Judging a Bookshelf

Do you remember when you used to be able to go over to someone's place and look through their music collection? Remember when you could comment on their DVDs or the get a glimpse into their souls by looking at a bookshelf? I loved what I could learn about someone by looking at the books they owned. It never felt intrusive to run a finger across book spines the way it would to browse another person's iTunes library.

I'm staying at an airbnb for the first time. The concept of handing one's keys over to a stranger is an odd one to me. I'm not sure I could do it. I'd want to remove every personal artifact on the premises.

It is kind of fun to try to paint a picture of the person who lives here from what is left. Picking up clues like a crime scene investigator. From what I can tell the guy who owns this place is a recovering alcoholic who attends Burning Man. I'd say he stopped drinking some time in the last five years. I think it was a major life change after a particularly bad breakup. I think he's somewhat traditional but considers himself adventurous. This is what I gleam from bookshelves around the murphy bed I am sleeping in.

It really is way more fun to stay in an apartment then it is to be in a hotel. You get to soak up the life of another city from the perspective of a local. And what a great neighborhood this is. I can get Chinese, Vietnamese, Mexican, Italian, French or classic American within steps from my front door.

I haven't spent much time in San Francisco before but I think I'm falling in love with it. Of course, the irony is I could never actually afford to live in this neighborhood. But one can pretend can't they?

Hold on Tight

Em likes to dance on the coffee table. She's a free spirit hard to contain. She's got moves. But her latest move isn't to the music as much as when she's done with the dance. She slides to the edge of the table and reaches out her tiny hands and takes my finger. She doesn't need the help to get down, but she wants it and I love it. The first time your kid reaches up and wants to hold your hand is amazing. The second that tiny hand wraps around your index finger you suddenly get a glimpse into the future. This is the first time they want your help navigating the world and then there will be a point in time when that isn't the case anymore. A time when they will want to dance on the coffee tables of the universe without your help. You won't even be there and they won't call to tell you about it and maybe years later when the statue of limitations has ended you will hear the epic stories. But for now, they want to hold your hand - so you gladly lend it and enjoy it while it lasts.

Remember 15?

I just read a coming of age script about a teenage girl in the 70s. I piled a bunch of pillows on my office rug and sprawled out with my laptop, a cup of coffee and a giant chocolate chip cookie, as if it was my bedroom. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do. It brought me back to be being fifteen.

Do you remember 15? Feeling everything so intensely. I remember dating inappropriate boys and hiding them from my parents. Annoying little sisters. Writing zines. Feeling really alone and also under a microscope all at the same time. I can picture my bedroom - the collage / shrine to Kurt Cobain.

I wonder what Em will be like when she's 15. Will she hate me? I guess that's partially inevitable right? Don't all daughters hate their moms at some point? Will she tell me what's going on in her life or will I have the urge to snoop? What will she look like? What will she be in to?

I think my mom and I are so different even now, but at fifteen I couldn't see any resemblance. Will I see it in her?

Are you the best?

There was a poll on BabyCenter today that asked the question: "Do you consider yourself the best parent you know?" Sixty-eight percent said no. For me parenting is a little like being bipolar. There is the side of me that secretly judges other parents and feels morally superior and the other side of me that is crippled by self-doubt. But judging by these poll results, I think that's probably a pretty common problem. A friend of mine is a SAHM. Her daughter was fully potty-trained by 2 1/2, knows sign language and is super verbal. My friend made all her daughter's food from scratch, buys only educational toys, is religious about daily story time and used to cut out pictures of babies from magazines and make collages to show her daughter. I don't fully understand the point of the last one, but I'm sure it helps assist something developmentally desirable. I know I will never be that mom. I look up at her on the pedestal I've put her on and think she's the perfect mom in so many ways. Some people might say - overbearing helicopter mom - but her daughter is one of the most well-adjusted polite, funny, smart kids I know. As much as part of me wishes I could be that, a larger part of me is exhausted even thinking about it. She gave me her baby cookbook when she was done with it. I've flipped through it a few times and looked at the pretty pictures. I have another friend who is overwhelming burdened by her working mom guilt. The kind that makes it hard to see the forest from the trees. She leaves the house before her kids wake up and she's home after they go to sleep. Her mommy-daughter quality time takes place in the wee hours of the morning while breastfeeding. But she's also a really good mom. Her kids are smart, polite and adorable. She taught her son two languages even though she was the only parent in the house who spoke one of them. We all have to learn to make it work for our own circumstances. For me, I feel lucky that I get one day home alone with my daughter every week. But I also feel guilty when sometimes I just want her to nap so I can watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians. I think I'm a good mom. But I don't think I'm the best. There are some things I would change, but there are also things I just know I will never do so I don't bother stressing about them (too much). Mainly, I want what we all want - to not hand down too many neuroses and inflict psychological damage that results in years of future therapy.

