crazedparent

A movie that makes me weep...

2008-10-11T18:12:58-07:00

I landed in Boston this morning at 6:30am and since I didn't sleep much on the flight, I imagined I'd be exhausted enough to crawl in my hotel bed and sleep soundly until an hour before my presentation at BlogHer Boston. But the the sun was just peeking through and the city looked welcoming. I was soaking in the fall colors and architecture. By the time I arrived in my room, I was wide awake. I ordered breakfast. And then I did what I always do when I arrive in a hotel room at a decent hour. I turned on the television.

Perhaps it was my already emotional state of mind of being away from my boys (all three of them). But within two minutes of the movie August Rush, I could feel the tears coming. I could tell this movie would make me sob. My only moment of disappointment was the ending. But this movie, a true fable, was such so sweet and so fantastical that I couldn't help but be swept into it. (And Jonathan Rhys-Meyers isn't too hard on the eyes either.) There I sat, all alone, weeping like a silly fool in my hotel room as I watched a movie about an orphaned boy looking for his parents. A boy who believed music would lead him to them. The only thing that would have made it perfect is if my sister had been with me to watch it, passing the box of tissue to me. Pathetic. But I'm putting this DVD on my Christmas wish list.

BlogHer Boston was so wonderful. It was energizing to meet new bloggers who were so anxious to learn more and more and more about blogging. The next wave. More later...

Words and sounds that make me smile...

2008-10-10T21:29:56-07:00

..."Mommy, we're talking about the Taj Mahal." (scene: two boys huddled on a top bunk with a flashlight looking at a kid's geography book."

..."Mommy, look! I drew the Rialto Bridge!" (scene: backyard patio with a bucket of chalk.)

..."Mom -- I'm going to fold the laundry today. No. Don't help me. You can take a break." (scene: in the garage while the Six pulls laundry from the dryer and actually starts folding clothes.)

..."Yay! He threw the heat!" (scene: the boys cheering as we huddle on the coach watching Rookie of the Year.)

..."I don't want guapo hair." (scene: mom trying to brush Q.'s hair before school.)

...Hearing the first few bars of "All Blue" by Miles Davis (on the album "Kind of Blue")

...The chirp of crickets late at night...in October.

...The sound of the garage door opening every night, shortly before dinner or the boys' bedtime.

***

I'm on my way to BlogHer Boston and BlogHer DC. Yahoo! Shine is a sponsor and I'm on tap to chat about how to get more readers to your blog. So if you're attending either event, please say hello!

I love Boston, especially at this time of year. It's been nine years since I've been on the East Coast and e last time was over Columbus Day weekend as the hubs and I contemplated a move to the Boston/Cambridge area. The city put its best foot forward, as they say, and we swooned. But my dad grew up in western Massachusetts and his only response to us when we talked about moving was, "I've lived in San Francisco since '50s. There's a reason. Snow." Enough said. And we're glad we stuck around in the Bay Area.

But the past few weeks have been frenetic and moving slightly faster than I dig. And while I get to have three whole days sans kids, I'm not all that jazzed about. Truth be told, I'd rather hang out with my boys all weekend. Busy-ness just makes me want to cuddle up with my family. Monday night -- and home -- can't come soon enough.

For now, I'll be thinking about these words that make me smile.

What words make you smile?

The pink session...

2008-09-23T11:23:31-07:00

I'm always in awe of the photos Heather Armstrong shoots of her dogs, Chuck and Coco. Sure, they're adorable and hysterically funny. But sweet jesus, do you know how difficult it is to get your dog to allow you to do this? Or this? Or this? And for the love of pete, this? I keep wondering when the Armstrongs will share some of their dog training tips because it's pretty clear they carry the Dog Whisperer gene.

Dog training can be tedious. It requires a level of consistency that, at times, makes parenting feel like a leisurely stroll around a 10-mile lake. The crate training. The barking. The digging and general pilfering of any toy, stuffed animal or piece of tissue. The "heel" and "stay" and "come" and "holy high hell, stop humping your dog bed."

Luna is a punky little diva. But she works for food. The above Halloween photo required half of her favorite ~~bribe~~ dog training treat, Natural Balance Lamb. And while I can get her to sit still just long enough to snap a string of photos, we still have a long training road ahead of us. She's lucky she's cute. And likes pink.

The heart of the matter...

2008-09-18T22:43:37-07:00

The pain was so severe during an emergency root canal that my dentist told me she needed to use a sort of "speed" Novocaine to stop it. The mix included epinephrine -- adrenaline -- to to numb my jaw line completely.

"It will make your heart race for about a minute, but you are not having a heart attack. Just take deep breaths." (I, of course, immediately thought of this scene in Pulp Fiction.)

She drilled a tiny hole in my jawline, inserted the needle and completed the injection. I waited for my heart to race, breathing slowly to keep an even pace. It didn't speed up. Instead, it felt as though someone were squeezing my heart with clenched fingers. I reminded myself that the doctor said the injection wouldn't causing a heart attack. So why was I having chest pain?

