past 3 months. It will be nice to have adult conversation, and to not be constantly thinking about someone else before me, but for the most part, I think I am rationalizing things in my head to make myself feel better...although, the thing is is that even though he won't be with me, I will constantly be thinking about him all day. Of course, I know he'll be fine and all of his needs will be met. But it is I that will be sad and will missing holding him, playing with him, and changing his diapers...It is I that will realize that we are not together, and it is I that will count the hours of the day until I get to see him again.

I know women do it all the time, but for some reason, I feel totally alone in this. Anyone out there (my 7 followers) have any advice for me? I told my boss I am probably going to cry tomorrow and she said "why?" (sigh)

I love my job and I feel so fortunate to have a job, but I LOVE LOVE LOVE my baby. I love every second that I am with him, even when he is screaming so loud I think the windows of the car are going to shatter, I can't get enough of his sweet face and the sound of his chattering voice.

Still, this is my path, to return to work. His diaper bag is packed full of diapers, wipes, books, 2 changes of clothes. His activity gym is in the car, along with the stroller. My clothes are laid out so I know exactly what fits and I won't have to have a "discard" pile of too-tight-tops when I am getting dressed in the morning. All that's left to do is hope we both get good nights of sleep so that we are well rested for our day of adventure tomorrow.

BTW, my goal bed-time was 9:00 pm...2 hours late and counting.

Damn you Olympics and pre-work jitters...

Roll Over...Beethoven?

2010-02-05T23:13:00.001-08:00

There are many milestones to look forward to with a new baby, from first smiles, to first steps, with each new achievement perhaps seeming better than the last. But it is amazing how the small things can make you feel like everything is right in the world. That's how I felt tonight when Baby J rolled over for the first time! He's been getting stronger and stronger each day, and three days ago, during tummy time, he was looking especially agile. I was really hoping (probably for purely selfish reasons) that he would roll over for the first time before I went back to work, so I didn't have to hear from the nanny, "Oh, your son rolled over today and I was there to see it for the first time."

As I was getting him ready for his bath, I said to my sister-in-law, "He's getting really close to rolling over; let's see if he does it because I am really hoping to be with him when he does it for the first time..." No pressure though, baby...

Sure enough, I put him on his tummy on the floor and he wiggled and cooed and suddenly, over onto his back he went. When he realized he was on his back, he had this look of strange wonder on his face, like he wasn't sure if he should feel proud or scared. His eyes opened really wide and his little mouth gaped open, like he wanted to tell me something but couldn't find the words.

Babies are the best and I think it's the small moments that really make the biggest impact. He will be rolling over for the rest of his life, but it's fun to think that today he did it for the first time.

As for crawling, I can wait awhile for that milestone to occur...too much baby-proofing to do around the house before that happens.

10 signs you know you're a new mom

2010-01-21T20:15:00.000-08:00

1. you have permanent dark circles under your eyes that your best concealer can't hide, and what's even better, you really don't care...
2. you're typing one-handed, in all lower case letters while nursing
3. you haven't blown-dry, washed, or even combed your hair in days
4. you mailed your holiday cards 2 weeks after christmas
5. you mailed your holiday cards 2 weeks after christmas, and only put postage stamps on 1/2 of them
6. it takes weeks for you to return phone calls
7. you live on the west coast, but decide to ring in the new year by watching the ball drop on the east coast feed, 3 hours early
8. you find yourself making up your own lines to lullabies because who knows what really comes after "and if that diamond ring don't shine?"
9. you consider exchanging "coos" and "ohs" as the makings of scintillating conversation
10. you're head over heals in love with someone new, and that special someone weighs 170 pounds less than your husband...

I am a Mommy!

2009-11-10T16:39:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, November 6th, 2009, I gave birth to a baby boy that we named Joaquin Porter Ochoa...Since then, my life has been a whirlwind...so many emotions to express and so many stories to share, from the 2 days of pre-labor, where my contractions were coming with such frequency, I thought it might be the real thing, to the actual 19 hours of active labor, to the birth, and then the actual first few amazing days of motherhood...I know it's something that every parent goes through --- the wonderment and awe of knowing that your life is never going to the same…

Anyhow, he is here. And I am exhausted, sore, and in a haze. But more than anything I am completely, deliciously happy.

labor-ready toes? Post from Thurs, 11/5

2009-11-10T16:29:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday, I mentioned to my mom that I was meeting Kiko for lunch at his office in downtown Los Angeles. As my mom often does, she asked me what I was wearing. When I told her I had on closed-toed shoes because I needed a pedicure, she immediately became aghast with me, telling me "this close to your due date, you need to maintain your pedicures..." Of course, she has told me this several times in the past few weeks, but who has the time for a pedicure between the nesting, and trying to wrap things up in the office, etc. I tried to do them myself a few weeks ago, but found it too difficult to reach my toes. I ended up with toe nails that were about 70% covered with polish, with lots of polish around the cuticle. Luckily, about 2 weeks ago, I went to my favorite pedicure place in Pasadena, Dashing Divas, so while I could use a touch up, they are not horrendous... Fortunately, I don't think the hospital staff cares what my feet look like --- I am pretty sure they've seen way worse than my slightly chipped dark, vampish toe nail polish...Oh and just for any beauty fans out there, my two favorite new polish colors are Bitches Brew from Lippman and Chanel's purplish Vendetta...delish.

35 Weeks

2009-11-05T08:07:00.000-08:00

We have been remiss in taking a lot of pictures, but here is one from 3 weeks ago, at our 35 week appointment. I am sure someday I'll look back with nostalgia at my pregnant belly, but right now, I barely remember what it felt like to not be pregnant.

The Thrill of Buying Diapers

2009-10-06T10:09:00.001-07:00

As I pulled into our driveway after work, I caught a beautiful sight out of the corner of my eye: a large, cardboard box sitting proudly next to the front door of our bluish gray Colonial Revival home. Could it be? As I rushed to park the car, jumped from the vehicle and ran to the porch it was indeed the package I was anticipating. Printed on the side of the box in big blue letters it read "diapers.com" which meant that our first order of diapers had arrived! Woo hoo!

What a thrill! I am sure after a few weeks of changing, paying for, and ordering diapers, the thrill will fade fast. But it just made the whole mom-to-be thing seem more real. Then of course there's the debate of what kind of diapers to use: cloth, G-diapers, 7th Generation, gel free, etc. Maybe that will just mean more orders to diapers.com trying to find the best fit for our family, our budget, and our environment...

In any case, there are so many firsts that arise during a pregnancy, and the first diaper order delivery is not one to be overlooked. Because what will soon be wearing those diapers will be the best delivery of all!

B.I. (Before the Internet)

2009-09-23T15:45:00.000-07:00

What did pregnant women do before the internet? Though sometimes I think there is TOO much information on the web, and that sometimes, a neurotic pregnant girl can drive herself mad researching anything from cribs, to car seats and cramps, when maybe instead she should be taking a walk or reading a book…Most of the time, I think the information highway is a gift from the heavens.

Several weeks ago, I started having a horrible side ache in my right side. My husband and I were at our dear friends’ house for dinner and it was a Saturday night. The last thing I wanted to do was moan and groan to our friends about my sharp, debilitating pains, so I just tried to tough it out, knowing we’d be heading home soon.

Once we finished dinner, I gave the “look” to my husband and he knew it was time to say adieu. Immediately in the car, I said “Will you do a Google search for ‘sharp pains in your right side during pregnancy?’”

Of course, being the concerned hubby he is, he said “Well, shouldn’t we just call your doctor, babe?”

“No, no,” I protested. “I just want to see if this feeling is common during pregnancy before I bug my doctor on a Saturday night.”

Rolling his eyes at me, he acquiesced with my request, and sure enough, within a minute, he was reading to me about “round ligament pain” and describing the symptoms and the explanations, and I immediately felt at ease. What he read was exactly what I was feeling. Even though I was still having the pain, which felt like quick jabs to the appendix, I felt so much better knowing this is a common thing during pregnancy as your round ligaments expand to make room for the baby.

There are so many new, strange, and often uncomfortable things happening to my body during pregnancy, so it helps to know that sometimes, a quick glance on the web can help you determine when to just relax and ride it out, and when there might be something more serious occurring that would necessitate a call to the doctor.

So though I much prefer browsing my favorite online boutiques (like Twilite Moon!) when surfing the web, it’s nice to know that sometimes it can put my husband and I at ease on a Saturday night…and I am sure we’re only a few months away from Google searching the term “how to soothe a crying baby…”

2 months & 1 day from the due date

2009-09-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

Today is September 17th, which means that I am 2 months and 1 day away from my due date! Ack! It's so exciting and mind-boggling at the same time. Even though the due date is really just a guess, and he will come when he's ready, there still has been this date - November 18th - in the back of my mind since March. And now, it's swifly approaching...

He continues to become more and more active in my belly every day and I am in awe of his every move. It is the best feeling. Even when it hurts or is uncomfortable because he's pressing hard or persistently, I love it because it reminds me that there really is a little person inside.

We talk to him every night. Coconut and George (the dogs) lay on my tummy, and Coco cocks her head from side to side if she feels him move. It's as if she's saying "what's that alien thing inside you, lady?" and "is it going to take any of my treats?"

In short, he is already such a big part of our lives, and he hasn't even shown himself to the world yet.

And thank goodness I have approximately 2 months and 1 day left to go before he does decide to make an appearance...because there is lots more to do!

Pizza Hut, Pocket Scrabble, & a Pair of House-Shoes

2009-09-08T10:09:00.000-07:00

Who says the romance in a marriage dies once a baby is on-the-way? Sure, the mom-to-be is often too tired to even stay awake to watch TV at night, let alone leave the house for a hot night on the town, but there is always time for that unexpected date. And while nights with my husband while expecting a baby might not feel like some of the nighttime adventures from our past, e.g. grabbing dinner at a hip restaurant before meeting some friends for drinks, catching a movie, or even taking a salsa dance lesson, I have found that it’s the unexpected adventures that help keep the spark alive in the marriage. Anyone can go to a fancy restaurant for dinner or buy theatre tickets, but it takes a little creativity and an open mind to make any activity a fun-filled date.

My husband has been super supportive on the nights when I just don’t feel like cooking. Sometimes when I get home from work around 7:30, the baby and I are so ravenous, I feel as if we could eat a whole Thanksgiving dinner for a family of 4 and still not be satisfied. Even though I love to cook, since being pregnant, sometimes I don’t have the patience to prepare a meal after work --- all I care about is eating and eating quickly.

One particular weeknight a few weeks ago, I didn’t know what I was hungry for, but I just knew I was starved. We drove to the closest commercial street which happens to be peppered with fast food restaurants and local dive spots alike, but still I could not decide what sounded appetizing.

Then we drove past one strip mall with various stores and restaurants, including a Pizza Hut. Now this wasn’t one of those Pizza Huts with a drive thru that’s combined with Taco Bell. This was a Pizza Hut that existed purely on its own, and the storefront’s main focus was pizza delivery. We spontaneously decided, “Let’s just get pizza here. It should be quick.”

We parked the car in the parking lot and both got out of the car. In my haste to leave the house in search of food, I neglected to take note of my husband’s outfit: a dress shirt, ripped blue jeans, and house-slippers. Yes, house-slippers! Now, that’s what I call hot date attire. I couldn’t believe it --- here we were in the middle of this crowded strip mall, me with a big pregnant belly and my husband is wearing “old man house-shoes,” as we like to call them. Clearly the days where we both exerted effort deciding what to wear on a date were behind us. And yes, once we leave the house to get food, it’s considered a “date.”

We ordered our meal and were told it’d be at least 15 minutes until the food was ready, so what were we to do? We decided to wait outside in the car like two teenagers sans chaperones sitting in a parked vehicle. Only instead of us being turned on by one another or a smooth love song on the radio, we couldn’t wait to relax in the car together and play our recent obsession --- pocket Scrabble on our iPhone!

There we sat, under the glow of the overhead parking lot lantern, stomachs growling, passing our Scrabble game back and forth, each trying to outscore the other, laughing at ourselves as other cars came in and out of the parking lot to go to the liquor store or the drug store.

