La Belette Rouge

#26-34 of 365 Things that don't suck about L.A.

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 12:00:00 +0000

26. I have tickets to the Late-Late Show with Craig Ferguson and I am so excited. There are lots of opportunities to see the filming of shows in L.A. only I never do it. No, that's not true. There was the time I went to see Phil Donahue when he filmed in L.A. for a week , about 20 years ago. I had a bit of a crush on Phil. He was my Oedipal Complex crush #1. (I suppose I still have a crush on Phil, it's just that when I fell for Oedipal Complex crush #2, Bill Clinton, and Phil went off the air, I sort of forgot how much I loved Phil). I was so smitten and love struck that I had delusions that when Phil saw me in the audience he would leave his do-gooder wife for me. Yes, I was mildly delusional. I have no such hopes with Craig. Well, not entirely true. I feel like if Craig met me he would find me highly amusing and we would be pals. If you want to test your delusion by attending a taping of your favorite TV show when you are in L.A. check this out.

27. Now that it is coldish in L.A. I am finding that I don't really miss the subzero temps of Chicago. L.A.'s Winters don't entirely suck. Summer does. Fall does. Winter does not.

28. Being in L.A. forced me to work on some issues that I wouldn't have done otherwise. If it weren't for being in L.A. I wouldn't have worked with Igor. If I hadn't worked with Igor it is likely I would never have been open to adoption. Being in L.A. changed my life. I hate to admit it but it is true.

29. The Getty Villa. The Villa is the original Getty center and it is absolutely gorgeous. I think that truth be told, as much as I love the new Getty, I love the Getty Villa even more than the new Getty. It is a must see if you visit L.A.

30.Overhearing conversations in the bathroom at Neiman Marcus in Beverly Hills. Yesterday I overheard two women talking about their hair. One woman said to the other, "I get the back of my hair cut by Lars. And, Jacques cuts the front of my hair." Woman #2 also admitted to having two different stylists for different parts of her hair. Seriously, where else in the world would you hear that conversation?

31. My hair angel, April, at Dej Salon. Tell her I sent you. Thank me for how good looks after you see her.

32. The Hungry Pocket Falafel House for falafel in Santa Monica. It is divey-dive-dive and yet when a falafel craving hits we get on the 405 freeway and then on the Santa Monica freeway and then get off at Pico and drive up towards Santa Monica College and then hope against hope that maybe we can find a parking place. Then we try to find a place to sit among the college students and then the ordering of delicious falafel and kabob begins.

33. L.A. is just an hour and a half from Santa Barbara. Santa Barbara does not suck at all. Things I love about Santa Barbara: The trees, the architecture, the weather, Santa Barbara Shellfish Company, La Super Rica, The Saks Fifth Avenue on State Street, and my memories of going to grad school there. Even the drive to Santa Barbara is gorgeous, that is if you take Pacific Coast Highway.

34. The scent of Eucalyptus trees at the 5/405 freeway interchange. It only lasts for a mile or two but the scent always makes me happy.

What I am thinking about Wednesday

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 12:00:00 +0000

1. One little word
The very lovely Irene Latham, the author of Live. Love. Explore, is having a contest in which she is inviting readers to share their key word for the year. As soon as I read about her contest I knew my word. My key word for 2010 is 'celebrate'. My image for the year is champagne. My resolution for this year is to always keep a case of champagne in our house. I feel like there is going to be a lot to celebrate this year, even if it is only "it's Wednesday, let's celebrate".

2. This Emotional Life
When I first heard the name of this series I thought it was an Ira Glass documentary on emotional health. Even though it wasn't, and I am disappointed that it wasn't, it is still a show worth tuning in for. It is a great 3-part series hosted by Daniel Gilbert, Harvard psychologist and best-selling author of Stumbling on Happiness, that explores why happiness is such an elusive goal.

3. Fresh Sugar Lip Treatment
This is the best lip balm ever made( Okay, La Mer's may be a close second---but at that price it better be). Throw away your Burt's Bees, Chapstick and Rosebud Salve and plunk down your $22.50 and thank me later. Happiness can be bought----well, if soft and supple lips equal happiness.

4. My new favorite shoes
I usually hate labels or anything that reads "designer". Something about these shoes made me break my no-label rule. I put them on with almost anything and I convince myself that I am Margo Tennenbaum. I pretend that the "T" on the shoes are not standing for Tory Burch and are instead for Tennenbaum.

5. My new I-phone that I LOVE VERY MUCH. It is the best phone ever. I am very attached to it. I have it in my hand almost all the time. I am even prone to petting it. Lily may get jealous if I keep it up or start buying it sweaters and treats.

6. I am seeing my Mom tonight and I am not even dreading it. This is proof that therapy works. Seriously, this is BIG.

7. Miracle #2 of 2010. We are, once again, house shopping. And this time I am not even anxious, upset, or at all reticent. I know---it is again proof that therapy works. Thank you, Igor.

8. That I am deadly disappointed that the cardio-hula-hooping class has been canceled. I am not kidding.

9. I am obsessed with this tee shirt. I am not sure why. I have never owned anything in Burned Olive before. Now I feel like my life will not be complete until I have it.

10. I am craving high pulp fresh squeezed orange juice. My cravings are usually for foods that nutritionists put on the naughty list. I feel a kind of moral superiority in having a healthy craving.

The wait is over, sort of

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Happy New Years!!!!! So sorry I am so slow to get back to the blogosphere. It turns out that part of my celebrating was to stay away from my computer. Please don't take that personally, it is just that I had been studying since summer and all of my studying all occurred on my computer. Once I passed the final test I wanted to get away from my computer and out into the world. Don't get me wrong, I am still celebrating. Even as I type there is a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in my fridge just waiting to be popped.

But, I couldn't torment you any longer. It is time to share my big news with you. Before I share the news I must share with you who is responsible for making my big news possible, all the credit goes to Igor and Wendy Brandes. Wendy is too kind to take any credit, but most of the credit goes to her.

It all started on 12/3. I had just come from a grueling session with Igor in which I was doing some heavy grieving about our childless state. I somehow got him to finally see that nothing would ever fill the emptiness of our childlessness. It was when he really understood that he asked me to tell him again why I was so closed to adoption. I felt slightly outraged that I had to explain it again.

"#1 I am too old. #2 I could not take to have my heart broken again by having an adoption fall through. It would kill me."

"Okay," he answered. "#2 is harder to deal with so let's deal with #1. How do you know that you are too old?"

"I just am. I am objectively too old."

"How do you know that? Where did you learn that?"

"I just am. It is just true." I explained in a tone rich in certainty.

I came home and wrote to Wendy, "Igor was not great today. I was moaning about the baby issue and he started talking about adoption. I reminded him of my age. His answer?
I always see Larry King around Beverly Hills with his kids. I laughed and then asked him if he had thought that through before he said it. He admitted that he hadn't."

The wonderful Wendy wrote me back and made a very compelling argument that I don't feel at liberty to share. All I can tell you is that between Igor's gentle prodding and Wendy's brilliant argument, I changed my mind and decided I might be open to adoption. That my friend, is big news. I had been CLOSED to adoption. The door had been nailed shut and I was SURE there was no way it would ever be opened again.

Before I even shared with He-weasel about my potential openness to exploring adoption I called three different agencies to find out about what we would have to do if we wanted to adopt. I didn't want to tell him until I was sure that I was semi-serious about this. He has always been open to adoption. It has been me who hasn't. When I shared with him the news he was completely and totally in shock. He-weasel is so happy. Between my passing the exam and my willingness to consider adoption he is having a very happy new year. He is, as you can imagine, extremely grateful to Wendy and Igor. There has even been talk of naming a child after both of them. Wendy-Igor Rouge has a nice ring it.

I talked to all three adoption agencies and I somehow managed to sign us up for three different information sessions. So far we have been to one and I am still surprisingly open to finding out more. We go to a second info session this week. The third one is on the 16th. Let me clarify, I don't feel sure that we are going to adopt. I am in a space of openness to exploring the idea of adoption. I feel an almost dissociative fog around all of this in which I feel very little except surprised that I am open to this. I feel sure that Igor will explain my lack of feeling as a means of protecting myself from hurt, disappointment and/or more grief. I am not even sure we will adopt. I am far way away from certainty. Hey, I was certain I would get pregnant. I was certain we wouldn't adopt. I was certain I was too old to adopt. It just goes to show how well certainty has served me.

Happy Christmas!!!!

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 01:28:00 +0000

Lily, He-weasel and I wish you and yours a very happy Christmas. My Christmas wish already came true, thanks to now being an official Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in the state of California. I hope Santa is as good to you as he was to me.

I'll be back next week to regularly scheduled blogging. I have some big news to share with you and I can't wait to do so!!!!!Until then, I sincerely hope you know what a gift your bloggy friendship is to me and how very grateful I am for you. Thank you! And, Merry Christmas!!!xoxoxo

I PASSED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 19:37:00 +0000

7 days of Christmas fun while I am off studying

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Today is the last time I will post until after I take part two, the clinical vignette portion, of the State of California's BBS exam on Saturday, December 19th. For the next nine days I will be in a hyper-focused state of over preparing( if I pass) or inadequately preparing( if I don't).

I thought that I would share some goodies with you during my absence, one goody for each day I am gone.

1. My Christmas tree.
Be sure to notice the "Lily" ornaments( thank you Preppy Princess for telling me about the Westie ornaments from Saks) and all the Fleur de Lys ornaments that my very fabulous and generous friend Pamela of Francophilia gave me.

2. A Lily holiday photo.

3. My favorite Christmas movies: Love Actually, The Bishops Wife, and Heat Miser.

4. My favorite David Sedaris holiday story of all time.

5. I thought I would remind you all for the 105th time that when I was little I decorated Bob Newhart's Christmas tree. Maybe in 2010 I will bring out another brush with greatness story as this one is getting a little old. However it seemed timely, with the holidays and all. Here is a little Bob Newhart Christmas present for you.

6. My best secret for upping the wow factor for holiday makeup:
Mix your foundation with a dab of MAC's Strobe Cream. Then stipple on over your foundation some MAC vanilla pigment. If I am wanting to look like I might be a sparkley vampire from the Twilight set I add a little of MAC's Belightful Irridescent Pressed Powder.