In Honor of My High School Boyfriend

As a teenager I hung out with some pyromaniacs. Maybe that's why "Dead Man's Lake" appeals to me. Firework obsessed teenagers in Metallica t-shirts are something I know a little bit about. I personally never lit off more than a roman candle and (one time) an M-80, but I was around enough to realize the fact that we still have all our fingers has more to do with luck than smarts.

In honor of stupid teenagers everywhere here is a horror film that could easily also work as a public service announcement.

"Dead Man's Lake" - Short Horror Film (Bloody Cuts) from BloodyCuts.co.uk on Vimeo.

Now That's a Father That Loves His Kid

With Fall in the air (finally) and Halloween just around the corner, it seems only fitting to share a short film that fits the spooky spirit of the season while also showcasing the intense feelings of parenthood. It's an emotional film about a father trying to protect his child. It's odd to say I was really touched by this zombie film, but I was.

Cargo from Daniel Foeldes on Vimeo.

Fall is in the Air

Fall has always been my favorite season. There are so many changes to look forward to - cool, crispness of the air, changing leaves, seasonal drinks at Starbucks. One of my favorite Fall traditions is apple picking. Growing up my family always made an annual pilgrimage upstate to pick apples and pumpkins. I've tried to go every time I am back East during the Fall and it's something I really missed living in Los Angeles. Until now. I've done the local pumpkin picking thing here, but it's not the same. Driving 45 minutes to pick up a pumpkin that clearly didn't grow there while wearing a tank top just doesn't capture the same spirit from my childhood trips. That's why I was really excited to realize this year that there are great orchards just a little over an hour away.

So on Saturday we packed up the car and ironically headed towards the desert (and eventually up into the mountains) to pick some apples. Oak Glen has all the best parts I remember from apple picking with my family - and then ten times more. The orchards are so close together you can walk from one place to another without having to drive. Hay rides, petting zoos, general stores, apple donuts, press your own cider, throw a tomahawk, pick a pumpkin, pick some berries - it's amazing!

I wasn't sure how Em would like it, but turns out she was totally into the idea. It probably didn't hurt that sorting is one of her favorite activities right now. What's better than sitting in an orchard with bags and bags of apples that you can move from one bag to the next. It was toddler paradise. And definitely a new family tradition.

What is Home?

The New York Times did a wonderful photo series called My Hometown made up of photographs taken by teenagers of their communities. There are a lot of really great photos and it's worth taking a look at all of them. It's interesting to browse them as a whole because it shows how while our life experiences can be so different, there is also something so universal about the human experience. Even though it's not the most beautiful of the shots, this one really got me for some reason. I think it's because it shows how much as parents we want to shelter our kids from pain - even if it's just the disappointment of losing a game. There is so much said on that father's face.

What Happened to Farmer Joe?

In my house we talk about the disappearance of Farmer Joe as if an actual family member has mysteriously disappeared. Farmer Joe is a Little Person - of the Fisher Price clan. We're not exactly sure what did Farmer Joe in. There's still a chance he's just in hiding (and who would blame him). He could be under a bed or behind a bookshelf. Who's to say really. But given what I know has gone down with a few of his friends, I'm not optimistic about his return.

When toys disappear, especially toys with faces, I can't help but think of Toy Story. How awful would it be to a child's toy! Sure there are adventures and hugs, but not every toy gets to be Woody. Toddlers love to send their toys on walkabouts. Often, those toys don't come back.

Em has been shaking down the toy community for a while now. First there were the dinosaur magnets. Originally collected from cereal boxes, they've been living a fairly peaceful existence on the fridge for the last six years. But now it seems two of those dinosaurs have become extinct. This morning I rescued another from near extinction after he went for a flight off our second floor balcony.

Emily has discovered the garbage can and I have discovered that it's become my job to check that can every 20 minutes to see if anyone has been dumped like a dead body in a land fill.  I've discovered plastic farm hay, animals and rings, but I fear Farmer Joe was dumped before I was aware any of this was happening. I fear his will become a cold case, never to be solved.

Happy Birthday Em!

Em turned one year old this weekend. It's amazing how that year flew by. She's already a little person with a mind of her own.

Because nothing every goes smoothly, the day started off a little rocky. My husband went straight into drill sergeant mode - barking orders at everyone on how to most efficiently get out of the house and over to the park before any of our guests. Preparations involved three trips to Whole Foods, a stop at Sprinkles cupcakes and several trips to the car to load supplies.

Thankfully the spot we wanted at the Old Zoo was totally open or I think he would have seriously lost his shit. He was pretty close to it for the first hour. Especially after he accidentally dropped a bottle of glass lemonade causing us to be swarmed by wasps. Thankfully guests arrived fashionably late and everyone was relaxed and happy for the rest of the day.

I really wasn't sure how to celebrate a one year-old's birthday. After all she's never had a birthday and has no clue what it is. In the end we decided to keep it really small, mostly family in the park for a picnic. 'Cause really first birthdays are all about the first taste of cake.