All in all, it was probably 20 minutes before our food was ready, although it felt like mere minutes because we were having so much fun. We laughed at what our night had become, but also enjoyed the quiet of it being just the two of us in the car, knowing that it didn’t really matter where we were or what we were doing, just that we were doing it together made it feel like a date.

Finally, my husband had a hunch our order was ready, so his trusty house-shoes took him back to the Pizza Hut counter to collect our cuisine. Instead of eating there in the ambient parking lot, we took our vittles back home and relaxed on the couch, eating pizza, playing Scrabble, and catching up on our DVRed television…and what started off feeling like just a normal weeknight turned into a fun and memorable “date” of sorts…what more could a pregnant girl want? Oh, and next time we go out, he promises to wear normal shoes.

An Amazing Article by Anna Quindlen

2009-08-05T15:27:00.000-07:00

A dear family friend shared this article by Anna Quindlen with me the other day and I just think it's perfect. My friend couldn't have sent it to me at a more appropriate time. The days before she sent it, my husband and I were debating the pros and cons of reading parenting books versus just improvising as you go along...He's the consummate scholar, always reading and learning, and I tend to think in some ways, we should just let our natural instincts and common sense guide us. In reality, it's probably best to have a combination of both...Anyhow, enjoy!

"All My Babies Are Gone Now"
By Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow, but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubberducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once poured over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education -- all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations -- what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test,then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.

When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China . Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.

Every part of raising children is humbling. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the "Remember-When-Mom-Did" Hall of Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language -- mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover.The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I include that here.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?(She was thinking the same thing I was, apparently...no Simpsons here either!)But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

Love & Basketball?

2009-08-04T17:26:00.000-07:00

The other night, baby-on-the-way and I went to a playoff basketball game. No, this was not a Lakers game, or even a high-school game—though it was in a high-school gym. It was a playoff game for my husband’s lawyer basketball league. Lawyer basketball, you ask? Yes. Lawyer basketball. It’s basically a league made up of different law firms from around the city where overly aggressive males release the tension from a day’s work on the basketball courts and strive to recapture their glory days.

The smell of stale, sticky sweat permeated the air. The sound of rubber-soled-sneakers squealed and screeched as the players came to a halt on the shiny wooden floor. I saw the championship banners hanging high on the wall above the bleachers, with the hand-painted “Go Wildcats” posters not far below, and I was instantly transported to another world.

Something within the sounds and smells of the high-school gym took me to a mental place I had never been before during my pregnancy. As I watched these grown men run up and down the court, yelling “I’m open!” and “Come on, man!” with their hands in the air, I started thinking that someday, before I know it, I might be back in a gym just like this. But instead of watching my husband and his over-worked compadres hustle and wheeze their way up and down the court, I’d be watching my own child run, and jump, and test himself against other kids.

Since the early days of my pregnancy, I have spent countless hours imagining what my baby is going to be like—what she will look like, how it will feel to hold him, what it will be like to try to teach her things—but rarely have I thought about what happens when my baby starts to grow up and becomes an actual kid. What happens then?

As I sat in that gym, holding my pregnant belly tightly, I felt a new spirit of adventure. For the first time, I thought that being a mother will go far beyond changing diapers and pushing a stroller. Someday soon, several years away at least, I might be sitting in a gym watching Junior play YMCA basketball, or along the sidelines of a soccer field watching her run, or even in an auditorium watching her dance. Having a baby means more than just having a baby, it means having an actual KID who is going to sweat and compete and test himself or herself against the world, and I’m going to get to watch. That is pretty cool. And if it took a bunch of chubby, sweaty lawyers with inflated perceptions of their own athletic abilities to actually make me realize the depth of experiences I might someday share with this little person inside of me, so be it.

My husband’s team lost the game that night, but I won much more than he’ll ever know. Let’s just hope our baby has more class and sportsmanship than the “adults” on the floor that night who got into a fight because one of them was using too much “D” under the basket. (And no, my husband wasn’t one of them. Thank Goodness.)

Hop on Pop

2009-07-23T10:41:00.000-07:00

Since about 15 weeks into the pregnancy, my hubby and I have enjoyed reading to the baby at bedtime. Even though we were doing this before his ears developed, it's been a nice routine and gives us a chance to try out our different silly and dramatic voices which will surely entertain him once he enters the world!

Last night, we read our current favorite book, Dr. Seuss' beloved "Hop on Pop," and the little monkey was kicking like a can-can dancer in my tummy. Maybe it's the rhyming of the words, or maybe it's the vibrations of Kiko's deep voice, but whatever it was, he was really hot on Pop's storytelling skills.

Hopefully soon, Kiko will actually be able to feel him kicking when he places his hand on my bump...ah, there are so many milestones worth waiting for in life and pregnancy...

Pink or Blue?

2009-07-17T10:12:00.000-07:00

Woohoo...we found out last week, on July 2nd, that our little peapod is a BOY!

Of course, we'd be thrilled either way and just want it to be healthy, but it is wonderful to know that there is a little man growing inside of me now. I just hope some day I have a little girl so this little boy has someone (other than his mom) to protect.

Bumptastic?

2009-07-01T11:15:00.000-07:00

My man has been urging me to take a photo of my belly so we can chart the progress, and I have to say in the beginning I really wasn't into it, because really, it just looked like a full stomach after a big, delicious meal.

But now that I am starting to "pop," I kind of wish I gave in to his urges because it really is amazing to see the changes my body is going through.

We'll see if he convinces me to do it...

Walk A Mile in Another Man's Shoes

2009-07-01T11:13:00.000-07:00

I am curious what shoes YOU are wearing today? If you feel it in your SOUL, send me a pic of what your shoes look like today.

Tuesday's Shoes

2009-07-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

Tuesday's Shoes:

Black patent Michael Kors Wedges with striped cork sole.

These are usually quite comfortable, but I walked to the mall during a quick lunch today and the black patent on the sole got so hot from the friction of my feet.

Now I am starting to bring 2 pairs of shoes to work everyday: a pair of flats and a pair of heels.

Wednesday's Shoes

2009-06-24T13:00:00.000-07:00

Oh, and today's shoes are black patent pumps with contrasting white trim. I am avoiding the flats as much as I can...and I am loving my pink toes.

Finding out the Sex...or Not?

2009-06-24T12:05:00.000-07:00

"To find out the baby's sex or not to find out the baby's sex"...that is the question.

We always said if we were lucky enough to get pregnant, that we'd want the gender to be a surprise at birth. It felt to my husband and me like this might be one of life's last great surprises...and then, I got pregnant...and something changed.

I HAD to know what was inside me. I needed to know just as much as the doctors knew about my growing baby, and learning the sex before the birth is just part of the information we now can have, thanks to modern medicine.

I did feel a little guilty reneging on the deal my husband and I made, saying we'd wait and let it be a surprise. But I really did realize that the reason I was okay with it being a surprise was because I always thought we'd have a boy first. I don't know why it is, but I just have always pictured us with a little boy. Of course, I'd love to be lucky enough to have a girl someday, too. I am very close with my own mom, and plus, I think girls take care of their moms when they get old. So yes, for purely selfish reasons, I hope I someday have a little girl, but I've always, always always pictured our first baby having a weenie. So I thought, "Okay, let's not find out the gender. Because it's going to be a boy, anyway."

Secretly, for the past couple of years, I have been stashing away baby boy clothing that I find on clearance sale, and my husband has already started a sizeable collection of Star Wars, Lakers, & Dodgers onesies, which I have already informed him will be "bedazzled" if indeed we find out we're having a girl.

So now that we are about a week away from finding out the gender, I cannot contain my excitement. And of course, after all my preconceived ideas that we'd spawn a male child first, for some reason, I keep thinking this one might just be a girl. But therein lies the fun of not knowing yet --- even though we are not waiting until delivery day to learn which public restroom our baby will have to use, finding out next week will be a big surprise, too! And as I am quickly reminded by other new parent friends "Trust me, there are enough surprises that come with a new born that overshadow the surprise of which gender box they'll check."

I think everyone has to choose what's right for them, and who knows? Maybe with the second one, we'll decide to be patient and not find out until d-day. However for now, I am just giddy with excitement to find out what it is. We have already picked out our nursery bedding options, and depending on what it is, we will pull the trigger and make the purchase and then we can really get started on our dream nursery. And I really think I'll connect with the baby more once I know all there is to know about it at this stage.

Apparently, there is a new over-the-counter test from CVS drugs that can detect the baby's gender with an 80% accuracy rate. I just found out about this last week, otherwise, if it was earlier in the pregnancy, I just might have forked over the $35 for a chance to find out earlier...Then I realized, that's at least 1/3 of the cost of the Burberry jacket I am saving up to buy for my baby...boy? Or girl? Oh who knows, either one will both look smashing in it!

Plus, at this point if I can't even have the patience to wait one more week to find out, then I'll never be able to wait the whole 9 months...

Red Shoes

2009-06-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

Today, the shoes are red patent, low-heeled pumps. They are uber comfortable and help me with the Monday Blues because just looking at their bright color makes me happy. The pink toe nails are a little too Valentines Day-ish, but I have to roll with it.

We had a wonderful Father's Day weekend, but now I feel very tired. It was special to see my dad and my father-in-law in the same day, although our visits never seem long enough.

I wish everyone a great start to their week and will be writing more soon...

Now Showing --- my bump!

2009-06-16T12:19:00.000-07:00

Well, I think I am officially showing...Passerbys on the street might think I just downed a few too many Sam Adams last night, but I know better. What I am rockin' is not a beer belly, a one-two many milkshakes belly, or just some extra fat (although I am sure there is some of that, too), but rather it is a tummy with a baby inside. Weird...

Getting dressed for work in the morning is starting to be a challenge because my regular clothes are getting tight and my maternity clothes are still too big. I am sure this won't be the case for long.

I have just discovered Old Navy Maternity clothes --- and while I have yet to try any on, they seem to have a great selection and are affordable. I also love browsing at the gorgeous maternity clothes at Twilite Moon and Isabella Oliver, but these are a bit pricier and part of my nesting instincts is a new found frugality. (Sorry, hubby, but this probably won't last after the little baby arrives...or maybe it will...we do have to pay to raise this child, after all?)

Anyhow, I thought since this blog is called "Shoe-zen" I would post frequently what shoes I am wearing, just for fun. Today's shoes are not very exciting at all, but they are comfortable, trusty black pumps made of faux snake skin. The say you can't really know someone till you've walked around in their shoes for a while, so here's the next best thing to wearing my shoes - checking them out!

Thoughts on being pregnant...

2009-06-03T17:31:00.000-07:00

Is it weird that I sometimes forget that I am pregnant? I mean, can this really be happening? Is there really something growing inside of me? Just writing the words "I am pregnant" feels so strange and unreal.

It makes me wonder, at what point will it feel real? When will I really feel like a bona fide mom-to-be? Will it be when the first visible sign of a bump starts to appear? Or will it be the first time I feel my wee one kick, a possible sign that a mini-Beckham is growing inside of me? (Secretly, I am hoping for a Tiger, Kobe, or A Rod because I much prefer watching golf, basketball, or baseball to soccer….but of course, that’s not up to me…) I really want to know when it will sink in because right now all I feel is tired, hungry, and oh, did I mention exhausted?
I am cutting myself some slack, because after all, by some miracle called life, I am making another human. I joke with my husband sometimes when he gets home from work, “How was your day, honey?” I tease. “What did you do today?”

He answers with some pat answer, and I respond, “Oh, really, because I made some toes.”

All joking aside, it really is amazing that all this is going on inside me and I have little to do with it. Other than eating right (isn’t ice cream a grand source of calcium), exercising (online shopping can burn up to 100 calories an hour – more if you use Ebay), and trying to get as much rest as possible, I am taking a back-seat to what Mother Nature has been doing for centuries. It’s like being on pro-creation autopilot. I know there are a lot of maneuvers happening beneath the hood, and though I am in the driver’s seat, I may as well be asleep at the wheel because my body is just doing its thang. You go, Mother Nature. Let me know when I need to push or do something else strenuous…but until then, I get to be along for the ride as new changes happen everyday for my growing baby.

