Another year already?

This time of year the media inundates us with various Best and Worst lists, as if somehow a year isn't complete without their particular stamp on its events. So, as with all fun ideas, I figured I'd steal it and use it for my purposes.

Craziest thing I did this year:
Surprisingly, this was a tough category. I say surprisingly because (as most who know me can attest) I'm not someone who does crazy things. But I narrowed it down to the following:
- 36 hour trip to New York
- 24 hour trip to Chicago
- finishing my novel

The NY trip narrowly wins out, and that is only because there was snow involved.

Most shocking moment of the year:
For me, it has to be when Michael Jackson died. There are certain pop culture moments in life where you always remember where you were when you heard the news. For me, those pretty much boil down to the day Reagan was shot, the day the Challenger exploded, Princess Diana dying, and now this. What makes all of those moments stand out is the unexpected nature of them, exposing the unforgiving nature of the capriciousness of fate, and forcing an examination of our own mortality.

Biggest new addiction:
3 months ago the answer would have been Bejeweled Blitz, but I somehow managed to get that out of my system. So I gotta go with Twitter, even if I still don't entirely get the purpose of it. Besides, I love announcing things like "Mark Sanchez is having taco bell for dinner right now," and not be considered a stalker for knowing it.

Biggest achievement:
The fact that, in a crazy year that has been so difficult for so many, my husband and I still have our home, our jobs, our family and our health. None of those things can ever be taken for granted.

Biggest disappointment:
The LA season of Project Runway. No, seriously. What was that?

Song I'm most embarrassed to admit I listen to without kids in the car:
Tie between Miley Cyrus' The Climb and Taylor Swift's You Belong With Me.

Most surreal moment:
Seeing the trends of my childhood make their way back. Am I really old enough for this? And who exactly was clamoring for the return of stirrup pants, Smurfs and Rubik's Cubes?

That's all the creativity I've got for 2009. Happy new year people, and see y'all in 2010.

I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes...

Since Hanukkah came (and went) early this year, and my extended family had our annual Christmas celebration today (to accommodate holiday travel schedules), for the first time I can remember Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are all mine.

Don't need to go anyplace. Can honor our own traditions without rushing through them to get someplace else in time. Simply put, I can do what I want to, not what I have to.

Which means we'll start tracking Santa and his reindeer early via the Norad website. Finish baking our cookies for Santa. Take a drive down nearby Candy Cane Lane to see people that are far more creative with their holiday lights than I can ever dream of being. New pajamas for the kids and a reading of Twas the Night Before Christmas. Followed by putting our wired children to bed, the annual viewing of Love, Actually by my husband and myself, capped off by us swearing at each other as we attempt to interpret ambiguous instruction booklets and assemble toys at the very last minute in order to put them under the tree before we collapse in utter exhaustion. Sounds like heaven.

Wishing a happy holiday season to all!

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas

My husband is Jewish, so when we had kids we decided we would celebrate all the holidays. A great idea in theory, but when you realize that you are buying presents for 2 kids, over 8 nights, PLUS enough gifts to provide an insanely overindulgent Christmas morning....well, let's just say that it's another one of those ideas that looked much better on paper. Especially when you allow for two super-competitive kids who have in intrinsic sense of fairness when it comes to the perceived value and amount of their loot. The excel spreadsheet I've developed to keep track of it all (and not go to the poorhouse in the process) has become the stuff of legend among my family and friends.

After starting off the weekend with the first nights of Hanukkah, Sunday meant it was time for one of our Christmas traditions-- visiting Santa at The Grove with good friends. The place is truly magical at Christmastime, and they have the best Santa for at least a 500 mile radius. Sadly, we're not the only ones who think that, because by the time we arrived (after securing one of the 12 remaining parking spots left in the 3500 space parking garage) it was a 3 1/2 hour wait to see the Big Red Guy. Thankfully, they instituted a "pick a number" system this year, like at a deli, so you didn't have to physically wait in line that entire time.

Or maybe not so thankfully. Given that Santa's cottage is right across from American Girl Place, my daughter (in the red coat in the photo above) and her friend subjected all of the adults in our group to endless whining about how they wanted this or that and how "it wasn't fair" that we would dare to say no. And then my son, who after 30 minutes was done with dolls and their accessories, begged to go to the Apple store and play with the laptops. Only to then complain that "it's not fair" that we told Santa he can't have his very own laptop for Christmas.

Somehow we survived the wait. And the kids' reactions to finally getting to the front of the line made it worth every minute. Especially my son's 2 minute diatribe to Santa about how he shouldn't make his naughty and nice lists until Christmas Eve, because he needs to give kids enough time to turn their behavior around.

We capped off the evening with hot chocolates, "snow" and hanging out amidst the twinkly lights. Couldn't have asked for anything better.

Except for elves to finish my remaining holiday decorating and baking while we were away.

Holiday madness

Once upon a time, I put a lot of effort into my holiday cards.

Back when my list was smaller and my life not quite so hectic (read: before kids), I would write lengthy individual notes to everyone inside their cards. And this was back in the days when you still had to lick your own stamps, so bonus points to me. Then, as time went on, the notes turned into the dreaded Holiday Letter (aka "trying to make my life sound as exciting as possible to people I talk to once a year"). But I hated the impersonal nature of such things, so I always made sure to still include a brief personal note as well, before ultimately abandoning the Letter concept altogether.

Then the kids were born, and the focus of the card switched from the quality of the message to the quality of the photo of my little rugrats on the front of it. The time I spent writing personalized messages turned into time spent hiring photographers, finalizing wardrobe and selecting final images. Given that I also do that as part of my day job (but on a much larger scale), you can only imagine the full-scale production this became each year. What can I say, I'm the same girl who brings in the proofs of my kids' school pictures and makes the entire creative department vote on which ones I should buy. But I digress.

Even with the increasingly large-scale photo shoots, I still made sure to take the time to personally write each recipient's name on their card, a brief "Happy Holidays" and sign our names. But that has all changed this year.

I am ashamed to admit that I joined the Dark Side.

First off, you have to understand that I hate to be late with anything, and I was late with my cards this year. Yes, I know what you're thinking, it's only December 11. But given that I'm usually obsessively early with everything, being on-time for other people is late for me. Every day we received more and more cards from friends who weren't behind like I was. Including the awesomest card ever from my friend Leslie-- made to look like a movie poster, with photos of her kids photoshopped into "Balloon Boy's" jiffy pop hot air balloon. The pressure was building.

So as I sat down last night with a ridiculously large pile of Shutterfly holiday cards and faced the prospect of an all-nighter to get these things out, I decided to take the easy way out and not personalize a thing. Just send the card, as-is. Heck, if I could have found someone to address the envelopes for me, I would have done that too.

My mom would have been horrified. I'm horrified. After all, I'm the same person that made my 2-year-old daughter make her own thank-you cards by painting a watercolor on each one. Everything I send comes from the heart.

Hopefully my recipients will forgive me. Given that I made major cuts to the list this year (goodbye random person I met at Gymboree 3 years ago but haven't had a playdate with since), the people who receive my cards this year represent the 125 people that matter the most to me. Or, at least, the 125 people that matter the most to me and whose addresses I have handy.

At least the photos on the front are adorable.

Tis the season for tv reruns

As an unashamed television fan, we've entered a depressing 6-8 weeks. No real good tv is on again until mid-January (the occasional episode of SYTYCD notwithstanding). My DVR is quickly emptying, and during the hour or so I have between the kids going to bed and me slipping off into dreamland myself, there are some slim pickings out there. A girl can only watch her Buffy Season 2 DVDs so many times, so I've found myself becoming more adventurous in my choices.

Last night I tried the new TNT drama, Men of a Certain Age. Aside from having some good critical buzz, my friend LisaGay Hamilton plays Andre Braugher's wife in the show, so I had to check it out.

So far, so good. It's definitely a very LA show, and not just because they film scenes in the coffee place a block from my house. My husband (being a man of a certain age himself) definitely related to it, laughing out loud on several occasions. And while slow at times, it definitely captured my interest enough to want to watch again.

Which is definitely something. It's no Mad Men. Or Glee. Or Modern Family. Or 90210- Kai the Yoga Instructor Years.

I'll just have to console myself with one thought:

Lost. The final season. February 2010. Let the countdown begin!

