embracing the detour

Terrible advice. (Taken with instagram)

Wed, 23 May 2012 12:53:59 -0700

Terrible advice. (Taken with instagram)

Oh, great! My computer and brain are in sync, then. Excellent....

Sat, 05 May 2012 18:27:19 -0700

Oh, great! My computer and brain are in sync, then. Excellent. (Taken with instagram)

On the plus side of practicing law…

Fri, 27 Apr 2012 10:25:40 -0700

On the plus side of practicing law…

Sometimes less is more. But sometimes, more is more. True for...

Mon, 23 Apr 2012 12:50:11 -0700

Sometimes less is more. But sometimes, more is more. True for birthday party pizza (happy 2nd bday, A!) Also true for layered, complicated sci-fi conspiracy stories like the one I’m presently trying to write. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as I wade through my overgrown outline. Help. I’m drowning in subplots.

"The Day I Changed" by Aidan Donnelley Rowley

Mon, 23 Apr 2012 08:34:08 -0700

"The Day I Changed" by Aidan Donnelley Rowley

When suffering from writer’s fatigue, buy new sunglasses. ...

Fri, 20 Apr 2012 17:19:50 -0700

When suffering from writer’s fatigue, buy new sunglasses. And take pictures of yourself wearing them. Way better than an 8th cup of coffee.

Tales from the playground

Mon, 09 Apr 2012 21:41:37 -0700

You want to feel like a great mom? Go the playground at toddler rush hour.

Saturday, 12:30 p.m. Lil Mil and her friend A are busy on the slide, so I take a seat in the shade, a few feet from a pair of moms. I arrive mid-conversation, and this is what I hear:

Mom #1: “No, really. For a four year old, she’s remarkable.”

Mom #2: (with a dismissive laugh) ”I mean, sure, I think my daughter is bright. But it’s not like she’s gifted. Trust me, she’s regular.

Mom #1: ”She has an incredible vocabulary for a four-year-old.”

Mom #2: ”Yeah. But drawing? You know how some kids will tell you they’re gonna draw a rainbow and then they actually draw a rainbow? She can’t even do that.”

Today, 11:45 a.m. Lil Mil and I are sitting side-by-side, scooping sand with our hands. Nearby, a girl who looks about Lil Mil’s age is playing with a bucket and shovel. Next to her is a giant bag of sand toys, each labeled with her name in all caps. Her mother sits nearby, watching. Lil Mil gets up and walks over to the little girl. ”I want to play with the yellow one,” I hear her say. I hurry over to admonish her for not saying please, although deep down I am proud of her for not just taking it. She is learning. She is trying. I flash a smile at the other mom as I kneel down next to Lil Mil and say, “are you being sweet?” My daughter looks and me, nods solemnly, and softly repeats her request:

“I wanna play with the yellow one.”

“No!” the other little girl shouts, moving it out of Lil Mil’s reach.

“G, can she play with this one?” her mother asks, reaching into the giant bag for a rake that G has not yet touched.

“No!” G shouts, grabbing it from her mom.

The mom looks at Lil Mil. ”I’m sorry, G doesn’t feel like sharing right now. Check back in a few minutes, okay?” The woman then flashes a smile at me, as though this makes perfect sense. As though the fact that her 2-year-old “doesn’t feel like sharing” is all the explanation I need.

"I neglect God and his angels for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of..."

Fri, 06 Apr 2012 05:51:52 -0700

“I neglect God and his angels for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.”

- John Donne, Sermons, No. 80, 1626

#laurenmillerproblems

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 10:17:00 -0700

Now that I’ve resolved the name conundrum, I think I should start a new twitter feed: #laurenmillerproblems. Today’s installment: why Lauren Miller will always be delayed during check-in at any establishment that uses a computer to locate its customers, especially when she is late for a yoga class that started two minutes ago.

“Are you the Lauren Miller on Main Street?”

“No.”

“Pine Grove?”

“No.”

“26th?”