I have a new sense of calm and peace, and while my life is not perfect, I am making a baby and nothing can feel more significant in my life than that right now. The fact that my husband might be sent away for 4 months for work, or the fact that one of my huge projects at my job might get pushed until the month I am due, well I can’t really worry about those things right now, can I? Normally both of those predicaments might send me into a frenzy, but now what good is the stress going to do me? All I can do is wait until I know for sure what is happening and then deal with the situations as they arise.

But what I do try to deal with on daily basis are the new and constant changes my body is going through, like my acne-of-a-6th grader, my expanding waist, and my uncomfortable stomach pains due to the digestion problem-of-the-day.

So far, I have been blessed not to have bad morning sickness or any other dramatic health problem. I realize what I have is a gift and I am intent on not taking it for granted.

The first week I knew I was expecting, I think I listened to Maxwell’s “This Woman’s Work” about three dozen times on repeat. I needed to hear a song like that to help me focus in hopes that the reality of the situation would hit me. But the truth is, even when my belly is so big I can’t see my own feet, or when the baby is kicking so much in my tummy I feel like it deserves to be grounded for acting with such aggression, I still feel like none of it will actually seem believable until I am in the delivery room, trying to bring this tiny baby into the world…and when I feel those contractions and hear that tiny cry, that is I imagine when it will feel so real I won’t even remember the acne, exhaustion, or feelings of some surreal creature existing inside me…it will finally feel…real.

Joy Feast Love

2009-06-03T17:15:00.001-07:00

This is a picture of my fabulous writers' group, The Joy Feast Club, at Tula's wedding. We need a blond in the group, no?

Baby's First Wedding

2009-06-03T16:49:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, Peapod attended her first wedding. Our dear friends, Tula & Steve, wed in style at the hip Marvimon House in downtown Los Angeles.

We enjoyed a delicious Chinese banquet and had a splendid time with close friends, eating, laughing and dancing all while celebrating the marriage of a couple very much in love. Watching others drink wine was a bit torturous for me in my condition, but I did steal a few whiffs here and there. Also, it felt so crazy to dance with a little person inside of me. When my moves got a little rough, it felt like I had a swallowed a submarine sandwich whole and it was just rocking back and forth in my belly. Weird! The bride has a very cool design blog of her own, www.whorange.net, so you can get a sense of the wonderful & stylish vibe of the wedding.

Memorial Day Weekend

2009-05-25T22:20:00.000-07:00

We enjoyed a nice holiday weekend in town for a change. A lot has happened in the past year. A year ago today, we were on a plane headed for Tokyo, and then to Hawaii to celebrate our first anniversary. Now, we are sticking much closer to home - saving money we'd spend on flights and vacations for our little pea pod and trying to nest as much as possible. It still feels so early to start getting the nursery ready, but there is a lot of home organization that I need to take care of before the tiny infant arrives.

Luckily, this weekend I was able to make some headway cleaning out my closets and our desk area. Those that know me well know I am a bit of a pack rat, especially when it comes to sentimental items or clothes. If it still fits, it's just hard to get rid of, but I am getting more ruthless lately and my "to donate" pile of clothes is growing everyday, possibly thanks to the pregnancy nesting hormones.

We wanted to make sure we had some fun this weekend, too. On Sunday morning, we enjoyed brunch at Duke's in Malibu with our friends, Justin and Kelly. We were so excited to learn that Kelly is actually pregnant with her first baby, too, and she is due about a month before me, so naturally we had tons to talk about Sunday morning. Sitting by the water at Duke's, eating waffles and fresh fruit and trying to spot dolphins in the Pacific was a great way to spend the morning and made me appreciate living in Southern California.

Palm Springs for Jessica's Birthday

2009-05-18T22:01:00.000-07:00

This photo was taken last weekend in Palm Springs. Kiko and I ventured to Palm Springs on Saturday for our friend Jessica's 30th birthday celebration. Some day we'll tell pea pod about the wild and crazy party it attended while in utero, but I think we'll save the full story until it's in college. I actually managed to stay out until midnight which was amazing, and it was wonderful seeing some friends I hadn't seen in a while...and since I was one of the only sober ones, I can now fill them all in on everything that happened that they might not remember...

I think this picture makes me look more "pregnant" than I really am. Kiko is urging me to take photos of my belly, but I haven't given in yet...I am sure by the time I really "pop," I'll regret not documenting what I looked like before...we'll see...

Dado

2009-05-18T17:38:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of my maternal Grandmother's death. We called her "Dado," (pronounced dad-oh) and even though the name sounds similar to "dad," she was 100% lady. My oldest brother, Robbie, named her that when he was about 2 years old and the name stuck. I never knew her as anything else. Even friends and neighbors that had known her for years referred to her as Dado.

I could write for days about her and what she meant to me, but for some reason, now that I have a little person growing inside of me, I find myself thinking about her more and more in a different way than ever before. She was so many things to so many different people, but at her core she was a true southern woman who just wanted to make those around her happy. She brought me so much joy as a child and always made me feel special. It was a gift to spend time with her because she showered me and her other grandchildren with attention. One of my favorite activities we did together was making doll hats out of Styrofoam cups. It was a simple, and probably highly toxic process: we'd melt the Styrofoam cups in the oven until the bottoms of the cups curled up like little hat brims, then we'd dig into her sewing box for scraps of ribbon, silk flowers, loose sequins, buttons, and other treasures. Each hat we'd make would be unique and I don't know what was more fun - making them with her or putting them on my dolls later to admire our handy work and creativity.

We also loved making mud-pies (out of dirt, not coffee ice cream), doing Shrinky-Dinks, playing the piano, watching "The Fall Guy," and taking outings to the 99-cent store, Fed Co, and Mc Donald's. She sewed doll clothes for all my dolls, got me hooked on cream cheese on raisin bread sandwiches and used to get mad at me when I'd say, "I have to pee."

Her pat response when I'd use a vulgar word like "pee," would be: "Tootie, that's not very lady-like. You should say 'I need to use the restroom.'"

We also had to refer to "farts" as "fanny burps," which in my opinion is way more tortuous to a little kid than just getting the short word "fart" out and over with. Fanny burp just seems to linger on the tongue. Yuck.

But now that I am going to give my own parents a grandchild of their own, I can't help but get excited over how they'll influence my own kids. I know their relationship will be special and I know they will share something far different than my relationship with them.

Grandparents are just special, and today especially I remember Dado with love and fondness. She is always a part of me and even though I wish I could have made her a great-grandmother, I know somewhere she will be looking down on me, making sure I teach my kids to speak like proper young ladies and gentlemen, and encouraging my own crafty activities with my kids. Her gentle-loving spirit calms me when I worry about the future. Somehow I just feel comforted knowing that she loved me and remembering what she was like.

It's Friday...I'm Pregnant

2009-05-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

Oh, the many joys that come with being pregnant. Yes, it is a beautiful thing but there are so many things about making a little human that no one tells you. And luckily, I am not going to tell you either...because most of those details aren't fun to read or write about. But it is just amazing how my life is affected already by this unborn child.

For instance, the timing of popping my prenatal. Ask anyone who takes a multi-vitamin, and they will likely tell you that you should not take a vitamin on an empty stomach unless you are hoping to feel junky and you enjoy puking. Being pregnant only heightens this sensation of dizziness and nausea. And you are always hungry. So not only do I have to remember to eat my Wheaties, some fruit, AND yogurt before I swallow my pre-nate to keep from ralphing, but I have to keep continually eating throughout the day otherwise I start to feel sick. (not the vitamin's fault, I don't think...) If I don't eat every couple of hours, I start to feel dizzy, and it's like the little pea pod is sitting upright in my stomach, with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, banging the utensils on the imaginary kitchen table in my uterus, chanting "Me want food...me want food..." Okay, little guy. Tranquilo...1 Gala apple and some Sun Chips coming up.

Now I am not complaining, actually. I love food, but there are just so many things you have access to in a Century City high rise that sound good. Why isn't there an ice cream man in the vicinity of my office? Oh, to hear those bells chirping down the street.

Luckily, our office manager keeps a stash of Ritz Bits, Sun Chips, and granola bars on hand in our office, but when I really want a cup of mashed potatoes or a mini-pulled pork sandwich smothered in bbq sauce, what's a working pregnant girl to do?

I have been very fortunate with the nausea and have only up-chucked once so far, and I am positive it was because I took the vitamin on a mainly empty stomach, so I am not complaining. It's just that who knew someone could feel hungry ALL DAY LONG...and I still have 6 more months to go...

Too bad I work at A&E and not the Food Network...would write more but need a snack....

Peapod / AKA Alien Baby

2009-05-13T18:07:00.001-07:00

Foreword: Okay, first off please note the previous two posts were written in late February/early March, before I knew I was exepecting....

Here's our baby timeline:

3/13 - The day after I got back from being in NYC on a business trip, I found out I was expecting.

4/8 - First prenatal doctor's appointment where we saw the heartbeat & had the first ultrasound.

5/8 - We heard the heartbeat the first time, which sounded like a freight train. Crazy!

5/13 - Then today, we had our second ultrasound and Kiko and I were both in awe of the little dude or dudette as we watched it on the monitor. We saw the little peapod actually moving around, which just made it seem so much more real. For the most part, he/she was sleeping but the dr. kept moving the machine around trying to wake it up so he could see it from other angles. It really does look like an alien (but a cute alien!) because of the big, buggy eye sockets. Ah, the miracle of life...
Most of the time today, the doctor said it was sleeping. We saw its little legs which were crossed at the ankles, almost like it was in a meditation pose. A couple of times it waved its arms and the doctor said it was doing the Macarena. Lord, let's hope not! Ha!
The only bad thing from today was that the nurse told me I needed to stop wearing high heels...Hmm...I think NOT.

I want an Oompa-loompa....NOW...

2009-05-12T14:53:00.000-07:00

I want a baby. It’s hard not to obsess over something once you’ve decided you wanted it. Whether it’s a certain job, a man, or a new pair of shoes, I like to set my sights on a goal and then work hard till I achieve it. Maybe the same will be true with the process of trying for a baby. I know it’s not always easy and it doesn’t always happen right away (or ever, sometimes, I need to be realistic.) But it’s important to make the process of trying to conceive fun.

Side note: I like to get lost in thoughts of what my baby will look like. Will he have dark beautiful curls and smooth tan skin like my husband? Or will he inherit my family’s prominent nose and deep set eyes? What will his voice sound like when he cries, because I am sure occasionally he’ll cry….and what if he is actually a she?

While it is fun to daydream about what characteristics our love child will have, first we have to get him here. So what’s the best way to do that? Well, duh. I know how…but how often and when? Is there any truth to a special fertility diet? And positions? How do you get “to work” without actually making it feel like a job? I feel like it's something you just "let happen..." but we'll see...

My good girlfriend suggested getting my female parts checked out before we really get into it, like taking your car in for a tune-up before a cross-country drive…but do I just need to give it a try and then check our progress? I've never really been into to preventative autocare. I like to be more reactionary...

Bitten by the Baby Bug

2009-05-05T16:00:00.000-07:00

“Beautiful linen crib sheets…100% organic cotton bumper...Ooh, click for alternate images. Wow...” Repeat after me: I will not look at nursery bedding online. I will not look at nursery bedding online, while I am in my office and need to be working. I will not look at nursery bedding online…and fantasize about my dream nursery…My dream nursery with Wedgewood blue colored walls, hand-painted animal silhouettes on the wall above the white wooden crib painted in lead-free paint, and the cozy eco-friendly glider strategically placed by the window…I will not do any of this…before I am even PREGNANT.

My name is Susan. And I want a baby.

Let me back up. I wonder if there are other women like me: young(ish), professional women who have always dreamed of having a family but have never actually been certain about when the right time would be to take that next step. I always figured the steps would be fairly simple: I’d have a stimulating, fulfilling career, marry a handsome, hard-working and compassionate man, and eventually we’d just know when the time was right to begin having a family. (Side note: I was raised and married in the Catholic church, so technically the time to begin having a family was right after the honeymoon, but that was never our plan.)