Rainy days and Mondays...

Maybe it's because I'm a California girl, but I love the rain. The sound of it on the roof, the way it clears out the air and makes everything feel fresh, or maybe just because it means I get to wear clothes with sleeves-- it makes me happy.

It also means that I don't have to rush around like a crazy person for once because everything slows down. Soccer practices are canceled and weather-related traffic gives me an excuse to show up to things a little late. It's a nice change of pace.

Rain in southern California is a major event. All the news stations anticipate it for weeks in advance, with round-the-clock "Stormwatch" coverage, which usually nets about an inch or two of rain when all is said and done. Hey, it's LA, we know how to make things seem more exciting than they really are.

So I'm going to take this rare opportunity to wear my cute boots and Burberry trench coat, and imagine I live someplace where it's winter for more than 3 days a year.

And then begin the countdown until I start complaining that all this rain is terrible for my hair and when is it going to stop already.

What can I say? I'm a Gemini.

In memoriam

You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough." - Mae West

We found out yesterday that my husband's great-uncle George passed away at 106 years old. To put this in perspective, it means he was born in 1903-- the same year of the first World Series, the start of Ford Motor Company, and the first-ever plane flight. And before the invention of the comic book, cartoons or color photography.

In other words, he saw a lot.

And while it's wonderful that he lived such a long life, I can't help but mourn the loss of another member of (for people my age) "the grandparent generation." The people who told us stories of the Depression and WWII, sent $10 checks for your birthday and who would have been Don Draper's contemporaries. My life has been made undoubtedly richer for having known them all.

I always felt like George knew the secret to how to live a life. I only knew him for the last sixteen years of his, but he always had a smile on his face and a kind word to say about everyone. According to family legend, he never stressed out a day in his life. He enjoyed every minute of every day, always with a story and a smile at the ready for anyone who might need one.

My husband carries George's lucky golf club in his bag. And I will try to carry his outlook on life in my heart.

Victory is mine!

First draft of second novel complete at 50,265 words.

3 days early.

I will now allow myself a month to put it aside and think about other things-- like holiday shopping, 7 children's birthday parties between now and mid-December, assorted holiday gatherings with family and friends, one vacation, planning the daughter's 8th birthday hip hop dance party and possibly sleep (if I'm lucky). And then I'll pick it up again in January to begin revisions, and likely double its length when all is said and done.

Very productive weekend so far! Tomorrow is a birthday party, USC/UCLA rivalry game and sleepover. Sunday is holiday card photo shoot, another birthday party and a trip to visit college BFFs brand new baby. No rest for the wicked.

Now where did I put that box with the holiday decorations?

Time to give some thanks

I know, I know, it's dreadfully cliche. But I would be remiss if I didn't take note of the season and offer thanks for all the wonderful things in my life. Because lord knows I have no problems complaining about the things that are wrong!

1. Family that loves me, supports me and tolerates me-- A husband who watches reality dancing shows with me, children who leave "I love you mommy" notes in my purse, a sister-in-law who is far more like an actual sister to me, cousins and extended family that are wonderful beyond measure.

2. Friends who are like family-- from late night texting counseling sessions, to spontaneous cross-country weekend excursions, transatlantic vacations and just plain-old girls nights out, I am so lucky to have you all in my life.

3. My DVR-- without it, I would be unable to fit tv into my insanely busy life. And that's just unacceptable.

4. Social networking-- allows me to keep in touch with 200+ people with very little effort on my part. (Note to mmw: which is why I "know everyone." hahaha)

5. Writing-- gives me an outlet to be purely creative, without the restrictions of business requirements or the preferences of secretaries.

6. The fact that Matt Barkley is only a freshman-- means that, once this horrible season is behind us, the future is incredibly bright for my USC Trojans.

7. Greg Vaughan-- needs no explanation.

8. Almond Roca cookies-- they sound really weird and kinda disgusting, but trust me, they are made of awesome.

9. A relatively great sports year for my teams-- Trojans won the Rose Bowl, Lakers won the NBA championship, Yankees won the World Series. We won't talk about the 49ers.

10. All of you-- for taking the time to read my blog, comment, and just generally support me as I move toward getting published. You guys rock.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Yep, still Team Edward.

So I went with some girlfriends to see New Moon last night. As we are old (meaning that we can drive ourselves to the theater and don't need to ask our parents for popcorn money), we don't do standing in line. So we went to one of those grown-up theaters where you can reserve specific seats in advance and enjoy a glass (or a bottle) of wine afterward.

Our group of 8 broke down something like this:
- 4 had read all the books and would tell anyone who cared to listen (and even those who didn't) why the movies are nowhere near as good as the books
- 2 had read a couple of the books and laughed at the group of 4 listed above
- 2 had never read any of the books and only came for the girlfriend time

Full disclosure: I am most decidedly Team Edward, and have been since I read Twilight. For my own sanity, I choose to believe that the film adaptations exist separately from the books, as the Edward in my head doesn't look like a meth addict with messy hair and red lipstick. And my version of Bella actually knows how to change the expressions on her face to match what she is saying and experiencing.

Silliness aside, a fun time was had by all. And for those of our group who haven't read all the books yet, you have been put on notice. Eclipse comes out June 30th. :)

I still hate eating my vegetables

My kids are always so excited about the day when they will finally be grown-ups. Visions of staying up as late as they want, eating candy for dinner and buying all the toys they can hold are no doubt their prime motivators.

It won't be until their much older that they discover being a grown-up isn't all that it's cracked up to be. It can mean feeling crushed under the weight of responsibility...not just for yourself but for countless other people too. Or it can also mean getting yelled at by clients for things that weren't your fault (but you still have to graciously accept responsibility for anyway when what you really want to do is tell them to STFU). And it can mean realizing 33,385 words into your latest novel that you really don't like your protagonist, and would much rather write about the random supporting character who pops up midway in chapter 4.

Not to say there aren't perks that come with age. I can eat frozen waffles for dinner, spend way too much money at anthropologie on a whim or decide to go to Paris. I'm not complaining.

So at the end of the longest week ever, I can look back at accomplishments, a relatively healthy household, and a weekend filled with both spontaneous and planned outings with dear friends.

And hope that I can rediscover the love for my poor protagonist, who I really just want to smack upside the head this point for being annoying and selfish.

Happy weekend!

I guess I have a dark and twisted soul. Who knew?

Noveling is a strange endeavor. Stories that start out as one thing have this bizarre habit of suddenly changing course midstream. And before you know it, what started out as a light-hearted social satire has turned into a heart-wrenching walk on the dark side.

As strange as it may seem, the novelist has no control over this phenomenon. The characters you create suddenly evolve to exist outside of your imagination. You can guide their actions, but they tell you what has to happen to them next. Even if you really don't want them to. The best writers are the ones who recognize this and learn to let go and see where it all leads. No plans, no expectations. Just enjoy the ride. Kinda like life.

Which is why, as a well-known writer recently told me, "you never know what a book is really about until you reach the end. That is true for both reader and writer."

Jessica
18,457 words and counting.

Still alive...

...and the proud owner of a New Moon canvas tote, poster autographed by the cast, and CD of the soundtrack.

Well, maybe not so proud, as I won't actually put any of it in public where other people can see it. Gotta love press junkets!

In other news, 13,450 words in. And the hubby and I (along with a couple that shall remain nameless) were the last ones to leave the grown-up party last night. Multi-tasking is my friend.

And now that soccer teams have been cheered for, sleepover guests have been returned to their rightful owners, girls night out has been planned, dinner out with 7 adults and 8 children has been survived, baths have been given, bedtime stories were read, and word counts are on target, I will now collapse into a heap on the couch, wondering where my weekend went.

Highlights from the last 6 hours

1. I am 10,150 words into my new novel.
2. Edward Norton told me that I rock.

I'm not sure which of the two I'm more excited about.

And now I have to figure out how to fit writing time into this weekend on top of:
- watching kids do gymnastics, ballet, soccer and t-ball
- Saturday night grown-up party
- prep for daughter's saturday night sleepover (while I'm at grown-up party so all chaos is the babysitter's problem)
- organizing girls night out to see New Moon during opening weekend

Happy weekend!

And so it begins

Three days and 6000 words into the new novel, and I'm liking where it's headed so far. I went into it with a very specific idea of what it was going to be about, but it quickly veered off to someplace completely unexpected.

