So it all started at Bed, Bath and Beyond. I take my two boys into the bathroom and when I turn around from locking the private bathroom door I see my little tiny baby with both hands on the toilet seat. Not on it, actually. But holding the seat from underneath. I gasp. His immediate reaction to my gasp is to step back and stick both hands in his mouth. I breastfeed him IMMEDIATELY. Breastmilk will kill anything. Or so I tell myself.
Then at home, my older son says he has to go pee. Fine. He goes into the bathroom and then I hear his little brother say, "Uh Oh" several times. I ask what is wrong. Kien tells me some crazy story that I don't quite understand. "I lifted the lid and saw that it was stuck to the wood." We don't have wood anywhere near where he is peeing but I don't ask. And then what? "The pee went all over the place." Oh dear, let me clean that up right away before his brother slips and falls in it.
After I clean up that urine I notice that the little baby has taken the potty seat and is dragging it all over the house. Just because this potty seat is made for little bottoms and is not quite as heavy as a regular toilet seat does not mean that it is any less dirty.
Urine is fine. I hear that it is sterile.
And now at 3am, I am cleaning up a heap of my dog's vomit the size of a softball on the carpet. It is basically undigested kibble stuck together with stomach slime.
I am going to go to bed now.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Bread Crusts and Other Cold Foods
I have realized lately that my relationship with food has changed over the past four years. To be clear, I still understand and taste the difference between:
1.) something yummy
2.) something slightly off yet still edible
3.) and then the taste buds that have been super refined which signal, "That's been left out for four days. You are an idiot for putting THAT in your mouth."
I've got those three categories covered.
I've always loved food. I'm a big eater, love trying new things, and love most all spices from all cultures. I never really "forgot" to eat. To my surprise, in the beginning of motherhood, I would forget all the time to eat. Around 3pm on most days I would discover the clean, empty bowl sitting on the counter that was supposed to hold my cereal at 9am. It's mostly because there was never time to prepare a meal (pour cereal in bowl, add milk), sit down with proper utensils, chew and swallow. I was so used to that style of eating. I know, I'm asking a lot right? I just kept pushing eating aside until I could follow these common steps in preparing my food. I never really noticed I was hungry because I was so busy- you know, being a new mom and all. Then after a few months or years of that style of eating, I found out I was losing weight because people said to me, "You're REALLY skinny. Are you eating?" Oh, I guess I'm not.
So now I have a new style of eating. I am, what I call, The Clean Up Crew or just The Garbage Collector. Now, I eat what I can, when I can- even if it means I'm not actually hungry at that point. And because I don't like to waste food, I eat all the left overs from two boys.
I eat whatever is in front of me because who knows when I'll get to prepare anything myself. I eat when I can because who knows when I'll see food again. And it kills me to see food go to waste, especially if I'm the one who prepared it.
Four and a half years later, I have to say with the utmost confidence that I am totally sick and tired of making entire meals out of:
sandwich crusts
very soggy cereal
toast
any crusty/crispy parts of a fried egg
half eaten egg yolks
the heels of bread loaves
half eaten containers of yogurt
grapes bitten in half
the skins of fruits (peaches, nectarines, plums)
half finished smoothies
Why not save it for later, you may ask? Why eat it when you're not hungry, you want to know? Just wrap it up and put it in the fridge. Well... how disgusting would it be to try to reheat a piece of toast? How about saving fried eggs for later? Drinking a green smoothie which has formed a thick crust around the edges? Has anyone ever saved sandwich crusts for future enjoyment? I think not.
No matter what it is, I am eating cold food. All the time. OR.... I actually have the opportunity to eat something hot because I was lucky enough to prepare something, but then I burn my tongue repeatedly because I'm so excited to eat something hot. And it's usually standing up by the stove, where I just dished it onto my plate or heck... right out of the pan using the spatula or large slotted spoon with which I used to cook the food. Who has time to dish it, find utensils, carry it to the table three feet away and eat???? Those three feet can really mean the difference between eating RIGHT NOW and eating two hours later. You probably haven't seen my house to know the vast array of clutter that covers the floor in those three feet.
