Family
I couldn’t be more excited about inviting you to my first virtual book tour and live chat at MothersClick tommorow! Woohoo! Tune in tomorrow and we’ll have ourselves a live chat! I’ll have a special stash of autographed books for the first 25 buyers!
And to celebrate, I re-tooled the book trailer.
(National press release and everything! Go on, click to see…)
If I am to make my own way in this life, mothering my children, doing my job, keeping house, being a good daughter and sister friend, managing finances, maintaining a car and school activities, why can I not be trusted to make a gut ruling on what’s best for myself and my family?
Actually, let’s switch those two around: first, the children. We have engineered an enviable post-divorce existence by many standards. We live a mile away, are friendly, go to kids’ events together, celebrate holidays together if we are in town, make sure the other parent has a cake and homemade cards coming from the kids on birthdays. We share tuition, child support has never been a point of dispute, and we are good about tracking who paid what when and how to balance that out. Neither of us are rolling in it at the moment, and empathy for the other’s financial hardship runs high. We may not agree with WHY there is hardship in certain sectors, but we both know you can’t get blood from a stone, and beating it only gives you a sore fist.
Equality is something I’ve aspired to, a household and interpersonal goal to shoot for in the absence of age-old, gender-assigned work and responsibility. I believe a father is as important as a mother. Whether a child leans more toward one or the other is, I believe, a matter of how the parents act and caretake the children’s wellbeing. I have seen it go both ways, and usually one parent or the other gave up or fell short in some critical area and that is the reason for imbalance in relationships.
My ex and I both have excellent relationships with the kids. We are both crazy in love with them. When we split, we agreed that I would buy the house from him and that the children would continue to live in their birth home, with all of their things and still attend their school. Minimal disruption. Home base and security for young ones. Knowledge that the other parent is a phone call and three-minute drive away. We have absolutely never refused one another time with the kids and cede to whatever special occasions warrant a change in the routine.
Here’s where I’m stuck. We decided custody. We decided schedules, and sold the children on them. It really hasn’t been that long. They really aren’t bulletproof about the divorce and perhaps won’t ever be, and even though they are physically older, they are in some ways younger and in more need of reassurance and security. They cling to me. They cling to me. Nothing calms them like curling up in my arms. How can I see the need to change the custody arrangements?
Gah. I shouldn’t even be writing about this because I can’t say enough to make sense and it’s a private issue. But I can’t help noticing the timing: if you’ve been reading for any length of time at all, you’ll recall that most disruptions happened at the holidays, or during work changes for me, or when my ex is getting ready to visit or has just visited his family. I don’t think they try to influence him; I just think that all the family togetherness gets him thinking.
I’m spent. I’m afraid to type. I can’t find other cheerful banter to fill up this space. Unless I talk about Borat, which I saw last night. Holeeee frijoleeees what a freaking hysterical movie. It’s been a long time since I spent so much time covering my face and shouting, “Nooooooo!” I was laughing so hard at one of the credits that I had to sit down on the stairs halfway out of the theater. I came this close —><—to peeing myself.
There, did that work? Not that it matters. I’m going to crawl under the covers.
Me, Me, MeIt occurred to me this morning while I was staring out at the patio where all the furniture cushions, tent (don’t ask), and hammock lay soaking wet under a blanket of leaves (It rained last night. Happy Fall.) that I really am slipping into a groove these days. I may whine and crab but honestly (who throws a shoe?), I’m in the right place.
See? I couldn’t get through a sentence without doing what I must do a dozen times a day. Movie lines. And guess what? I work for a company that optimizes personalized movie recommendations. And I am encouraged to talk about my work. Hello? Dream job?
Just this morning Phil got up to powder his nose and I mumbled, “Just hold onto something, bite your lip and give it hell.” He laughed and then again when I started chanting, “Evacuation comp—Evacuat—Evacuation co—Evacuationcomplete.” We watched the entire Austin Powers trilogy last week and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it never gets old. It’s almost Monty Pythonesque in its never-gets-oldinesss.
For instance, Phil told me a story about how Daphne was eating up his sliced carrot stash as he prepared dinner the other night. He said, “Okay, that’s enough, we need these for later!” He caught her hovering over them five minutes later and she said, “I was just checking on them.” And all I could think was, “This is not my nose, it’s a false one.”
It’s a disease.