Just like life.

Be open to the possibilities of the things you hadn't fully considered. That is where potential magic resides. Things rarely turn out the way we plan, but if we embrace the twists and turns along the way, they oftentimes can turn out much, much better.

Note: I am still in the honeymoon phase of the story. I reserve the right to become bitter and angry once my characters no longer entertain me.

Happy Halloween -- Wig Style

Wishing you all a happy, fun and safe Halloween!

A little nostalgia never hurt anyone.

The year was 1997. I had made a weekend trip from San Francisco to LA with my then-fiance and walked into the private room at the now-defunct Maple Drive restaurant in Beverly Hills. My newly-accepted engagement ring was still sparkly, I was quickly rising in the ranks of the high-profile ad agency where I worked, and I still had my pre-baby body. As I entered the room, I swept my youngest cousin (and future flower girl) into a hug and she quickly crawled into my lap, the place she would spend much of the rest of the evening. People came by to examine the ring and offer their congratulations. And the room was filled with a love and camaraderie that was palpable to everyone who was in it. The occasion was the 55th wedding anniversary of my great-aunt and great-uncle. My large extended family is unusually close (aunts and uncles are like extra parents, cousins are like siblings), and virtually all of us were in attendance to honor the matriarch and patriarch of our clan.

As was the trend in those days, a large screen was set up in the room after dinner and a slideshow of their entire life together slowly played out, set to music, for all to see. The honorees ooohed and aaahed at every moment. Each picture sparked a memory, inspired laughter, or evoked a tear. And while they had lived a very successful life, with an ocean-view house in Bel Air and a stable of luxury cars in the driveway to show for it, I was astonished to note that their fondest memories were of the time where they were just starting out and didn't have a dime to their name.

I remember commenting on that fact to my fiance, who said his grandparents were much the same way...remembering with perfect clarity the "good old days" when they lived in a one room apartment with 2 young children. Of course, on that night, I was still in my twenties, an overachiever to my core, with my eyes firmly set on my next big client win and the next bigger and cuter apartment. So the entire concept of being happier when I was poorer was just a complete anathema.

Nostalgia is a funny thing. As I've gotten older, I've come to realize that it's not so much that "the good old days" were so much better and so much simpler. It's merely that they are far enough in the past for you to amplify the good parts and gloss over the bad. And the challenges presented during that part of your life are ones that you have already overcome, so of course it seems easier than present day. It's like reading a book when you already know how it ends. There's no more suspense, but you discover aspects that you overlooked the first time around when you were worried about the next plot twist to come your way. When you take yourself out of the moment, and know that it will all work out in the end, everything seems so much better, and you remember to enjoy the ride.

Time marches on. You grow older. You succeed and you fail, often not realizing the difference between the two. Perspective changes. And former flower girls celebrate their 18th birthdays.

So now, as my kids roll their eyes when my husband and I talk about our first apartment together with undeserved affection (tiny, in a horrible neighborhood, with a homeless man who liked to bang a metal pipe against a fire hydrant outside our window each night at 3am), I understand that it's not that life back then was easier. It was that we survived it, learned from it, and are the better for having experienced it. I now have earned my very own "good old days."

Life throws curveballs, and it can be hard to keep your eye on the ball. But when things seem tough, just remember that, one day, you'll be looking back on this moment with an irrational fondness that is disproportionate to the actual events of the time. And that will make all the difference.

"A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery while on a detour." -Author Unknown

Happy Birthday Amy! This one was for you.
Love. You.

I have writer's block.

This is not a good thing. I'm supposed to be starting a new novel in 6 days, and I can't even think of something interesting to blog about?

I'm doomed.

So instead, I'm going to cheat and make this entry be a very small excerpt from my first novel instead. This selection comes from Chapter 3, and since you have no idea what has happened up to this point, or who any of these characters are, don't expect any of it to make sense. But I chose this particular selection, as I thought some of you may appreciate one of the references. :)

I perused the Metro section as the coffee percolated. There was a big charity gala happening tonight at the uber-fancy Presidio Hotel downtown, and the front page article contained speculation about the composition of the guest list.

I grabbed the phone again, and sat down on a stool at the kitchen counter. I dialed Marley’s number as I skimmed the article.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” she grumbled into the phone.

“Good morning to you too,” I said brightly.

“You know the rules. No calling me this early unless you’ve lost a limb in a freak bagel-slicing accident and need a ride to the ER.”

“No lost limbs.”

“Charlotte, unless you are sitting next to a cooler that contains your severed hand that is in urgent need of reattachment, I am hanging up and going back to sleep.”

“My god, it’s not that early. It’s 8:30 for chrissakes.”

“Trust me, 8:30 is early when you didn’t get home until 4am.”

“What on earth were you doing out at 4am? Oh wait. Never mind. I’m thinking that I don’t really want to know.”

“Don't give me that. Of course you want to know. I had a date with a coffee importer,” Marley sighed dreamily. “I think he’s The One!”

“Please. First of all, you don’t believe in The One. You always tell me it’s just a conspiracy by the cosmetics and jewelry industries to force us into the unnatural state of monogamy. And second of all, “coffee importer” is code for “mobster.” You do know that, right?”

“Pfft. Since when do you listen to me so closely? And besides I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“Since when?”

“Since I swore that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston would last forever, and that Angelina was just a midlife crisis.”

I shook my head in exasperation. “Don’t you even care why I called?” I demanded.

Marley sighed. “I suppose.”

“I just wanted to apologize for freaking out on you last night. I know now that I was acting ridiculously. No more twins separated at birth nonsense for me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You had me worried there.”

“No need to worry. I’m even heading back to work on Monday. I think some normalcy is exactly what the doctor ordered right about now.”

“Well, I’m not happy that you’re going back to the sweatshop, but I am glad that the bereavement period seems to be in the home stretch.”

“Yeah, I called Ainsely this morning and I…” I stopped in my tracks as a sentence from the newspaper article caught my eye.

Marley broke the sudden silence. “Char? Are you still there?”

“Hmm,” I replied thoughtfully, as an idea began to formulate in my mind. It was crazy, risky, and certain to end disastrously. In other words, it was right up Marley's alley.

“Have any plans tonight?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“Because you’re crashing a party with me."

So there you have it. Who knows, if the block continues, I may end up posting the entire thing here!

Dear Facebook:

Please stop redesigning your site every few weeks. I am a creature of habit and very easily confused.

Very truly yours,
Jessica

Things I did this weekend

In no particular order:

1. Got stung by a bee
2. Channelled Supernanny
3. Went to a party held at a $3 million house
4. Had fun with posterboard, glitter glue and foam letters
5. Hung out with Adam Sandler
6. Watched the Trojans win in South Bend, despite refs giving the Irish every opportunity
7. Finalized Halloween costumes for the entire family
8. Remembered where I was 20 years ago when the Earthquake hit
9. Cheered on the Yankees
10. Sent an attempt at an inspirational email to circle of novel writing buddies
11. Made new friends-- a plastic surgeon, a pediatric cardiologist, a photographer and an actress
12. Started planning party of my own
13. Thought I was going to the U2 concert (until plans changed, darn it)
14. Planned outing with friends to go to a book signing (author is a friend) and dinner on the Sunset Strip
15. Heard all about friend's new boyfriend who is (literally) a rock star

Whew. And I was wondering why I'm so exhausted today.

New Math for Old People

Last night I (along with 100 or so other parents) filed into our kids' school auditorium to learn all about the fancy new way they're teaching math to our kids.

Or, at least, learn who the smart parents are so we can send our kids to their houses for math homework help.

For the next 2 hours we sat at cafeteria style lunch tables, Number 2 pencils in hand, relearning math from Kindergarten through 6th Grade.

We all immediately reverted back to our grade school selves. Parent cliques saved seats for each other at "their tables." The smart asses stayed in the back and quietly heckled the fancy math consultant up in the front. The brown nosers raised their hands after each problem to explain to the group how they solved it. The cheaters used the calculators on their phones or copied off a friend's paper. And the jocks kept one eye on their phones to get regular updates from the Dodger playoff game that was happening at the same time.