And really, c'mon... waiting until it cools down defeats the purpose of eating something hot. There's countless amounts of things that can happen between really hot food and "hot yet not burn your tongue" food. In my house, ALL of those countless amounts of things DO happen, which brings me back to my plate when the food is cold. In the olden days, I would have heated it up again and it would have been no big deal. But I have learned that heating it up again just puts me back into that same situation- hot food, wait, crisis in the bathroom, come back, cold food. Besides, eating food that's been re-heated, really??? RE-heated??? That's almost as much trouble as preparing the food in the first place, with the addition of it not tasting quite as fresh.
Like this morning... my son wanted pancakes. Great! I can do that. I scrambled around the kitchen gathering whatever ingredients I figured would taste somewhat what a pancake is supposed to taste like, furiously mixed them in a bowl, since I only have 3.2 nanoseconds to complete my task. Started dropping them in the pan. Baby is screaming and pulling at my leg indicating that he wants one NOW! My older son is lying half awake on the floor asking repeatedly, "When are the pancakes going to be done." And sounding as if he has been waiting for 47 years for his one pancake. I take out the first four pancakes - one to child, one to baby, two to Daddy. Next batch - four more sizzling away. I watch and wait. The recipe says three minutes on each side. What???? That's six minutes.
Okay fine, I guess I have no choice but to wait. Because turning up the heat in the pan so they cook faster, when the recipe specifically says "MEDIUM HEAT" means that you'll burn the pancake. And there's all kinds of things that come out of my children's mouths when they eat burned pancakes- like um... the pancake. So I wait not four minutes, but at 5.25 minutes I hear, "I would like another pancake please."
Have I mentioned yet that at this point, I am hungry too? It's morning, my eyes are sleepy, and I am operating on minimal energy and no clarity in the brain. I WOKE UP hungry, so you can bet that 90 minutes later I have reached the level of starvation that comes close to the really poor people on the streets in India. Close, not quite. But really close.
So... my reply to the request for another pancake is, "Who said that?" Well, one of the three boys has no ability to form sentences. So, it could be Daddy who needs to eat because he has to go to work soon. Or my older son who needs to eat because.... because... because? Well, because he's four and without food there might be another upheaval or mutiny which would prevent me from eating any sooner anyway.
I succumb to my fate. Even closer to the streets of India, I give one pancake to child, one pancake to hubby. But what's this??? Alas! There's a pancake. FOR ME! It's just sitting there, steaming hot from the pan. But I have to watch the next new batch in the pan- six minutes and remember to flip at three so do not set the spatula down. However, all three boys are happy, pancakes are looking happy, and I get to grab a steaming hot pancake and shove it in my mouth. Utensils? Syrup? Butter? Plate? Chair? Who needs any of that! It's hot, a wee bit on the "Burn Your Tongue" hot but who really cares. I got to eat a pancake. I feel triumphant. Really. Triumphant is the accurate description.
And guess what? I am bold enough to think I can conquer the last pancake sitting there, because Baby wasn't quite ready to eat his second one yet. I hold it to my mouth about ready to shovel it in, and then I hear, "Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma." My precious baby is doing that cute little sign language sign for "more" (also repeatedly) and grins at me. Full of sheer joy and excitement for my yummy pancakes. He can almost fall out of his chair when he gets that excited.
I look at the pancakes in the skillet. Since I ate the first pancake in 13 seconds, I still had roughly five minutes and 47 seconds to go until that next batch would be ready to eat. Then there's the insanely long cooling down period so the baby can actually eat it. And it all sums up to me just giving him that pancake.