(Proceed with same pattern for 3.5 more minutes)

A work-at-home-mom. From the moment I brought Lil Mil home from...

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 17:29:52 -0800

A work-at-home-mom. From the moment I brought Lil Mil home from the hospital and started working in earnest on Parallel, that’s what I wanted to be. I loved the juggling act, the wearing of many hats, the constant readjusting and recalibrating to approach equilibrium. I loved it all, flourishing as I floundered. Partly because the effort itself was energizing. But mostly because I was acutely aware of the alternative: going back to work. Missing all those moments I was enjoying so much. .

But then I did go back to work, and I started missing not all of it, but a lot. New words. New feats of athletic prowess. New discoveries and interests and fears.

And then, once more, I was home again, having sold a book and a TV pilot, and, therefore, having earned the right to spend my days writing. This time, though, I had help. Full time help. Which seemed to make sense, since I had a script rewrite (or five) to do and another book to write. In fact, it seemed like the best of both worlds. I was home, there if Lil Mil needed me, but luxuriously free to focus on my writing without distraction. Women with nannies know how this turned out. I was no longer a WAHM. I was a go-to-work mom whose office just happened to be in her basement. I rarely spent time with Lil Mil during the day. I might quit working early or start late, but my week days were work days. I wasn’t “there” any more than I had been when I was sitting in my office at Big Law. Which maybe would’ve been okay if I needed 40 hours to write. But I didn’t. 30 was plenty. A few weeks ago, the ridiculousness of this situation started really weighing on me. What was I doing with full-time help?!? I found myself killing time until my daughter got home from her adventures with nanny. It was insanity. So, finally, I did something about it. Now, Lil Mil and I have Tuesday mornings and all day Wednesday together. And this week, that meant a neighborhood tea party and cookie date and a Disney matinee. I spent less time writing this week than I have in a while, but that’s okay, because I’m doing what I love again. Juggling.

Too many stars to count. A roaring fire, a perfectly cooked...

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 09:12:04 -0800

Too many stars to count.
A roaring fire, a perfectly cooked burger, a wine that gets better with each sip. A family, being a family, doing what families do.
Yes, we forgot about 10 things actual campers would’ve never left home without, and I’ve got a golfball-sized knot on my leg where I ran into the grill. But we’re here, doing this, together.
It doesn’t get better than right now.

I wanted to relax and unwind. To unplug. To wake up on my...

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 10:04:50 -0800

I wanted to relax and unwind. To unplug. To wake up on my birthday to fresh air and a California sunrise, without the distraction of text messages and emails and phone calls. I wanted these things, but I suspected I wouldn’t quite have them, because even though we’d be camping on a remote(ish) beach the night before the big day, I’d still have my iPhone with me, and as much as I want to be a person who knows how to just TURN IT OFF (really off, not just in airplane mode), I am not that person.

Turns out it doesn’t matter that I don’t know how to turn off my phone because it turned itself off. ”NO SIM” it says at the upper left corner. No service. No calls. No texts. No emails. No matter how much I want them.

I got my birthday wish after all.

She took her first shower at six weeks, an occasion we...

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 06:09:00 -0800

She took her first shower at six weeks, an occasion we documented with video. Husband held her carefully in his arms, letting the water run off his body and onto hers. She cooed and grinned her gummy grin, and after that, she was a shower girl.

When she started sitting up, we’d put her in the Bumbo seat on the shower’s stone floor while we showered, and she’d giggle and tap her feet. When she could stand, we’d let her hold onto the bench and play with the shampoo bottles (yes, once she drank one. But that’s a different post). When she crossed over from infant to toddler, shower time became morning play time She’d arrange cups and plastic pots of different sizes along the bench, then, one-by-one, hold them up to me and ask for “moy wa-ee.” And I’d fill each with water and hand it back to her, and she’d continue doing whatever it was she was doing.

Husband continued to shower with her every once and awhile, but usually it was me in there with her, filling her cups and pots, scrubbing her armpits, washing her hair. Holding her while we both let the water hit our tongues. She’s always liked the water hot - really hot - just like her mama. We were a perfect shower team.