False lashes always make things more festive unless you glue your eyelids shut. I like MAC's or Shu Umera's lashes best. I always have the sales gal cut the lashes for me, so they aren't too long for my little eyes and trail off onto my face like a confused caterpillar.

7. An easy holiday recipe that involves canned cranberries( this is me trying to be supportive of the Canned Cranberry Eaters of America©) . I got the delicious and festive recipe of Cranberry baked brie from here.
1 (16-ounce) round Brie
1 (16-ounce) can whole-berry cranberry sauce
1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
2 tablespoons spiced rum
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 cup chopped pecans, toasted

Trim rind from top of Brie, leaving a 1/3-inch border on top. Place Brie on a baking sheet.Stir together cranberry sauce and next 3 ingredients; spread mixture evenly over top of Brie. Sprinkle evenly with pecans.
Bake Brie at 500° for 5 minutes. Serve with crackers, French bread and/or sliced fruit. Goes well with champagne or a nice white wine( preferable not from a box as canned cranberries and wine in a box are just taking the convenience food thing a bit too far).

No matter if I pass or fail I will post immediately after I am done with the test on the 19th. Please wish me luck and send good thoughts on my test date. I need all the good thoughts you can send. Can't wait to see you as that will mean this is all behind me. Besides that I will miss you!

The Wizard of Pilgrim pumps

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 12:00:00 +0000

See those shoes, the one in the picture, those are the gorgeous and iconic Roger Vivier Pilgrim pump with silver buckles shoes that Catherine Deneuve wore in Belle du Jour. Those shoes, for years, have been on my "someday" list. I just want one pair of Roger Vivier shoes to call my own. And yes I know full well that slipping on one of the shoes that Catherine Deneuve wore will not turn me into her. Having these shoes will not allow me to speak French with a perfect Parisian accent. I will not have long blond hair, an air of cool goddessy beauty, and I will still have days when I wear squirrel pajamas all day and think beer and pizza seems like a good idea( something I am sure Catherine has NEVER done). Knowing that has not stopped me from wanting these beauties.

My years of longing have inspired some settling. I have had a pair of Banana Republic copies. I once had a pair of suede shoes that had a similar pilgrim/pirate vibe that I wore to death and that I miss often. What held me back from owning a pair of Roger Vivier shoes? Simple, they are expensive. $585 for flats expensive.

There is a reason Roger's shoes are so expensive. Roger Vivier was a French fashion designer who specialized in shoes. He was the very first to create a stiletto heel. For many years he was the shoe designer for Givenchy. His designs and construction were so exceptional that he was considered the "Fragonard of the shoe" and "the Fabergé of Footwear. The Fragonard and Faberge of anything never comes cheap. Really, the Faberge of falafel has to be double the cost of your ordinary falafel.

Vivier's shoes have been worn by Ava Gardner, Gloria Guinness,The Beatles and most recently Suri Cruise( the only child lucky enough to have custom made Roger Viver pilgrim flats). Queen Elizabeth II wore Roger Vivier shoes for her coronation.

And now his shoes are being worn by me. Yep, those babies are MINE. MINE, all mine!!!!
How, you ask? After a lovely champagne luncheon with Une femme de une certain age, who had taken me out to lunch to celebrate passing my first test, I did a little shopping. I went into Neiman Marcus. I looked at handbags on sale and found nothing I loved. Then I looked for an ornament for our Christmas tree and found nothing but a $150 candle that I put down as quickly as I read the price. I was about to leave the store and then I though, hmmm....maybe I will stop by the shoe department.

I took a walk through the department I saw some over processed blond starlet shopping for shoes who was seemingly seeking anonymity behind big sunglasses and was simultaneously exposed in a big way in a tee shirt that was falling off one shoulder to reveal her bralessness. One would think I would have kept my eyes on her wardrobe malfunction in the making but truth be told I could not take my eyes off her over-fried, dried and extra-crunchy blond hair. I wanted to interrupt her shoe shopping and take her over to the Frederik Fekkai counter and suggest that she buy gallons of his Protein RX Reparative Treatment Mask and that she should keep this stuff on her head 23 hours a day and maybe after a month or two the stuff on top of her head would once again look like human hair and not some kind of mutant hay meant for kindling forest fires.

Still considering my intervention and thinking about adding a trip to the lingerie department to introduce the shoe seeking starlet to a brazier, I strolled over to the sale section after admiring all the shoes that cost more than my car payment and that is when I saw it. There it was in a ten medium sitting on the sales rack. I picked it up and examined it, disbelieving my eyes. I looked for a flaw or perhaps it was a mistake and they weren't really on sale. But there was nothing wrong and they really were on sale. I grabbed a sales association and insisted on seeing the mate of this beauty. As she went off to find my shoe I went into a kind of shock that they could be mine. I silently said to myself, "Today is the day they come home with me. Today could be the day when my Roger Vivier dream comes true."

When I got them on my feet I quit thinking and I started feeling. The feeling was a transcendent/ trans-verbal experience. It is difficult to put into the words the feeling of having the kind of shoes that Wicked Witches of all four corners would kill for. The sales associate interrupted my moment, "How do they feel?" She asked. I heard in her tone a subtext of sales seeking. What she really was asking was, "Are you buying these shoes?"
I ignored her subtext and answered her,"They feel like they are coming home with me."
I pressed my Neiman's card into her hand. I feared if I didn't seal the deal quickly something would happen and the price would go up and the shoes would have to stay in the store and I would have to leave without them or maybe flying monkeys would drop me in a poppy field and I would wake up next to a brainless scarecrow, a heartless tin man and a fraidy-cat feline.
Happily the sales associate returned with my shoes in a bag and my receipt to sign. I signed the receipt with enormous enthusiasm, it was as if my signature was saying "Yes!"

I am not sure how I got so lucky to get my Roger Vivier pilgrim flats for such a fantastic price. I am not sure how someday became today. Perhaps it was my fantasy of doing a well meaning mitzvah for the starlet with the hair of straw that opened the door to my miracle moment in the shoe department at Neiman Marcus. I think it is more likely that I benefited from the amazing shopping mojo of Une Femme who is a kind of Glinda the Good Witch when it comes to shopping( really, I have the best luck when shopping with her or even shopping after I see her. I have found two pairs of long longed for shoes at incredible prices after lunching with ). Whatever the reason, the shoes are mine. And in case any Wicked Witches are reading this, my guard dog is watching them so don't try anything funny---she'll drop a doghouse on you.

Accentuate the positive

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I am in a mood and I only wish it was PMS inspired. It is so bad I can barely take it so I am not going to subject you to it. This is the kind of mood that Igor is meant for. This is the kind of moaning and winging that one ought to get $200 an hour to tolerate. So, I will try to accentuate the positive just out of kindness, consideration and perhaps more importantly that I don't think I could stand to write out in black and white all that it is getting to me. Instead I will, for the benefit of both of us, once again try to see the good.

1. " An Education". Just see it. It is fantastic. The clothes, the music, the actress, and there is Latin and Paris and Oxford. When He-weasel and I saw it he said, "It was like the movie was custom made for you."

2. A box filled with cosmetics from Neiman Marcus is on its way to me. I better get that box and the cosmetics better make me more beautiful. I am feeling really shlumpadinka lately. Doing my hair, makeup and dressing to meet Deja Pseu for lunch ought to help me feel less shlumpy. There is however the chance that seeing all the glamazons in Beverly Hills and seeing Deja looking lovely, as always, that I will feel even more of a hot mess in need of an extreme make over.

3. Lily's new collar is GORGEOUS. She is blinged out. All of the other dogs will be deeply and madly envious. I am a petty person who lives to make other pets wish I was their mother. Mwah-ha-haaaaaa!

4. I am getting my carpet cleaned tomorrow. I have a fantasy that by doing this we will move. If we improve the place in any way then we will be evicted. Developmental theorists call this magical thinking. Igor will just laugh when he hears my logic.

Speaking of magical thinking, did you read Joan Didion's memoir, The Year of Magical Thinking about the year of her husband's death? A beautiful book. I remember reading it in my bed in Lake Bluff. It was snowing and I had just made my favorite Bean/Italian sausage/Broccoli Rabe soup. Inkey was lying on my stomach and napping as I read and cried. Note to He-weasel: You are never-ever-ever allowed to die.

5. I got my JCrew order and I am just Luke warm about the Christiane ballet flats. For that price I want love. I don't feel love. However, I do love Jcrew's colour Fawn. I am in love with Fawn. Watch me fawn over it. I got this v-neck sweater in the gorgeous colour. I wasn't sure how it would look on me. I like the colour so much that I don't even care how it looks on me. I MUST have more. I quickly ordered this cardigan in this beautiful Bambi beige. And if Santa is reading this blog post I would love this bag in reindeer brown(i.e. Fawn).

6. I found a new fashion blog that I am addicted to and it is called Head to Toe with Heidi. She too shops Jcrew almost exclusively and we are similar height and ages. Heidi's blog reminds me a lot of my friend Leah's "Style for the Stay at Home Mom" that is sadly no more and that I miss very much. Heidi really knows how to style a Jcrew outfit. I am not quite as creative as she is and so I find her an inspiration.

7. The brilliant blogger, Completely Alienne, shared with me Morrissey's interview. It is so great to hear him talk, sing or recite the phone book. At 50 Morrissey is still as sexy as he ever was. Listen for yourself.

8. I am going to see The Fantastic Mr. Fox. I can't wait!!!!!!! There is a weasel in this film played by Wes Anderson. That Wes chose to play a weasel makes me think that Wes is a weasel/Belette appreciator. Love him more than I did before.

9. I just got my Crockpot out of storage and even though I have never managed to make anything in it that tastes good( I am convinced that Crockpots are an evil device that were created to suck the flavor our of perfectly good ingredients) I decided to try again. My first try was as disapointing as ever. I made Sandra Lee's Mango BBQ chicken from her book Sandra-Lee Semi-Homemade Slow Cooker Recipes and it tasted like a hot bowl of nothing. I added a tablespoon of hot red peppers and there was still no flavor. Oh, I guess this is not a good thing. Moving on.