And just to round off what usually happens after every meal, both children quickly finish eating just as I'm about to take my next bite standing up near the stove. But I become paralyzed as I get my first glimpse of the crumbs that are stuck to their hands with the syrup, the clothes which are horrific, and often stuff in hair that needs to be cleared. They start climbing down from their chairs and threatening to touch every single wall in the house. They're done eating so they automatically assume it's play time, so I have to act fast. I herd them to the bathroom and try to wash hands as fast as possible so that I can still eat a warm pancake and flip the ones that are in the pan slowly turning black.
Some turned black- which will have my name on them for tomorrow's breakfast. I ate one hot and three cold pancakes. All standing up and over the course of about two hours. Yes, it sounds like four pancakes is a lot but to fully understand my definition of "Clean Up Crew" here's what it looked like: one nice and hot, one at room temp about 30 minutes later, and then while I cleared the table I ate the left over half of an eaten one drowned in syrup by my older child, and then I ate another left over half of my Baby's pancake that was squished so tightly in his hand that it resembled more like a brown sponge or loofah.
But I ate... and my stomach really can't tell the difference anyway. I have a pretty big clue as to what I'll have for lunch. Just pick something from my list above.
1.) something yummy
2.) something slightly off yet still edible
3.) and then the taste buds that have been super refined which signal, "That's been left out for four days. You are an idiot for putting THAT in your mouth."
I've got those three categories covered.
I've always loved food. I'm a big eater, love trying new things, and love most all spices from all cultures. I never really "forgot" to eat. To my surprise, in the beginning of motherhood, I would forget all the time to eat. Around 3pm on most days I would discover the clean, empty bowl sitting on the counter that was supposed to hold my cereal at 9am. It's mostly because there was never time to prepare a meal (pour cereal in bowl, add milk), sit down with proper utensils, chew and swallow. I was so used to that style of eating. I know, I'm asking a lot right? I just kept pushing eating aside until I could follow these common steps in preparing my food. I never really noticed I was hungry because I was so busy- you know, being a new mom and all. Then after a few months or years of that style of eating, I found out I was losing weight because people said to me, "You're REALLY skinny. Are you eating?" Oh, I guess I'm not.
So now I have a new style of eating. I am, what I call, The Clean Up Crew or just The Garbage Collector. Now, I eat what I can, when I can- even if it means I'm not actually hungry at that point. And because I don't like to waste food, I eat all the left overs from two boys.
I eat whatever is in front of me because who knows when I'll get to prepare anything myself. I eat when I can because who knows when I'll see food again. And it kills me to see food go to waste, especially if I'm the one who prepared it.
Four and a half years later, I have to say with the utmost confidence that I am totally sick and tired of making entire meals out of:
sandwich crusts
very soggy cereal
toast
any crusty/crispy parts of a fried egg
half eaten egg yolks
the heels of bread loaves
half eaten containers of yogurt
grapes bitten in half
the skins of fruits (peaches, nectarines, plums)
half finished smoothies
Why not save it for later, you may ask? Why eat it when you're not hungry, you want to know? Just wrap it up and put it in the fridge. Well... how disgusting would it be to try to reheat a piece of toast? How about saving fried eggs for later? Drinking a green smoothie which has formed a thick crust around the edges? Has anyone ever saved sandwich crusts for future enjoyment? I think not.
No matter what it is, I am eating cold food. All the time. OR.... I actually have the opportunity to eat something hot because I was lucky enough to prepare something, but then I burn my tongue repeatedly because I'm so excited to eat something hot. And it's usually standing up by the stove, where I just dished it onto my plate or heck... right out of the pan using the spatula or large slotted spoon with which I used to cook the food. Who has time to dish it, find utensils, carry it to the table three feet away and eat???? Those three feet can really mean the difference between eating RIGHT NOW and eating two hours later. You probably haven't seen my house to know the vast array of clutter that covers the floor in those three feet.