If there is one thing I know about myself, it's that I hate math. Seriously. I was a liberal arts major for crying out loud. I can write a 40 page term paper on any subject without batting an eyelash, but put mathematical equations in front of me and I suffer an immediate mental block. The only way I learned fractions was from a novel I read in 3rd grade, which was (in part) about a girl my age who had trouble with fractions. Put it in a book and I'll remember it forever.

So needless to say, I was a little hesitant going in last night. And became even more so once I opened the booklet of math problems we were going to be tackling that evening.

In the end though, it wasn't scary at all. It was kinda fun to go back to school for a night with my circle of parent friends. And even more fun to find out that I was better at it than some parents that I don't like. :)

Now when are they going to come up with a new way to teach English Lit? Because I am all over a night of that. I want to be teacher's pet too!

If we're talking resolutions already, where's the champagne?

I learned an important lesson this week-- don't care so much what other people think.

I guess I should say I "relearned" it. It's certainly something that, in theory, I've known most of my life. And it's something that is usually the first thing a friend says to you when you are, in fact, caring entirely too much about what other people think.

I've been lucky enough in my life to have an amazing support system of people who love me. True friends are few and far between, and I am blessed with many. One gave me a great piece of advice this week: "why do you care about what people you don't like or respect think of you?"

She's right. I don't. Sorta. So I will attempt to turn off the "people-pleaser" part of my genetic make-up just long enough to internalize that lesson-- and hopefully not let my feelings get so easily hurt in the future.

So here's my first new year's resolution (about 11 weeks early)-- If something or someone doesn't enhance my life in some way, I'm not going to waste valuable energy on it. Life is too short, and I'm too busy.

Hopefully, I'll stick to it longer than my "get up in time for 6am bootcamp every morning" and "don't spend so much money on shoes" resolutions. I'm only so strong you know.

Everything I Need To Know, I've Learned From My Kids

This list was inspired by my daughter, who scored 3 goals in her soccer game today. When I told her how proud I was, she said "I just decided I was going to try my hardest, not get upset when things didn't go my way, and never, ever quit."

Smart kid, huh?

So here, without any further ado, are some of the life lessons I've leaned from my children:

1. Find excitement in the small things in life
2. Sometimes I'm totally wrong about whether or not an outfit goes together
3. There's nothing quite as yummy as a chocolate chip cookie
4. If someone looks interesting, ask if they want to play with you
5. If you don't understand something, don't be afraid to ask "why?"
6. Try new things. Often.
7. Don't hold grudges
8. Lizards are really, really cool
9. You really do feel better after throwing a tantrum
10. Tell the people important to you that you love them, every single day

My perfectly imperfect life

We all know that life can be challenging. I'm in a particularly crazy phase right now...it's the busiest time of the year for me at work, and various family, friend and home issues have come to a head recently. Nothing particularly terrible (certainly not compared to what other people deal with on a regular basis), just one of those "Calgon take me away" moments...but one that has lasted for weeks.

I am generally a very positive and happy person, but even I was starting to buckle under the pressure. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try (and how much we know better), the glass is half empty and the light at the end of the tunnel is just too far out of reach to properly see.

In the middle of a rant to some friends yesterday, I jokingly said "aren't you happy you're all here to watch my descent into a nervous breakdown?" To which a friend teased, "you're not allowed to have a breakdown...you're the stable one of our group. If you go, then there is no hope for the rest of us."

I laughed, but it did make me realize that part of my stress comes from feeling responsible for everything and everyone. I always want to be strong-- a good friend, a good mom, a good wife, a good person. No chinks in armor allowed. It's the problem of being a perfectionist in an imperfect world.

I think one of the biggest challenges in life is remembering to see (and appreciate) what is wonderful, as opposed to what isn't up to par. To be open to possibilities, and to see opportunity where others might see disappointment. To make the choice to not get caught up in inconsequentials and to be happy instead. I have a fantastic life, and I won't let it be derailed by sons who get in trouble for kissing girls in their class, fights with insurance companies over prescription coverage, billion dollar corporations who complain about a $155 invoice, or any of the rest of it.

So this is me. Choosing to be happy. Even if it kills me. :)

Blind date

I went on a blind date yesterday.

Or, I suppose, to be more accurate, I went on the "married person with small kids" version of a blind date: taking my child for a playdate at the house of a person I'd never met before.

This is much more stressful than it sounds, even for a chatterbox like me. 2 hours, making small talk with a complete stranger that I may not have anything in common with. Not to mention the added stress if worrying if my kid is going to cause some serious destruction to their home.

Note: if you think I'm kidding about the destruction part, remind me to tell the story of the time my son broke a floor lamp and ripped two trees out of a backyard during a playdate. We have not been invited back.

I've enjoyed the full range of experiences during these types of outings over the years. There was the time that I got along so well with the other mom that we immediately called our husbands to come join us at the park. Which then turned into lunch at a nearby restaurant. And then hanging out at their house. Followed by dinner. Basically your thirtysomething version of a Pub Crawl.

But then I've also had the flip side happen...nodding pleasantly as the other mom talks about something that's diametrically opposed to my worldview, or else lectures me about something she feels I'm doing wrong in my life, while I sneak texts to a friend begging for an immedate rescue.

Of course, most experiences fall somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. They wouldn't call it the Holy Grail of couple friends (a couple that both you and your husband like equally, on top of the kids getting along) if they were easy to find. And, on the other end of the spectrum, most people manage to keep their particular brand of crazy under wraps until you get to know them better.

Anyway, off I went yesterday, youngest child in tow, hoping that the time wouldn't pass too slowly. To my pleasant surprise the afternoon flew by. The boys had a blast, and I really liked both the parents. And, even more surprisingly, I was fairly certain my husband would like them too (he's a tough customer).

So now I wait the socially acceptable length of time before calling them to get together again (but not before asking a mutual friend what she heard about the playdate, and if they liked us too).

And here I thought the dating rules ended once I got married.

To the victor... goes the insanely yummy dessert.

Lunch debt paid in full to the winner of my 10 Truths and a Lie game.

Emphasis on the "full" part. The two of us not finishing dessert is unheard of!

Sniff.

Goodbye super secret celebrity crush. Or, I guess, not so super secret anymore. As a sign of my continuing devotion, I will cheer for Texas to win this weekend in your honor (*shudder*).

On the bright side though, that's 35 seconds less per week of GH that I need to watch.

The Neon Lights are Bright

I am a musical theater geek. And proud of it.

According to family legend, I used to sing the entire sountrack to The Music Man when I was three years old, and it only grew from there. I saw my first live musical when I was six-- my grandmother took me to see The King and I with Yul Brynner at the Pantages theater in Hollywood. I remember it like it was yesterday...wearing my favorite white taffetta dress and black patent leather shoes, clutching the show program tightly, imagining myself as Anna, and being completely transfixed as the story came to life in front of me. From that moment, the theater owned my soul.

As you know by now, up until I went to college, my dream was to sing on Broadway. For a variety of reasons, I gave up before ever really trying (unless singing On My Own while walking on West 44th street counts), but I've never stopped going to shows. From falling in love with Michael Crawford as he sang Music of the Night (leaving a theater of people holding their collective breath for a beat) to crying my eyes out as Lea Salonga's Kim sang her last note, the theater has given me some of the fondest memories of my life.

Last year, I experienced a "full circle" moment. My daughter, who has worn out our CD of the Wicked soundtrack, begged me if I could take her to see the show. I did the mom thing of worrying about if it would be too scary for her, and then wondering if a then-6-year-old could sit still for 3 hours without bothering the people around her. And then I remembered my 6-year-old self at The King and I, and decided to go for it. And as luck would have it, it was playing at the Pantages, the very same theater I went to with my grandmother all those years ago.

Just like I was back then, the daughter (sitting in her taffetta dress and black patent leather shoes) was transfixed. And after the final curtain call, she begged me to take her around to the stage door so she could meet the cast. And when she later asked if she could go see it again, at the final LA performance (on a school night), I didn't hesitate.

And just like that, another musical theater geek was born.

I am the coolest mom ever.

The daughter, hanging with Selena Gomez. And on a school night.

fear and loathing in los angeles

It's been one busy and tough week.

And no, I'm not just talking about college football. (apologizes again to husband and football friends for not watching game live when apparently they always lose afternoon road games following a big win when I don't watch. Who knew?)

It's been one of those weeks that totally kicks you in the ass...the ones that always seem to come along just when you think you've got things figured out and are on a fairly even keel.