In this moment, I am more concerned about my own decision as a woman to know when the time is right to become a mom. And I am beginning to think that, like other things in life, there is no predetermined “right time” ---it just happens and you feel it and it’s right. And I think that time might be now. The signs are everywhere. About a year ago, my doctor started gently nudging me as my 30th birthday approached, hinting that I should really start thinking about starting a family. I was aghast. Was she joking? I didn’t feel like I was in the right place professionally or financially to take on the responsibility of motherhood. Then, she looked at me with her warm brown eyes and poker-face medical professional facial expression and said “Susan, it will never be the right time financially or professionally to have a baby. You just have to go for it. It will always mean sacrifice and it will always mean juggling priorities, but it will always be worth it.” Her words stuck with me as I left her office, but it wasn’t until now, almost a year later, that I began to think that maybe I am starting to believe her.

The strangest thing now is that while my husband has been ready since about 2 months after we said our vows, I have been the hesitant one. Because it is my career that will be most affected. Because though I know he’ll be a wonderful, hands-on father, I also know that ultimately a bulk of the responsibility will fall to me. I’ll have to figure out how much time I can take off work. I’ll have to obsess over whether we let the baby cry it out. I’ll have to decide what to feed him (or her!), etc. There are just certain things I think always fall primarily on a mother’s shoulders.

So without a lot of forethought, suddenly, incredibly, I feel like Ally McBeal with that damned dancing baby…I am suddenly and completely obsessed with the idea of having a baby. It started off gradually when I would notice myself becoming inappropriately overly enthusiastic when I’d learn that an acquaintance was expecting. I’d want to know all the details – how long before they knew they were pregnant, what symptoms they were experiencing, were they going to find out the sex, what style did they want for the nursery décor, etc. Then this excitement evolved into longer stares at strangers’ babies at the mall or in restaurants, detours at the book store to the maternity aisle, quick browses through informational sites like babycenter.com and thecradle.com. Gradually, I started positioning myself to be spending more and more time with my friends who had babies and I was growing ever more inquisitive and bold with each visit. When I stayed with a friend and her three month old for a week and I found myself pleading with her to let me change his diaper I knew something was going on…something that I hadn’t consciously thought about or something that I hadn’t really decided on, but it just happened.

Something awakened inside of me and I can’t put it to rest.

It manifests itself in the endless online searches for the perfect nursery bedding and the tireless research of how to chart my basal body temperature. And while a lot of my desires to be a mom seem to present themselves through the urge to spend money on material items like baby clothes, bedding, books, etc. what I really realize at the heart of everything is I just want a baby to snuggle. Some little creature who will be a part of me and my husband, who I will care for and raise into (I hope!) a creative and compassionate human being. When I dream of the perfect nursery it is only because I picture myself in it, rocking my little one to sleep, looking into his or her squinty eyes and hoping the kid knows just how loved and adored he or she really is. And when I picture those walls it’s not because I am obsessed with home décor, but it’s because I love the idea of a home filled with busy toddlers and dogs, bustling with energy and intrigue and just generally full of life.

So here’s to the realization that maybe my life is about to change, if I am so blessed. Maybe someday soon my online shopping sprees will shift from shoe sales at Saks.com to burp cloth sales at Babies R Us. Either way, it feels good to acknowledge what is really going on and that somehow, slowly, I’ve been bitten by the bug…that pesky, persistent, want-to-be-a-mom bug. . .

What is fat?

2007-09-11T13:25:00.000-07:00

What is fat? Who is fat? Is the woman who eats 3 Big Macs to console her depressed, unsatisfied existence on her way home from her telemarketing job fat because she weighs 250 pounds?

Or is the woman fat who maybe wears a wears a size 6 pair of jeans when really she should be wearing a size 8, and thus the jeans hug her hips so tight that it pushes all her extra "skin" over the top of her pants making her belly appear perhaps larger and more jiggly than it normally is fat just because she is not rail thin?

Americans are crazy about fat and thin. Everywhere you look, people are sadly and unhealthily at both ends of the body fat spectrum. It seems extreme cases of obsese and skinny are all around us. Take a trip to any amusement park on a weekend and you'll see gobs of overweight adults and children, indulging in too large of portions and sugary sodas and fruit juices. But open any magazine and the images on the pages are so different from the real world that these women barely look like people. Stick thin models who on a bad day wear a size 0, most of whom aren't older than 21, also have been airbrushed so that even the tiniest dimple or flaw vanishes with the click of a mouse.

Focus for a second on Las Vegas - the land of healthy living - and the MTV VMAs where one controversial pop star's attempt to make a come back had a very bad choice of an outfit. Or, was it an inspired choice?

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let the record reflect that Britney Spears IS NOT FAT. She may not boast the wash board abs and toned - from -dancing -all day bod she once sported during brighter days in her career, but she is not by any means, fat.

It is appalling for me as a woman to read and hear all the attacks accusing her of being fat. Click here to find just a sampling of these attacks: Britney Backlash. I'd like to see the majority of the people making those comments put on a black sequined bikini and strut around on stage in front of millions of people and then we'll talk about who's fat and who's not.

Now I am not saying I like Britney, or even support her lazy attempt to make a big come back, but what I do support is people promoting healthy body images.

What people should be talking about is her substance abuse problems, her neglect of her children, and the fact that she is so freaking lucky to be in a position where the world is watching her and she has the ability to touch people's lives and influence them, and she is too damn sick or blinded or whatever the excuse to realize the impact she could have on the world. Most people would die to be in her position - to make money singing and dancing and wearing sexy clothes. You've got a position of power - or at least a position in the spot light - use it to do something other than just hook up with college boys in the Downtown Standard pool, topless...

What Britney needs to do rather than spend time doing 1000 crunches a day like she used to, is do some serious soul searching and spend some time being a Mom to her children. Think about them first for a change instead of partying every night. And hey, maybe if she lays off the booze some of that extra belly flab will melt away and she'll look more like the toned sexpot that everyone praised her for before.

But even if she doesn't do this, let's lay off the fat jokes. If for no other reason then there are far better and more important things to criticize her for than her non-stick thin body and her poor outfit choices.

http://news.aol.com/entertainment/music/story/ar/_a/britneys-body-gets-brunt-of-insults/20070911064009990001

Hairspray - The Movie (2007)

2007-07-17T10:14:00.000-07:00

Last night, I had the great pleasure to see the film version - of the Broadway version -of the John Waters' film HAIRSPRAY.

Can I just say I LOVE QUEEN LATIFAH? Long live the queen. She is "big, blond, and beautiful" as ever in this movie and her singing is fabulous. Some of her best lyrics are: "Bring on that pecan pie. Pour some sugar on it, honey don't be shy. Scoop me up a mess of that chocolate swirl. Don't be stingy, I am a growing girl. I offer big love with no apologies. Why should I deny the world the most of me? Why would you want something that only offers the least when girl we're serving up the whole damn feast?"

And Christopher Walken. His dancing... His singing... Even when he's not saying a word, brilliance oozes from the screen. He runs the "Hardy Har Hut," a Baltimore joke shop and is the father to chubby dance sensation and desegregation spokesperson, Tracy.

And the new-comer, Nikki Blonsky as Tracy Turnblad is a dazzling delight, with darling facial expressions and sassy dance moves.

I could go on and on...The film had me smiling the whole 2 hours. Sure, there were moments where John Travolta seemed to shamelessy rip off Mike Meyer's "Dr. Evil" voice, and other times when you wanted to leave the theatre to call Michelle Pfeiffer's agents pleading with them to get her to a buffet immediately, but overall, the film did not disappoint.

And a fabulous cameo from John Waters as the flasher, and one from Ricki Lake as an agent in the audience for the Miss Teenage Hairspray Competition, just proves that the film is layers upon layers of fluffy chocolate & vanilla fun!

S'more-coholic

2007-07-12T13:17:00.000-07:00

Just a quick thought...

If drinking alone is a tell-tale sign of being an alcoholic, then what does it mean if you make S'mores alone?

You've got a nasty sugar addiction? A deep, desperate desire to go camping?You're entering starvation and have a serious need to shop for groceries?

S'mores making is a group activity, much like fondue, shabu-shabu, or those restaurant dishes that arrive at your table underneath a tower of blue & orange flames.

S'mores treats are not things you should enjoy alone...but they do taste mighty damn good, whether you're indulging late night in your kitchen or around a packed camp fire with your closest compadres...

First Post as a Married Woman & A Homeowner...

2007-06-30T21:15:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been a long time since I've written. Planning a wedding leaves little time for blogging...or at least that's what I liked to tell myself.

Is it weird that I am spending my first Saturday night as a married woman post-honeymoon on the computer blogging while my husband watches the Dodgers and plays his Play Station Portable (PSP, as I will refer to it from here forward) in the den?

Or, is it perhaps weirder to think that this afternoon we attended a matinee showing of the new Disney Pixar flick "Ratatouille" and we don't even have children yet? Ahh...married life.

No, but seriously, I couldn't be happier. Nothing is better than waking up on a Saturday morning with a moderate hangover from chugging the leftover bottle of wedding champagne outside of the Greek theatre before hearing the fabulous music Alison Kraus and Union Station... then tasting some fresh squeezed OJ that was made from oranges that grew in your very own backyard. Fabulous!

After a very satisfying breakfast prepared with love using newly gifted appliances (a secret materialistic perk of getting married - getting lots of great gifts, like electric juicers and waffle irons), we took our dog, Coconut on a long hike in the San Gabriel Mountains. By 10:00 AM it was 80 degrees and the sweltering sun and dry and thirsty chaparral landscape was still beautiful despite the occasional graffitied rock or plastic soda bottle littering the trail....

But what's most amazing as that as I sit in my house overwhelmed with all the changes in my life I truly can't stop thinking about that concert. Was I born in the wrong era? Were we the only ones under 40 in the audience? Perhaps...but while many girls my age may have been sauntering their way around Area or some other hip Hollywood hangout, I was sitting under a semi-starry sky in Los Angeles listening to the intoxicating voice of Alison Kraus and fantasizing about quitting my job and dedicating myselt to the dobro. That instrument speaks to me...it's does to your ears what the smell of homemade cornbread baked in a cast iron skillet does to your nose...makes you feel like you're in the deep south and everything is just....as it should be.

I knew the rest of the crowd was digging the music, too, when the elderly woman sitting in front of me with the teased white hair and taut face-lifted cheeks decided after the third song that it was safe to take her ear plugs out and groove along with her husband, who was already dancing and enjoying every note that poured from the stage...

When the show was over, I serioulsy felt sad, like I wasn't ready for it to be over...

Just for fun, here's a review of the show that we saw, only because I really loved it and I would encourage the three people that read my blog, if you like bluegrass or country music even a little, check out Alison Kraus...you might not want to run out and sign
up for dobro lessons but I guarantee you won't want to insert ear plugs...

http://backtorockville.typepad.com/back_to_rockville/2007/06/concert_review__8.html

Dado & The Jacarandas

2006-10-16T13:35:00.000-07:00

In June in Los Angeles, they are everywhere. The bright violet blooms of the Jacaranda trees. They smell fragrantly, and when they cover walkways like rose petals on a wedding aisle, they provide a slippery surface for the bottom of your shoes. But they’re gorgeous.

Dado and I played a game “count the jacaranda trees.” How many could I count on the way to Hughes market? Six? Eight? When I’d spot one from a distance down the street I would get excited and feel proud, and have to remember as I approached the tree and its vibrant blooms, that I already counted that one from far away.

I miss her. Every time I see a jacaranda tree I think of her, and right now, in June in L.A., they are blooming all over the city. It’s never like I actually forget her because I think of her all the time, but when the trees are blooming, I can't escape thoughts of her and I feel her presence even more intimately when I see those trees. In Burbank as I leave the Warner Bros Ranch where my office is, I see the trees and I see her. They frame the road next to Starbuck’s and remind all the network and studio employees to take time out to enjoy the changing of the season.