And really, c'mon... waiting until it cools down defeats the purpose of eating something hot. There's countless amounts of things that can happen between really hot food and "hot yet not burn your tongue" food. In my house, ALL of those countless amounts of things DO happen, which brings me back to my plate when the food is cold. In the olden days, I would have heated it up again and it would have been no big deal. But I have learned that heating it up again just puts me back into that same situation- hot food, wait, crisis in the bathroom, come back, cold food. Besides, eating food that's been re-heated, really??? RE-heated??? That's almost as much trouble as preparing the food in the first place, with the addition of it not tasting quite as fresh.
Like this morning... my son wanted pancakes. Great! I can do that. I scrambled around the kitchen gathering whatever ingredients I figured would taste somewhat what a pancake is supposed to taste like, furiously mixed them in a bowl, since I only have 3.2 nanoseconds to complete my task. Started dropping them in the pan. Baby is screaming and pulling at my leg indicating that he wants one NOW! My older son is lying half awake on the floor asking repeatedly, "When are the pancakes going to be done." And sounding as if he has been waiting for 47 years for his one pancake. I take out the first four pancakes - one to child, one to baby, two to Daddy. Next batch - four more sizzling away. I watch and wait. The recipe says three minutes on each side. What???? That's six minutes.
Okay fine, I guess I have no choice but to wait. Because turning up the heat in the pan so they cook faster, when the recipe specifically says "MEDIUM HEAT" means that you'll burn the pancake. And there's all kinds of things that come out of my children's mouths when they eat burned pancakes- like um... the pancake. So I wait not four minutes, but at 5.25 minutes I hear, "I would like another pancake please."
Have I mentioned yet that at this point, I am hungry too? It's morning, my eyes are sleepy, and I am operating on minimal energy and no clarity in the brain. I WOKE UP hungry, so you can bet that 90 minutes later I have reached the level of starvation that comes close to the really poor people on the streets in India. Close, not quite. But really close.
So... my reply to the request for another pancake is, "Who said that?" Well, one of the three boys has no ability to form sentences. So, it could be Daddy who needs to eat because he has to go to work soon. Or my older son who needs to eat because.... because... because? Well, because he's four and without food there might be another upheaval or mutiny which would prevent me from eating any sooner anyway.
I succumb to my fate. Even closer to the streets of India, I give one pancake to child, one pancake to hubby. But what's this??? Alas! There's a pancake. FOR ME! It's just sitting there, steaming hot from the pan. But I have to watch the next new batch in the pan- six minutes and remember to flip at three so do not set the spatula down. However, all three boys are happy, pancakes are looking happy, and I get to grab a steaming hot pancake and shove it in my mouth. Utensils? Syrup? Butter? Plate? Chair? Who needs any of that! It's hot, a wee bit on the "Burn Your Tongue" hot but who really cares. I got to eat a pancake. I feel triumphant. Really. Triumphant is the accurate description.
And guess what? I am bold enough to think I can conquer the last pancake sitting there, because Baby wasn't quite ready to eat his second one yet. I hold it to my mouth about ready to shovel it in, and then I hear, "Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma, Ma." My precious baby is doing that cute little sign language sign for "more" (also repeatedly) and grins at me. Full of sheer joy and excitement for my yummy pancakes. He can almost fall out of his chair when he gets that excited.
I look at the pancakes in the skillet. Since I ate the first pancake in 13 seconds, I still had roughly five minutes and 47 seconds to go until that next batch would be ready to eat. Then there's the insanely long cooling down period so the baby can actually eat it. And it all sums up to me just giving him that pancake.
And just to round off what usually happens after every meal, both children quickly finish eating just as I'm about to take my next bite standing up near the stove. But I become paralyzed as I get my first glimpse of the crumbs that are stuck to their hands with the syrup, the clothes which are horrific, and often stuff in hair that needs to be cleared. They start climbing down from their chairs and threatening to touch every single wall in the house. They're done eating so they automatically assume it's play time, so I have to act fast. I herd them to the bathroom and try to wash hands as fast as possible so that I can still eat a warm pancake and flip the ones that are in the pan slowly turning black.