We went with cupcakes. Sprinkles made a special cupcake for the royal baby, so it seemed appropriate that this should be the cupcake of choice for our little princess. Chocolate cupcake with a marshmallow center (in either pink or blue).

Em loved  every bite (actually except for the pink marshmallow) which she threw under the table to be eaten by a random pug that wandered by as the party was wrapping up.

She was super excited when everyone sang Happy Birthday to her and in typical fashion her favorite gift was a bag full of tissue paper.

With smiles like that, I would say the party was a success. 

One of These Things Isn't Always Like the Other

Sometimes knowing you are going through the same thing as someone else can be helpful. Being a parent struggling with sleep schedules or temper tantrums, it can be nice to hear other people have dealt with the same thing. You aren't alone and if your friend or family member survived it than maybe there is hope for you as well.

When two kids in the same extended family are close in age it is inevitable that they get compared. When they are born six days apart, it can sometimes feel like they are twins. I have cousins very close in age and I loved it growing up. It's awesome to always have a partner in crime at family functions. But not everything about it is great.

I know that two babies the same age hit developmental milestones around the same time. But constantly hearing how Em is just like another kid diminishes my experience of these moments. Sure there are millions of 11 month olds around the world who are just discovering categories exist and that they can put objects in a bucket. But when my kid does it for the first time I want to feel like it's the most amazing, special thing in the world. I'm a first time parent. I've never gotten to experience this up close before. I want to be blown away by her first step. I don't want to be reminded that it's not all that special by hearing about how someone else's kid is doing the exact same thing.

I know the comparisons are not meant that way. I know they are meant as a joyous celebration of unity. And I'm not trying to say that I don't want to hear about my nieces and nephews. Cause I do. I want to hear about all the things that make them the unique human beings that they are. Likewise, there is only one Em in the world. She's unique and special in her own way. She's her own person and I love discovering who that person is. I want my daughter to always be the protagonist in her own story and not the sidekick in someone else's life.

UPDATE: Later this night, Em took her first step! I missed it because I was at a screening of a documentary about a rock. But my husband sent me video. It was totally amazing.

Having a Dog vs Having a Baby: The Real Difference

You know how some pet owners compare their relationship with their pets to having a child? Having a baby is nothing like that.

Don't get me wrong, I actually felt that way myself for a long time. I'm not downplaying the deep bond between pet and owner. Hell, when the person who was watching my dog called me while I was in San Francisco to tell me my dog had run away, I crumbled into a blubbering mess in the middle of the sidewalk. I was such a wreck a homeless guy came up and told me everything would be okay. I then went straight to the airport to fly home. I think it's safe to say my dog and I had a pretty strong bond.

For all the similarities between the two relationships there is one very distinct but important difference. As a parent you have a very deep longing to see your kid be happy and do well in life. Sure you want your dog to be happy. But you're probably not thinking about your golden retriever's educational plans or paving the way for your pit bull to be all he can be. You aren't in awe by each intellectual leap you see - like it's watching the moon landing. I think most animals max out their potential fairly early in your relationship. While there are definite comparisons that can be made between my daughter's love of emptying a bucket and filling it up over and over again and my dog's love of chasing a tennis ball, there will be a point when she moves past this onto more complex actions.

In fact, the rapid advancement of skills is mind boggling to me. Because another one of the super distinct differences between having a kid and having a dog is that kids make you incredibly aware of how time flies. My dog has pretty much been exactly the same for the last four years. But my kid - she's changing at a rapid fire pace.

 I can't believe my little potato head seen here:

Has turned into this giant string bean:

And the thing I want most in the world is for her to be everything she can be. And I want to be the best mom I can possibly be - for her. The best person I can be - as an example for her. I want to take my dog for longer walks too.

What's in a Name?

Last weekend there was an article in the NY Times about baby names. Anyone who has named a baby knows how stressful it can be. But it seems like parents today feel an increased pressure to choose names that stand out. Everyone wants to be unique. The first way to do this is through your name.

Living in Los Angeles, you can't help but come across kids with very interesting names. I know one kid whose name was chosen after his mother developed an incompetent cervix. His name is a tribute to triumph over obstacles. It's not a name you would associate with a cervix, but it's unique enough that you've got to ask the back story (which I'm sure will change over the years as he begins to give the explanation himself).

My husband and I had names picked out years ago. But the funny thing is, as soon as I got pregnant they didn't seem right anymore. We didn't begin the name game until we knew what we were having. Then one morning my husband turned to me in bed and asked me to hear him out. He laid out a multi-point argument on why we should name our daughter the name he had chosen. He had a first and a middle name picked out and a very convincing rationale. When he was done, he left it to me to come up with a rival option, but I was convinced. No lists needed. No more discussion. Her name was chosen.

Reading articles like the one in the NY Times are interesting, because while I understand the desire to provide your child with a unique monicker all his or her own, my husband's reasoned argument was quite different.