At Kiko’s apartment, I feel her. There’s a huge jacaranda tree on the property of his apartment building that scatters the otherwise drab driveway with glorious purple petals. Most of the tenants just drive over the beautiful blooms, smashing them deeper into the ground so they spread out like flowers in a press, without even realizing how gorgeous they make the black asphalt. Thank you, oblivious drivers for leaving small signs of Dado on the driveway for me to feel close to her.

I want to gather all of the fallen purple petals I see, put them in a zip lock bag and preserve them in the freezer. I want to make a quilt of these jacaranda buds made of a color so vibrant it would feel like spring all year round, and cover me in her warmth. I’d scatter them across a white table cloth for pops of color, or use them to spruce up bath water if they smelled fragrant or seemed clean.

Some people can’t stand the mess they make on the sidewalk and sweep up the gorgeous lilac blooms the minute they drop from the tree. Others go about their daily routines, practically not paying any attention to nature’s wondrous rouge coloring the skyline and the sidewalks. But I notice. And Dado notices. She always noticed, which means I will never forget to notice and remember…

Panty Conventions

2006-09-28T22:51:00.000-07:00

"Susan, you got like a panty convention goin' on in here..." said my friend Tyrone as we stopped off in the laundry room of my old apartment while giving him a tour of the place. Four years later, and when ever I do my laundry, I still have "panty conventions" as Tyrone called them, and I revel in every single minute of these conventions...

I love doing laundry. There is something methodic and soothing about sorting all of my dirty clothes. It is very orderly. Darks in one pile; whites in another; medium colors and everything in between in yet a third grouping. Sometimes you have to make tricky decisions, like to which pile should a t-shirt with multi-colored stripes go? Many of the colors are dark enough to make them qualify for the all-dark cold-water load, but there might be just enough white or light pink in the garment to make it a perfectly viable contender for the medium load. Most of the time, there is only one lucid choice. And sometimes in life, that's a relief. Knowing there is really only once place for something feels better sometimes than having too many options...(Does this mean that when it comes to laundry, communism is good?)

I tend to wash almost all my clothes on the delicate cycle. There is just something comforting in knowing that my clothes are getting a little extra TLC, even if maybe they don't need it. My undergarments, or silkies as Steph used to call them, make the prettiest displays when I dry them. While they are on the drying rack, they are still sorted by color, thus creating the foundation for a panty convention, which is a bunch of panties (10 pair at least) all laying down side by side in color coordinated rows, or rainbows of different colors, all drying together. They must be laid flat, and of course they must be clean to be eligible for the convention. Full-back bikini briefs get their own section, and g-strings occupy their own space, and they never comingle.

Perhaps the best thing about doing laundry is the memories that flood from the past weeks or days when sorting through the clothes. Even smelly sweatshirts seem beautiful when I remember that the reason the sweatshirt got sweaty and dirty was because I took a long beautiful hike in the hills surrounding San Francisco with a friend. Or, those extra strands of dog hair on my jogging suit are welcomed souvenirs of some good snuggles with my parents' dogs. Dirty clothes mean I've been living my life and doing things outside to get me dirty or make me sweat...and I like the idea of that.

My least favorite part of laundry is putting the clean clothes away after they've been folded...but I suppose if I just think that putting them away makes them one step closer to being worn again, and thus to being primed to take on some memorable dirt then it's not such a bad step in the circle of my laundry after all.

Finding THE Dress

2006-08-02T09:43:00.000-07:00

You're standing there, naked, in front of a stranger. It's a female stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. You're thinking "did I get a good shave?" and "are my tan lines super scandalous?" as you step your bare feet into a cylinder of silky white heaven. The strange woman helps you step into the massive cocoon of fabric, and she slides it up your torso. Then comes the zipping, the cinching, and the sucking it in, so she can fasten the dress with her huge metal clips that look like the ends of jumper cables. How is it okay for such a beautiful garment to be touched and held together by jumper cables?

Wedding dress shopping is a wonderful event. I thought it was the most wonderful when I went to WATCH my close friends, future sister-in-law, and cousin search for their dresses...but it became an entirely new adventure when it was I who was looking for the dream dress...the perfect gown for me to wear on the day that everyone swears will be the best day of my life.

The first time I tried on a wedding gown, I wanted to cry. Not because I was so moved by how I looked in it, or because I caught a glimpse of my mom's quiet face and glistening eyes at seeing me in a white wedding dress for the first time, but more because I was simply overwhelmed by the sight. For many young women, our whole lives are filled with people speculating about when we'll get married, who we'll marry, and what our wedding day will be like. Society puts so much pressure on young girls to strive not for professional satisfaction, but for finding the ideal mate and settling down... and I guess I was not the one to question that aspect of social norms...I wanted a fulfilling career, BUT I'd also grown up staging weddings with my Barbie dolls, sketching gowns in lecture halls during college, and subscribing to wedding magazines much before I actually needed to...but only because I was "getting ideas for parties" or "scouting styles for a friend's wedding."

But the first time I saw myself in a wedding dress, I realized "this is it." I am actually getting married. No more dreams about what the lucky man will be like. No more questions as to where I'll be living and what my career will be...well, that's actually not true. Those questions are more prevalent now than before...It's here, and I am the bride-to-be.

Still, what I felt was pure shock. It felt fake, like I was trying on my mom's dress when I was 7 years old, "pretending" I would actually wear a dress like this some time. But this was very real. I could feel the fine silk skimming my skin, and it was my own hips hiding beneath A-line skirt. With a veil on my head there was no question that I was the one preparing for marriage.

With each dress I tried on, and each bridal salon I entered, I gradually became more comfortable with the sight of me in a wedding gown, and by the end, I was actually enjoying it. Did I want to feel like a princess and wear a more traditional, poofy ball gown? Or did I want to feel more like a 40s movie star, in a slinky body-skimming silk charmeuse sheath with just a hint of beading? Each dress transformed me into a different kind of bride, but many of them evoked different sides of my personality. Trying them on became a sort of addiction. I wanted to savor each experience, because each one represented so many different possibilities and brought out so many different sides of my personality.

When I finally did find "the" dress, I knew it only because it became the gown that I measured everything else up against. I would say to my mom, "well, I wish it had blank like the other gown," or "didn't you think that the way that other dress hit me at the waist was just a tad more flattering?" and I began to realize that maybe my search was over. The other dress quietly became the dress with each not-quite-right gown I tried.

This was the dress that I could actually envision myself wearing on my wedding day. When I pictured the Spanish-style mission where our ceremony will be, the arched threshold, how my dad will look in his tuxedo, I could absolutely see myself wearing that dress. My entourage sighed in big-belly gasps when I walked out in that gown, and that was the only reaction of that magnitude. (My favorite reaction from my mom in other not-right-for-me dresses was "well, it doesn't look awful..." Thanks, Mom. She's always trying to let me down gently...)

My emotional roller coaster ride trying on dresses proved to be a blast and a once-in-a-lifetime experience. While modeling gowns, I was able to pretend I was a princess bride getting married at the Plaza in New York in duchess satin, a corset top, and tons of beading, and I also got to be a beach bride, in bare feet and body skimming silk. And then I found it; the one that fits me and my style (and hopefully, Kiko's...) perfectly.

Like everything else with the wedding, I wanted to savor the gown shopping. My wedding day is a little more than 10 months away, and my wedding dress shopping is over. But like all other aspects of the planning, it just makes me more excited for the big day...and hopefully the dress I picked will represent all the different facets of my femininity and personality...and hopefully it won't make me want to cry the day I put it on!

First Class First Time

2006-07-26T18:13:00.000-07:00

What's the cliche - "ignorance is bliss?"

I think that's how I felt about flying coach. I never knew what it was like on the other side of the wall, the first class side, so I was content. I didn't know what I was missing.

While preparing to board a flight from NYC back to Los Angeles, a flight attendant asked if we'd mind taking a later, direct flight to Los Angeles, and she'd bump us up to first class. Why not?

What's so great about first class? The ample leg room, the cushy seats, the cup holder on the arm rest so that you can have a drink near you without having your tray table down the entire ride are some of the plush details I was impressed with during my first first-class flight. But my favorite part about it? The warm chocolate chip cookies and glass of milk we were served about a 1/2 hour before landing.

I could get use to the jet-setting life of being a first class lady...but maybe I'll have to wait a few years.

Central Park in mid-July

2006-07-18T10:31:00.000-07:00

loud mouthed kids
shady trees
panting dogs
not so chilled drinks from street vendors
cool breeze
sweaty strapless bra slowly sliding down your wet rib cage in the heat as you walk

So Long, WB

2006-07-07T17:33:00.000-07:00

(DEEP BOOMING VOICE:)
TONIGHT, ON THE WB...
A young woman says goodbye to the life she's known for three years...what will be the next adventure on her journey?

This is the last post I will ever write from my office at the WB...

Today, I packed up my little corner office on the Warner Bros. Ranch. I filled boxes with a melange of my personal junk: pictures, books, my West Highland terrier desk calendar, special pens, gifts from shows, receipts, etc. and stuffed the boxes into the back of my four door sedan.

It is a bittersweet goodbye. I am not sure how I feel, but I know it's time to move on. It would be easier to not look back if I knew exactly where I was going, but I am trying to keep my chin up and realize that change is good and healthy. I am anxious to find out what's next on my career path, and am encouraged by some of the possibilities...

So, Michigan J, it's been a good three-year run with you. Within your halls, I was promoted to my first executive job and I had the opportunity to work with many talented individuals, and for this I am grateful...but now it's time to say goodbye...

Those Dog Gone Dreams

2006-07-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

Someone once told me that if you dream that someone dies, it means is that if you lost that person, you'd be devastated. You fear that person leaving your life, and leaving you alone on earth.

Well, I wonder if that same interpretation applies to the death of a canine in a dream as well? I have recurring nightmares that my favorite four legged friend, Murphy White, is dying or dies. I wake up feeling sad and guilt-ridden because I don't get to see her nearly enough since she lives with my parents two hours away from me. My parents have 3 acres of land, and wide expanses of lawn that she loves to roll around in, as well as several porches where she enjoys sunning herself throughout the day.

Last night I dreamt that she wasn't eating, and I was trying to hand-feed her anything I could get her to swallow, and my aunt told me "Susan, it's hopeless. She's dying..." And I woke up with tears in my eyes.

I know that death is a fact of life. I know that pets don't have the life-span that humans do. I know that eventually, everything and everyone passes, and that by dwelling on this fact, it just makes you consumed with morbid thoughts and takes away from the joie de vivre...but why can't I tell myself this when I am in dream-land...how do I stop these recurring visions of Murphy's inevitable (but possibly far off) passing on?

And more importantly, how can I be sure that little Schmurphy-Murphy knows how much she is loved?

Lady of Leisure

2006-06-27T10:29:00.000-07:00

Manicures. Pedicures. 10 AM trips to the gym. Long leisurely lunches. Shopping excursions in the middle of the day. Coffee dates with friends at 4 pm on a Tuesday. Reading juicy novels for 3 hours at a time. Knitting baby booties. Wedding appointments. These are the types of appointments clouding up my weekly calendar lately. Well, this is not entirely accurate. But it's a possibility considering I am now learning to be a "lady of leisure."

What I should be is a "lady of closet-cleaning..."

It's hard to be a Lady of Leisure when you're used to being a Working Girl. You feel like suddenly, you have all the time in the world to do all the things you've always wanted to do, but all you think about is "what will my next job be?" If only it could be arranged so I was blessed with money AND time simultaneously.

It's strange how one's life can change so quickly. Just a few months ago, I was a single girl with a great job that took up all or nearly all of my time. My job demanded my time beyond the confinements of a regular 9 to 6 job, as I always attended tapings at night, early morning breakfasts, drinks and dinners, and there rarely was a night when I didn't come home at 10:30 pm to find one or 2 scripts waiting on my door step that would need to be read before 9:30 AM the next morning. The workload was significant and the pace steady and fast, but I liked it. I was accustomed to it. I never had time to be bored, or to really think "what do I want to do right now" because I always had something I knew I should be doing...