Some turned black- which will have my name on them for tomorrow's breakfast. I ate one hot and three cold pancakes. All standing up and over the course of about two hours. Yes, it sounds like four pancakes is a lot but to fully understand my definition of "Clean Up Crew" here's what it looked like: one nice and hot, one at room temp about 30 minutes later, and then while I cleared the table I ate the left over half of an eaten one drowned in syrup by my older child, and then I ate another left over half of my Baby's pancake that was squished so tightly in his hand that it resembled more like a brown sponge or loofah.
But I ate... and my stomach really can't tell the difference anyway. I have a pretty big clue as to what I'll have for lunch. Just pick something from my list above.
Monday, July 29, 2013
a new era
For those that know my personal breastfeeding story... I think my son
is done. I know, I know... I said it before but then we had a few
moments of him needing some reassurance, family travels which I think made him feel disconnected, life, etc. And
now it's been about two weeks.
It's very strange for me. Wow. I experienced my first "baby" weaning from breastfeeding in the most uneventful, anti-climactic, non-stressful, easy, and completely child-led way. Exactly how I read about it happening. I feel great about it but.... I feel sad in a reminiscent way. Thinking about those early days (about 90 really hard ones) of pain, crying, and yet never giving up hope really seem like yesterday. Even though the weaning process had been soooooo gradual and sooooo smooth, why do I feel like it caught me off guard? Remembering all those extra tired nights when I secretly wished he would be done I want to take back. Perhaps he was ready for it a lot earlier than I was. Just as he was ready to show me his first tooth before I was ready to give up that cute toothless smile. Just as he is ready to jump down from the tree before I am ready. Just as he is ready to be away from me for an entire day before I am from him.
Someone asked me if I knew that the last time was "the last time". No, because it was happening so infrequently at the end and I started to lose track of when he breastfed last. But that question made me realize how I'm so lucky it happened that way. If I had known that the very last time was going to be it, I would have been a big, soggy mess. I would have wanted to take pictures. I would have eaten a whole tub of ice cream. I can't imagine it going any smoother and I'm so glad that it followed his timing. For kids, there are so many emotionally eventful things in their lives that happen based on someone else's timing or rules. A child starting kindergarten at five, whether they're ready or not. A child having to give up playing with a toy whether they're ready or not, so they can learn a lesson about being polite. Their mommy or daddy leaving them to go to work, whether they're ready or not. A child getting a new sibling, whether they're ready or not. Being forced to grow up quickly, whether they're ready or not.
Not this journey. No Ma'am. This journey ended for him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. He was able to decide when and how, and he owned that process. He is a more confident boy because of it. And I am the mother that I am today because of that journey that we went on together.
My tandem nursing days are over. Luckily for me, I still get to breastfeed my other "baby" at 22 months. And luckily for me, my older son still loves to snuggle and hold my hand tightly as he falls asleep every night. I am lucky and grateful for what lessons breastfeeding has taught me.
It's very strange for me. Wow. I experienced my first "baby" weaning from breastfeeding in the most uneventful, anti-climactic, non-stressful, easy, and completely child-led way. Exactly how I read about it happening. I feel great about it but.... I feel sad in a reminiscent way. Thinking about those early days (about 90 really hard ones) of pain, crying, and yet never giving up hope really seem like yesterday. Even though the weaning process had been soooooo gradual and sooooo smooth, why do I feel like it caught me off guard? Remembering all those extra tired nights when I secretly wished he would be done I want to take back. Perhaps he was ready for it a lot earlier than I was. Just as he was ready to show me his first tooth before I was ready to give up that cute toothless smile. Just as he is ready to jump down from the tree before I am ready. Just as he is ready to be away from me for an entire day before I am from him.