One my children are catching too. Dylan is still cracking us up with the “This tastes like a unicorn having a sleepover!” bit. Daphne does the whole Monsters, Inc. Sully wiggle-and-faint thing when she sees something she really likes. Logan? Well, Logan seems to have inherited both alleles for the one-liner gene.
We have the same kinds of exchanges almost every day after school in the car. Either Logan or Daphne will be off on a tear about something and the other will say, “Oh. My. God.”
Immediately, Dylan’s in the ring with, “Don’t say God, say gosh. You should never say God unless you’re talking to Him.”
Logan didn’t miss a beat. “Well, chances are, you wouldn’t be saying ‘Oh my God’ while your talking to Him.” I nearly drove off the road. I love these kids.
My folks are in this weekend after three weeks away and we’re having a nice, grownup dinner at a steak house tonight. It will be a blast, and there is even a chance of a movie. (“I think I’ll just go watch a mooooovie.”) Still, I miss those little buggers every time they’re away. When they called yesterday in frantic need of an extra light saber or two for friends who’d come over to play, I jumped in my car (at noon) in my jammies to bring them over. I wasn’t going to miss a chance at Pajama Snuggle Time. They SO appreciated that. There’s nothing like the smell of my jammies to make them go limp. I think I give off crack fumes. (The drug kind. Sheesh.)
You can tell when you’ve been writing a blog too long, however, when you start quoting from your archives. Phil and I ate last night at the restaurant from which I beat a hasty and rather icky retreat back in April 2004. I was like a tour guide. “Those are the bushes, and these are the huge windows looking out at the bushes. My car was parked right here, in front of the windows.”
Inside the restaurant where we sat at the “Chef’s table” (the half-pint-sized one next to the kitchen, in full view of the line), Phil asked me what was behind the door. “Oh that’s the back kitchen, and the restroom. Remember I had to camp out in there, thinking I was going to be sick?”
“I thought you actually were sick in there.”
“No, that was in the car.”
“Ah.”
Anyway, we have a leisurely weekend ahead of us, aside from Phil having to put on a jacket and tie and spend half the day at his school’s Open House. And Logan’s ball game at one. If it’s not rained out, that is. Or my needing to do a bit more work. Or the presence of three loads of fresh laundry on the kitchen couch, which, incidentally, enjoyed four days running of perfect order and nothing on it but the cushions. It was a heady four days, I can tell you.
Okay, I have sat upright long enough for the Dayquil to start kicking in. YES, this is Day Ten of the Cold That Would Not Die. And Phil is just starting to show symptoms. Good times.
By the way, I am thinking of taking the leap and ordering my own inventory of books to sell autographed, right here. Think there would be enough takers? I’ll lipstick-kiss them, spritz them with my lavender eau de toilet, have the kids scribble in them, spill some wine on the pages. I take requests. If there’s enough interest, I’ve got a whole process set up; just need the inventory.
Speaking of spilled wine, I had a chuckle this morning as I changed my jammies and slipped on the camisole with the huge red stain from when Jenny Lauck spilled her wine down my back at Blogher 2005. Ah, memories.
FamilyLook what the kids brought home!
(I think Dylan’s auditioning for the sequel to The 40 Year-Old Virgin.)
I haven’t been able to write lately. Probably because I’m feeling sorry for myself, but that’s more of a general theme than a reason. Plus? I have no business doing that considering how lucky I am in most things.
Not much chance of a coherent post, but maybe listing things out will help me see how to get out of this funk.
- After being turned down by three different health plans, I went for the HIPPA Hail Mary. Not having heard anything, I made some calls and was waiting to hear back when I found the application in yesterday’s mail, battered, travel-worn, and marked “Return to Sender.” I had the agent’s assistant ready the bloody address to me over the phone while writing it on the envelope. Have to start over. Current coverage ends on the 14th.
- I decided to let the kids have total control of their Halloween candy hoping that if they could eat it all at once it would be gone faster and we’d avoid the months of trading and begging and taunting. Yes, I know. I deserve the resultant wacky behavior.
- Getting along with my ex so well for so long has made this past few weeks especially difficult. Had our first ever screamy shouty scene in front of the children as they were all leaving for school. Would help if he didn’t initiate serious, complicated discussions minutes before school and before I wipe the sleepies out of my eyes. Makes me cranky. You wouldn’t like me when I’m cranky.
- Had my first really big fight with Phil last night. Ooo-fa. And ouch. We made up and thank goodness we did because otherwise his peach- laced pork roast and Frangelica-braised carrots were going in the trash. And we watched Austin Powers, which would cheer anyone up.