Now all that has changed. The only pressing task on my "to do" list is to clean out my office at Warner Bros. I have about 2 weeks left of "official employment" and though it feels nice to finally know that I will not be going on to the new company, what awaits in the future is uncertain...

As a working girl, I had a great boyfriend, who I'd been dating for years, but rarely spoke to about marriage. Now, I suddenly don't have a job, but I am engaged and am planning a wedding! Wow! How did I go from being an independent working woman to becoming a lady of leisure who doesn't work but just spends her days planning a big fancy wedding? I know one day I'll look back on this time and feel blessed that it worked out that I had this time, because when I do start working again, it is clear that I won't have time to plan a wedding...so maybe all this is a blessing in disguise...maybe there is a master plan.

Just trying to have faith in the meantime that everything will work out the way it should is the hardest thing...I know I will not be lazy and just expect things "to work themselves out." I will pursue every opportunity with tenacity. And I will also do some soul searching, because perhaps everything that's happened with the CW IS all for a good reason. Maybe I am destined to do something greater than just work at a fledgling TV network. Maybe I haven't even realized what the future is really going to hold...

All I know is this...being a lady of leisure doesn't exactly suit me. I can only best relax when I feel as if I've actually DONE something productive, useful, challenging...so whether it be cleaning out my closets, or going to the gym, damn it, I am going to earn my relaxing afternoons at the beach and weekly manicures. Hey, after all, don't I need to start taking care of my hands since I am going to be a bride in less than a year? :)

The Waiting

2006-05-24T16:55:00.000-07:00

The waiting is the hardest part.
Everyday you see one more card.
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart.
The waiting is the hardest part.

Tom Petty knew what he was talking about when he said "the waiting is the hardest part." Even if he was talking about a woman, and I am talking about a job, I am so exhausted from waiting around for an answer.

I can see why it's so appealing to be your own boss, and not have to depend on someone else to give you answers about the future of your own career.

Since January 24, I have been in limbo with the WB and the new fangled CW network...I just want the plug to be pulled already. It has been agony...I am chained by a contract and prohibited from looking for a new job. Yet any day, I could be released, and the time on my contract would still end on the same day. Time is ticking on the hour glass and I am still here...

Almost all my coworkers have been laid off or have quit. Their offices are packed up and locked. Occasionally, a few pop in with cheery faces to check email on their way back from playing tennis or before going to a yoga class. I could scream "The Star Spangled Banner" at the top of my lungs, and no one would hear me. The halls are void of people sans the occasional messenger delivering one of the last rough cuts the WB will ever receive; there are boxes of abandoned tapes of scripts stacked against every wall in the halls. It is like the Burbank City Morgue, without even an undertaker.

Outside my office door sits a pile of unopened envelopes, mostly containing agency script submissions for clients I haven't read yet, but who I will be unable to help staff because I am not involved with staffing the new shows.

I crave being able to have a new focus - a new challenge, at work. I want to work, to have a normal routine where I can feel useful and important and like my thoughts matter. I used to feel that at this job. It was invigorating most days. The pace of working in television is intense, and you get in the groove of your routine, and are constantly reading and reviewing new matieral so it's always exciting and fresh. Your days are packed yet somehow you find the time to get EVERYTHING done.

Now I am planning a wedding, which is a welcome distraction since I have a bit more free time, but it doesn't take away from the fact that I still need to get my work-life sorted out...and soon...because the waiting...

SUCKS!

Revlon Run/Walk

2006-05-16T11:33:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, May 13, my roommate and I participated in the Revlon Run/Walk at the L.A. Coliseum to help raise money for breast and ovarian cancer research.

We joined a group of over 50,000 people who are committed to finding a cure.

What I saw was unforgettable. Women, men, boys, girls, children and dogs everywhere. It was well-organized, but could have been chaotic considering how many people were there. But amidst all the people, the pets, the jog strollers and the white tents, loud speakers and music of Chaka Khan, there was an air of calmness. 100s of people walked in support of loved-ones. 100s of others walked just to walk for the cause. People walked in honor of their mothers, aunts, sisters, daughters, friends, and coworkers.

Some walked in memory of loved-ones, and that's when it became more intense. But nonetheless, they walked. They walked because they couldn't just sit at home and feel sad, doing nothing to help.

We may not all be doctors or work in oncology labs doing research, but we all have something to contribute.

Only 3 days before the race, I decided to send an email to close friends and coworkers, inviting them to sponsor me. I was blown away by the response. I hate asking people for money, no matter what the cause. But I am so appreciative of everyone I know that donated to the event. It made me feel good to know they support me and my mom, and everyone else who is impacted by the disease.

I don't know how I can repay the generous people who donated. A simple thank you seems too mundane, but the strong sense of gratitude I feel inside is strong, and I hope they all know that just as I was touched by all the thousands of people supporting the cause on Saturday, I was also touched by those who gave their hard earned money to help in the fight...

https://www.revlonrunwalk.com/la/secure/mywebpage.cfm?pid=336262

Marrying Patrick Swayze

2006-05-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

When I was 9, I believed I would never get married. I was going to be an actress AND a pediatrician, who also did veterinary work on the side. I would live in a big, Meditteranean-style mansion with my adopted daughter, and we wouldn't need a man to take care of us.

As I grew older and wiser with age, I finally at age 10 realized that perhaps having a man around wouldn't be so bad. I could marry someone like Patrick Swayze in DIRTY DANCING, and we would spend our free time dancing to Otis Redding songs; he'd raise me up high above his head in a lift just like Baby and we'd be happy always. My dad would learn to like him, and I would be committed to changing the world, just like Baby.

In junior high school, I mentally moved on from Patrick Swayze and decided I would set my sights on marrying Jason Priestly. What I now recognize is that I didn't really want to betrothe myself to the chain-smoking, race-car-driving, Canadian hockey-playing Priestly, but rather I was in love with Brandon Walsh, the character he played on the TV show, BEVERLY HILLS, 90210. I wanted to be with someone who was dedicated to always making ethical choices. He would work long hours at the Peach Pit, or wherever his place of business was located, and also make time to hang out with his friends at the beach. At Thanksgiving, he'd invite the homeless war veteran back to our house for supper, and he'd always be loyal to his sister and his parents.

Now, at 27, I have completely accepted the idea of marriage to a non-fictional character... The nine year old in me gasps for air and questions what I'm committing myself to, but the adult woman in me knows that two is better than one. The adult woman in me knows that only with a special person can you laugh like you're a child at the most inane things, and knows that it is a blessing to find someone with whom you can completely let down your guard. And that someone is not Patrick Swayze, or Brandon Walsh, but a real-life man.

About 2 weeks ago, my boyfriend of several years proposed, and my life has not been the same since he asked me "to accept the beautiful ring and say I'll be his wife."

Suddenly, I look at him differently. Now that there is a ring on my finger, he looks smarter and more mature. He smells differently, too. His normal scent of Right Guard Mountain Fresh seems even manlier and more serious - like an extra-strength clear gel that can keep you dry during ANYTHING life presents you. His eyes are deeper and more sincere, and I realize that these are the eyes I will be looking into for the rest of my life. His hands are stronger and smoother, and I know that these are the hands I want to hold forever. His hands will be the ones that help me move furniture into my first real home, and his hands will be the ones that hold my children when they cry.

And unlike Patrick or Jason, I have actually smelled Kiko. I've touched him the flesh, and he has indeed lifted me up above his head. I've held his hands and I know what they feel like around my tiny fingers and I know that they'll be reaching out to me, to everything the 9-year-old in me was, and everything that the 27-year-old me NOW is, for as long as I am lucky to be with him...

Quotes about (Wo)Man's Best Friend

2006-03-21T11:02:00.000-08:00

"Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in your car, in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear."
-Dave Barry

"I'd be happy to have my biography be about the stories of my dogs. To me, to live without dogs would mean accepting a form of blindness."
-Thomas McGuane

"Humankind is drawn to dogs because they are so like ourselves - bumbling, affectionate, confused, easily disappointed, eager to be amused, grateful for kindness and the least attention."
-Pam Brown

The Pathfinder - Day 1

2006-03-20T10:21:00.000-08:00

1. Childhood visions of my future career:

When I was a child, I dreamed of being many things. First, I wanted to be a singer. I think I was in kindergarten when I dreamed the perfect life would involve lots and lots of music all day long. I loved to sing, to dance, and to perform. In first grade, I realized to be a "professional singer," as I called it, you actually had to have a good voice.

I gave up on that idea, and then thought maybe being an actress is the next best thing, because you can still perform, and maybe even dance, but no one has to hear your off-key singing.

I imagined I'd feel creative all day long. I'd love working. I'd spend my days writing new songs and learning to play new things on the piano or the guitar. I'd sing about all the issues that were important to me and to those around me. The first single that I actually every recorded was when I was 5, and it was a song I wrote about my Scottish Terrier, Pabbay. Pabbay was my truest friend when I was little. She used to sit at my feet when I wrote papers all through high school and lick them, and it would calm me down. She died a few days before I moved to college, and I was devasted. I couldn't speak for days, but I think it was better that it happened before I left, rather than having to get that painful call from my mother. But maybe I'll write another blog journal about that dog. Let's talk about singing...

As I grew older, and started to do well in school, and also I realized that I loved learning, I thought I should find a career that is more challenging than just being an actor or a singer. In third grade I decided I'd be a doctor: a pediatrician, no a veterinarian. Or both. Or maybe a pediatrician and an actress. I like kids and I like movies. So that's perfect.

Then in high school, I thought maybe I'd be a lawyer. I didn't love biology, but I loved learning about history, politics, and government. I still loved acting, and figured that if I was a trial lawyer, then I could "put on a show" every day in front of the judge and the jury.

When I fantasized about what I'd be when I grew up, it was easy. I always knew I'd be satisifed in my job. I never thought about money. I felt inspired, and creative, and like my unique perspective and voice came through everything I did. I imagined myself alone on stage, discovering things about myself. Maybe people would make fun of me, or maybe I'd make them cry. But I'd make them feel something. And we'd share an experience and be bonded.

2. What dreams of the future lure you away from tedious times today?

Travel. A ranch house in Montana. Country music, and home cooking. Now, I think when I dream about the future, I imagine adventure, serenity, and wide-open space. I want to be whisked away in an instant - experiencing new cultures, trying new food, meeting new people who seem very different on the outside, but actually are a lot like me. Then, I want to come home from my travels, and reflect. Sit on a rustic wooden porch, with a couple of dogs at my feet, and a man at my side, and laugh and wonder in amazement at the world. About how many people live in it, and how every person is just trying to find their way and hopefully do the best that they can. (Maybe the man isn't at my side, but maybe he's horse back riding, or swinging golf clubs in the back yard. But when the sun sets, he'll join me and we'll snuggle and plan our next vacation together.)

But the point of this exercise is my career. Dreams of the future? I dream about feeling challenged. Using my brain, and learing something new everyday. I want to teach people, too. Working in TV now, I love working with the writers. Sometimes I dream of being one of them, too. Then I wouldn't just be the network executive who swoops in and critiques their ideas. But I could acutally help birth the ideas from the ground up, and I'd learn how hard it is to write. But I'd feel that sense of satisfaction that only comes from hard work and from putting your mind to something.

Sometimes I miss doing improvisational comedy. I loved the spontaneity. I loved how I felt after a Groundlings class because I always was so surprised at the character I'd create, or the idea I came up with. I never second guessed myself in that environment. I was confident, and I got out of my head. Sometimes things worked and others laughed, and other times, they didn't. But it was such a supportive team, such a creative environment. Those people, the classmates and the teachers, are what makes the wheels tick in TV.

3. What stands out as as the most important qualities that made these fantasies so compelling?

Creativity. People. Comedy. Writing. Thoughts. Thinking. Imagination.

Jean's Addiction

2006-03-20T10:14:00.000-08:00

Dark rinse. Distressed. Faded. Stone washed. Acid washed (I love the 80s.) White. Stretch. Low-rider. Cropped. Button-fly. American flag patches. Butterfly appliquéd. Vintage. Levi 501s. Ripped ever so cleverly at the perfect place on the thigh. Whatever the style, the wash, the fit, I am addicted to buying jeans.