I would say I have a pretty common name (one that apparently peaked in popularity around the time I was born). Despite this, the only other "Amanda" I ran into until my 20s were ones on TV. Amanda seemed to be the name they gave to rich, conniving bitchy characters with great fashion sense. Something I couldn't particularly relate to.

My husband has a very unique name. Even in France it's an odd spelling. So for most of his life he's had to listen to people butcher it. Every conversation with a new person starts off the same. "What your name?" "That's interesting. How do you spell that?" "What's the origin?" I'll admit, even I can't pronounce it properly. Only in LA can people come close to saying it right and only because there is the name of a local health food store pronounced the same way. As someone once put it - it's pronounced like Nowhere spelled backwards.

It was very important to him that our daughter had a "normal" name. Nothing she would ever have to worry about spelling. Something classic and easily pronounced. Something that would allow her to buy a personalized souvenir mug if she ever wanted one.

And so we chose Emily. Her middle name is the same as multiple generations of women in my familiy. Her initials are the same as her dad's, It's a super classic name. Sure it's found on the top 100 baby name list most years (#6 the year she was born). Sure there are two girls in their 20s in my office named Emily and two of my co-workers have ex's named Emily. But the funny thing is that with everyone else trying to find an element on the periodic table that they can name their kid after, it's possible she might be the only Emily in a class full of Mercurys and Silvers.

An Affair to Record

I think it's quite common for new parents to have a love affair with their DVRs.  No longer able to go out and explore the world like you used to, you instead squirrel away at home curled up with your baby and Tivo'd episodes of trashy reality shows. Late night rendezvous with back-episodes of The Following.

My love affair started very early on. I had a tough time breastfeeding. The first couple weeks were especially brutal. The relationship and magical bonding I had imagined would happen between my daughter and I were replaced by my relationship with my pump, breasts pushed up again my desk (to hold the pumps in place) leaving my hands free to click the mouse and forward to the next episode of True Blood.

People can tell you that breastfeeding is hard, but it's one of those things you have to experience for yourself before you can truly understand. The way I handled my seesawing emotions was to try and block out the fact that my husband was getting all the bottle cuddle time with our daughter and I was left alone pumping for their next bonding experience. I spent more time with my pump than my daughter those first few weeks. Rather than cry my eyes out about it I tried bonding with vampires in Bon Temps instead to cope with the rejection.

Parenting books will tell you it helps to look at pictures of your baby to help your milk let down. That never did it for me. I needed to focus on something else. I couldn't get enough of The Newsroom. I almost looked forward to our time together  - late nights, sitting in the dark, the flicker of the screen, headphones in. I pumped and got swept up in Alan Sorkin's grandiose idealized journalism. I was sad when I got to the end of the season.

Maybe it's the age we live in, but even once my daughter and I got the whole breastfeeding thing figured out - I never liked to sit in a room alone, staring into each others eyes. Don't get me wrong. I find those moments with her incredible. Nothing is better than knowing you can soothe your child. Having my baby cuddled up close to me. Her little hand always reaching out and for some unknown reason poking at my armpit. I love those moments. But I also liked catching up on TV that there is no way I would ever get to focus on if she was fully awake. Just me, Em and The Carrie Diaries.

Thank God for DVR. Without it I'd be stuck watching infomercials like Pretty Women - not to be confused with Pretty Woman the film - Pretty Women is a skin care line Cindy Crawford hawks at 3am. It airs every night alongside Hip Hop Abs.

Then our DVR started to have a meltdown. Maybe I was asking too much of it. Maybe I was too clingy. My husband and I would look forward to those moments when the baby went to sleep and we could curl up with individual cups of Ben & Jerry's and catch up on How I Met Your Mother. But the DVR was no longer interested. Instead, it would crash. Freeze up. We tried a fresh start - a reboot of our relationship, just to find us stuck in the same place over and over again.

Finally enough was enough. We called DirecTV and ended it. Well, we had them come out and replace it for a newer, sexier model. And oh how sexy it is. Sleek, button less front panel with environmentally friendly sleep mode after four hours of non-use. (Meaning no bright colorful buttons to entice tiny hands.) Of course ending our old relationship meant giving up all we'd been through together. Including years of old recordings, such as Smallville's final series episode and old movies randomly recorded off TCM never to be watched.

Yet, I must admit there is something liberating about starting fresh. With a brand new empty hard drive we can start a new love affair. Free of baggage and full of promising recordings in our future.

Parenting: Tag Team Wrestling Style

Parenting sometimes feels like tag team wrestling. Even the objective is the same - put your opponent to sleep. Last night's match was the longest and most exhaustive I've ever experienced. While I'm not sure it rivaled The Undertaker vs Mankind in it's theatrics, it did in the way it challenged my mental fortitude.

Em has her fourth ear infection in a row. We're about to reach the danger zone. I'd heard of tubes before but I thought it was simple in-office procedure. Stick a straw-like tube in the ear, drain it and be on our way. But turns out it's surgery (!) and the tubes stay in for years (!). I am determined she will not have tubes.