Work drama, friend drama, school drama. It all converged in a perfect storm of sucktitude.

And not just for me. The daughter and her bff of 3 years "broke up" (to use their term) for an entire 12 hours last week. While I initially thought her terminology was cute, I realized that it's actually quite accurate. Female friendships are filled with just as much as angst, drama, conflict, love, trust and laughter as any romantic relationship.

We support each other, love each other, laugh at each other. And, as an added bonus, understand the zen achieved through a finding the perfect shoes for an outfit, or a particularly successful expedition to Target.

My cousin told me the other night that she broke up with her boyfriend because he didn't "get" her. I reminded her that my husband and I have been together for going on 2 decades now and we don't get each other most of the time. That's what I have my girlfriends for.

Happily, the week from hell all worked out in the end. For both me and the daughter. And now, I'm going to sit back, enjoy my Sunday, and study the lengthy list of things I did to "cause" yesterday's loss so that my husband will speak to me again.

Play Ball!

I am a sports fanatic, and have been for as long as I can remember. I grew up playing competitive soccer and tennis, but my real passion is watching sports.

Last night's nail-biting, come-from-behind victory over Ohio State by my beloved USC Trojans started me thinking about the crazy nature of being a sports fan. Our happiness and well-being literally depends on how our team is doing. And our shared passion and loyalty (and irrational dislike) binds us to complete strangers. There is nothing like 100,000 people in a stadium holding their collective breath.

Some of the most perfectly-recalled moments in my life are related to sports. There's the good (like the SF 49ers game-winning drive in Superbowl XXIII, Robert Horry's game winning shot against the Kings in the 2002 Western Conference Finals, or even Matt Leinert's amazing 4th and 9 pass against Notre Dame in 2005 to keep the National Championiship hopes alive). And then there's the bad (so painful I still can't watch the entire clips) like Kirk Gibson's walk off home run, or Ralph Sampson fluke shot beating the Lakers in 1986.

Just thinking about those moments brings me immediately back to where I was when they first happened.

There is nothing sweeter than opening day of your favorite sport. Disappointment is still a stranger and anything is possible. This is the nature of sport. And why I cheer for my teams, year after year.

So on this opening NFL weekend, I wish all of you a great season.

Unless, of course, your favorite teams are different than mine. In that case I wish you nothing but misery and heartache.

P.S. AND THE WINNER IS...I loved the great response to my little game from last time! I received many more guesses from friends and family via email. Good tries, all of you, but only one person guessed the correct answer, and gets the victor's glory. Such as it is.

The correct answer is (drumroll please)...

#6. I am NOT afraid of heights.

Well played mmw, well played. Our next lunch is on me.

10 Truths. And a Lie.

Ok, I felt like having a little fun with this entry, so here's a variation on an oldie but a goodie. Out of the following 11 statements, 10 are the truth, and only one is a lie. Any guesses?

1. At one point in our lives, Angelina Jolie and I were BFFs, and a photo of me even appeared in a national magazine profile of her family.

2. My husband went to high school with Steve Burton.

3. My favorite 3 television couples ever-- Buffy and Angel, Pacey and Joey, Sam and Diane.

4. I once worked at NBC News in Washington DC.

5. Once Oprah, Gayle, Michelle Obama and I chatted while getting our eyebrows waxed.

6. I am deathly afraid of heights.

7. I've been with my husband since I was 19 years old.

8. I'm a trained singer. In high school, I had aspirations of being on Broadway one day.

9. My son is named after a character in a John Hughes movie.

10. My grandmother was a Judge- the first woman to be the presiding justice in LA Superior Court.

11. I could live on hummus and pita bread. Seriously.

Okay, that's it. Like I said, only one is a lie. I'll reveal the answer in my next blog. :)

One more.

Because blogspot didn't like me trying to post 4 pics in one blog entry:

Me, age 10. Barrette courtesy of grade school BFF, Jenny Noah. We made a solemn blood oath to be friends forever, which we would never, ever break. No matter what.

Wonder what ever happened to her?

By request.

8 months old. The purple book in my hand is The Exorcist. Amazing I turned out as well as I did, isn't it?

23 months. A wise girl never leaves home without her trusty medical bag and favorite green purse. We're not going to discuss the coat. Especially because this was California. In April. Was it really necessary?

23 months old, again. Did I mention my parents were hippies? Apparently just a few days later The Ugly Coat of Toddlerhood (see above) was no longer needed.

Firsts

The first day of a new school year is always an interesting time. This year was particularly monumental because, as most of you who read my blog already know, my youngest started Kindergarten. He is officially in Big Kid school. With a backpack. And a desk. And a Big Kid Haircut that is much shorter than anything I would have ever allowed, and falls under the vast category of "Things My Husband Thinks Are Good Ideas and I Disagree."

He's been excited about the transition all summer. But yesterday the nerves set in. He suddenly realized his big sister would be in her own class, with her own friends, down the hall, and not within his easy reach. He started to worry about urban legends his preschool buddies were telling him about Kindergarten all summer, like how "they put you in time out for picking your nose." He asked me if his hero, a classmate of my daughter's and the son of a close friend, would be there to protect him from any mean kids. He made me promise to walk him into his class and not "just drop [him] off at the curb" (uh, has he met me?) As I kissed him good night, I could see his mind hard at work, analyzing all he potential outcomes of his first day.

As we walked toward the gate this morning, his hand clutched mine tightly, and he was silent as all the older kids chattered in excitement around him. When his sister ran off to meet up with her 2nd grade friends (one of whom was wearing a really killer pair of boots that I now totally want in my size), he didn't even make his usual attempts to make them include him too. He wasn't going anywhere one minute before he had to.

But then we walked into the classroom and he was transformed. He assumed the Big Kid mantle with aplomb, and squirmed away as we tried to kiss him goodbye. Before we had left the room, he had already been enveloped into the rhythm of the room and the fabric of his new life.

And I was the one with the tears.

Sunday fun

The agenda for today:

- take daughter to "hip hop" dancing birthday party. Assuage her concerns that she doesn't know how to do hip hop, and that she'll have fun anyway

- post-party lunch with friends

- go to local dance store mecca and purchase new ballet shoes and dance outfits for daughter

- clean up all the microscopic lego pieces that have seemingly multiplied on my living room floor, before I step on one again and teach the kids all kinds of colorful new curse words that they can't ever repeat in public

- stay indoors as much as possible to avoid triple digit heat and fire-induced horrific air quality

- start outlining my next novel (yep, I'm starting a new one, even as I wait for the first one to be published)

- enjoy awesome Sunday night tv, where I curse Big Brother's Jeff for being so stupid at this game, staunchly wave my Team Bill banner during True Blood, and cap it all off with a little Don Draper.

Happy Sunday!

Kodachrome

A friend recently sent me photos from her vacation. 238 of them, to be exact. And all I could think (aside from the fact that I don't want to look through 238 photos of anyone's vacation) is just how "unspecial" photos have become.

I'm old enough to remember when having photos of an event was a big deal. You had to wait days to get them back from developing and see how they turned out. Sharing meant getting double prints. You had no idea if you had anything worth keeping until you had the prints in your hand. And if you never took more than a 24-exposure roll of photos at any one event. I recently went through ONE of my childhood photos albums (trying to find baby pics for a certain taskmaster named Ida) that contained photos covering a 3 year span.

In contrast, I have albums of my kids that cover a single day. With enough undiscernably different photos that I could make my own stop motion film.

When my kids pretend to be parents during a game of make-believe, they always have a pretend camera or video camera in front of their faces. This is their constant view. A crowd of parents documenting every move they and their friends make.

My new school year resolution to is try and stop the insanity. I'm tired of seeing my kids' childhoods through a camera lens. I'm going to take fewer pictures of the moment and actually be in the moment instead.

In the immortal words of my uncle, when asked why he wasn't going to videotape my cousin's school play: "Because that's what memories are for."