Someone asked me if I knew that the last time was "the last time". No, because it was happening so infrequently at the end and I started to lose track of when he breastfed last. But that question made me realize how I'm so lucky it happened that way. If I had known that the very last time was going to be it, I would have been a big, soggy mess. I would have wanted to take pictures. I would have eaten a whole tub of ice cream. I can't imagine it going any smoother and I'm so glad that it followed his timing. For kids, there are so many emotionally eventful things in their lives that happen based on someone else's timing or rules. A child starting kindergarten at five, whether they're ready or not. A child having to give up playing with a toy whether they're ready or not, so they can learn a lesson about being polite. Their mommy or daddy leaving them to go to work, whether they're ready or not. A child getting a new sibling, whether they're ready or not. Being forced to grow up quickly, whether they're ready or not.
Not this journey. No Ma'am. This journey ended for him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. He was able to decide when and how, and he owned that process. He is a more confident boy because of it. And I am the mother that I am today because of that journey that we went on together.
My tandem nursing days are over. Luckily for me, I still get to breastfeed my other "baby" at 22 months. And luckily for me, my older son still loves to snuggle and hold my hand tightly as he falls asleep every night. I am lucky and grateful for what lessons breastfeeding has taught me.
strange to be back
Some time has passed since I last visited here. Just about four years or so. No biggie, stuff happened. You didn't miss much. Oh, except that now my son is 4.5 years old and he found a baby brother along the way, who is now 22 months old.
I started posting my blog on my own handy dandy Mac which teaches tech challenged people like me how to have their own website but then they took that away from me. So I'm back to this place which welcomed me back with open arms.
Quick update:
Sleep is STILL for wussy mamas. Really. That's just what you tell yourself so you can get through the day without overdosing on coffee or seeing your brain fall out of your head as you listen to yet another rendition of Old MacDonald. Instead of asking for a song to repeat, because I think my son doesn't know how to ask for it that way, he says, "Mom, I want that song to play over and over and over and over again. Make it play over and over and over and over again."
Then I give him a look which he misinterprets as needing to add a word at the end which will let me know that he is appreciative. "Make it play over and over and over and over again please."
I don't care about the please. I care about seeing my brain fall out of my head. I hit "repeat" on the music thingy and just pray that my dirty hair which hasn't been washed in a week will hide the mess of my brain falling out of my head. Or maybe the tangles will catch it so that I can put it back in at night.
The part that salvages the whole experience is getting to watch two really cute, half dressed, peanut butter crusted boys dance around the room.
We homeschool (unschool, life school, home educate or whatever it's called nowadays), we garden, we "do" shows, we have amazing adventures, we study butterflies going through their metamorphosis, and we ourselves grow. But we don't sleep. Well... rarely.
I started posting my blog on my own handy dandy Mac which teaches tech challenged people like me how to have their own website but then they took that away from me. So I'm back to this place which welcomed me back with open arms.
Quick update:
Sleep is STILL for wussy mamas. Really. That's just what you tell yourself so you can get through the day without overdosing on coffee or seeing your brain fall out of your head as you listen to yet another rendition of Old MacDonald. Instead of asking for a song to repeat, because I think my son doesn't know how to ask for it that way, he says, "Mom, I want that song to play over and over and over and over again. Make it play over and over and over and over again."
Then I give him a look which he misinterprets as needing to add a word at the end which will let me know that he is appreciative. "Make it play over and over and over and over again please."
I don't care about the please. I care about seeing my brain fall out of my head. I hit "repeat" on the music thingy and just pray that my dirty hair which hasn't been washed in a week will hide the mess of my brain falling out of my head. Or maybe the tangles will catch it so that I can put it back in at night.
The part that salvages the whole experience is getting to watch two really cute, half dressed, peanut butter crusted boys dance around the room.
We homeschool (unschool, life school, home educate or whatever it's called nowadays), we garden, we "do" shows, we have amazing adventures, we study butterflies going through their metamorphosis, and we ourselves grow. But we don't sleep. Well... rarely.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
I've got my own site!!!! Moving up in the world...