The plan was to have her sleep upright in her car seat to help with the draining. Car seat sleeping has worked in the past. But the combo of it's hot as hell and she's got a fever didn't go too well. Not that the car seat had a lot to do with it, but we all ended up being up every hour and a half.

I consider myself very lucky that I don't have a colicky baby. I've gotten the occasional glimpse of what that might be like and it scares the hell out of me. There is nothing more heart-breaking than when your baby cries out in pain and there is nothing you can do to comfort her.

It also doesn't help when it's three in the morning and your husband is simultaneously wondering aloud what's wrong. Is it her ear? Does she have a temperature? What could it be? Is she hungry? Maybe you should feed her? Hold her? Bounce her? Walk around? Look in the fridge? Turn the air on? Is it her ear? You are on the same team so you don't want to lash out. But it's taking the last of your willpower not to scream - "Shut the f up! You aren't helping!"

But thankfully you are on the same team. This is when it's time for tag team action. Your opponent is tough. She packs a lot of punch behind her 18 1/2 pounds and you are about to go down for the count, but you manage to get to the ropes and tag your partner in. He takes over and you crawl over to the nearest soft surface and collapse.

These are the moments when you are in awe of the amazing strength single parents possess. Because when it's three of you on the couch at 2am staring at some trippy ass shit on BabyTV - like random pictures of peacocks, followed by swirly colors and someone drawing fruit in the sand it's already surreal and you feel like you're living in a David Lynch film. But if you had to do that alone...how do  you climb back out of the rabbit hole?

World War ZZZZs

No matter how many times you're told when you're pregnant to kiss a good night's sleep goodbye once the baby is born, you can never be fully prepared for what that actually means. There are some things you can intellectually understand, but you can't really, fully comprehend it until you experience it. New baby sleep depravation is one of those things.

It is so linked to my idea of being of parent that whenever anyone asks me how parenthood is going I always say the same thing "Great! If Em would only sleep through the night everything would be perfect." I've always considered myself a morning person, but 4:30am is early even for me. The only real benefit of getting up several times a night has been that I've been able to catch up on all the shows I missed.

It doesn't help that babies love to keep you on your toes. Every time you think you've got the schedule figured out they surprise you. It can sometimes feel like your mini-human is waging psychological warfare. And then they play a card you really weren't expecting...they sleep.

There is something almost more disconcerting about this the first time it happens. Your body and mind have reprogrammed and aren't prepared for actual uninterrupted peace. You are used to going from a seemingly deep slumber to shooting straight up out of bed at the slightest whimper. But what do you do when all you can hear is the steady breathing of a sleeping baby? If you think - well, you probably sleep - then you've never been a first time parent. What you do is stare at the monitor and get up twenty times to put your hand on your baby's back to make sure she's still alive.

Em has slept ten hours straight for two nights in a row and all I keep wondering is what's wrong with her. Absolutely nothing - that's what. But it's such an anamoly that my body and mind don't know how to process it. What should be super exciting, is instead totally exhausting. I simply don't remember how to relax. I have no idea how not to be awake at three in the morning. I'm afraid to get used to the idea because I'm pretty sure this isn't going to last. I feel like I'm being punk'd.

Mother's Day Thoughts

Yesterday was my first Mother's Day. On the way to brunch I saw a guy, who worked at the restaurant we were going to, standing by his motorcycle talking on the phone. The next thing I know, he collapses, his helmet rolling out into the middle of the street. My husband ran over to see if he was alright. Physically he was okay. But he'd collapsed out of grief after finding out his father was in intensive care. He was exhausted, hopped up on caffeine and unbelievable distraught. 

It was a really weird way to start off Mother's Day. We had a great brunch and a really nice time, but every once in a while this man popped back in my head. I kept picturing him collapsed, head resting on the curb, clutching his phone and crying. Or wiping away tears as he walked down the street. I felt so awful for him. 

Three years ago yesterday my husband almost died from a torn vertebral artery while training jiujitsu. I didn't realize it had been exactly three years until he posted a message on Facebook wishing me a Happy Mother's Day and mentioned it. He said I was his pillar of support. His best friend and a great mom to our daughter. It made me cry with happy tears but also made me remember how hard it has been to get where we are right now. 

Even though not everything is how I wish it was I have my wonderful husband and daughter. Three years ago I almost lost him. Two years ago he almost lost me. And now we are a family of three. I love being a mom. Even though she is only 10 months old, I can't imagine life without her. She's everything to me. 

On my first Mother's day, what I really felt was appreciation for how life can be really hard sometimes, but my family means everything to me and I'm so happy that I get to be a mother to my beautiful baby girl. 

Parental Fashion Choices: Office Edition

This morning, my husband and I were discussing the acceptability of wearing a velour tracksuit to the office. I hadn't noticed until we were on our way to daycare drop off that he was going to work dressed as a Russian gangster. Neither of us have had time for a haircut in ages and his is starting to have that guido pompadour look. Coupled with the brown velour Puma top he chose, I would have never guessed he worked in advertising. When I pointed this out his response was - it's not like I'm Don Draper.