- Had kittens yesterday when the final proofs of my book showed up and had the wrong author photo in the front of the book. Very first page. Happy Birthday. When I say wrong, I don’t mean different, I mean, very low, looks-like-shit resolution. I approved an electronic copy thinking they’d used the last one I sent and knew that one looked good in print, so it’s my bad. Also, the cover is lower resolution than I expected and what Lulu put out. None of you would notice these things or care, but my head almost popped. I’ve over it today.
- Have officially had this flu for ten days now. I thought I’d already caught every bug out there because I never get sick for more than a few days. But this must be a new one because I have been curl-in-the-fetal-position sick for six of the last seven days.
- I received my final unemployment check in the mail yesterday, and sent back the stub saying that I have found work. That’s a good thing but it’s hard to swallow the realization that part-time for the first three months really pays the same as unemployment. On the upside, I have groceries for November covered.
- I hate being so dependant on anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medication. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be normal again.
- I have never weighed this much in my life without another human inside me.
- I need six thousand dollars worth of dental repairs. I have vivid calcium deposits on my front teeth and one of the bottom teeth came in without a calcium cover at all. I had the one tooth repaired several times as a child, and had the color evened out on the others when I started modeling. Twenty years later they are dangerously chipped and the bottom one is now totally exposed. Insurance doesn’t cover that sort of thing.
- It has finally sunk in with my kids that it’s unsafe to play in the front yard or on the sidewalk because we live on a croner of a busy street. Now they ask me every other day when we can get a fence to keep them safe. A fence would cost almost as much as the dental work.
- I am one whiney brat, no? Let’s forget we had this conversation. I still don’t have a clue how to proceed.
Weblogs
Motherpie wants to know! And with a name that includes both Mother and pie, we really ought to be paying attention.
Go on over and help with the survey for Hattie Page’s media studies graduate research project for digital media theory. I told her you would! C’mon, don’t make me look like a jerk. A bigger jerk. *cough*
Me, Me, MeSure, it’s cheaper on Amazon than it is on Lulu, but did it really need to work out to $16.66?
Seriously, I could do without the extra penny.
Current Affairs
Or trying to, that is. For the lazy (or frantic), I recommend the California Online Voter Guide.
Or, if you have time, youcan memorize The Proposition Song.
Thanks for the reminder, Bob!
Yes, Robert Redford called this morning.
FamilyWhee! It’s Blogging for Books time again over at The Zero Boss, and I never in a million years would have guessed that I would be saying these words: I am the guest author this time!
I’ve entered before, and never won, so I guess you have to actually have to write a BOOK to get the headline. (kidding. no, I’m not. okay, a little.)
This month’s theme is weather, so if you can whip up or already have done a piece on the weather, go on over and enter! Here are the basics; for more detail, zip on over.
Blogging for Books - a.k.a. B4B - is a simple concept. Spill your guts. Send me the link. Win free shit.
Too brief, huh? Okay, here’s the 1-minute expansion. On the first Monday of every month, I’ll announce a theme. Bloggers and readers can then submit a blog entry (either new or existing) based around that theme. Submissions will close the following Monday by noon U.S. Pacific time. I will read all of the entries, and whittle them down to the seven best. I’ll send the top seven to our guest author, who will pick the best three.
Guest Author: 
Me, Me, Me
Daysitter, inside Cookie Magazine, caught me in my towel today with a reference to my plea for the politicos to STOP CALLING ME. He was nice about letting me know in case I took offense. Please: it takes more than that.
But tonight, tonight, Clint Eastwood called! I even turned away from the umpteenth viewing of Elf to listen to his gravelly message. See, that’s yet another problem. People are so fascinated with the celebrity voice that they don’t actually hear anything beyond, “Hello, I’m Clint Eastwood.” After that, they’re all, “Clint! Baby! How’s it hanging?”
At one time, I could have called him back. He was involved with a grant my former organziation made and we all giggled about having his phone number on file. Ah, good times.
I’m finally starting to believe that I might have a day this week when I don’t want to tear my brain out of my head and stuff it into a bowling bag to stop it hurting so much. However, the ebbing of the agony behind my eyes and in the back of my head is allowing the screeching from my neck and back to seep in; I would pay an ungodly sum to have someone perform Sumo-style Shiatsu on my poor, tangled muscles. Not that I have that on hand; I could always write a check.
I promise to start returning phone calls and emails tomorrow, and will also post the answer to the second question in the Intel Blogger Challenge!