10. I have been anti-magazine for a long time. Fashion and beauty magazines always leave me wanting stuff, hating the stuff I have and feeling fat and ugly. I don't need to pay money for that, I can call my mother for free. But, for some strange reason, after reading Christopher Buckley's FANTASTIC book, that I cannot recommend enough, I decided to subscribe to Vanity Fair again. I feel strangely excited about having a magazine on its way to me.

The other strange side effect of reading Buckley's book is that it made me want to read William F. Buckley Jr.'s biography on Reagan. When I read it I will put Clinton or Kennedy dustjacket on it so no one know what I am reading. I fear this my desire to read a biography about Reagan is a sign of some kind of brain disorder. I am going to be watching for other symptoms, and please email He-weasel and strongly suggest that he him take me in for an MRI if I start talking about buying Marie Osmond dolls, listening to Kenny G cds, and wearing Christmas sweaters.

I am off to Igor's. Igor will not hear about anything in this post. He will instead hear moaning, complaining, grieving and I might even mess up my eye makeup. Must remember to use waterproof mascara.

Update: Dear Santa, friends and family: Just FYI, Jcrew is offering 25% off all online orders until Sunday with the code GIFTS. Did you hear that Santa Weasel?

Scrappydoo

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 12:00:00 +0000

When Lily's fur has gotten a little long He-weasel and I call her Scrappydoo. To us she is at her cutest and most alluring when her appearance inspires that nickname. So, I was more than a little flattered that a bevy of beautiful bloggers think I am scrappy. The Daily Conneseur, Tale Peddler and Little Ms. J all awarded me the Honest Scrap award and I couldn't be happier.
As part of my duties of being Ms. Scrappydoo December 1, 2009 is that I have to share ten honest things about myself and then pass this lovely award on to ten other bloggers who bring honesty and scrappiness to the blogosphere.

Here I go:

1. I have watched Wonder Boys well over 25 times this year. It for sure is my most watched movie of 2009. I am not at all sure why I seem to be in a repetition compulsion with this film other than I may be trying to will for myself the happy ending that Micheal Douglas has in this film. A gorgeous house in the country, a baby, a teaching job in a writing department, and writing a book that will win a Pen Award. I think I have watched it so much that I could recite it on demand. I could rent myself out at Blockbuster.

2. Botox makes me very happy---jump up and down and stare at my forehead in amazement kind of happy. Really, I am a person who likes to see results and nothing gives me instant and effortless results like Botox. The wrinkles and lines are there and then they are not. I love you, Botox. Botox, I love you so much I would marry you---that is if California allowed polygamy. I would be Mrs. La Belette Rouge Weasel-Botox. That is a lot to fit on a monogram.

3. I am terrified I will not pass my MFT exam. I feel like I haven't studied enough and that when I go into the test center I will choke, panic and fail. In an attempt to counter my failure fantasy I think of a nincompoop who was in my graduate school class and who passed this test---if he can pass I can pass. December 19th is my test date. Wish me luck.
4. Something about being with my mother for longer than an hour turns off my heart. For 24-48 hours after seeing her I feel nothing for nobody. Really. Nothing. I am like Spock. It is as if being with her gives me a heartectomy. I can't even feel love for He-weasel. It is always scary when it happens. Happily, my heart always comes back---at least so far it has.

5. In the last couple of weeks several people have, without provocation, named my style as "Classic with a twist" or "Classic with a sense of humour". Every time it happens I felt an enormous sense of joy. The joy went way beyond what one would expect to feel at someone naming your style. I guess that the real happiness comes from the feeling of being seen. I so often feel invisible that when people in my life actually see me I feel happily surprised.

6. I am sure that one day I will meet Bill Clinton. I am not sure how, why, when or where. But, I am sure it will happen.

7. Grey hair and lines that require Botox are not the most annoying parts of aging. I am finding that the bizarre skin tabs that I am growing are. Anyone have any suggestions on how I can get rid of these dermal irregularities that seem to have invaded the back of my knees at the same speed that mini-malls invaded the streets of L.A.?

8. I judge people harshly who eat cranberries in a can. I place cranberry jelly eaters in the same category as eaters of Miracle Whip and that it is not a good category. It is He-weasel's unpardonable sin that he will not eat cranberries unless they come in a can and have lines on them. I try to shame him into eating less processed cranberries, so far nothing has worked.

9. I am terrified of snakes yet this is my favorite poem.

10. I hate surprises and He-weasel LOVES surprises. This, as you can imagine, creates some conflict. It just came to me the other night when I was watching Mad Men why I hate surprises as I do. Don was talking to his daughter about the new baby. They had both thought that the baby was going to be a girl. Don says, "Not all surprises are bad." As soon as I heard him say it I realized that I believed just the opposite. The overt message I got from my family is that the unexpected is always bad.

The ten Scrappytastic bloggers I am sharing this award with are:

1. Jeniffer at Writing to Survive who writes a blog that is the kind of writing I would pay money for. If only I were an agent or a publisher.

2. Utah Savage who is writing a novel that I cannot wait to read and who writes a blog thats honesty inspires and emboldens me.

3. Maggie May of "Flux Capacitor" who is the kind of blogger that this award was invented for.

4. Kayleigh the Brave of Fashionably Later. She is undoubtedly the bravest and most courageous blogger I have the privilege to know. Your courage, dear you, inspires me.

5. Stephanie Baffone who is my soul sister in so many ways. We are both childless not by choice, writers and therapists who blog. What are the odds?

6. Indigo Alison whose honesty inspires me to dare to say it like it is. She writes with unflinching honesty about her work, her daughters, her relationship and desires---and she is an amazing photographer.

7. Sal of Already Pretty who writes absolutely honestly about her relationship with her body and wardrobe.

8. Cheryl de los Reyes Cruz I love reading about her inner and outer life, creative process and her life in San Francisco.

9. David at SparkleMirrorwho is both scrappy and sparkly.

10. Hammie at Hammiesblog writes honestly about her life as a mother of children with autism. To be honest, that is not a subject that I would usually be interested in but she writes so honestly that she got me hooked.

Unsteady

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

He-weasel, Lily and I went for coffee yesterday morning. Because of Lily's dog status we have to drink our coffee outside of Peet's. The three of us sat in a silent and meditative reverie on the patio; we, respectively, drank our coffees, ate our treats, enjoyed the fall like weather, sniffed at unfamiliar scents, groomed and people watched the parade of Peet seeking passersbys.

A little girl, just finding her feet, toddled towards Lily in purple sparkly shoes that seemed to be bought as a celebratory gesture and to shine a bright purple light on the little girl's ambulatory accomplishment. The girl ambitiously attempted to walk, point and name the animal in her view all at the same time."Dotty", she exclaimed, as if she was a mini-Adam whose job it was to name the animals into creation. He-weasel, in the name of accommodation, got up and walked Lily towards the toddling toddler who was incredibly tipsy and posed Lily like an expert at the Westminster dog show, so the child could pet Lily without taking too many more steps. Every action he took was intended to prevent the wobbling weeble from taking a spill that would lead to tears and doubt about her ability to walk on her own. Secondly, he saw her enthusiasm for our "Dotty" and he seemed intent on bringing the purple-shoed girl even greater joy by making sure that she could pet the "Furry Dotty".

I sat back and sipped my latte and watched the interaction between He-weasel and the little girl. As I did, Lily and the little girl's mother went fuzzy and disappeared from my focus. Words came to mind against my will, "He-weasel would have been such an amazing father." Saying those words to myself was like taking a scab off a wound or toothpaste out of the tube, I knew that I couldn't undo it and that I would be left with a big mess that hurts.

The moment I fell in love with He-weasel was when I saw him talking to some children that had been brought to a very-adult birthday party by the kind of parents who bring their kids to an R-rated movie at midnight, that we had both attended( there was a tequila fountain and a pin the tail on a playboy bunny game). He-weasel tried to entertain the kids and amuse them, even as other guests, rolled their eyes and huffed at how the kids presence might hinder with their plans to enjoy complete debauchery and perhaps achieve previously unprecedented liver damage. I sat back and sipped a Jack and Coke and fell in love with the him as I watched.

I am sure it is because of the month I've had and because on Thursday I got the flu and that I am feeling tired and drained and depleted and because the stupid holidays are around the corner and the holidays always make it worse, but I got hit hard by the infertility grief---slammed is likely the best word---I got slammed by my grief. We went shopping and then to lunch and I started to melt. Everything he said made me think of home and of the holidays and babies and Lake Bluff and I just wanted to go home and I wanted to cry until somebody fixed this mess. I went to my old standard that I always go to when I get to this place, "It's not fair."

When I got home I thought about calling Igor only today I am feeling tired of telling him the same stuff over and over. I knew there was nothing he could do about it in a 15 minute phone call so I decided to Google "depression after infertility". I don't know what I was hoping to find. Perhaps I was hoping to feel a little less alone and for some evidence that my lingering grief was normal. After a few unsatisfactory returns I found the article "A Roadmap for Life Without Children" by Shelagh Little and one paragraph into the piece I was sobbing in recognition. Shelagh knew my pain. He-weasel saw my crying and he asked "what are you reading?" But he asked it in a way that was loaded with the tone of "what masochistic act are you committing against your self?" I am sure he thought I was visiting the What to expect when you're expecting web site.
"Nothing" I lied.
"You are not reading nothing."
"J Crew's web site."
"J Crew is making you cry?" he asked in a tone of appropriate disbelief.
"Uh-huh", I sniffed.
He-weasel weaseled into my personal space to see what I was actually reading.
"It's really good", I explained as he looked on to see words instead of cashmere cardigans.
"Then why is it making you cry?
"Because it's true. Because this is how I feel."
I made the mistake of reading the article aloud to him and the article so hit home that I punctuated each paragraph with long crying breaks.

As puffy as my eyes are I am not sorry I read the article. I am sorry I didn't read it earlier, it is the best article on life after infertility I have ever read and I feel like it describes exactly how I feel, Shelagh Little writes: "infertility is...like a low-level, lifelong bio-psychosocial syndrome. My physical inability to produce children has emotional and social consequences that I struggle with, at least to some extent, every day." I so related I Googled the author's name in hopes that she had a book or a blog or something so I could read more, sadly I found nothing.