I'd like to say being a parent hasn't had any effect on my wardrobe, but that would be a bold faced lie.

Being a working/breastfeeding mom means I need access to "the girls" (god, I hate that phrase) at all times. So unless I'm alright with stripping down naked a couple times of day at the office, dresses are generally out of the question. I need easy access that also provides appropriate coverage. I have the benefit of having a private office. But said office also has giant windows that look out on a construction site. An interesting and completely unsexy show for the hard hats across the street.

For the most part it hasn't been that bad, except the time, one of the partners at the company decided the best way to get my attention was to sneak up on me from the balcony that runs along the outside of the building and tap on the glass. While it does exemplify the ability to multi-task, I'd still rather my boss not see me topless strapped to a milk machine typing on my laptop. Thankfully I'd chosen to wear a cardigan that day (and every day since).

Besides boob access, there is also belly coverage to think about. Because despite good intensions, I have not lost those last few (okay, maybe more like fifteen) pregnancy pounds. I've still got nine weeks before my daughter turns a year so I'm not going to consider it a failure in will power till then. My husband packed on a few sympathy pounds as well, so this can apply to both moms and dads. Sometimes, comfort trumps all - that's when you are in danger of dressing like Run DMC in the boardroom.

Function versus comfort versus professionalism. I say "versus" because on most days it really feels like you have to choose. When you don't always even have time to brush your hair, being the cutest most stylish person at the office is generally out of the question. Still, I am happy to say that at least I'm not the one who resorted to wearing sweats to work. But then again, there is still time. After all, I've only been a parent for less than a year.

Battling On

Sometimes 30 feels like the new 70.  It's like when the clock strikes twelve on your 30th birthday your metabolism slows down and it's all downhill from there. Don't get me wrong. I actually love my 30s. (I wasn't very good at my 20s.) But I often find myself commiserating with other mid-30s about all our aches and pains. And sometimes it's not just the usual stuff.

I just had lunch with an old colleague who was in an awful car accident. We hadn't seen each other in years. Her accident was a year ago but she's still recovering. I know how she feels. The last three years have been rough for me too.

Both my husband and I had really bad health scares. Okay, writing that sentence feels like a bit of an understatement. Both of us nearly died - in two separate instances.

It is an odd kind of therapy - the trading of battle stories over sushi. When you deal with something so life altering it's cathartic to talk to someone else who can understand. You both know that even though you came out okay on the other side, it's not ever going to be quite the same.

And yet, it's amazing how quickly you can also forget what it felt like to go through it all. There was a moment two years ago when everything felt heavy. I could not see the future. I was just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping to reach the end of the dark tunnel I found myself in. But I also felt a strength.

Going through something like that puts everything into perspective. And as awful as it is, it also has a way of making you realize how strong you are. There are things you think you aren't capable of handling - and then you find out that you actually are.

Now back in the grind of every day life, things can feel overwhelming in a different way. And it seems silly that sometimes the frivolous stuff almost seems harder. And in your 30s you want to be doing all the things you've been working towards and dreaming about in your 20s. You feel time passing quicker. You feel the clock like you never have before.  Being derailed by something can make that urgency you feel to accomplish things even more urgent. That's when I need to summon both the strength of knowing that I've survived life's curve balls before and the optimism of my 20s when I believed anything was possible.

I shouldn't have to worry about this

I don't remember a moment growing up when I didn't feel safe. I grew up in a typical suburban neighborhood. There were actual white picket fences around some of the homes on my block. Kids ran through yards and no one was afraid to walk around at night alone. My dad is a cop. I'm sure that had something to do with it. I always knew he'd be there to protect us, but honestly I don't think I ever stopped to really think about that.

Then I moved to Los Angeles. Living in a city is a completely different beast. Safety is something I've thought a lot about since moving here. When I first got to LA, a guy was sneaking over the walls of homes in my neighborhood and beheading people. Sounds crazy right? He did it twice. He snuck into an old man's home and beheaded him while he was on the phone changing a flight reservation. He eventually wandered onto a lot carrying a samurai sword where he was held by security. My neighborhood is also where they eventually arrested an arsonist that was setting fires all around the Hollywood area. He would set car fires in car parks in the middle of the night. I moved out of my first apartment here because my neighbor was a meth head and I no longer felt safe living next to him. I moved into a building where apparently the FBI arrested one of my neighbors in the middle of the night for human trafficking.  Not that long ago someone tried to crow bar open the metal front door of the apartment I used to live in in broad daylight. And this is a building that I actually feel pretty safe in.

I always hold my purse tight, stay aware of my surroundings and don't pull my phone out in the subways. Even though safety is something I often think about, right now it's hitting closer than I would like.