There are few things in life more satisfying than the feeling you get after purchasing a superlative pair of jeans. Though trying them on can be a tall task, because often times you have to go through all sorts of styles to find the pair that flatters you just right, it's always worth it. Here are the things I like consider when buying jeans:

1. Pocket placement: Do they make my butt look small, tight, and round? If the pockets are too far apart, then often times, my backside will look out of proportion from my thighs.

2. How about the length? Do I want to wear them with high heeled boots or wedges? Or will these be my Sunday afternoon comfies, that I'll slide on with tennies or flip-flips? Cropped denim is cute too, but I must be sure I like where they hit on my calves or I'll never feel good in them.

3. The SQUAT test: Can I squat down like Mike Piazza in them? If this move is difficult for me in the dressing room, then I know I'd better seek out a pair of blues with more stretch or I'll be benched in the dug out.

4. Can you see your lower back indentations? How low do they go? Personally, I have a very short torso and no waist, so I need jeans that are cut to fit low on the hip, otherwise, I look like I am borrowing Fred from I LOVE LUCY's pants and sporting them hiked half-way to my chest. There is nothing like a pair of jeans that sits at just the right place on your hips. They can't be so low that they reveal your skivvies, but they must be just low enough so that your hips might peek over the sides.

Once I find a pair that passes all the above mentioned tests, then it's all about rinse. I like to have a variety of different rinses, from bright white to indigo blue, as well as a few pair with fancy adornments on the pockets. I have one pair with copper-colored Swarovski crystals emblazoned on the back pockets and I feel like a goddess when I wear them.

Jeans are one article of clothing that I don't mind forking over some of my hard earned dough for. They can be dressed up, or dressed down, and they are always in fashion. Especially in LA, where jeans are the common uniform at most places, it is important that I always have jeans on hand, to be slipped on at any moment.

Just thinking about jeans gets me quite excited. When I find the perfect pair, that meet the above criteria, I can't wait to take them home and put them in the mountainous stack of jeans that already occupies space in my closet. I think about when I will get to wear them, and which shoes will get to carry me around in them as I strut around L.A. I feel as if I've accomplished something huge. Maybe I haven't found a solution to world hunger, and maybe I haven't put an end to the bloodshed in Iraq, but somewhere, I feel good knowing that some undereducated, mal-nourished child made these jeans especially for me; and though she was paid $0.37 an hour to make them, I know that the $178 of hard earned cash I had to give the store, in order to get them to remove the ink security tag and relinquish them to me, is being put to good use...

Ugh..suddenly, I am coming down from my jeans buzz...it's a long, hard fall onto a cold and dirty floor. (Fortunately, nearly all denim jeans are machine washable so the mud and dirt washes right out.)

Ashes and Snow

2006-03-01T17:48:00.000-08:00

Imagine walking away from the Santa Monica pier and stepping into a dark, cool, and damp expansive new world. The smell of salt water and fresh wood is in the air, and you are housed inside a massive barn-like gallery, built entirely of metal crates which are stacked on top of each other in a checker-board pattern - the negative space creates depth in between the train-car-like crates.

Your mood is instantly transformed. Everything is quiet, except for the faint sounds of African music, drums and wood winds, and the gentle, slow rhythm of other visitors' feet pressing and lifting off of the wooden walkway built on the sand. Smooth gray rocks line the wooden walkway and rest underneath the photographs, and large blood-red metal pillars rise floor to 8-story tall ceiling of this new-fangled barn.

Creak, creak, creak sound your shoes as you proceed down the planks. On either side of you, works of art that change your body's composition: sepia toned photographs of the most amazing shots of man and animal suspended from wires that seem miles long, as if they are being dangled down from heaven, held in God's own hands.

On your left, there is a young African boy reading to an elephant. The elephant's posture convinces you he's hanging on every word uttered by the boy, his front legs are crossed, his eyes fixed on the little boy's face, which is completely tuned in to the words on the page. In front of him is a 1 ton elephant sitting inches the boy's 50 pound frame, but inside of him is an important story that he knows the elephant will understand.

Whatever the story is, there is peace between the photographer's subjects. There is a relationship between boy and elephant far too complex to put into words, but there are more than 1,000 I could use to try to explain what I felt when I experienced this picture and its companions.

Each image amazed me in a different way. A film of a man swimming with whales almost seemed normal and common after watching it for a few moments. A shot of a woman resting with a cheetah, with her eyes shut exuded a bond I never imagined possible between female and fierce feline. Another photo with a young girl sleeping in a canoe, and a monkey holding her head, with both of their hands dangling in the still water which their canoe drifts upon seemed like something Monet might have painted, as if it was a common everyday occurence. These images portrayed peace, love, and friendship between beings not normally depicted as pairs.

The artist, Gregory Colbert (coincidentally, my friend's neighbor in the Bahamas), spent over 10 years in Africa taking pictures of humans with elephants, cheetahs, and all sorts of other animals that were in THE LION KING movie who's names I can't think of right now.

Everyone should experience this exhibit. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's more thereapeutic and more soothing than a trip to your shrink's office and Burke Williams in the same day.

http://www.ashesandsnow.org/en/portfolio/

What did Jay say today?

2006-02-28T11:07:00.002-08:00

"I am not going to honk at her. The only way she'll ever learn her lesson is if I just ram into her car." Jay, on refusing to honk at a lady who pulled in front of him with her huge SUV.

"I think it's time we stop getting upset by office politics. Rather, we should start enjoying them, since in a few months, none of us will be working together and we might actually miss those jerks..." 3/1/06

"I don't like splitting things except for multi-million dollar jackpots," said Jay, when asked to go in with me on our office Oscar pool.

Jay on whether or not he should break up with the woman he's dating:
"I don't know. I just really don't look forward to spending time with her."

Head Pulse

2006-02-23T16:59:00.000-08:00

Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. There is this tiny, but present pulsing on my forehead that only seems to happen when I am feeling tense. The pulsing occurs just above my left eye brow, right above the fattest part of my brow, and it's like a mini-heart beat on my head.

Pulse, pulse, pulse. it always pulses three times in a row, and then stops. Sometimes when my anxiety rises throughout the day, as if I wasn't already aware that I felt nervous and unsure of things, the mini-heart beat taps my forehead as if to remind me that there is a lot on my mind. Maybe it's my head's way of saying "hey, there's too much to think about in here. Keep the oxygen flow steady to the brain."

Or maybe it's like the human body's version of the hour-glass icon that the computer mouse becomes to signify the computer is processing something. My thinking icon is the heart beat on my head...please wait...retrieving files...

Hmm...that's something else to think about...

CH-CH-CH-CHANGES

2006-01-30T20:05:00.000-08:00

It's been months since my last blog...

Last Tuesday I found out that my company, THE WB, is now going to be merging with the illustrious network UPN, which I learned does not stand for "The Urban People's Network." The new name for now is the CW, which does have a way of just rolling of the tongue, doesn't it?

From a business perspective, this new joint venture makes sense. They are taking 2 networks that aren't doing well at all, and trying to form one big happy family TV network that targets the young demographic like the WB. But rather than the merger happening in a very "Brady Bunch" like fashion, with one fellow coming together with his boys (THE WB employees) and one lady bringing her girls (the folks of UPN),and this group of boys and girls must somehow form a family, this merger will happen more like this: Imagine if Mike and Carol Brady never got together and actually Carol stayed a single mom, and she only got to pick her favorite kids to come with her...

What I know is how I feel....and right now, I feel like I've been dumped by my boyfriend, but I am obligated to continue dating him for several months, or until he decides to set me free. It's a feeling of powerlessness, so I strive to find ways to become empowered. But then I realize this man may not be the love of my life, and maybe this breakup is for the best. I mean, I really like my job. I was not wanting to try something different, but I do believe that all things happen for a reason, and for whatever reason, my time at the WB will be coming to a close soon...

The worst part right now is that I have no idea when my last dance with the frog will be. Maybe next week? Maybe May? Maybe not until August...which is when my contract expires...ugh...but not many industries do people who fear getting laid off think "Hmm....maybe when my contract is bought out, I'll be able to take that much needed trip to Costa Rica..." So maybe, in fact I am luckier than most (potential) lay-off-ees.

So that's where I am right now...trying to make sense of what I want to do next, and trying to find out when I am going to know what my fate is for the CW. If I were a betting woman, I'd be safest not to assume I'd join the new company. Carol Brady is no friend of mine, and of course, she's going to want to keep her people.

Luckily, I have time to figure it out.

Splash Mountain has a winter setting?

2005-10-27T09:36:00.000-07:00

I was at the HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH with three friends on a rainy Sunday autumn afternoon. It was one of those days where everything just felt right. Sure, it was raining and we didn't have rain coats or umbrellas, but we were at Disneyland AND California Adventure, and not much could disappoint us. If football players and golfers do their things in the rain, then what was stopping us?

We had a superlative time playing all day; at one point we contemplated seeing if we could break the world record for riding "The Tower of Terror" so many times in a row. We ate Churros, corn chowder, and ice cream, and we drank Mint Juleps, iced mochas, Coca-Colas, and anything else that tempted us in the moment. Our eyes teared up in the inspirational film "Golden Dreams" (narrated by the golden goddess Whoopi Goldberg,) as we saw a version of California history summed in 20 minutes that didn't overlook the sacrifices and contributions that minority groups made. It was a day of mirth and magic...until sun-down...

My friend Jay really wanted to ride Splash Mountain, but being as though we were already a little damp from the Anaheim showers, Thommy and Geoffrey were less willing to board the logs. But of course, Susan, who considers herself a "Disneyland" aficionado (Well, at least a novice Disneyland aficionado...there are some mega-dorks out there that I would someday aspire to be like, but for now we'll just say I am a Junior-Varsity Disney Dork. I don't own Marc Davis sketch books, but I have seen them. I know that the Splash Mountain characters use to be housed on the beloved America Sings attraction; and I miss the People Movers and Mission to Mars because you knew you could always get on those rides sans waiting in line even on the most crowded days at the park) insisted that the ride is on its winter setting, which means the ride is designed for passengers to experience less "splashing" than one might experience in say the warmer summer months.

"We won't get wet on Splash Moutain; its on the 'winter setting.'" I promised. I swore someone once told me that all the water rides have seasonal settings, and when it's colder out, they turn the water that sprays you as you barrel down the drop to a lower setting. On the summer setting, when you come down from the big daddy drop, there are faucets that basically spray you with water like a hose, and on the winter setting, the extra water streams are turned off...it's a good idea in theory, I swear...I insisted that since all my other Disney knowledge is correct, that we'd be fine on the ride and it wouldn't be that bad. Afterall, who would ride it on a rainy day if they knew they'd get cold and wet afterwards? Apparently, a lot of people...

I decided to survey a small sampling of people as they exited the ride, to see how wet they became. Never mind that most people's clothes were splashed with water, so asking them if they experienced some extra H20 was somewhat unncessary, I still asked. Of the five people I talked to, 3 people got wet on the ride (but I knew they were TRYING to get wet by leaning into the splashes...), 1 person was just wet from the rain, and I think the fifth person was just really sweaty from taking extended artillery practice at the shooting gallery in Adventureland just before.

So I sat in the front of our log, with Thommy, Geoffrey, and Jay beind me, and also some other strangers who are now immortalized on my blog in the blurry picture above that I pirated from the photo screen at the end of the ride. And how many times did I get splashed, or doused? Not one time, not two times, but every time we went down any sort of descension at all, the water found me!

Winter setting - bah! This was like on peak summer setting...After the big-drop, I looked like a wet puppy dog. My head was dripping with thick ride water, mascara was running down my cheeks, my jeans were three shades darker blue than before, and my tee shirt and sweat shirt were soaked through to my skin; But it was so fun! Luckily, I was wearing a velour sweatshirt that soaked up the dirty ride water like a sponge. As we trudged back to main street, I dragged my sopping shoes and the boys walked slowly next to me because they were laughing so hard. Water still dripped from my face, and my little crooked pinky fingers were turning white and frozen. But of course, we couldn't go home just yet because we had to wait for our 2nd fast pass for the new Space Mountain to become valid....