Yay! I've finally got it together. It took me forever plus infinite amounts of time at the Mac store to learn how to do the basics, but alas, here it is:
Make sure you go there for all my blogs now. The difference is that it will be much simpler to post pictures and video. Now, I just have to get more organized!
It's also super easy to post comments on this new site, so please send me a note to let me know what you think! It keeps me writing when I know people are actually reading. Really!
THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
A group I'm starting!
For all you parents out there reading this in the San Fernando Valley, I'm starting up a chapter of Holistic Moms Network. It's a national organization with over 120 chapters, but there's no chapter in the valley. This shocked me, so I'm taking things into my own hands and starting up our very own chapter. Also, because I just felt like I didn't have anything to do with all my free time.
It's a support group for people who want to try to live more holistically and learn how to raise their kids in this same way. It's for moms, dads, adoptive parents, gay/lesbian parents, and significant others!!! Bring your kids~ everyone is welcome. We meet once a month and we'll always have a topic to discuss with various speakers, health care providers, or sometimes just a bunch of us sharing our stories.
We're still looking for a place to hold our meetings but if anyone is interested in finding out more info please email me at HMNsfv@me.com so that I can notify you once things are set. We'll meet on the second Monday of every month, with our first one happening on Nov. 9th! Put it on your calendars and make sure you pass on the word to other like-minded peeps!!!
Also, if anyone has any cool connections to free meeting spaces, then let me know. I will forever be indebted to you!!!!!
If you want more info on the organization itself check out: www.holisticmoms.org We're a pretty cool group of people, if I do say so myself.
Hope to see you there!
Another audition but no more smiles
Well, the good news is that I booked that gig I auditioned for from my last blog!!! Yay!!! It is for a sketch on the comedy show, Important Things with Demetri Martin (on Comedy Central). I play a pregnant woman who goes into labor on an airplane. I'm quite certain that my charming boy was the reason for me getting this job. He definitely had the room entertained.
I shot the scene this past week and had a ton of fun! It was really amazing to be back on a set again after such a long hiatus. The fun part was putting on a "pregnant belly". It looked so real, everyone thought I was really pregnant. It didn't weigh nearly what a real nine month pregnant belly weighs, but it was just as hot! The only big bummer was that I was gone from the boy for 10.5 hours. I missed him terribly. And of course, having been away from him for that long, I had no choice. I HAD TO PUMP!!!!! Argh. And this could not have been in a worse situation.
We only got a half hour lunch break and pumping took 25 minutes. And my location choices were trailer #1 (woman's dressing trailer), trailer #2 (make-up trailer), trailer #3 (wardrobe trailer), or a small, stinky bathroom. Trailer #1: way too small. Trailer #2: the make-up artist was a man. Stinky bathroom: no way. So I chose lucky Trailer #3. At least they had an outlet that I could use to plug in the pump but I had to stand up and be about two feet away from the door. Gee, I didn't think to bring my extension cord...
Overall, it was pretty painless. The two very sweet wardrobe ladies came in to eat their lunch while I was all hooked up. The younger one seemed a bit embarrassed and felt like she couldn't really look at me. Or maybe she thought I was embarrassed and wanted to give me some privacy. I declined letting her know that 1.) after having a baby, very little embarrasses me and 2.) I gave up all semblance of privacy since hhhmmmm, when would that have happened? Oh yeah, after having a baby. But that was very gracious of her. The other sweet lady was totally amazed that my boobs could be hooked up to a machine and milk can drain into plastic bottles which are suctioned onto my nipples. Watching it happen is really like a visit to the dairy farm. It's easy to be amazed at the capabilities of the female human body when witnessing such an event. I'm more in awe of the inventor who came up with the idea and wonder how painful it was for all of the lactating moms who were willing to be test subjects.
Anyhow, 25 minutes later, the deed was done. The bottles went into my handy milk cooler and off I raced to the lunch line where of course, everyone was just finishing their meals and heading back to the set. I ate fast. Other than that, a really great day.