I got up from reading the article, even more tired and depleted and a bit woozy. I felt a bit dizzy and I toddled towards the kitchen. My inability to walk a straight line got He-weasel's attention. He rushed towards me and put his arms around me in an attempt to steady me and stop me from falling.

Monthus horribilis (That's Latin for this month has sucked)

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I am not going to minimize or put a good spin on it, things have sucked lately( to name a few: Lily and the raisins; The near Boston move that didn't come through; The case of the stolen penny loafers; Lily and her"False Pregnancy"). While I don't have swine flu or cholera, I do have a dog with a hysterical illness that Freud might have found compelling enough to have made him the first psychiatrist to let dogs on the couch. I am not quite sure how I am managing to survive this time and yet I am. Let me share with you the small pleasures that help me endure this time that even Job might have found unmanageable.

1. Drinking Peet's Eggnog lattes.
Delicious and MUCH better than Starbuck's Eggnog lattes. There are days when the promise of a Peet's Egg nog Latte is enough to get me through eight more hours of living in Valencia. I usually only allow myself one a week but during this time if I need three a week to survive I will not begrudge myself this seasonal serotonin boosting beverage.

2.Watching Craig Ferguson
He makes me laugh and I need all the laughs I can get. I started out with his late night show. I fell for him immediately. He is Scottish. He is filled with self-loathing. He has been known to wear a kilt. He is the only late night talk show host who employs puppets in a way that doesn't have me grabbing for the remote and he has proudly introduced the awkward pause into late night. I am enjoying Craig so much that I have ordered Craig Ferguson: A Wee Bit o' Revolution and American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot.

3. The promise of a good read that could crush my father complex.
I have wanted, for a long time, to read Christopher Buckley's memoir, " Losing Mum and Pup: A Memoir" I wanted to read it not because I am a big fan of Christopher Buckley. In fact there is something about Christopher and his personal life that has kept me away from his well reviewed books. But, I have always had a strange affection for William Buckley Jr. My attraction to him is complex and can at times be a bit ego-dystonic. Every week of my childhood I remember my father, depending on how many cocktails he had before or during, watching or sleeping through Firing Line. I sat and watched because we had only one TV and I would hope that my father would go to bed and I could watch the Brady Bunch, Love Boat or Charlie's Angels instead.

After sometime I actually started to enjoy Firing Line( it was about the same time that I developed an age inappropriate crush on Phil Donahue). Even at a young age I was compelled by Buckley Jr. I grew up in a Democratic family and nothing that Buckley ever said convinced me to go to the dark side( the right side). But I was endlessly astounded by his ability to be totally wrong and yet still win the argument---his ability to do that never ceased to amaze me.

Something about him fit perfectly with my father complex. William Buckley Jr. was smart, a brilliant debater and had the kind of mind and wit that could leave me feeling like a complete idiot, "ah, hello, daddy!" Over the years of my Jungian analysis I would often dream of William Buckley Jr. He would stand in as code for my brutalizing father complex/Super ego. This William Buckley Jr. figure in my head existed to tell me I was dumb, not enough, and completely inadequate. He was a somewhat exaggerated version of my father and I suppose that is why I am so looking forward to reading Christopher's memoir. I suspect that in getting an up close and personal look at Bill Buckley I will see that he is not the omniscient overlord that he has played in my psyche. He, I am sure, is a just a man with weaknesses, insecurities and plenty of flaws. Knowing that, I hope, will help to eliminate that last big of negative father complex that lives in my mind.

I bought Losing Mum and Pup and have it sitting on my bedside table. I am saving it for a special occasion. Just knowing it is there and that I can read it at anytime makes me feel better--- much like knowing there is a piece of coconut cream pie in my fridge and that at any moment I could eat that pie. Knowing about the pie is almost always better than eating the pie.

4. The low temperature in Valencia today is just 10 degrees above freezing!!!
It is cold enough in Valencia that I can wear sweaters and drink Port. Both of these small pleasures make me very happy.

5. Music that is more mood lifting than Morrissey.
Yo-Yo Ma playing the Prelude from Bach's cello Suite No.1

6. Beautiful shoes
Thanks to a gift card and a 20% off promotion, these gorgeous shoes are on their way to me. Note to thieves: We have installed a video camera and I requested signature only on these kitties, so you can't have them.

7. Knowing that in 1 1/2 weeks to 2 1/2 weeks my Lily will be back to her old self.

I guess this makes me a monkey's grandmother

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

It started Friday night, Lily was extremely fatigued and was eating less than usual. When we went to bed we found that Lily had decided to abandon her regular sleeping location and was instead burrowed in between He-weasel's pillow and mine and she was not alone, she had brought her two toy monkey's into bed with us and she was grooming them both---all night.

By Saturday Lily was in a self-made nest with her two monkeys and was in a vigilant state of watch for their safety. When Lily wasn't in the nest grooming or guarding her preemie-primates she was walking around the house disoriented, depressed, anxious and whining. It was as if she was looking for something. It was as if she had lost something. As I watched her my anxiety grew. I couldn't stop watching her. But something in my gut told me she wasn't sick as she would eat, sleep, drink and wasn't vomiting and she had no temperature so I decided to hold off on a visit to the ER and would wait to see her vet on Monday.

When her symptoms were no better on Sunday I started to Google to search for explanation of her symptoms. It didn't take long to find them, it turns out that Lily has a classic case of Canine False Pregnancy Syndrome or pseudocyesis. Who knew such a thing exist? I certainly didn't. After researching pseudocyesis I learned that Lily's body and mind are convinced that she is pregnant even though she is not. The symptoms of a false pregnancy are:

Nesting
Whining,panting, and trembling
Mothering inanimate objects
Lactating (giving milk)
Abdominal distension
She can even appear to go into labor.
Restlessness and lack of appetite.
She might be slightly more aggressive or territorial than usual.
Symptoms should subside in 2-3 weeks, or 48hrs after the birth would have occurred.

It is so hard to watch Lily go through this, and yes I know that she might not be going through this if we would have had her fixed (please today is not the day for helpful reminders about spaying as I have run out of Xanax and Igor is out of town and is only available by phone). The hardest part about this for me is other than just not wanting my baby to suffer in anyway is that I know the emotional pain she is in as I have been there. Every time I went through IVF I was sure I was pregnant. I would feather my nest. I would have symptoms. I would shop at Pottery Barn baby and pick out baby names.

As I see Lily search the house for her puppies that she knows that she has had and I hear her cry I can do nothing for her but love her. Lily's phantom pregnancy brings up so much for me, I know what Lily is going through. I went through it for years. And, like Lily I made a nest and brought in a baby that is not my real baby( her) to love and nurture and make up for the emptiness.

I have taken Lily to two doctors and both say she is fine and that there is nothing to do but ride this out. It will be another two weeks of these kinds of symptoms. Both vets refused to give Lily hormones or tranquilizers, they say she is fine. I hate to disagree with them but I can tell you for sure that she is not fine.

As hard as this is for Lily and for us I can tell you that it makes me more sure what an amazing mother Lily would be and this may be what pushes us over the edge into choosing to breed her. I know there are many people who think that is a horrible idea and think that no one should every breed a dog as there are so many in shelters but today is not the day for me to enter into that argument. I would ask you to please not share that with me today, I thank you in advance for understanding that I too am a hormonal mess and that no decisions are being made today. Today Lily and I are in her nest. She and the baby monkeys are sleeping and I am blowing off studying to watch her sleep and I am watching all four episodes of the History of Scotland on Youtube out of deference to Lily's family history. Yesterday I called He-weasel at work four times and Igor twice. He-weasel is trying hard to understand why this is so very hard for me and Igor understood immediately how it triggered all my grief about infertility.

Two to three more weeks of this and I should be a total hot mess as well as an expert on Scottish history and completely unprepared to take the MFT Clinical Vignette Exam. Today I am cooking chicken and rice for her babies and we will all be watching Braveheart and Monarch the Glenn and I will be indulging in a few wee Mc-Xanax's, which is an old Scottish compound used for treating anxiety when the Scottish clans had drunk up all the Scotch.

All the President's A-Z

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I knew since Friday that Aunt Flo and Shark Week should be arriving any moment, only it didn't. I usually only have one day of extreme irritability, hunger and emotionality and the next day the curse arrives to explain why I cried at the Cheerios commercial. Not this time. This time I have had extreme irritability, hunger and emotionality for five days. That is a long time to feel irritable, hungry and teary.

And to make matters worse when one has tried and failed to get pregnant for over a decade one does not appreciate getting one's period a week late. Such a person, especially during the special PMS time of the month which creates greater emotional lability, doesn't have the emotional where with all to fight off delusional fantasies that a late period might mean in fact mean a miracle pregnancy.

When I woke yesterday morning I was satanically grumpy, horns began to sprout from my head and I found a pitchfork on my bedside table. I was the kind of grumpy that made the me of the day before, that placed my cart in the way of kids who were wearing "wheelies" and using the fruits and veg section at Costco as their own personal skating rink and when they gave me a dirty look for stopping their hi-jinks I responded by saying, "This is not a skating rink", seem down right warm and fuzzy.

So as to amplify my mood I learned that there was another theft of my stuff here at my high priced security building. I had ordered the Cole Haan Penny Loafer from Neiman Marcus when they had a one day 40% off sale. I placed the order and forget to get the estimated date of delivery. I was in no hurry to get them so it sort of slipped my mind, until yesterday. Well, I called Neimans and it turns out the shoes had been delivered at 11:00 in the a.m. on October 26th. They were left on my door and stolen. The third time I have had stuff stolen from my door. And, just recently He-weasel and I found in the stairwell a Vera Bradley bag that someone had stolen and then opened the box and didn't like the bag and they left it in the stairwell. Grrrrr! Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this place?????? I bet this kind of crime never happens in Boston( please, don't disabuse me of my fantasy).