A minute had passed before it stopped and when I notified my doctor, she sunk into her chair with a concerned look.

"You are too young to have chest pain. You are too young to have such stress in your life that is hurting your heart. You need to get it checked out. And you need to lose what is causing you strife."

She was right.

After a series of blood tests, a stress echo cardiogram that made me feel like the most unfit person on the planet, and more than a month of not being able to exercise, my results finally came back. My cholesterol level? Eh. It needs to be better. My heart? One hundred percent healthy. But it doesn't mean that I'm not at risk of developing heart disease...even though I'm active and eat really well.

Heart disease is the leading cause of death in women over 40. Not breast cancer. Not cervical cancer. Heart disease. For me and many of my friends, 40 is only a few years away.

If you haven't had your cholesterol levels checked since you were pregnant, do it. If you ever have chest pain (and trust me, you'll know the difference between heartburn and real, true chest pain), see your doctor as soon as you can. And if you're running around like your hair's on fire, stop. Take some time to figure out how you can slow down in life. Because stress can be just as damaging to your heart as poor eating habits or inactivity.

The chest pain I experienced in the dentist's chair was a large square of red fabric, floating fiercely in the wind. I needed to find a new pace in my little world and had weeks to think it through as I waited for test results. The exercise to determine the speed of those new steps has been nothing but goodness. I'm eternally grateful.

Smooth lines...

2008-09-14T22:48:19-07:00

I learned cursive writing with a Shaeffer fountain pen. Instead of using the standard blue ink, I favored peacock blue because it made binder paper less boring. And it made writing fun. The knobby callus on the middle finger of my right hand was always a shade of turquoise, the result of ink splatters from homework and my own creative writing endeavors.

Earlier this year, an old high school boyfriend emailed me to let me know he'd found a stash of old love letters from when we dated during sophomore year. In his email, one detail stood out: he noted the color of the ink I wrote in. That same distinct peacock blue. While my class notes were always in ballpoint, love letters required a special writing instrument.

Fountain pens didn't really work as a young journalist in training. Companies aren't apt to stock their office supply cabinets with fancy ink refills or disposable fountain pens. I can't even remember when I stopped using those pens. They just left my bag.

A few weeks ago I was in an old-school stationary store looking for school supplies for a tv appearance. Along with my weakness for beautiful journals and paper, I'm always searching for pens. As I browsed the shelves with hundreds of ballpoint pens, a silver tip caught my eye. I couldn't believe I'd found a fountain pen. Then again, I'd stopped looking.

The simple pleasure of writing with a fountain pen is inspiring. The paper is crisp and its smoothness enhanced as the silver tip of the pen glides over each page, ink visibly flowing with each letter. At some point, it's as if the pen is moving on its own.

I'm making an effort to write every day, fountain pen to paper. To use that new pen (in, yes, peacock blue) and recapture the craft of writing.

I could listen for hours...

2008-09-08T14:34:34-07:00

My boys are playing together in their room and I'm on the edge of my seat listening as they ramble on endlessly about mermaids and Thomas the Tank Engine and Star Wars and Lego blocks. We need to go grocery shopping and do homework. We need to take the dog out to play and enjoy the cool weather outside. After a week of 100-degree weather, the air smells like Fall. The sun casts a hazy glow while the air is warm with a tinge of crackle.

But the errands, chores and work will all have to wait for another afternoon because at this very moment, my kids are playing. They are playing together. Their imaginations are sailing across their blue bedroom, adding splashes of sparkling colors to everything they do. They're problem solving and cooperating with each other. They're taking turns and being polite. The only addition that would make it sheer perfection is a little black puppy sitting on the floor in their room, cuddled up fast asleep while her pack bustles nearby. Perhaps next year, when she's slightly less puppy-like.

So I just sit and capture the moment, not knowing when this picturesque scene of brotherly love will be repeated. And I count my blessings.

Come on...

2008-09-04T21:40:21-07:00

The video for the song Come On by The Panderers shows exactly what you feel like doing the instant you hear the first few bars. Grab a drink and start shakin' it in a goofy, spirited sort of way. It also makes me want to throw a raging party.

The song is over a year old and I can't believe I heard it for the first time a week ago. I downloaded it immediately and it's been on heavy iPod rotation. And? Kids really dig it.

Things that keep me up at night v1.2...

2008-09-03T21:56:12-07:00

Is Kelly living in Dylan's old house? Did Brenda look at that teacher, the one that digs Kelly, with a little "hmmm" in her eye? Dear god, not another love triangle. Since when did Rob Estes look so good? And how, how, could I get hooked on this show when I don't even own a television? Must hide face in shame (while looking at preview for next week's episode).

Minor league baseball and saving my kids' skulls...