So, that was one audition that panned out to be work. I had another audition that same week. This one was actually a callback at the Mark Taper theater so I was pretty excited about it. I had my initial audition on a day when my husband could watch the boy so there were no issues there. But I had no choice but to bring the boy on this day. I scrambled around for some plans on how to handle the situation and I came up with one that seemed to be flawless. For theater auditions, it's nearly impossible to bring a baby into the room. Theater auditions lasts longer than tv/commercial auditions so if I brought him into the room, there would be a strong possibility that the boy would start to make some noise (and probably a cute one). Then all of a sudden, what I thought would be my audition would actually turn into the boy becoming the star of the room. That would not be the time or place to be upstaged by my own child. Wasn't there some famous actor that said, "I will not work with children or dogs"? Smart move.
So my "flawless" plan was to have my friend watch the boy while I went into the audition. Brilliant! Until we decided to sit in traffic for over an hour just to get to downtown LA. Leaving with plenty of time, I picked up my friend who coincidentally lives less than 10 miles away from the theater. At this point, the boy was just about to experience his meltdown but he was so good. He held it back as long as he could. With 60 minutes in stop and go traffic, he still had somewhat of a smirk on his face. The remaining 10 miles is where he lost it. Of course, living in LA, those 10 miles took about 20 minutes to drive. Meltdown slowly escalates.
I pull into the parking lot that I went to last time because I thought it would be safe to stick to things that I am familiar with given the circumstances. It's 4:35 pm and the sign on the parking lot attendant's window says that he leaves at 4:30 pm. Surely there's some way to pay for the parking spot during "after hours", right??? The parking lot is open all night with no gate to let people know that it closes. Not one sign that lets you know what to do in case he's gone for the day. But of course, the biggest sign of all says "ABSOLUTELY NO FREE PARKING AT ANY TIME!"
The flawless plan was that my friend could walk around the area and entertain the boy for 30 minutes or so. He would without a doubt be distracted enough by all the cool things to see. There was even a beautiful fountain that he would have loved. But without paying for our parking spot we didn't want to chance leaving our car there. Oh yeah, after the fierce warning in bright red letters about no free parking, they listed the towing company that you should call in the event that they find out that you parked for free. No messing around with these folks.
At this point I now have 10 minutes to get to my audition. Definitely not in a good place. I wanted to quickly feed the boy before I left so he wouldn't be too hungry but because of his meltdown he was not interested in food one bit. So off I went to my audition leaving my poor friend in the parking lot with my poor boy, crying madly. He was really quite pissed that after making him sit in the car for so long I hand him over to someone else to hold him. Mommy-guilt. On top of it all, there was not an ounce of shade for them to hide under and it was about 100 degrees. And the scenery was worse than uninteresting. It was downright ugly. Just rows and rows of cars. Certainly not the beautiful fountain that I promised him.
I arrived at my audition sweaty and stressed. Definitely not in the mental or physical place I wanted to be. Especially after having prepared so hard for the callback, to be in such a state of chaos was very disappointing. But I had no choice. I did my thing and felt okay about it. Not great. Just okay. The only glimmer of hope I got was that I managed to make the playwright and director snicker a few times and then the playwright actually applauded when I was done. I figured this meant I did a good job or he was just really glad that I was the last person for the day and he was excited to go home.
Either way, I have no idea what they really thought of me but I haven't gotten "that" call yet. It's been well over a week so I've come to accept that they won't be giving me "that" call. I was beating myself up for quite a while though afterwards because I felt like I should have given a better performance. That's the tough thing about being an actor. The bruises and mental torture we endure which take us from one job to the next.
As my husband says, why can't I just focus on the good things that happened? Out of two auditions in one week, I booked one of them! But I wouldn't be a neurotic LA actor if I didn't obsess about the things that I could have done better. It's part of the job description. And like motherhood, it's a job that takes forever to see the pay off.
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