My first thought was to pack a bag and Lily and I would go to the airport and get a flight to Chicago and I would call He-weasel when I was checked into a dog friendly hotel and tell him that Lily and I would be here at the Lake Forest Inn waiting for him and that under no circumstances would I ever go back to L.A. again, ever. I instead watched "All the President's Men."

I am not sure how it started or why it is but "All the President's Men" is one of my favorite movies for self-soothing. When I feel so bad I look like one of Harlow's monkeys there is something about Woodward and Bernstein taking down President Nixon that buoys my spirits and makes me forget about whatever it is that drove me to watch the film to begin with. It works better than any Cary Grant film or even any of my favorite French inspired romantic comedies and I think because it is so devoid of emotions and the film doesn't require much of me emotionally. I learned of A.T.P.M's anti-stressing qualities many years ago and started incorporating it into family holidays as a ritual part of the day---some people over-drink and overeat to deal with holiday familial stress, I root for the resignations of H. R. Haldeman and John Ehrlichman.

Lily and I lounged in repose silently on the sofa and watched Dustin Hoffman and Robert Redford trying to get unwilling witnesses to spill the beans. At the end of the film
I was still feeling a bit rough so I turned on Frost/Nixon. He-weasel came home to find it on and said, "Nixon again? Bad day, huh?"

I would also like to share with you a song that a dear bloggy friend of mine, K.T. ,wrote just for me in order to cheer me up and it did just that. I am delighted to share her cheer up song with you.

Cheer up cheer up cheer up.
(I think I learned that song from Sesame Street)
So, here are my ABC's to make your day better
(I resort to ABC's to sort feelings)
A= You are awesome!
B- Your blog is bitchin'
C- I love it when you are catty
D- Damn doorstop thieves
E- Enough of my stupid crap already
F- Feelings. Whoa whoa whoa feelings
G- Gremlins. Little fuckers freak me out
H- How the hell do we ever think some things are good ideas?
I- Insane people might have it all figured out.
J- Just don't listen to me. Half the crap I say is half assed.
K- Kleptomaniacs do it cheaper.
L- Little did you know...
M- Much love to you
N- Never take advice from me. Unless it makes sense.
O- Opulence. I like it, don't you?
P- Puppies. Gotta love puppy breath.
Q- Quelle?
R- Rascals. For real. The first R word that came to mind...
S- Shopping. Nuff said.
T- Tits Magee. Maybe I will change my name to THAT someday. To be considered...
U- Underwear. Someday I will buy La Perla or Agent Provacateur.
V- Very big kudos if you read this far
W- Weasles. xoxoxoxo
X- XRated. Everyone needs a little xrating in their lives, right?
Y- Ya-hoooo-oooo.
Z- Zebras. Pretty cool looking animal, ya think?

The Valencia me

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

My short-lived Boston dreams are over. I just learned that the position He-weasel applied for has been filled. The Valencia me is feeling very sad, disappointed and otherwise grumpy. This was so perfect. This was what I wanted. I was sure this was going to be the one. We were finally going to get out of Valencia.

Prior to learning the bad Boston news, I had already been feeling a little mood indigo. For the last two weekends I have been in all day test prep classes that kept me away from my He-weasel. His work schedule, as of late, has been such that he is gone before I get up in the morning and he is in bed almost a half hour after he gets home, so weekends are the only time I get to see him. But thanks to Marriage and Family Therapy test prep classes I haven't seen him even on weekends and instead have spent it learning ways to approach an exam that is so maddening, confusing and anxiety producing that I am feeling sure that the exam was created to serve as a deterrent from California having too many psychotherapists.

To make things worse I have a raging case of PMS, Chicago homesickness, claustrophobia induced by our postage stamp sized apartment and the reemergence of the 16 year old me that has a propensity for eye rolling, audible huffs and puffs, and extremely dramatic body language. The return of the 16 year old me was constellated by having the most irritating and least bright would-be therapist in the state of California sit next to me at the test prep class(even though I put my stuff all over the chair and the desk next to me and went as far as putting my feet on the chair so as to make it PERFECTLY clear that I wanted to be left alone. Yet, my dim and obtuse classmate made a bee line straight for me and seemed attracted to my non-verbal demands to be neighborless. My silent rage at his presence seemed to only fuel his desire to chat with me while the teacher lectured which only made me angrier and so the cycle continued ).

This guy was so annoying that I had other students in the class invite me to come to sit next to them just so I could be a little further away from him as he clearly had a colossal case of cooties. A fellow classmate and I, in attempt to prepare for the exam, felt compelled to diagnose this guy. We concluded that he had "Annoying personality disorder"( You won't find this diagnosis in the DSM-IV and yet there is no question that such a personality type exists). My annoying classmate also FREQUENTLY disproved the well loved academy theory that there are no stupid questions. Stupid questions were asked at frequent and regular intervals. And, annoying guy, if you are reading this, it is my professional, if unlicensed, opinion that if after completing a Masters degree in counseling psychology and 3000 clinical hours if you don't know the difference between major depression and dysthymia you ought to consider another career. Perhaps toll booth operator?

Between the Boston news, the PMS, He-weasel deprivation, and my clueless classmate I am feeling really rotten. I no longer feel hope or expectation. I am no longer waiting for the phone call that will change our life and announce our Boston move. I am back in disappointment, grief, and some mild hopelessness. The Valencia me is not in the mood to study or workout or do anything in the least bit constructive or productive. Today there will be chocolate, naps, bad TV, J Crew online shopping and a temper tantrum or two in which I will grieve the Boston me that might have been.

The Boston me

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

When I was 18 years old I went to a psychic. He wasn't the traditional gypsy looking psychic draped with shawls or coin based jewelry and he didn't even own a black cat or a crystal ball. I think he was a an engineer for Lockheed Martin or McDonnell Douglas or something like that and in his free time this middle aged man who wore plaid shirts and polyester pleated work pants did psychic readings in the den of his banal and boring beige track home in Bixby Knolls. I was referred by a friend who owned a boutique in Beverly Hills on Little Santa Monica. This woman went to lots of psychics, at least one a month. She was forever looking for a specific answer to the question "will my business survive" and "will I find love". I think of her every time I drive down Little Santa Monica and I see the chocolate shop where her off-beat boutique used to be and wonder what the answer to her second question was.

As soon as I sat down to hear what the aerospace intuitive had to say about my future I was filled with adolescent enthusiasm and almost complete certainty that this man was about to tell me my future. He said a lot of things, the reading was 90 minutes, but all I remember are two predictions that I have kept longer than my collection of concert tickets from events I went to in the 80's. I was, according to him, going to be a writer and live in Boston. I am not at all sure if I said anything to help him come to this conclusion or if he was just pulling stuff out of an orifice or if he did in fact have some New Agey capacity to see a future me writing in Boston.

It has been a week today since He-weasel turned in his application for a job transfer in Boston. For the last week I have been on pins and needles. I am waiting for the phone to ring. Every time He-weasel calls me from work and he has any kind of elevated tone to his voice I brace myself for the news that I have been waiting for, "I got the job in Boston." A week is not a long time to wait. We could be waiting several more weeks or longer to hear anything.

As I wait to hear I imagine a me that lives in Boston. It is a different me than lives in Valencia. The me that lives in Boston drinks more tea than coffee. I make lots of soups and stews involving fish and seafood that I purchase from a charming fishmonger named Sean McDonough whose family has had their fish shop for four generations. The Boston me has found an unexpected energy for running. I run for the pure joy if it. I get so good at it I consider running in the Boston Marathon. Writing goes really well for me in Boston. We have a home where I have an office that I actually use. Once in Boston my book is sold and it is so successful that I manage to get a part time teaching job in a prestigious writing department at a small liberal arts college. I maintain a small private practice in Cambridge, my practice is made up primarily of students from the universities. On weekends He-weasel, Lily and I travel through New England finding reasonably priced antiques that I later discover were grossly under-priced and if sold at a well publicized auction could finance the purchase of a small villa in France. We'll summer in Cape Cod and Lily will rub paws with the Kennedy dogs.

As you can see my Boston fantasies are not terribly inflated and are mostly in the realm of the possible. Okay, I will admit that it is somewhat unlikely that my practice would be made up exclusively of students or that a fishmonger's name would be Sean---and truth be told I could never give up coffee even if there was a very large tax on it.

I am sorry to do another Lily post (I promise it will be the last for a while)

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 12:00:00 +0000

but yesterday Lily was given a oatmeal raisin cookie by a very well meaning person who had no idea that raisins are toxic to dogs. We rushed Lily to the vet and she was given an IV with a medicine to make her vomit. The vet found 17 raisins in her little stomach. If we had waited as long as three hours then my baby girl would have gone into acute kidney failure and died. Happily, she seems fine. Yesterday was a very long day and Lily and I are too tired to write or do anything today but rest.

So today I am doing a public service announcements for dogs everywhere. As few as three raisins or grapes can cause renal failure and death in dogs. Do not give your dog grapes, raisins, Macadamia nuts, avocados, chocolate, caffeine, yeast dough, onion, garlic, chives, or Xylitol. These foods can seriously hurt and even kill your dogs. Let everyone who is around your dog know about these no-no's.

Here is a link to the ASPCA and their list of people foods that are very dangerous to your pets.

I will be back to the blogosphere on Thursday. See you then. I am off to throw away my Raisin Bran and pet Lily.

Birthday Pawty!

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

I am one of those people that if you didn't know me you might think I was a bit wackadoo in the degree to which I indulge my dog-aughter. No I do not paint her toenails, she does not have pierced ears and I do not push her in a stroller---but I do spoil her. And if you have been reading my blog for very long you know you why ( and if you don't then this might explain). It's just that Lily is more than a dog to me, Lily is my daughter. I am fully aware that I am sublimating my desire to be a parent with my furry child and that is why Lily has a life that is a little on the spoiled side---and it is a life that I wish many children had.

Lily only eats organic dog food and her diet is supplemented with organic fruits and vegetables. She looks forward to her nightly salad( she is a bit low brow in this department as she only likes iceberg lettuce) followed by a tablespoon of Ciao Bella's Sicilian Blood Orange Sorbet as a palate cleanser before her dinner. Lily only drinks water from the crystal blue waters of Fiji. There is no way I am giving my baby the nasty stuff from the tap. Her groomer is a groomer to the stars and she has an impressive wardrobe. I love Lily so much that I walk her for two miles before I have had my first cup of coffee( and that is more of a declaration of my love than anything else).