There is a manhunt in LA for a former cop who is targeting cops and their families and there are cops' kids at my daughter's daycare. That is a very scary thing. There are cops sitting outside the school. Last week at one point there were cops in the classrooms. As a parent I had to make the decision - does she stay there or do I pull her out. On Thursday, when all this madness began, I was home sick from work. As soon as I heard I picked her up. Today was her first day back. It wasn't an easy decision to make. There is no direct target at the school. The cops watching over it are precautionary. It's hard to say whether it's better to have them there or not, seeing as they could be a target themselves.

I hate that we live in a country where this is actually something we have to think about. I hate that when I mention my situation on Facebook someone I know says they are dealing with the same thing. We should never have to worry about whether our children are safe from bad people with assault rifles. This may be a unique situation - since this person is a former police officer. But even he says he has guns normal citizens shouldn't have access to.

This is scary and it's real and it's hitting way too close to home. It's all a little bit too much to process.

Show Me the Money?

At the crossroads of Art and Commerce there needs to be a guy selling Prozac. 

I know a few people that work in internet marketing. Google ad words and the such. Internet marketing is not like other forms of advertising. It's easily traceable. It's probably one of the few forms of promotion that can actually prove results. Click on a link and it's easy to know whether that click turned into a sale. The film industry is not quite so predictable. Who's to say what a profitable idea really is? I read film proposals every day and I never read one that said "this film is a risky investment." Didn't matter if it was an action film with a proven star attached or a brother/sister incest drama - everyone thinks their film is the next big thing. You have to. 

But even though I play the game, I must admit it can be depressing to look at film as a number. To read a crappy script and still be considering it because there is a potentially promising profit margin. Or to read an awesome script and know the film will probably never be made because it will never make its money back. 

Art and commerce have to go hand in hand because film is a business not a museum exhibit. And despite the promising sales coming out of Sundance this year, more days than not it feels like independent film is on the verge of extinction because the model is not sustainable. I want to believe that's not true. I want to swallow a few pills and keep pushing forward - and I will push forward. But when I read a cheesy script full of illogical plot points and cookie cutter characters and I am told to entertain the idea of it...Prozac would come in handy. 

The Road Less Traveled

Remember that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Indy busts through the floor in the library and sneaks into the catacombs? I love that scene. I love the idea that something so amazing could be right in front of us and yet we never see it. With all the hustle and bustle of life we often miss the beauty around us. Nowadays so many of us have our noses buried in our iPhones. It's so easy to miss the world and all the magnificent pieces of history buried right in front of us.

A great example of this is The Tabernacle of Prayer Church in Queens, NY. A movie theater turned house of worship. The architecture is amazing. It reminds us that going to the movies used to be an event from the moment we walked in the door. They just don't build them like they used to. It's the kind of place that would be so easy to miss. Unless maybe you were a location scout like Scout NY with a great eye for historic gems. Abandoned movie theaters are often so sad and hauntingly beautiful. But this theater is so amazing because it's grandeur remains intact - just serving a different purpose.

Charles Pheonix does this great exploration of Los Angeles through his own unique kitschy lens on his Disneyland Tour of Downtown LA. I took it once with a friend and had a blast. It's a whole new way at looking at Downtown Los Angeles. Starting at Union Station you take the "monorail" to Chinatown and make your way through historic landmarks like the Angel's Flight all the while traveling on a yellow school bus and ultimately ending on a puppet show at Bob Baker's Marionette Theater. It's pretty awesome. I highly recommend checking it out.

Of course, not every gem is as easy to access as that. Sometimes one must dig a little deeper and breaking a few laws. Like, Steve Duncan, who calls himself an urban historian. He explores parts of cities most of us will never see. The photos on his website are beautiful and this video of NYC's underground is pretty amazing as well.


UNDERCITY from Andrew Wonder on Vimeo.

I may not have the guts (or the insanity) to climb the Williamsburg Bridge like he does, but I certainly appreciate the view and I'm glad he shared.

The Sacrifices of Filmmaking

Sometimes the most interesting film narratives are the ones that take place off the screen. I love hearing stories of how people got their big breaks. Unfortunately, these stories are often finessed into something that may be more entertaining and inspiring than what really transpired. I often wonder about the snippets that end up on the cutting room floor. The part of the story that comes right before "...and then Steven Spielberg saw my short." The part about how one got their short into Spielberg's hands in the first place.

That's not to say that just because you have a cousin that knows someone you aren't talented. Success is never really about one thing. Talent, timing and a little bit of luck usually play a part. In theory all those stars align.

The truth is we never see the whole picture. Careers are not born out of single moments. They gestate over time unseen by the general public. These are the stories I want to hear.

For that reason, I was really excited to see this post by Filmmaker Magazine. They asked Sundance filmmakers what their greatest sacrifice was while making their films. For some, such as Nick Ryan during The Summit and Dylan Mohan Gray of Fire in the Blood - the sacrifices of their collaborators can't get any more real. Others such as Roger Ross Williams of God Loves Uganda and Shaul Shwartz of Narco Cultura put themselves in harms way to get their stories. And then there are those that speak more of the sacrifices I know and relate to - the self-doubt one has to overcome like Randy Moore of Escape from Tomorrow or the time away from family so eloquently spoken of by James Ponsoldt of Spectacular Now.