Wish me luck...like all resolutions, I expect to break it by the 2nd week. iPhone pics don't count, right? :)

Happy Birthday-ed

Lessons and Insights Gleaned From This Weekend's Festivities:

1. Happiness is a little boy's first "taller than 40 inches" visit to Disneyland

2. Gossiping via text message with a friend makes the Space Mountain line go faster

3. A 10am party with school friends after a full day at Disney is a tad ambitious

4. Letting your child carry their newly-purchased double-sided light saber helps clear a path through post-parade Disneyland crowds

5. Just when you think you own every Star Wars themed toy there is, you are proven incorrect

6. Hero worship of friend's 8-year-old son leads to video game/pokemon obesession

7. Cold pizza at 10am is delicious

8. Just because people don't RSVP doesn't mean they won't show up anyway

9. Birthday cake can never have too much chocolate fudge

10. I am a lucky, lucky girl

Look What I Was Doing 5 Years Ago...

At one minute past midnight, my baby turns 5. Sniff.

Hope you all have a great weekend. We'll be off celebrating with Mickey and Minnie.

xoxo,

Jessica (who's suddenly feeling the urge to ignore Future Girl's prediction and have another baby since this one is all grown up)

p.s. THANK YOU all for reading, following and commenting! I love reading what you have to say, and am truly honored that anyone cares to read my ramblings. Love you all!

The Future's So Bright...

My daughter came home from camp today and announced that her new friend (another 7-year-old girl) is "super talented" because she's from the future and could tell her what was going to happen, just by staring into her eyes. Among the girl's predictions:

1. My daughter will have twins
2. I won't have any more children
3. My son will marry a girl named Isadora
4. My sister-in-law will have one more child, which will be a boy

Why can't Future Girl make herself useful and give me something I can work with, like some winning Lotto numbers? I mean, really.

My god, who let me wear that sweater in public?

Me, circa 1984. Found this photo as part of a work project (we're celebrating our 25th anniversary, so everyone is submitting photos of themselves from the year the company began).

What I've learned about the 1984 version of myself: I had an unhealthy attachment to legwarmers and purple pants. I also really, really loved my cabbage patch doll.

Mean Girls

I'm in mama bear mode this morning.

Some backstory: The daughter has been spending a lot of time this summer with a "friend." And, by extension, I've been spending a lot of time with this friend too. I have to say, I am stunned and appalled. I truly had no idea how toxic of a relationship this was for my kid.

It seems to be this little girl's goal to make my daughter feel as insecure and bad about herself as she does. And while the grown-up in me totally gets that, and feels sorry for her, the mama bear in me wants to go into attack mode and protect my cub.

The irony is this is supposedly her friend, not some random bully. But at 7 years old, this girl has already learned the passive aggressive girl crappy behavior. She's threatened by my daughter's self-confidence and independence, so she starts to chip away at her the only way she knows how.

I can see it happening and I feel powerless to stop it. My daughter, never one to lack confidence is now afraid to wear a favorite shirt because she thinks her "friend" will laugh at her and say it's babyish. I remind my daughter every day how fabulous and wonderful and special she is, and not to let anyone ever make her doubt that. But it's hard. Especially when it's a lesson I'm still trying to learn myself.

A friend recently told me that I'm a "people pleaser" and it's definitely true. I don't like to cause a scene. I don't like drama, and I want to be liked. But that means I have let people walk all over me. I have remained in "friendships" for years that weren't good for me, all in the name of not wanting to hurt the other person's feelings. Kindness can be twisted into weakness.

One benefit of age is that you become more comfortable in your own skin. I've started to realize that I don't need everyone to like me. All I care about is if the people I like like me. And if a relationship isn't working for me, I don't have to maintain it. There's no scorecard being kept. A friend is someone who makes you feel good and enhances your life; not someone who fills you with doubt.

I know my daughter will learn these lessons too. I just hope she's a quicker study than I was.

And Now Back to our Regularly Scheduled Programming

I'm a happy girl.

No, not because my kids are behaving (for the moment). Or because I've managed to make some major headway on the to-do lists.

I'm positively giddy with excitement because 2 of my favorite shows are starting new seasons. Mad Men (best show ever, and not just because I work in advertising) Season 3 starts tonight. And Project Runway finally gets out of legal hell to start a new season on Thursday. I'm beside myself.

Sure, it may be considered gauche in many circles to care about television, but I couldn't care less. I'm a Gen X girl through and through, raised on Sesame Street and The Electric Company. I love my shows. I practically need an Excel spreadsheet to coordinate my DVR's daily schedule. Tonight is no exception-- we're recording Mad Men, Big Brother, True Blood AND Entourage.

Of course, finding the time to actually watch everything I've recorded presents its own sets of problems. It's even caused me to finally give up on certain shows altogether. I figure if there are more than 2 episodes waiting for me (and it feels more like homework than something I really want to do) it's time to cut the cord.

I'm not a TV snob either. When I was on maternity leave after my daughter was born, I became addicted to Full House reruns and Judge Judy. I love watching House Hunters and trying to figure out which one they're going to buy. My reality show card is full, with American Idol, SYTYCD, Big Brother, Project Runway and The Real Housewives as my must-sees. I love the soapy drama on Grey's Anatomy and Lost. And of course my "critically-acclaimed" cable shows round out the schedule.

I even take it one step further. I buy the DVD sets of my all-time favorite shows so that I can watch them over and over. Of course, I don't, but the fact that I could if I wanted to is all that matters. And now I'm having the fun of watching my daughter discover some of the shows that I used to love.

TV helps create the fabric of our national conversation. It gives us shared experiences and memories; a touchstone for our lives. It can bring us all together. Not bad for a medium that has had almost everyone writing its obituary lately.

Whee! And now if you will excuse me, I have a date with Don Draper in only 8 1/2 hours.

The Bucket List

Things I still want to do:

1. walk on the Great Wall of China
2. finish a conversation without a child interrupting me
3. sing on Broadway
4. Take a shower without a child interrupting me
5. visit the pyramids
6. get dressed without a child interrupting me
7. figure out a way to make lots of money without working so hard
8. write an email without a child interrupting me
9. make a lasting contribution to the world
10. make a meal that both children eat (yes, without them interrupting me!)

As I've gotten older, my dreams have changed. As my friends and I approach "milestone birthdays" we've learned to appreciate the joy in what is, rather than the longing over what isn't. The lofty goals of my youth have evolved into the often unexpected joys of my present. I may never be President (much to the chagrin of a daughter who idolizes Sasha and Malia), but I get to be the recipient of a wildflower picked by my son. I get to revel in the feel of a sticky hand grabbing mine tight, or an unexpected hug of my legs from behind. My life is rich.

Of course I still have goals and things I want to experience. But at the end of the day, being loved and needed by the people I love and need is really the most I could ever ask for.

That, and hair that doesn't frizz. C'mon, I'm not made of stone people.

Friday Night Fun

Last Friday, I went out for a very enjoyable and much-needed Girls Night Out. I don't know what it is about spending time with friends over cocktails that makes all the stresses of everyday life simply melt away, but I'm a big believer in them and they are a regular component of my social calendar.

This particular evening, the subject of our children came up. You see, I had just finished an especially challenging week with the daughter, who was suddenly acting more like she was 17 rather than 7. There was a lot of "everyone else got to do it!" and "that's so unfair!" And then, my personal favorite, "you're the meanest mom in the entire world!" Ouch.

In talking with my girlfriends, I was pleased to discover that we were all going through a similar phase with our kids, and my child wasn't the only one on brattiness overload. We shared war stories and traded tips. And leaning on "my village" made me feel invigorated and a little more able to suffer the slings and arrows another day.

Of course, I also must admit to playing a little dirty. The next day, I took the recommendation of a close friend and showed my daughter the movie Annie. She loved it...but now has a new appreciation for the fact she even has parents to complain about. I expect her revelation to last all of another day or so.

These days, I'll take what I can get.

I'm not the perfect mom, but I'm also fairly certain that I'm not the worst or the meanest one either. I need to learn not to assign self worth based on the whims of a 7 year old who is starting to discover that the approval of her friends means more to her than the approval of her parents.

And until then, there's always martinis and girlfriends to soften the blow.

Lots and lots of martinis.

And They Lived Happily Ever After

I have a confession to make.

At times, I can be a little too critical of my husband.

*Waits for the gasps of shock and horror to die down.*

It's not entirely my fault though. He often does things that I just can't understand. Like letting our 4-year-old son eat a bag of potato chips, off the floor, 10 minutes before dinner while watching Spongebob. Or take our daughter to a birthday party but forget to bring the beautifully wrapped gift I left for them to take along. Or going to the store to buy some milk, only to come home with 4 bags of groceries that contain everything except milk.