No matter what I am doing I take puppy play breaks in the day so I can have meaningful bonding moments with my baby girl. Speaking of her toys, she has a lot of them. And when I discover a toy is a favorite I immediately go back to the store and buy lots of back ups. I learned my lesson from the Mr. Bear fiasco. When Lily decapitated Mr. Bear and then looked at me filled with confusion and a crest fallen gaze that his head did not immediately grow back so she could do it again, I went to five different Petcos trying to find a Mr. Bear with a head on it. I could not. I felt so guilty that I even mentioned the Mr. Bear incident to Igor and he quickly turned it into something about my mother and her expectation of me filling her every loss. I reminded him that sometimes a Mr. Bear is just a Mr. Bear.

Lily even has her own Hungarian down comforter to which she has an unnatural and highly erotic affection for. I am working on not being shocked by my dog-aughter's emerging sexuality. I don't want to shame her for her natural feelings. Hey, I have seen the Vagina Monologues and when Lily is old enough I might even take her to see it if they ever had a mother/dog-aughter performance.

I am not one of those over indulging parents who says yes to whatever their child wants. I know the importance of limits and boundaries. Part of being a good puppy parent is to train them and I feel like I have done an exceptionally good job at training. If you ever meet Lily and me I will coerce you into asking to see all of Lily's tricks. You may at first be unimpressed by the idea but when you can see what she can do even the most disinterested person will be impressed by Lily's ability to sit, stay, lay down, shake paws, circle and dance. I may have mentioned it before, but it bears repeating, Lily is a genius.

This coming Sunday my Lily is turning one, yes she is a Scorpio (and that might explain her sexual proclivities with the down blanket. Scorpios are known for being highly sexual) and she will no longer be a puppy. It is traditional among human parents to have a party for their human children's birthday. I thought I would do the same for my dog-aughter, no reason to withhold a party for her just because she is not a featherless bi-ped(Plato's somewhat amusing definition of man). So we are holding a birthday pawty for our girl. I wish you could come!

We are having guests. I have ordered a birthday cake for her from Three Dog Bakery. I am getting her a steak from Bristol Farms for her special birthday meal. And He-weasel and I are making cupcakes decorated like Westhighland terriers for the human guests.

I am making a CD of Lily related music as a gift for the guests who are attending Lily's Pawty .
The play list includes:
Lilly by Pink Martini
Happy Birthday by Altered Images
God Only Knows by the Beach Boys( a song I sing to Lily a lot. She loves it. She also loves it when I sing "I can't smile without you" by Barry Mannilow to her).
Seasons of Love by Rent
How Much is that Doggy in the Window by Patty Page
Lilywhite by Cat Stevens
Puppy Love by Donny Osmand

Now I just have to decide what to get her for her birthday present. What do you get the dog who helped you heal the wound of infertility? What do you get for a Westie who gave you a reason to get out of bed in the morning during some really dark days? What do you get for a little white ball of unconditional love that healed your broken heart?

Picture of the cupcakes that I am going to attempt to make come from Simply Inspired. I hope mine turn out that good. I'll let you know.

Melange Monday

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 21:31:00 +0000

1. One word, Boston. Please people, send good thoughts. Cross fingers, light candles, and invoke incantations. I am not just thinking of myself, it is all about Lily. She wants to go to Harvard. She is considering a dual major of International Relations and Bioethics and she also has a keen interest in the Classics.

2. Peter Thomas Roth Unwrinkle Peel Pads. LOVE-LOVE-LOVE these. Thank you, Stephanie, for telling me about them. I used them for the first time last night and my skin looks less ready for Halloween( i.e., less scary).

3. We got a new mattress this weekend to make room for a new dog, when the time is right. Unfortunately the time is not right. The in home date was a fiasco. Lily was, to say the least, not ready to commit. She liked Loki enough to date him. However she did not like him enough to share her toys, her house and most especially her Daddy. My gentle white angel turned into a ferocious bitch when Loki came to visit. After a while she calmed down and was less She-wolf warrior princess and managed begrudgingly some hospitality. She even let Loki have a bone as long as he promised to stay far away from her Daddy. But once Loki left she made it clear that she was not happy by leaving protest poops around the house. Lily's message was clear, "I am just not that into him."

I so wanted Loki to be the one. Only he wasn't. I knew it as soon as he walked in the door. Yet I tried to push past my intuition and follow my heart. However I am old enough to have learned the painful lesson of ignoring intuition. So I didn't. Happily Loki has a good home even though it is not ours. Lily is back to playing the field. She is being pursued by a Brussels Griffon named Thor who she is totally indifferent to.

4. A lip gloss that lasts. Maybelline Superstay Gloss that I found out about from A Femme d'Certain Age. I know! I am usually more of a Chanel Glossimer girl but I am tired of glosses that come off two seconds after you apply them. This colour stays put for seven hours ( Maybelline claims 12 but I think that might be a little of an overstatement). I got Wine Shine and now that I know that it actually works I am going to pick up Radiant Ruby.

5. Today is the day when I start studying for test two of the BBS's Marriage and Family Therapist Clinical Vignette exam. I am making a chart( I am highly externally motivated) for which I get a star for each hour of study. At the end of each row I am giving myself a treat of some kind. Must decide on a motivating reward other than the joy of passing the second test. Suggestions?

6. Pumpkin pie flavored yogurt with Kashi Honey Flax Crunch. Who knew breakfast could be so autumnally delicious?

7. He-weasel and I are watching the Jonathan Creek mysteries and this is making me want to live in a windmill. He-weasel tells me I wouldn't actually enjoy living in a windmill. He says they are noisy. I don't care about reality, I am enjoying the fantasy. The actual fantasy is to be able to hire a fancy shmancy architect to make me a post-modern windmill to live in. I wonder if Frank Gehry,the Don Quixote of design, does pro bono work or is this just an impossible dream?

8. 45 minutes until the studying begins. That is dread that I feel. I was reading a message board on studying for the exam and someone suggested making studying fun. I am open to the idea only I can't come up with a way to make that happen. I am open to suggestions.

9. As I make my study plan I am realizing that part of the non-fun of studying is that during my six weeks of studying I am only going to be able to blog two days a week. I think I am going to, until I am done with this test, only blog on Tuesdays and Thursdays. When I am done with the test I am going back to the old schedule. Seriously, you bloggers with a job and kids, I don't know how you manage to keep up your blog; truly you amaze me! And I under amaze me with how little I can manage to juggle. I have no juggling skills. I throw one ball in the air and I am sure the next ball is going to hit me in the head and then everything comes crashing down and then I want to put all the balls down and take a nap.

10. Lucky me!!!! I got to spend yesterday with Enc. We lunched and did a little shopping. I saw a gorgeous sweater at JCrew that was a beautiful beige. I wished out loud that I could wear a colour like that. Enc told me I could. "Really? "Of course you can," Enc answered. I tried it on and as much as I loved the sweater I was so used to my self-imposed rule that I cannot pull off beige that when I tried it on it created a cognitive dissonance, "but I thought I couldn't". Turns out I was wrong. I wonder what other self imposed rules I am wrong about.

How I spent my four days away from the blogosphere

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 07:55:00 +0000

I didn't mean for it to happen. I suppose one never does. It just snuck up on me and before I knew it there was nothing to do but surrender to it. It was exhaustion, the exhaustion that comes from studying for the California State Boards for the Marriage and Family Therapist licence. For the last three months when I wasn't blogging or working on the book I was studying for the boards. He-weasel and I have communicated only through flash cards for the last couple of months, "According to Gestalt therapist what is the most important therapeutic goal?" was how we said good morning. "If you have a client who is threatening suicide?" was our code for pass the salt. And the last thing we said before we feel asleep was him asking me to differentiate Structural and Strategic family therapy. Even Lily got involved in my test prep, or rather she protested how my constant studying affected her play time and she has eaten a few flash cards and a pre-test or two.

Last week was my final week of study and as I am prone to pretty severe test anxiety I compensated by over-studying, over-preparing and going through the 800 flash cards close to what felt like 800 times. When Wednesday came around and it was time for me to blog again I just couldn't do it. I was exhausted, the kind of exhausted in which when I was asked a possible test question my initial answer was "I don't f*ck*ng care". Friday I was even more exhausted and growing ever more nervous. Monday blogging was out of the question. Monday at 8:30 a.m. I had to be at the test center to take part one of the board exam. In four hours I had to answer 200 questions and I had to get at least 153 of them right to pass or I would have to take the test again( and I wouldn't be eligible to take it for three more months).

The pass rate of the test is not great. Only 69% of MFT candidates who take the exam pass it the first time round. When I went into sit for the test I was very confident but as I saw the test questions my confidence dropped to well below 69%. Halfway in I was SURE I had failed. I told myself that even if I didn't pass it would be okay and I would be okay and I could take it again. I prepared myself for sharing the bad news with my friends and family. I anticipated their warm condolences and assurances that I was brilliant and the test was stupid. I told myself to keep breathing and just keep answering the questions and soon it would be all over and I could go home and grieve my failure.

The 2 1/2 hours it took me to take the test were the longest I have ever known. Eventually I had answered all 200 questions and it was time to submit my test for scoring. I had to enter "E" three times and then type in "yes" to confirm that I was done with the test. As soon as I typed the "s" in "yes" I began to shake. Soon, I was sure, I would see the words "fail" on the screen. Instead of "fail" I saw a 15 question survey about the test center that I had to answer before the computer would score my test. To be honest at that moment I wasn't interested in giving constructive criticism about the test site, its cleanliness, or the directions I was given to the test center. I saw that #5 was an option on all the survey questions and I continued to enter number five until the survey was done and then I waited. I waited all of thirty seconds but it felt like 2 1/2 hours. Then I saw the words "PASS" on the screen. The computer told me to quietly leave the test center and to see the proctor. I still did not believe I passed. I asked the proctor if I had. She congratulated me. I had really passed. She gave me a document that told me I did. I have proof. Passing this test make me eligible to take the next test. One more test, if I pass it, and I will be a Marriage and Family Therapist in the state of California.