As a new mom I think a lot about the sacrifice of spending time away from family to make my dreams come true. My husband and I have both given up vacations, sanity and financial stability in our creative pursuits.  But when a kid enters the picture some sacrifices start to feel more real. I was really touched by what Liz W. Garcia had to say about making The Lifeguard. I too hope my daughter will be proud of her mom, even if it means I am not always there to tuck her in at night.

Collectively, these stories are a really interesting look into what goes into making a film. Some answers are better than others, of course, but it's worth taking a read.

Help. I'm being held hostage.

I am under attack. I am being held by a 14lb hostage taker against my will and she won't negotiate. My six month old daughter is going through a transition phase. By transition I mean morphing from a sweet, loving child to an angry temper tantrum throwing tornado who sweeps through the apartment in the wee hours of dawn.

I've always read that sleep training sucks but nothing can prepare you for the guilt. All the books tell you how awful you will feel listening to your child scream bloody murder, but what they don't tell you is that the guilty parent feelings you have are compounded and multiplied tenfold by guilty neighbor feelings.

See, I can listen to my daughter cry. Sure, I feel awful and it's unpleasant. But I can see through those crocodile tears and manipulative octaves. But what really cuts me to the core is the thought of all my neighbors silently cursing me from under their covers. It makes me want to rent a cabin in the woods and hunker down until we get through this. Of course, then she wouldn't be in her own bed, in her own room which would defeat the point and lead us right back to where we are. Oh, cruel, cruel world.

You would think with all the people on the planet there could be some definitive source to turn to. With all the different parenting styles I would be able to find a formula that works for me. But I am seriously at a loss. Do we try to Ferberize? Is it too soon? Do I have the mental fortitude to even survive that? Or do we co-sleep until she's 20? Is this just a phase? Will she outgrow it on her own? Is this my fault? Am I doing something wrong? Is it because she's having a growth spurt? Starting solids? Transitioning from a bassinet to a crib? A combination or none of the above?

So far this is the worst part of parenthood. And I'm not sure if it's better or worse that she still wakes up looking ridiculously adorable and super happy. Her smile is the only ray of sunshine after three hours of non-consecutive sleep.

Right now my only solace is that I have a comfy couch in my office and a do not disturb sign to hang on the door. I think I'll go use it.

A Short Sampling from Park City

I've been to the Sundance Film Festival a few times and I am always surprised at how many people go and don't see any films. This is surprisingly common at film festivals. I am one of these crazy people that loves to see films at festivals. But maybe that's cause I can also be quite socially awkward and don't particular like getting wasted. As the 2013 Sundance Festival gets underway I'll be listening from a far at what films everyone is buzzing about that I will most likely find over-hyped when I eventually see them a year from now. 

But in the meantime I also plan on catching the few films that I can online. Sundance releases a bunch of shorts in their Youtube screening room. I haven't watched them all yet, but the ones I have seen are pretty great. Definitely worth checking out. You can watch them here.

The Place I Grew Up

My husband grew up across the street from a castle. Not a really big house or a mansion. An actual castle where Napoleon once lived. As an American, that was hard to fathom until I visited. But it's true. Just the width of a single car lane separated his driveway from the castle wall. My sister's husband grew up in the quaint English countryside. The home of a boarding school my husband once attended. A school with twisty turrets, striped scarves and rugby games. The kind of place an American like me can't help but compare to Hogwarts. By contrast, my sister and I grew up in an apartment complex sandwiched between a McDonald's and the hospital where we were born. It's facts like this that highlight the stark differences in our upbringings. 


Over the holidays my sister and I took our husbands to visit our childhood home. Going back everything felt smaller. I guess that’s typical seeing as we were also smaller when we lived there. The hallways that used to seem like our own private labyrinths have since been repainted dungeon grey and now feel institutional and depressing. Still,  I have fond memories of that place. There were always other kids to play with. I did cartwheels in the grass out front. We played jailbreak and Simon Says by the playground. There was this concrete turtle and monkey bars to climb on. And while it might not be as outwardly appealing as the cobble stone streets our husbands grew up on, it wasn't such a bad place to grow up. 

But it’s always interesting to see a place from your past through the eyes of a person in your present. How much of where we've been informs who we are now? 

I've been watching the UP series. It's a series of documentaries that follow a group of British children every seven years starting when they are seven up until the most recentl film - when they are 56. What an amazing journey. I've only watched through 21 Up but it's already sucked me in. It's fun to imagine what these kids will be like and then to watch them grow up before your very eyes. How much of their lives could they have predicted?

I've always found personal stories like that so interesting. It's why I loved zines as much as I used to and why I can spend hours pouring over the personal blogs of strangers. I love the journey.