Right after I finish my little jig. You see, my best friend in Chicago has a shopowner who wants to re-sell my book in her store. Whee! That Toddlin’ town. And here I was hitting up the local mom and pop shops in Los Gatos and Capitola. Why not Chicago?
I couldn’t believe, to quote Phil’s Sicilian grandmother.
*sigh*
Must dash—I hear screaming from the tub.
I’m going through our beta site for work, and need a few friends to test it out and build the community with me. (Must have an interest in movies and be willing to rate them and invite others to participate).
This is an entirely new way of keeping shared reviews between friends. When the next release comes out (very soon) it will be even more dynamic and interactive and will have many more categories. If you’re interested, drop me a line and I’ll send you an invite!
Nota bene: If I don’t respond with an invite, it’s probably because I don’t know you at all. Please accept my apologies with the understanding that the idea is to invite people you know so that the ratings you see have a known quality. But if you do get one, please invite others—but just others you know!
P.S. if you emailed me before 1:57 p.m. PST, try again. I had a TYPO in the address!
Family
I am totally going around the house doing the “New York, New York” dance, complete with bent-knee kicks, holding a cane out in front! (Hurts a little, though; am still sick as a dog).
My book is finally listed for sale on Barnes & Noble, and alllllmost all the way listed on Amazon!! I just love how you can already buy a gently used copy though. I bought one just to see if it is. I bet it isn’t—I think the resellers say that to make people they’re saving money by buying it used. No flies on me!
Oh, and Phil says it’s listed on BestBookBuys.com.
BOP bop BAH da bop, BOP bop bah da bop! Whoopee!
P.S. While you’re there (or there) grab a copy of Mr. X’s book!
When I wake up in the afternoon
Which it pleases me to do
Don’t nobody bring me no bad news
‘Cause I wake up already negative
And I’ve wired up my fuse
So don’t nobody bring me no bad news
—The Wiz Soundtrack Lyrics
Seriously. I’m sick, I’m cranky, and my fuse is short as all get-out. I’m trying to decide whether I can break all of this up into several posts over days, or whether I’d better just vomit up the whole thing.
The egg rolls I had for dinner are helping me decide.
Aside from the usual rush of brainstorming, learning, strategizing, and bearing-getting of starting a new job, things are relatively smooth. But because there is a major shift, little things are getting to me/the kids/anyone who has contact with me. And it doesn’t help that so many people didn’t get my Halloween costume. Do you honestly think I would get myself knocked up AGAIN?? Jeepers. People, you see me every day. There is no need to ask how far along I am. IT’S A JOKE.
Halloween was great, the kids went crazy, there are three metric tons (tonnes?) of candy in various duffel bags around the house. Needless to say, everyone was feeling a little let down yesterday when they woke up.
“I’m mad that Halloween is over,” grumped Logan.
“Yes, but think of all the things you’ll have to talk about at school!”
“Yeah!” Dylan was perking up. “And we still have a ton of candy!”
“Yes, and on that subject, I’ll reiterate my policy on the Halloween candy. Go ahead and trade what you don’t like for something you do, but no taking without asking. And please don’t ask me every two minutes if you can eat it. I don’t have that kind of time. Eat all you want, whenever you want, until it’s gone. Believe me, you will get sick of it. And when you get to that point, I’ll happily buy it back from you, at a quarter a piece.”
Dylan eyed me carefully. “Mom. If you’re going to buy my candy it will cost you at least three hundred dollars. Especially for my big Crunch bar.”
“Looks like you’ll be keeping it then.” This is the same kid who announced that he was going to set up a lemonade stand and sell tasty beverages for anywhere between one thousand dollars and twenty-five cents. Hey, it’s one way to learn about supply and demand.
And then, there’s something I’m very excited about doing: I’m participating in the Intel Centrino Duo Blogger Challenge!
The first week’s questions from all six chosen bloggers are up. I am delighted to be keeping such company, believe you me:
- The City Blogger - Jen Chung from The Gothamist
- The Gadget Blogger - Mia Kim from Popgadget
- The Video Blogger - Bre Pettis from Make Magazine
- The Mommy Blogger - Mindy Roberts from The Mommy Blog
- The Tech Blogger - Paul Stamatiou from Paul Stamatiou
- The Food Blogger - Pim Techamuanvivit from Chezpim
And of course, Murphy isn’t happy until he’s had his fun with me. The Mystery Blogger? Let’s just say that my ex—incredibly—knows this person and has blown all the magic for me. So I promise not to participate in the guessing. I just wish that that kind of news could be a positive experience for him, that hearing that someone is working on a project with his ex-wife didn’t make him brace for the blow.