Thankfully, Space Mountain was on the indoor winter setting, and the heat in line turned up extra high, so I dried off quickly in line, and returned to a just slightly damp state for the car ride back to L.A.

So next time you're at Disneyland, about to board Splash Mountain, don't take their signs lightly - Y'may just get wet, winter, spring, summer or fall...

In sickness and in health...

2005-09-14T23:58:00.000-07:00

Do you take this woman, to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, as long as we both shall live?

This is the phrase almost any one who’s ever been to or seen a traditional western wedding ceremony can identify as being part of the standard wedding vows. I think I’ve been familiar with these words since I was 5 or 6.

Growing up, I always hosted grand weddings – for my Barbie Dolls, my stuffed animals (usually Ms. Kitty was the blushing bride, and Ted the Walrus, who was shorter than Ms. Kitty but just as lovely, was the proud groom,) and I think I even once officiated the nuptials of my She-Ra doll to my brother’s He-Man figure. (Don’t tell Matt, but you should have seen the rock He-Man gave his very own princess of power, very impressive, even for a Master of the Universe.)

Bling or no bling, the point is that over and over again as a child, I would mock the words that priests, judges, and of course, brides and grooms say at weddings. “In sickness, and in health, as long as we both shall live...” But never did these words mean so much as they did when I saw my dad with my mom when she was in the hospital.

During about day 4 of my mom’s hospital stay back in February, she was feeling better, all things considered. The “suicide watch” seemed to be calming down, and she had made up her mind to fight the battle against ovarian cancer. But really, what choice did she have? The pure shock and devastation was still hidden under her surface, but she sat upright in her hospital bed with determination and dignity, ready to get home and ready to start her chemotherapy treatments as soon as possible. Sure, she had questions, but more than anything, she was ready to start solving the problem, as moms often want to do.

However, before she could go home, she had to gain her strength back. Let’s step back for a second and think of how active my mom is. She is a horsewoman, and though she knows how, she doesn’t mess around with English and polo ponies - my mom is a COWGIRL. She rides western, and she doesn’t stop at just jogging and loping the horse, but she does reining and working-cow horse events, where she makes her horse race down the fence, perform slide-stops, spins, AND runs a cow up and down the fence. She is tough. She is active. So seeing her in the hospital and bed-ridden, lacking the strength to walk without the help of someone else wasn’t easy to digest.

But, it was when my dad would help her out of bed, arrange her IV cords, and other various hospital devices in such a way that she could push her rolling-IV monitor stand with one hand, and hold onto his arm with her other hand, that I realized the true meaning of “in sickness and in health.”

Up until this point, my parents had been fairly lucky. Illness and hospitals were new developments in our lives – at least for Mom and Dad. But seeing the way he supported her, the way she leaned on him for strength, the way he slowed down his usual brisk pace to assist her slow, pained baby-steps, the way they seemed so in-sync with each other, like they could just carry on walking like two arms beating a slow and steady bass drum…Step, step, step, step. Their eyes staring down at the floor, conversing about the newborn babies in the hospital, how many chairs I’d snatched from the hospital waiting room so Mom’s many visitors could have places to sit in her room, or what flavor Jell-O the nurses would bring in her next meal, they kept up their pace with each step, moving forward. Once a day, then several times a day they would take these walks side-by-side.

I supposed this is what they’ve been doing for the past 40-plus years. You just don’t take notice of as many things during the “in health” times of life. That’s one thing that adverse times will bring – perspective and promise. Perspective on all the things to be grateful for - all the health you had before you got sick, and promise for all the health you’ll have after you’ve healed. And promise for the renewed vivacity that only comes with the perspective of having survived a difficult walk.

As long as we both shall live.
I do.

The Pastor Visits

2005-08-23T23:19:00.000-07:00

The reason for the creation of this blog is almost entirely selfish...but I suppose I can assuage my Catholic guilt momentarily and rest assured that anything like a journal, is supposed to primarily be about oneself - representative of the author's voice, thus in the very nature of it is selfishness. I take that back. I suppose there are journals where writers share thoughts about politics, religion, the environment, Davey Jones, Tom Cruise, tap dancing, or any other myriad topics that they choose to write about. One could argue that for a writer to share thoughts about topics that aren't only about the author's life, then they wouldn't be selfish...this is not one of those. This is designed to be therapy for me, gosh darn it, and what kind of therapy would this be if I weren't true to my own voice in what I shared?

Back on topic...Without mapping out what I hope my blog will explore over the next several weeks, months, or years, or however long this entertains me, I can already imagine that much of my thoughts will be about my mom's recent diagnosis with cancer. Yeah! Uplifting. But readers, rest assured, in between passages of sheer poignancy and heart felt emotion, there will be some dang hilarious parts, too. After all, if you can't laugh at your own life, or the lives of your good friends, then what's the point in living?

I digress...

It was about 3 days after we received the news. My mom was still in the hospital in Goleta, California, looking as beautiful as ever. She sat upright in her hospital bed, with the mattress curved like a boomerang, wearing a lavender fuzzy robe over her stock hospital gown, brown curly hair tousled and messy, but still looking gorgeous in only the way that my mom can pull off. She always smiled the biggest when she had visitors other than family members. I think that's a Southern thing. When she smiled her "I have visitors smile" the image she projected seemed so near to that of the old pictures I've looked at time and again of her in the hospital after she had me 26 years ago. In those pictures, she was beaming with only the joy that a new mother could have, arms folded behind her head, grinning with excitement and anticipation of what was to come with the birth of her new baby through all her exhaustion of labor.

This day she looked so similar, but instead of her grinning with excitement about a new baby, this time, in Feb of 2006, she was grinning through fear of the unknown. She'd been diagnosed with primary peritoneal cancer - a kind of cancer similar to ovarian cancer, only she no longer had her ovaries, so the doctors couldn't dub it officially "ovarian cancer," even though the way the cancer cells behaved in p.p.c. is very similar to that of ovarian cancer.

My family had been at the hospital practically around the clock. Between my dad, my brothers, my sister-law, oldest brother's girlfriend, my boyfriend, and other close friends, she was barely alone long enough to hear the soft buzz of the ugly fluorescent light on the wall above her bed.

On this night, there was a knock at the door, around 8:00 pm, and who walked in? The pastor from the local Presbyterian Church and his wife. Did I mention we're Catholic? Some people might think this is a problem, since often times, it is believed that Catholics think that their religion is superior to all other religions, so why would they bother with anyone who did not share the identical beliefs? Well, if some people feel this way, I am NOT in this group. I always appreciated my Catholic upbringing; after all, it was in going to weekly mass that I learned ways to sit still and quiet for 55 minutes without fighting with my brothers, how to eat dry Cheerios without crunching so much that the old ladies in front of me would crane their necks in disdain, and where to draw on the back of the church bulletin without scribbling over any of the sections that my mom or dad would actually want to read. As I grew older, and actually started reading the bible on my own, and not just reading my CCD books or handouts kept in my Peachee folder, I became more open to other forms of Christianity, often participating in a lot of the youth group functions at the Presbyterian church rather than at my own church. This was because my best friend went, and because I enjoyed singing in the Presbyterian church services because the pitch and key seemed more "pop" ish to me, and I preferred acoustic guitar and piano to the pipe organ.

Is this about my mom? Of course...getting there...

So in walks the pastor, we'll call him Ken. Ken is a wonderful man. Ken is almost 7 feet tall, and every time I see him, he seems taller. He kind of looks like a Ken doll, with floppy dirty blonde hair, and fairly tanned skin. He also has that permanent smile like a Ken doll has; no matter what he's preaching about: death, the end of the world, pancake breakfasts, baptism, he always has the same pleasant expression on his face. And I suppose he has nice white teeth like Ken, too, which could be a nice shout-out to my dad, who's his dentist...

Ken bent down from the waist and leaned forward to grab my mom's hand as she sat in this hospital bed. (Hopefully the Eucharist minister from the catholic church who'd been trying to feed my mom communion hosts every day she'd been in the hospital didn't see my mom cheating on her with another religious figure...she's allergic (or so we thought) to gluten, therefore had to deny herself any orally ingestible Jesus because of his high gluten content after his body was converted to the bread of life. ) Ken's intentions were nothing but altruistic, and it did feel nice to have visitors, whoever they were. But it was when he said "do you mind if I pray with you?" that I should have been on amber alert as to what things might come out of his mouth. After all, what did he know about my mom's condition? She was fragile, frail, handling the news that she has cancer, which came as a huge shock considering days before, right before she went into her surgery to remove what they thought was scar tissue, the doctor assured her, "well, we don't know what's wrong...but at least you don't have cancer..." Oops! His bad. She DID have cancer...of course, I am sure these things happen all the time, so any bitterness that I might seem to carry because of this doctor's diagnosis quickly fades away when I apply rational thought to the situation...Still, it does kind of suck to be told that you have cancer, not a mere 5 hours after you were just told that THE ONLY GOOD NEWS WAS THAT YOU DID NOT HAVE CANCER. Again I say, oops...

So Ken's prayer made me at first feel nervous, for fear of the "tone" his prayer might take, but then I thought, "heck, he must do this all the time. It's fine...If there is anyone that can be there for my mom right, it's Jesus, so Ken, bring on those prayers. Enlighten us. Lift all of our spirits through the Lord. We need some encouragement. And more than anything, we need hope."

But instead of just spontaneous prayer that I would have felt was appropriate, he opted to read from the bible. Not a bad choice, just maybe not the route I would have gone. When he started reading the verse "ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." was when I had to hold back with every inch of my being to not push him out the door so fast he tripped on his own robe...Was he really reading my mom the same passage that he read to my entire family before...at my grandmother's FUNERAL? Oh yes, he was. I am sure poor Ken did not realize this. I am sure his intentions were pure. I know this. He is a good man. But my goodness, he was NOT on his game that night. Either that, or the gossip chain in Santa Ynez that day had really given him some misinformation...she was not on her DEATH bed. There are 100 other verses I could think of that would have been more appropriate in that situation.

The praying I had to do after Ken left was triple the amount of praying he did during his visit. First, I had to ask for forgiveness for thinking such ugly thoughts about a man of God. Then, I had to pray that my mom's drugs were still strong enough that she didn't really know what was going on, and that she didn't remember that was the reading he did at Dado's funeral. Finally, I had to pray for her; for the reality of her situation; for my dad, that he would be granted more strength that he already had to really look after my mom and be there for her, that he would have the strength to lean on all of us like I knew we would lean on him, that he would take care of himself and her in the hard times ahead when we couldn't be there; I prayed longer and harder, that God would show us the reasons in time why my mother, a woman not even 60, was given something like cancer, and that He would give all of us the courage and the will to lift her up to fight the battle, and win the war; I prayed for my brothers, because in all the chaos, through all the tears, and questions, even though they are men and supposedly insensitive, they were practically her biggest cheer leaders, exhibiting strength through their sadness in a way that left me awe struck; I prayed for every person who sent flowers, or a card, or their well wishes, that they would know how deeply touched the entire family was for the love and the support, and most of all, I prayed for a peaceful ending - that after all of the cancer was gone and behind us that we would all feel blessed for having survived something that so many people sadly have to deal with. And this is the prayer that lingers...as do all of them, but this one the most...The day she was diagnosed, we all joined a very exclusive club. It is a club that no one chooses to join (not even smokers) but that so many people unfortunately find themselves in...a club where there are members of all stages of cancer, of all economic backgrounds, ethnicities, religions, body types, etc. But they are all loved...and they are all fighting in their own unique ways to graduate from the club - cancer free and proud. Proud to have survived one of the worst diseases plaguing our country. Proud to have stuck it out through the hard times, and to have lived to the fullest during the easier times...But most importantly, proud to have lived...

As I write all of this, I am still trying to determine exactly what I mean....there is so much inside to blurt out...so much to share and even more to dig deep and find that I don't even know about. I look forward to it, and hopefully, with each thing that comes to the surface, everything will slowly mesh together and begin to make sense.