When I got home on Monday I was more exhausted than I had been when I had Mononucleosis. Yes, I let He-weasel take me out to dinner and fete me with champagne but after that I surrendered to my fatigue and I slept and I compensated and I slept some more. My rest is over and I am back to blogging and back to studying. "How would a object relations therapist treat depression in the mid-stage of therapy?" Oooh, I know that one. I think.

*********************************************
Thanks to all of you who wrote to see if I was okay. Your thoughtfulness and kind concern means more to me than I can say. Thank you!!!!!!!!!!

#26-33 things that don't suck about L.A.

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

26. It isn't Death Valley, California

27. Japanese strawberry cake
Truth be told I am not a big fan of cake, I prefer frosting. But if I am going to eat cake it is going to be the light, fluffy, delicious, cream and fruit filled Japanese strawberry cake from Sweetie's bakery in Gardena. Japanese strawberry cake is made of sponge cake, strawberries and whipped cream and you can get it with or without nuts. My preference is with nuts.

I have heard in Japan that this delicacy is considered a Christmas Cake called the Kurisumasu keeki. Really, we should take on this cake as a Yuletide tradition and dump the nasty, dry and inedible fruit cake and take a cue from our friends in the East.

It is not a beautiful cake and is nothing fancy, I admit. And I feel sure that Martha Stewart and the Ace of Cakes guy would be horrified by its lack of fondant and its very low brow presentation. I don't care. No matter how amazing a cake looks I can usually only get myself to eat the frosting. With this cake I could eat my piece and yours if you found it too frightening looking or if you were on a low carb diet or if you had left the table and were taking too long to get back. You can't say I didn't warn you.

28. The Disney Concert Hall
I love this building so much that when I lived in Chicago, the city known for its architecture, I would dream of this Los Angeles landmark. I have made special trips downtown just to see it. Without question it is my favorite building in Los Angeles. I think it is the building that has changed the energy of downtown L.A. To me the Disney Concert Hall is a kind of ship, and each time I see it I am transported to a place I have never been before. And for a building that stands still to be able to transport you---that is quite a special building.

If you come to visit me in L.A. I promise this is one of the places I will take you to, not necessarily to go to see a concert as I am not as interested in that as I am the brilliant building. If Frank Gehry didn't have this fantastic building in L.A. I would be much more miserable here. I love you Frank.

If you love Frank too I highly recommend the Sidney Pollock's documentary,"Sketches of Gehry". Here is a clip of the film in which Gehry talks about this magnificent building.

29. The Botox is cheaper
In Chicago I was paying $650. In L.A. I am paying only $250.

30. The coleslaw at the Original Pantry
As soon as you get seated at a table at the Pantry one of the waiters brings you a plate of coleslaw and a loaf of sourdough bread. I am VERY picky about coleslaw and the Pantry's slaw is not too sweet and too vinegary---it is just right. As much as I enjoy some good coleslaw I would never make a trip downtown just to go to the Original Pantry but if I am there already to go to the Museum of Contemporary Art or the Disney Concert Hall( these are the two reasons I go down town) then going to the Pantry is an obvious choice. The Original Pantry is an L.A. institution and is old timey and old school. The waiters are older men who are grumpy and will not abide special orders. It's cash only. There are very long lines. And those are just a few of the good parts of the Pantry experience. I don't really go there for the food, other than the coleslaw, it is just okay. It is more for the experience of being in a place in L.A. that has history. The Original Pantry opened in 1942 and in L.A. years that is ancient history. I also like the mix of people you see at the Pantry, it is one of the few places in L.A. where you will see business men in suits, Mexican families, Hollywood types, USC students, tourists and the very few that actually live in downtown L.A.

31. The parking lot attendant guy at Igor's
Did you ever see the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun"? You know the guy that brings flowers to a vase on the wall by Frances' villa? Everyday Frances tries to say hello to the man and everyday he ignores her and after a year or so she finally gets a hello from him. Well, I have my own "Under the Tuscan Sun" guy. He is the parking attendant at the two hour free park in Beverly Hills. Every time I saw him I was friendly. I said hello. I asked him how he was. I wished him a nice weekend. Each time he would ignore my overtures at friendliness. Last month I finally broke through and now I get a smile, a "hello" and when he is feeling very chipper he will wish me a nice day.

32. The light
Paris obviously( obvious to me) has the best light in the world. And there is something incredible about the light of a sunny yet freezing cold day in Chicago. As much as I hate to admit it L.A.'s light can be beautiful. On a clear day( not often), when the Santa Ana's ( which He-weasel tried unsuccessfully to convince me that Santa Ana means "Hot winds from the north") blow away the smog, there is a certain quality to the light that makes one understand what initially drew people to this place when it was nothing but a big traffic free orange grove.

33. The Real Postmodern Philosophers of the O.C.
Jacques Derrida and Jean-Francois Lyotard these two gods of postmodern philosophy could have stayed at the Sorbonne. They could have got teaching gigs at Harvard or Oxford or anywhere. They chose instead to come to the University of California at Irvine. Irvine? Have you been there? To my mind Irvine is the Valencia of Orange County. There are MPCs (master planned communities) everywhere with names like Portola Springs®,The Gated Oak Creek Community, and Crystal Park® and there are plenty of potential cast members for the Real Housewives of Orange County roaming the streets in their SUVs. That said, I am sure that there was plenty of post modern irony in Irvine to keep Jacques and Jean rolling in material. I wonder if Jacques and Jean ever ran into Vicki and Jeana at happy hour. That would make for some ironic post-modern fun. Bravo, are you listening? Pair two French academics in an Orange County beach house with two real housewives from the O.C. and let the fun, philosophical debate and irony begin. I feel sure there would be an episode where Vicki would take J&J to South Coast Plaza and try to talk them into some Ed Hardy clothing and some man-scaping at the Red Door Spa. If only I had come up with this idea for a reality show before Jacques and Jean died. I could have been rich!!!!!!!!

***********************************************************

Good news on the Kindle front, as of October 19th there will be a Kindle for those outside of the U.S. The international Kindle will be available for $279. Why do I tell you these glad tidings? Just in case you wanted to get a Kindle so you could subscribe to La Belette Rouge on it and thought you couldn't because you live in glamorous locals outside of the USA.

Lily's love

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

I have mentioned in the past that my darling dog-aughter has a boyfriend ( and no, I am not talking about her unnatural and somewhat disturbing affection for the green blanket that always puts her into the mood for love). Lily's love at first sight romance is with a Yorkie-Schnauzer mix named Loki. The minute Lily and Loki set eyes on each other the ran towards each other as if in they were in a movie and the setting for their love story---time slowed down as they ran towards each other. We immediately fell for Loki too and were very happy about the match.

Their dates have always been chaperoned and limited to quick nuzzles and excited hugs. Over time the love between Lily and Loki grew and our love for Loki grew too. He-weasel and I would often say after a meet and great with Loki and his mother, that if anything ever happened that Loki's mother had to give up her beloved pup we would take him. We were aware at the time that was a strange thing to say as Loki's mother obviously loved him madly.

Wednesday night Lily, He-weasel and I were out walking when we saw Loki, who was strangely not with his mother but instead with the neighborhood dog walker. Well, a long story short, Loki's mom is not able to keep him and the dog walker is trying to find a good home for Lily's love. Reflexively He-weasel, Lily and I all said, "We'd be interested." Lily did not actually say it with words, rather she jumped up and down on her hind legs and made her happy bark.

Tonight at 6p.m. Loki is coming over for a house visit. We want to see how Lily reacts to having another puppy in her home. Our first commitment is to Lily and if for any reason she seems less than excited by the prospect of having Loki move in then we would of course respect her wishes. If tonight goes well we are going to see if Loki can come and stay with us for a few days before we make a life time commitment to the darling dog.

Our other concern is that we are in a very small condo, 750 sq. feet. We are concerned that two dogs and two humans in such a small place would be a very bad thing. So listen to this, I who has been anti-house commitment is so excited by this idea that I am calling a realtor to find us a house to rent( I am still far too commitment phobic to buy) and this time I think I am really serious. Besides needing a bigger house, we need a bigger bed as there is barely room in our bed for me, He-weasel and Lily.

I told Igor about all this. He seemed genuinely excited and he seems to think that Lily and Loki could turn out to be the parent's I always longed for. I found his assertion a little confusing. I thought I was the parent to Lily. He seems to think she is parenting me. He also was excited about the fact that L+L might get me to do what he couldn't, get me into a house. I'll let you know how it goes.

Happy bloggy birthday to me

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Statistics show that most blogs only make it two months before tossing in the towel. 1.09 million blogs have only one post and were abandoned after just one day. 1.63 million made it for 126 days. 132,000 blogs were abandoned after just one year.

I have had moments in which I thought I would be part of the grim blogger burn out statistics but I have beaten the odds. Today my blog is two years old or in statistical language La Belette Rouge is 720 days old. Yet in someways I feel like I have been blogging forever. So much has happened in the last two years that I feel like I have been blogging for years. For a 720 day old blog I think my blog is pretty mature and is not at all tantrumy or showing any behavior that indicates it has entered the terrible twos( if it does I promise to give it a time out and come back after it has learned to play nice with others).

I remember the very moment I began to blog as if it was just two weeks ago. I remember sitting on the sofa in our home in Lake Bluff and writing the very first post. The blog was going to be my place to talk about things that were important to me but that I had no place in my life to talk about, such as my love of France, skincare and shoes. My blog was going to be about daring to say the truth about what I liked and disliked---but it most certainly wasn't going to be about me. Well, that plan didn't work out. Two months in and I was spilling my guts and telling you everything I thought I would never say. When the last IVF failed I lost my mind and started writing about me in spite of myself. What gave me the courage to be so bold? I suppose having a nom de plume and being hopped on inhuman levels of progesterone helped.