Until yesterday.

We were in there, doing our thing. Her newest fascination is washing things with towels (so much so that I had to go buy a new set of pink hand towels so that she’d stop using our dishtowels to wipe the floor. But that’s another post, too). I could tell that she was looking for something else to wipe, so I put my foot up on the bench and told her she could wash it while I finished rinsing my hair. ”No mommy,” she said. And then she said something I couldn’t make out, so I kneeled down and asked her to repeat it.

“I want mommy to get out,” she said. ”I want to stay in.” Then she gave me a little shove toward the shower door.

Just like that, I was booted from my own shower. Just like that, our thing became her thing, and I was on the outside, looking in.

For Husband’s and my 3rd anniversary (we celebrated #6 in...

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 08:00:02 -0800

For Husband’s and my 3rd anniversary (we celebrated #6 in November), my parents gave us a 100 dollar bill and print outs from 2 wine bistros they’d found online with a note to “pick one and enjoy it in us!” We never did. We wanted to, but life got in the way, and since I never felt right about spending the money on anything but dinner at a wine bistro, the Benjamin stayed tapes to that anniversary card. FOR THREE YEARS. Until 5 minutes ago, actually, when I dug it out to take with us in our kid-free night away tonight (also a gift from my parents… I’m sensing a theme. Or maybe they just want more grandkids. Sorry folks, not tonight). Holding this crisp and perfect 100 dollar bill, I feel like a kid in a toy store who’s just been told I don’t have to spend my allowance on the toy I was planning to buy anyway.

Today I begin in earnest my second novel. I’ll try to...

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 09:00:01 -0800

Today I begin in earnest my second novel. I’ll try to write regularly and candidly about the process, since those are the details I wanted to read about from other authors when I was contemplating my first book. So here’s the first bit of truth from me: writing is, for me, a deeply spiritual exercise. In some ways, even an act of worship. Thus, it seemed only fitting (and more than coincidental) that one of the quotations on the inside cover of my church bulletin this week - the week I would begin to birth a new creative project - spoke to this idea. Oddly, it had little to do with this week’s sermon. Yet there it was, for me.

abigailleighspencer: Yancy Bailey Spencer III. YSiii. My...

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 22:32:20 -0800

abigailleighspencer:

Yancy Bailey Spencer III. YSiii. My dad.
July 2, 1950 - February 14, 2011
Romantic even in his passing—
View more Abigail Spencer on WhoSay

I only met him once in life, but have been touched by him, his spirit, his legacy, several times in the year since his death. His funeral last February was both a testament and a tribute to Life - his, ours, and the one that awaits. It was an honor to be there then, and an honor to celebrate him tonight.

Sixty-seven years ago, he wrote to his sweetheart and told her...

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 21:15:42 -0800

Sixty-seven years ago, he wrote to his sweetheart and told her that he wished he could tell her how much he loved her. He called her darling. He said he wanted nothing more than to be near her. Not because it was Valentine’s Day (it wasn’t). Not because she expected him to (if I know my grandmother, she didn’t). But simply because it was true. A lot has changed since 1945, but that much hasn’t.

If you’re looking for a contestant to root for on this...

Sun, 12 Feb 2012 17:48:44 -0800

If you’re looking for a contestant to root for on this season of Worst Cooks In America (Food Network, Sundays at 9), this is your woman. Kelli Powers. Trust me, people, I’ve tasted her pre-show food. She’s the underdog.

“How do you know Abigail?” someone asked as we...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 11:23:59 -0800

“How do you know Abigail?” someone asked as we watched her on the red carpet. I opened my mouth to say what I always say - “we wrote a pilot together!” - but, as always, it didn’t feel right, or enough somehow. So I went with the whole truth, instead. “She’s my friend.”

Ah, Los Angeles. How we love to share how we pay for our shiny...

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 18:41:57 -0800

Ah, Los Angeles. How we love to share how we pay for our shiny things.