2008-09-02T21:44:50-07:00

It's common knowledge here at crazedparent that the family likes baseball. While a good major league game tickles my fancy, I'm also a fan of minor league ball. The kind that conjures up thoughts of Kevin Costner and Tim Robbins in Bull Durham, with wacky between-inning contests ("Smash for Cash"), ridiculous mascots (Gigante the washed-out orange-colored monkey) and small-town, old-fashioned fun.

Triple-A ball -- players just shy of the getting called up to the show -- is intense. You can see rookies before they become big names. And sometimes, when you're sitting in the first row at field level, a player might shamelessly flirt with you when he should be manning his base. Even when you're pregnant. With a big belly. And your husband is sitting right next to you. A few months later you might even see that player in the starting lineup of a top-notch major league team and you'll say, "Hey, isn' that..." and before you can finish your sentence, you're husband will answer, "Yep, that's him." And you sense a little machismo because his lady was eye candy to a now famous ball player.

I digress.

Triple-A ball in intense. Single-A teams are raw and the players are learning the ropes. They make brutal errors and are naively disrespectful to umpires. And it's sort of fun to watch the players figure it all out.

I'm particularly fond of Single-A ball because you get a behind-the-scenes view of the game. You see scouts tracking pitchers and signals and calls being made with no obstruction because you're so close to the field. And sweet jesus, the local color. It's like walking into the proverbial time warp.

Here's the thing. When you're soaking in every drop of detail, you sometimes miss a pop-fly heading over the net behind home plate. And it's only until you hear your husband yelling, "Heads up! Heads up!" that you realize a baseball is barreling towards you. And the skulls of your two kids seated right beside you. When you quickly look up, you realize that you don't have time to think.

With that, I threw my hand straight up in line of the falling baseball and as the crowd around me yelled, I could only hear the eery sound of leather pounding the palm of my hand, the drop of the ball on the ground and the people clamoring around us to catch it. Because, you know, who can pass up grabbing a foul ball. Even if it's only Single-A.

I stretched my arm out and tried to open and close my hand and fingers, scarlet red and aching from the impact of the baseball. An EMT quickly appeared along our row asking me if I needed assistance. I pondered his question for a few seconds since he was wearing gold Elvis sunglasses along with his navy blue jumpsuit. But I resisted. My hand -- and perhaps most important, my the skulls of my kids -- had escaped serious injury.

The boys had no idea what had just happened. Why? Because they were watching the game.

10-minute writers: A witness to a kiss...

2008-08-28T11:29:08-07:00

A few of you have pinged me about needing a little 10-minute writing inspiration. I love you! Writers after my own heart.

For today, set your timer for 10 minutes and write about a scene or even that made you uncomfortable -- in a good or bad way. Edit as you go, make it what you want. But you only have 10 minutes. And make the headline jump. I'm sure my headline today made a few folks wonder who I'm referring to (Edit: I originally called this story "Is he having an affair?" but revised it to not freak people out.)

Drop a comment below with a link back to your story. I'll post a round-up next week.

***

Three knocks on the glass startled us as my hairdresser was in the midst of cutting my hair. He looked up, walked over to the door and unlocked it. There were no hushed words. The woman quickly moved in to embrace him.

"I saw you in the window and that the place was empty so I had to say hello."

"Oh, wow, how sweet," was all he could muster as he looked around the shop.

My hairdresser, short, stocky and bald, had turned the styling chair toward the door because it was the easiest way for him to cut my hair, he said. I think it was because he didn't like anyone watching him trim their locks. Either way, it set me up such that I was witnessing the entire exchange.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. It was intimate. It was wrong. His wife, who co-owns the salon, had just left 10 minutes prior.

He turned to look at me, slightly embarrassed, and said, "Well, I have a client here so I need to finish up. But it's so good to see you." His face, still in her hands. She kissed him again, smiled and whispered, "Okay, I'll see you. Soon."

She walked out of the salon, waving at him through the floor-length windows. He locked the door and walked to the station where I sat. I looked at the floor. While usually able to muster even a joke in uncomfortable situations, I couldn't say a single word.

"She's an old friend," he started. "She's not well and has been very sick." He went on and on. In a way that instantly said, "I'm uncomfortable with what you saw. I'm going to make up every excuse I can."

Did I really just catch him with his lover?

I nodded my head and added an "Oh, wow. Umhmm." But all I could think of was his wife. The woman who not more than 10 minutes earlier, had kissed him goodbye an told him to be safe on his walk home. Even if this woman had been an old friend who wasn't well, a married man doesn't let another woman kiss him that intimately.

I wished I had never witnessed it. And I've never set foot in the salon again.

Yesterday morning I was driving my son to school and the person behind me honked the horn to tell me to move on. I looked back and it was him. The short, stumpy, bald hairdresser who kissed and embraced another woman while his wife was at home after a long day at work.

I drove extra slow. Asshole.