But last night he earned his keep. I was lying on the couch, watching SYTYCD, when all of a sudden out of the corner of my eye I see a black something the size of a child's hand MOVE RIGHT BY MY HEAD!

I am a total girl, so I immediately jump up screaming, scaring my cat and causing my neighbors to think Mary Murphy had suddenly stopped by.

The husband? Totally unphased. He looks over calmly and says, "oh, look at that huge cricket that got in here somehow." And then he PICKS IT UP WITH HIS HAND and escorts it outside while I'm still a trembling mess who refuses to go sit back down on the couch.

My hero. *Sigh*

So the next time he gives our son a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup for lunch, I will remember that we each bring different skillsets to our union. I handle schedules, logistics, shopping, lunches, transportation and pretty much everything else, while he gets rid of bugs.

I'm thinking I'm getting the better end of the deal.

Parenthood, Melnick-Style

It's 7:30 on a Monday night. Your daughter informs you that it's "Dress Like an Alien" day at camp tomorrow and wants to know what she can wear. What do you do?

If you're my parents, you laugh and say "good luck with that" and go back to reading your book.

If you're me, you make an impromptu trip to the 99 cent store (where everything is actually $1.59) and see what you can cobble together at the last minute.

I do this because I have an illness called "Give Your Kid the Perfect Childhood Syndrome." It leads to participation in a wide array of classes and teams, perfectly planned birthday parties and a playroom that could double as a Toys R Us annex. It also causes me to yell things like "we're here to have fun, dammit" during family vacations in Hawaii.

So this is why I find myself scouring the aisles at my local discount shopping mecca 15 minutes before it closes. A Muzak version of the Gone With The Wind soundtrack is blaring as I contemplate what can be made from sponges and popsicle sticks. It reminds me of that scene in Apollo 13 where the NASA team on the ground needs to bring the astronauts home safely with toothpicks and aluminum foil.

I silently curse myself for not being one of "those moms" with a craft cabinet that is perfectly stocked at all times. But then I remember that I'm not in the least bit crafty, so it's not like I would know what to do with any of that stuff, even if I had it.

Eventually I settle on a glow-in-the-dark headband, some pipecleaners, wire and some shiny green balls and hope they can transform themselves into acceptably alien-like headgear before 8am tomorrow morning. God forbid my child be "the only one" not appropriately dressed.

My kids have no idea how good they have it.

I know, I know, she should toughen up. We all survived the battlescars from our childhood and are none the worse for wear, isn't that what "they" always say? Of course given some of the things my friends and I remember from our own childhoods, I'm not entirely sure how true that is.

Things will be different for my kids. Their childhoods will as perfect as I can make them.

Whether they like it or not.

And So It Goes

It's been an eventful week in the "let's get a book published extravaganza" that I like to call the last 8 months of my life. And by eventful, I mean we've made the first real significant push to get my manuscript out there in front of the people who can make it happen.

Honestly, it's been crazy. I have no idea how people do this for a living. My ego is entirely too fragile. It doesn't help that I read more into a 1 sentence rejection email that was ever intended. In my head, "While your project is interesting, it's not right for us at this time" translates to "you suck, please never write again, oh and by the way, you don't deserve to live."

What can I say? I tend to overdramatize.

But I've also had a couple of real successes-- the kind that inspire thousands of daydreams. Some very successful people in the biz (I can't say who, but don't worry, you wouldn't know who they are anyway) have liked what they've seen enough to want to read more-- and to read it exclusively! When I found out, I was so excited that I immediately left a rambling message for the husband who said "that's fantastic! But what does all of that mean?"

Ah yes, the million dollar question. Truth is, who knows? Quite probably it's not going anywhere. And if I feel like if I want it too much, I'm destined to fail. But in the interim, I cheer myself with part of an email/pep talk that I received last night from a writer friend:

"You have someone great who wants to read your book. There's no failure in that. You have gone from aspiring to writer and that is pure success."

Pretty stuff, right? That's why she's the writer.

This business is filled with rejection, and even the greatest authors of our time weren't spared. My new form of entertainment is reading some of the downright brutal rejection letters that some of our most famous authors received. There is something extremely satisfying to see that Hemingway, Orwell and Rand all were subject to far harsher criticism than anyone would get today. At least no one has told me that I'm beyond psychiatric help, or will set publishing back 25 years. Yet.

In any event, I'm taking it all as it comes...attempting to enjoy the ride even though roller coasters have never been my favorite. Think good thoughts for me! If anything happens, you'll be the first to know.

Right after I'm done passing out from the shock. :)

You Want the Truth? You Can't Handle the Truth!

Blogging is a strange thing, particularly when you realize that people are actually reading what you write. I love all my "followers" (even if the term makes me feel like Jim Jones or L. Ron Hubbard), and the comments are so much fun to read. But I often forget that it's not just the 15 of us in a virtual room, having a conversation. Or, to be more accurate, the 15 of us in a room where I do all the talking and only every so often let one of you get a word in edgewise. Recently, I've been equally delighted and horrified to discover that my blog is also being read by co-workers (and their parents), clients, friends, family, editors and agents. Which, while certainly part of the original idea, definitely makes it harder at times to know what (and how) to write.

Over the past few months, I have transitioned from the art of writing into the business of publishing. Like with any new venture, the learning curve is steep. There are so many steps from a finishished manuscript to a book on the shelf at Barnes & Noble, and I'm just trying to take each one as it comes. One of the things that I've recently learned is that publishers are looking for authors that they think will sell at least 200,000 copies. And how you get there (unless each of you are committed to helping a girl out and buying 13,000 copies apiece) is by "building your brand."

This should be easy for me, right? Branding and advertising is what I do for a living. If I can tell Fortune 50 clients how to talk about themselves, how hard is it for little old me?

Surprisingly difficult.

My boss has a great sign in his office with a saying written in latin that translates to "what it lacks in truth, it makes up for in style." While that is certainly the Mad Men view of my profession, all marketing professionals worth their salt will tell you that a brand not fully grounded in the truth won't resonate with its intended audience.

But I can't be entirely truthful here. Like telling you about what I actually did on a day when I called in sick. Or about the "friend" I only pretend to like, but in reality I can't deal with her drama anymore. Or anything specific about my work at all. Whenever I write a new blog, I always have to be mindful that my worlds are colliding.

So here is my truth. I'm a Type-A control freak with a need to make to-do lists every day. I have a pathological fear of being late, to the point of always showing up everywhere 15 minutes early. I would do absolutely anything for the people I love. I'm scared of lighting matches. I have a photographic memory, but am terrible with names (unless you wear a nametag when I meet you). And I firmly believe the world would be a better place if everyone took 15 minutes a day and just danced.

That is me. Or, at least, the part of me I am willing to share in this forum. And if you think that you would like to read a book written by someone like me, keep reading and commenting.

And if it'll cause you to want to buy a few extra copies, I'll even add a tortured but incredibly romantic vampire character to it and have him fall in love with a character named after you.

Seems Like Old Times

This past weekend was one for the record books. Not because of the number of people we entertained in our home, or because of how many Rainbow Magic books my daughter read to me, or even because I managed to convince my son that if he likes eggs and cheese separately, he would also like them mixed together. No, this weekend will be one that I remember because I went to see two movies in the theater.

You have to understand, this is unheard of in our household. At least during the past 7 1/2 years. Once you have kids, going to the movies is a rare treat...not the least of which is because of the small fortune I have to pay my 15-year-old neighbor to babysit. By the time you add in dinner, parking, and the cost of the actual tickets I could have taken a small vacation instead.

But go to the movies I did. First up was a date night with the husband to see 500 Days of Summer, which was a fantastic story about a relationship. It was sweet, smart and hysterically funny, and made me feel a little bit like a dirty old lady for...um...admiring the the lead actor in the film, whom I remember from his child star days. A major theme of the film was how perception can cloud reality, which particularly resonated with me since that is also the key theme of my book.

Next up was a girlfriend date to see a free screening of Julie and Julia (helps to have friends in high places). The husband was happy to see me go-- a movie about finding yourself through cooking is not exactly high up on his must-see list. As for me, well, you can only imagine how I reacted to a movie about blogging and getting a book deal. Let's just say I had a few over-identification issues with the main characters at times (as well as shared a squeal of delight with my friend over the blogspot product placement). And in a weird case of stars aligning, on the ride home, I got an interesting call from the agent that I'm still processing and will be a subject for another blog.