And with Thanksgiving coming up, plans have been all up in the air. My company is releasing a new version the first week of December, so there’s tons to do there. My folks may or may not be in CA that week, I’ve been invited to Phil’s family’s home on the east coast, and to top off the flurry of invites, my dad called yesterday. First Thanksgiving invitation in twenty years, and I can’t afford to freaking go. The kids will be away will Gil this year, anyway. It wouldn’t be the same without them. Unless Phil decides not to go without me, I may be spending the holiday alone for the first time since Thanksgiving Day 1990, the day I met my ex. Cruel, that. I was working at his brother’s reastaurant and he drunkenly invited me along, as I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t accept. But he called later.
Oh, hold on. Crying from the tub.
GOOD GOD IS THERE NO END TO THE UNFATHOMABLE? Daphne just announced that as she was on the potty, Dylan didn’t want to wait his turn and peed behind her, wetting her back, the seat, the lid, and, oh, I don’t know what else because I windexed the shit out of that entire quadrant of the bathroom. Great green tomatoes. *brain floss*
Must… try… to… remember… them… as… so.. cute… on… Halloween.
Heh. Logan just military-crawled across the living room floor, panting, “I had to go on a desperate mission—twenty feet—to cuddle you.”
“Wow, I’m glad you got here before you expired. I’d hate to have to deal with a dead kid on the floor.”
“Okay, I’m going back now.”
I walked past him to the bath, extricated and dried the other two children, turned around and passed him in the hall on the way back to the computer. Logan paused, mid-struggle. “Darn.” He turned and made his way back to the living room, now only using his elbows to drag his paralyzed body behind. “I… love… you… Mo—” And he expired.
Once I ushered everyone into beds, I turned to see Logan stretching out on his side, head in one hand, legs arranged just so. “Look, Mom. I’m Greek. Feed me grapes.”
There are times when I laugh so hard at something he says that he gets mad or self-conscious and I have to reassure him that I’m not laughing at him. I just love that he’s got the funny. I tell him that he cheers me up when he’s so witty, and that makes him very happy.
FamilyPlease: stop calling me.
I know we go way back, and I know that it’s November and you can’t help thinking of me this time every (other) year, but it’s time to let go.
L e t g o .
Breathe. Softly. SOFTLY, Ewan. Heh.
Look: when you call my house during Arsenic Hour, not only am I not going to listen to your message, but I will dive for the delete button at once. In fact, I now have a little game I play with myself: I try to see if I can cut you off after you say your name but before you mention for whom you’re stumping. Most of the time, though, I let it go and concentrate on my family.
Occasionally, when the machine reads “42 messages,” I’ll get myself a drink and sit next to the machine and go through them all, punching *delete* when I hear your sonorous voices. Oh, and I gotta tell you: the rapid-fire brought-to-you-by message at the end reminds me just a little too much of used car commercials. If I want to do-si-do, I’ll Go See Cal. (For the love of God, if you click that link, be sure to check out the Best of Cal video.)
Even the kids have noticed. “Who is it this time, mama?”
Last night as Gil was picking up the kids and Phil was walking in the door, Al called and Gil called out, “Phil, it’s for you!” And then Daphne ran down the hall shouting for him to come quick, he had a call.
Oh, and the same goes for the folks going door to door securing verbal promises of votes for their candidates. Chances are, buddy, that I am frantically looking for the other red sneaker, or running to stop the tub overflowing, or stepping out of the shower. In fact, I’ve taken to just stripping down, wetting my hair, and answering the door dressed in only a towel. It’s the only sort of you-caught-me-at-an-inconvenient-time message they seem to understand.
Any other time they’ll just try to talk over the kids. If I had a dime for every time I said, “I’ll be honest: I won’t remember a thing you’ve said; do you not see and hear what’s going on?” And then they’ll notice for the first time that I’ve got one child clinging to my back like a monkey, another tying my shoelaces together, and a third urgently tugging on my shirt, wailing, “I SPILLED.”
So, please. I know it costs money to run these very effective campaigns. But give a girl a break. You’re beginning to look desperate. I don’t have time for it.
Except you, Ewan. Um, could you please call back because the last two numbers of your cell were garbled. It’s urgent.
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