The summer before I started blogging I decided that since I wasn't writing because of a complete lack of discipline I would give up the identity of "writer". If I wasn't writing and/or publishing how could I continue to claim that identity? I was a writer no more. I hadn't published anything for years and I needed to just be honest with myself about it. There was no ceremony in which I was defrocked or had my Mont Blanc pen taken away but there was a stripping of the identifier of writer from my self concept that was equally humiliating.

So when I started blogging I swear to you that I never had any hopes of really "writing"again. I had no secret hopes of becoming the next Petite Anglaise. The thought never entered my mind until I started writing everyday and strangely I started liking to write again. I somehow magically, via blogging, developed the discipline around writing I never had before. Blogging gave me what countless writing classes and books on writing couldn't give me. The daily practice of blogging gave me the discipline to write everyday even if I didn't feel like it and even if I seemingly had nothing to say. The development of discipline may not sound like a big deal but to me it was akin to a magical and miraculous miracle.

I never imagined when I started blogging all that it would give me---the lovely friends I have made, the community I feel a part of, lovely Lily, and so much more. http://labeletterouge.blogspot.com has been a home to me when I felt homeless and you all gave me a sense of continuity in times when I felt utterly destabilized. No matter if I was sitting on the white Ikea couch we had in Lake Bluff or the brown leather sofa in Austin, Texas or the microfiber Crate and Barrel couch in Valencia--- Leah, WendyB, Randal, Shallow Coffee and so many other were there with me through it all. I am grateful to you all for sticking around---no matter when you got here.

Every time I have had a bout of blogger burn out I think about how much I would miss you all if I quit. I am reminded of how much you add to my life and how much blogging has changed my life for the better and I am ready to blog again. Over the two years my blog, topic, location, pet ( went from adored cat to adored dog), and other things have changed---and I have changed as a result of blogging. I look forward to another year of blogging and to see what happens in year three. From what I read it is likely I will be more "cooperative and capable". I will exude confidence and feel more at ease. I "may have setbacks, but for the most part, 3-year-olds are friendly, talkative and downright helpful. Oh, and yes, they want to see and do everything." Does that mean I will travel more this year? That would be nice. My "speech should be clear enough to be understood by strangers" and I "should have a speaking repertoire of at least 300 words" and using my "burgeoning vocabulary to speak in sentences of up to six words long." Watch out Proust, here I come.

Please, even if you are a lurker and NEVER-EVER comment, please leave a comment today to help me celebrate my blog birthday and let me know you are there. Actually seeing you say hello in the comments is one of the best parts of blogging. Thanks again for everything! I make bye-bye now( that is me being two).

Having a baby changes everything

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Last week happiness and women seemed to be a very hot topic. I wrote about my newfound happy and Sallymandy wrote a very thoughtful post, "Why women are unhappy" in which she quotes two of my favorite saucy redhead writers, who I feel sure are both pretty happy women, write about happiness and how women are generally not as happy as they used to be. Saucy redhead # 1, Arianna Huffington, wrote, The Sad, Shocking Truth About How Women Are Feeling and Maureen Dowd, saucy redhead #2 wrote “Blue is the New Black” . Both articles are fascinating and worth reading even though I am feeling uncharacteristically happy and was slightly worry that Huffington and Dowd might impinge on my hedonia. They didn't. Rather in reading why women are feeling so unhappy I was left feeling very happy to have a He-weasel husband who shares the housework and that I, unlike the women that Huffington and Dowd write about, feel like I have lots of choices, freedom and time to pursue what I want.

As one who has had a long term case of the baby blues, I was especially struck by this quote in "Blue is the new black": “Across the happiness data, the one thing in life that will make you less happy is having children,” said Betsey Stevenson, an assistant professor at Wharton College who co-wrote a paper called “The Paradox of Declining Female Happiness.”

Really? Can it be true? Sure, I have heard this research before but I was always unhappy when I heard it and dismissed it as statistics can be manipulated and I try to be cautious about who was producing the studies and what their motives were. I was much more influenced by the irrefutable hard science of Johnson and Johnson's ad campaign that "having a baby changes everything" and/or Faith Hill's lyrics.

Dowd's article, and Stevenson's quote in particular, got me to Googling to find more on the impact of those who talk goo-goo-ga-ga on glee and I found an article in Newsweek,by Lorraine Ali, "Does having children make you happy?". Ali writes about the childless couple on her childhood street:

"When I was growing up, our former neighbors, whom we'll call the Sloans, were the only couple on the block without kids. It wasn't that they couldn't have children; according to Mr. Sloan, they just chose not to. All the other parents, including mine, thought it was odd—even tragic. So any bad luck that befell the Sloans—the egging of their house one Halloween; the landslide that sent their pool careering to the street below—was somehow attributed to that fateful decision they'd made so many years before. "Well," the other adults would say, "you know they never did have kids."

All through infertility treatment, each time we would fail to become pregnant, I would think of that couple. No, not the Sloans. I had my own version of the Sloans. Lynne and Lenny; Mirjam and Paul; He-weasel's Aunt and Uncle. They were all that sad couple, that sad childless couple with no children that I pitied. They were the couple I didn't want us to be. I wanted to be the couple with the house filled with kids, bikes on the lawn, and a tree house in the yard. We would not be the couple who spends holidays at others homes---we would have a family, or so I thought.

Lorraine Ali continues: "Each time I visited the Sloans, I'd search for signs of insanity, misery or even regret in their superclean home, yet I never seemed to find any. From what I could tell, the Sloans were happy, maybe even happier than my parents, despite the fact that they were (whisper) childless." It is this and the research that makes Ali conclude that having children does not lead to happiness; the statisticians agree with her:

Daniel Gilbert, the Harvard professor of psychology and the author of "Stumbling on Happiness," claims that marital satisfaction decreases dramatically after the birth of the first child. The happiness rate, according to Gilbert, increases only when the last child has left home.
Gilbert claims that studies show that parents are happier when eating, exercising, shopping, napping, or watching television than when they are spending time with their children. Arthur C. Brooks, the author of "Gross National Happiness" reports that parents of children are nearly seven percentage points less likely to be happy than their childless counterparts.
Robin Simon, a sociology professor at Florida State University, finds that "Parents experience lower levels of emotional well-being, less frequent positive emotions and more frequent negative emotions than their childless peers."
The National Survey of Families and Households done in 2005 looked at data gathered from 13,000 Americans, concluded, according to Simon, "No group of parents—married, single, step or even empty nest—reported significantly greater emotional well-being than people who never had children. It's such a counter-intuitive finding because we have these cultural beliefs that children are the key to happiness and a healthy life, and they're not."
According to the National Marriage Project's 2006 "State of Our Unions", parents have significantly lower marital satisfaction than non parents because they experienced more single and child-free years than previous generations.

I share all these statistics not to make the argument that my new found happiness is caused by my childlessness, especially as for so long I have been very unhappy just because we couldn't have kids. Truly, if I could, I would give happiness in order to have the "unhappiness" that comes from having children. Lorraine Ali concludes her article by saying that even if having children doesn't make you happy, "Parents still report feeling a greater sense of purpose and meaning in their lives than those who've never had kids." Purpose and meaning, at least for me, are a better and more noble pursuit than happiness. Don't get me wrong, happiness doesn't suck. I am grateful for the happiness I have and all the freedom, choice and sleep I have. I really am. And even though I am happy, I do ache knowing I will never know how having a baby changes everything.

La Belette Rouge blog on Amazon.com

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

For years I dreamed of having my writing for sale on Amazon.com. My dream has come true. I am on Amazon.com. No, it's not my book, "Thursdays with Igor"( not yet), it is my blog. For 99 cents a month you can get La Belette Rouge Blog delivered right to your Kindle.

Why would someone want to read their blogs on Kindle? According to Amazon.com "Kindle blogs are fully downloaded onto your Kindle so you can read them even when you're not wirelessly connected. And unlike RSS readers which often only provide headlines, blogs on Kindle give you full text content and images, and are updated wirelessly throughout the day." Pretty cool, huh?

If you have Kindle I would obviously love-love-love it if you would subscribe. Or, maybe you want to join Lily and me in the happy dance ? That would be great and I assure you that our dance routines require no talent. We are very low on choreography and high on freedom of expression. Something like this ....

Happy weekend!!!

Give a hoot and tell me, does this make me a Hooters girl?

labeletterouge@gmail.com (La Belette Rouge) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 11:00:00 +0000

Not sure how it happened, but I, a weasel, have fallen hard for owls. I have a feeling that in the natural world owls and weasels might not be the best of friends. But as I am a metaphoric weasel and not a literal one, I feel sure that wearing an owl does not infer any self-destructive impulses.

I however have some concerns about following my heart and not my head on my present state of hootophilia.
First, I have a hard and fast rule about never wearing sweaters with appliqués as it is a slippery slope from appliqué sweaters to Christmas sweaters. That said, when I was perusing Kate Spade's new clothing collection and I saw this Beacon Hill Graphic Cashmere Sweater. My eyes got big. My head went in circles. I hooted wildly and I started to have a craving for field mice.

Owl's are wise and, I am sure, infer the wearer of any owl item with their above average I.Q. I feel sure if I get this sweater my I.Q. will go way up. I will understand economics, the meaning of life, higher math and finally understand what it is that people love about the Sound of Music.

Yet, I worry this sweater might be indirectly giving a hoot to Hooters. I wouldn't want to send a subliminal message of any kind to indicate that I have ever even been in a Hooters.

The brilliant, lovely, and wiser than even the brightest barn owl, Enc, shares my love of Kate Spade's owls. She introduced me to the Sherwood coin purse. This coin purse might make more sense than the sweater if I am afraid of wearing my owl love on my chest. Besides being stealthy and not in anyway making one wonder if I have secret ambitions of wearing orange shorts and working happy hour, Sherwood the owl makes saving pennies fun.

That said, I am still wanting the sweater. Hoot once for yes and twice for no.

Just FYI: Owls do more than wise things and/or sell hot wings at sports bars. One of my favorite old school owls is Woodsy. I even had a stuffed animal owl back in the 70's who I named for the environmentally friendly bird. "In the city or in the woods, help keep Belette from looking like she works at a sports bar." I think that is how the song goes. Click play on the video and hear for yourself.