In any event, my cinematic weekend has left me refreshed and inspired. I'm feeling that same rush of exhilaration that I did when I first began writing. I'm looking at my manuscript with fresh eyes and a renewed sense of purpose. I am writer, watch me spellcheck.

All that, and I got to have popcorn too.

My Top 10 Ways to Boost Self Esteem

1. Don't take photos standing next to size 2 friends who used to be models

2. Spend lots of time with my 4-year-old son, who thinks I'm the "bestest thing in the universe"

3. Remind myself regularly that recently attitudinally-challenged 7-year-old daughter is just in a phase (one that should only last 10 more years), and in no way reflects my parenting skills

4. Read complimentary emails from people who have read my book, thank them for their kind words and then brazenly fish for more praise

5. Go on Twitter for some celebrity updates and remember that money and fame do not necessarily make someone interesting and worth knowing

6. Marvel at Facebook email from long-lost friend saying he spent the last 20 years trying to find me because our friendship was the highlight of his teenage years (I know, right? So having that one framed)

7. Watch NYC Prep and pat self on back for not raising kids like those

8. Re-read complimentary emails from client saying what great work we presented to them yesterday

9. Take a moment to breathe...and then appreciate a life filled to the brim with the love of (and for) family and friends

1. Don't take photos standing next to size 2 friends who used to be models (can't be said enough)

Modern Times (or hey, look at that bright shiny thing!)

I swear that I used to have a good attention span. You could actually have a conversation with me and, not only would I be giving you my complete and undivided attention, I would remember what we spoke about the next day.

All of that has changed. Sure, a large part of that is due to becoming a mom and all of the demands on my time. But the real culprit? My iPhone. I think psychiatrists should research my new disorder-- adult-onset ADD via iPhone. I literally can't just sit still. If there is any moment where I'm not actively doing something that requires my complete attention, I'm checking my phone. I'm texting (my 15-year-old babysitter taught me how). I'm checking Twitter (hey, I need real-time updates of John Mayer's trip to In and Out). I'm updating my Facebook status (people need to know how I'm doing in Bejeweled). I'm looking at photos. I'm checking my 3 different email accounts (yes 3. Work, Personal and the one all of the crap I never read goes to).

And I'm even (gasp) breaking the law to do this. Me. The person who has never so much as jaywalked, has been driven to a life of crime because of the iPhone. Don't tell anyone, but I admit that sometimes...okay lots of times...I will check it while sitting in endless LA traffic. It's not my fault though. Did you know the iPhone has this great app where you can check which freeways are clear (which, as any Angeleno will tell you is actually a trick question because the freeways are never clear)?

I know I'm not the only one. I spent a lot of time with friends last weekend where we were sitting next to each other, not talking, because everyone was looking at their phones. At one point, my friend sitting next to me actually texted me. The sad part? I texted her back.

I need a 12 step program. But I've taken the first step-- admitting I have a problem. Now I just need some help with the rest.

Hey, I wonder if there's an iPhone app for that?

That's What Friends Are For

I read an article a few months ago that said the number of friends that we have at any given time remains constant throughout our lifetime. Sure, there are the core group of people that stick with you from the time you're 2-years-old and wearing matching Wonder Woman bathing suits (waves at Emily), but the rest of your friendship mix is constantly evolving as your life and circumstances change.

I definitely think that's true, and never has it become more evident than with the advent of social networking websites. I like to describe Facebook as the place on my computer where everyone I've ever met lives. My friend list is an eclectic mix of childhood buddies, college roommates, former work colleagues, mommy friends and others I've picked up along the way. And even though they're all there in one convenient location, I still find that the number of them that I actually interact with on any regular basis remains about the same.

I've been so fortunate in my life to meet some amazing people who are incredibly important to me. My closest friends have blessed my life in countless ways, and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for any of them. Including spending an 18-hour day in the Valley in the middle of a heat wave, or spending my hard-earned vacations in a tiny town in Pennsylvania, or offering my free babysitting services at a moment's notice.

I've been teased recently that I write too much on these things, so I'm going to leave it at this-- thank you to all of you who have touched my life...whether it be encouraging me to write my novel, reading this blog, bringing me dinners for 2 months straight after my son was born, or just being there for me whenever I need you. I love you all.

And keep being nice to me if you want to make the next cut. I take bribes.

Too Much Time on My Hands

Without a doubt, the number one question my friends have asked me since I began writing is, "how on earth do you have the time?"

The short answer is that I really don't. I work full-time, in a very demanding profession. I have two small children that I seem to always be carting around from one place to another. I have a husband I've been married to for 10 years (together for 16) and we like to try to squeeze in some time together that isn't with an episode of Big Brother playing in the background. I'm also lucky to have a big extended family that always seems to be gathering for some reason or another. And I have a circle of great friends (the family I chose, rather than the one I was born to) who are very important to me. It can all be a little overwhelming at times to find the balance.

The running joke with my friends is that trying to make plans with me is the same as scheduling a dentist appointment-- you have to get on my calendar a couple months in advance, unless I have a last minute cancellation. Sad, but true. But during a typical weekend, I'm lucky to be able to sit still for 10 minutes. I'm always running from this lesson to that playdate, followed by a birthday party, only to rush home in time for the babysitter so I can head out for an evening with friends who scheduled something with us last September.

And yet, time is a funny thing. There never seems to be enough of it, it's true. But it also seems to expand. The less time I have, the more I can accomplish. As anyone who's ever stayed up all night to write a term paper knows, amazing things can happen when you're up against a deadline. The last minute is where greatness is born. Or at least where "good enough" resides.

I don't have a special secret. We all seem to figure out a way to make everything happen that needs to. Moms are amazing beings with an incredible capacity for multi-tasking. We can simultaneously have a conversation with our friends, watch out of the corner of our eye to make sure no one is running with scissors, know when it's wacky hair day at school so our child isn't the only loser kid who forgot, remember all of our kids' friends' allergies, know when it's time to schedule the next check-ups and think 10 steps in advance about food and public bathroom options whenever venturing out in public with them.

It's about priorities and balance. And lots and lots of caffeine.

Hey! Who put the blueberries in the blueberry muffins?

The scene in our house at breakfast this morning:

Me: Would you like a blueberry muffin?

The 4-Year-Old Son: Oh yes, mommy! Thank you so much! I love blueberry muffins!

I give him a muffin and some juice, rush back into the bathroom to attempt to make myself presentable for work in the exactly 13 minutes I have until we have to leave. Or 17 minutes if I don't obey posted speed limits. Suddenly, I hear my son sobbing hysterically. I rush into the dining room, convinced that my mommy negligence has somehow led to him bleeding or with a broken bone. But instead, I find him sitting at the table, staring morosely at the muffin he had just moments earlier so enthusiastically requested.

Me: What's wrong?

The 4-Year-Old Son: (who at this point has stopped crying and is giving me an accusatory glare) I didn't know blueberry muffins have BLUEBERRIES in them! I hate blueberries!

---

Just goes to show that we shouldn't take anything for granted. Things that seem obvious to us may not be to others. The shortest distance between 2 points may be a straight line, but not everyone thinks linearly. We should never make assumptions about anything in life.

And as my day went on, that lesson hit home with a resounding clarity. I received the sad news that a friend's father passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer. And then, just moments later, I got word from The Best Uncle In the World that his cancer was officially in remission. Just like that, two sides of the same ugly coin made the fragile nature of life suddenly and startlingly real.

My biggest hurdle when writing my manuscript was actually taking the time to slow down and understand the whys. Leaps of logic that made perfect sense to me in my head needed to be slowed down, dissected, explained. At first it was frustrating. I just wanted to hurry up and get to the new plot twist I was so excited about. Again, shortest distance between 2 points.

But then I realized that writing about the moments is the fun part. It's the in-betweens that make life worthwhile. The small, seemingly obvious parts of life that really aren't so obvious once you really dive in and take a closer look.

Life is hectic. I feel like I've blinked and my children stopped being babies. And that only moments ago I was a child myself. It all goes so incredibly fast.

Which is why I'm going to try and make sure that I always take the time to stop and smell the blueberries.