Comic Mom

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Things Are So Very Different Now
It's weird how your perspective can really change after you give birth. Or after there's a child that's somehow in your life. You kind of grow up again with a child, especially if it's your own. You see yourself in that child, the good, bad, ugly, not-so-ugly, the whole enchilada. Baby. And you begin to look into the mirror of your child and you see how you really are. The picture is not always pretty. You see what you've experienced reflected, often, in your child and you sometimes even wonder why your child knows so much about what's happened in your life. I can't explain this phenomenon. It's weird and it's part of the absolute heartbreak of being a parent. Seeing your child grow up is like seeing yourself grow up. Again. Which is painful at times. Very painful.

I was talking with Mr. Comic Mom tonight about a time when Beauford was alive, Grandma C. (not my natural grandma) was alive, and things were very, very different. It's easy to look back and question decisions from that time, especially from the perspective of the Gingerbread House, a warm and cozy place that I love. I so love my life right now. That's a lot to be thankful for. Mr. Comic Mom is wonderful and our children are great. That is so very much to be thankful for. Whatever weird circumstances, whether with adoption, lesbianism, or boyfriend break-ups, have led me to this point, I am very thankful that things have worked out as well as they have.

Quick Random Stuff
I already wrote this entry and somehow lost it because the live journal asked for my login again. I am really pissed and I don't have time for this crap.

Lots of things are happening here at the Gingerbread House and the changing table is out for the Vets to pick up. The loss of the changing table has been more traumatic than I'd ever thought it would be. My sons have never seen the empty space because it has been there since before Caleb was born. Last night was a difficult night for getting everyone to sleep and the boys ended up starting the Sandman tour on the couch. I carried everyone in, including Caleb, so that eventually, everyone slept on a bed.

I'm still really pissed that I wrote so much and live journal lost it.

Maybe I'm having some kind of writer's block because, despite staying up until 2:30 a.m. this morning, I didn't update my other blogs. I am planning to go to Lulu's Beehive tonight, in Studio City, to do some comedy. I plan to take Caleb to soccer practice, then go to my dance classes, then go to do comedy. Although I don't know why, dance is excellent foreplay for comedy.

I really miss the changing table, even though it's presently just in the front yard. The space where it was looks very different now.

We might be making a decision between going to North Carolina for Christmas and getting a much-needed makeover for our green bathroom. We REALLY miss North Carolina, but I probably wouldn't be belly dancing if I lived there. Things would probably be very different and I don't know if the boys would be taking dance. The ultimate artistic experience in North Carolina seems to be going to the North Carolina School of the Arts or some such and here in Los Angeles, there are so many many ways to express your creativity.

Okay, maybe this is a better journal entry than the one that f'in' live journal erased.

Happy Birthday to Jadon!
It's really weird that sometimes, when you let things happen, they work out okay. Today, we went to Mrs. R's wonderful alphabet class and she led the class in singing Happy Birthday to Jadon. He is so very excited about being five, in a way that those of us, ahem, over five usually aren't about our birthday. Jadon was born at 6:29 a.m. and at that time, he is always asleep, as he was this morning. I kissed him and wished him a Happy Birthday and was glad that he did not seem to notice. Later this afternoon, we had gymnastics class. Every other week is always difficult because we have to go all the way from Burbank, where we have gymnastics, to Newbury Park, where Micah has Cub Scouts. So, it was a real blessing when we learned that Micah's Cub Scouts had been cancelled for the evening and we were able to play basketball after gymnastics, then go out to dinner at Chevy's Mexican Restaurant, where Jadon wanted the "Mexican Big Hat" that they gave Micah on his birthday last year. Turns out, he didn't wear it for long, but still, it was cute while it lasted. The bad part of the day was traffic to Burbank; we left a little late, of course, and we were late getting to gymnastics. I got really mad along the way at traffic (note to self: it does absolutely no good to get mad at traffic!), and after I got Jadon and Micah in their class, I went out to the HO and just cried. Things got better after that and at least I didn't break any Tweetsie mugs. I don't know where that whole Tweetsie mug thing came from. I'm noticing that stuff that bothers me a lot at the moment seems not to matter very much after a few hours or a day or two.

It is hard to believe that Jadon is five. The changing table is now outside, going to the Vets tomorrow. That's the first time the bedroom has been changing table-less since we moved in. I'm really sad about that--it's very hard for me to let things go. And who knows what will take the space where the changing table was? Nonetheless, I'm really trying to let go of things we don't need anymore, no matter how sad it is to see them go.

The Last Day that Jadon is Four
Things have been more or less calm today, with not much happening except school work and such before Jadon's dance class. We stopped at the yummy Porto's in Burbank and got cookies for his class, as we did for Caleb's class last week, before his birthday. Between Jadon's tap class and mine and Caleb's hip hop class, we went back to Porto's for supper. What a yummy place that is, soup to nuts, as the saying goes. Jadon was so excited about his last day of being four that he told the woman we ordered from, "Today is my last day of being four!" Caleb followed Jadon's sentence by looking at the woman and saying, "He's really full of himself." Poor Jadon, third child, hardly ever gets a moment that's really his. But he is really looking forward to his birthday. Mr. Comic Mom met us at dance class, despite the HA's (Honda Accord's) "check engine" light's being on this morning. We took the car into the shop and $400 or so later, it should be fine. The HO is due for some work next week. It's always something, or so it seems.

Before tucking the boys into bed, I went for an acupuncture appointment. The good thing is that my adrenal glands seem to be really improving. I don't know what a medical doctor would have done, nor do I know if a medical doctor would have even caught the problems with my adrenals, but I am extremely thankful that my glands are becoming normal, once again. I do have a lot more energy these days, for which I am extremely thankful.

Happy Birthday to Caleb!
It's interesting how we've been doing things that have to do with trust of our bodies lately. Although I won't go into things about me, specifically, I will say that I have been trying less to control my body and learning more to trust my body. Caleb and I have been taking a hip-hop class, in which he and I have had to do cartwheels. I am resurrecting my cartwheel-turning skills from childhood and he is learning to trust himself to do a cartwheel. Micah has been learning cartwheels in gymnastics and I imagine that Jadon will soon follow. Micah has his typical well-I'll-just-do-it attitude, and Caleb has my let-me-figure-this-out-and-ponder-it-and-worry-about-it-until-I-get-it-perfect attitude. Guess who's doing better cartwheels. :) And yet, I really understand Caleb's attitude and his fear of trusting himself; with every cartwheel, he is learning to trust himself, but this process is never easy for us always-worrying Scorpios (evidently, the whatever-happens-happens Aquarians, as Micah is, don't think twice (or eighty times) and don't worry about perfection). There is a lot of trust in doing a cartwheel; you have to let your body go for a few seconds, as you put each hand down separately, but very closely together. And then, you let your feet completely off the ground and then, your feet come back on the ground. You really have to trust the process, as I'm learning to do and as Caleb is learning (and as Micah, without seeming to worry about it at all, has already learned to do).

Anyway, I say all this stuff about trust because I find that our family is working on it as Caleb celebrates his ninth birthday. Wow, that's hard to believe! Has it really been nine years since I was in Cedars-Sinai saying, "Baby, come out!" or some such?!? As the saying goes: it seems like just yesterday.

Today, we all woke up early, mainly, I think, because Mr. Comic Mom's dad had sent a present box and everyone seemed to remember that while sleeping last night. Nobody got enough sleep last night. :) It was almost like Christmas, in that respect.

There was an incident that I'm not very proud of that colored the early part of the day. I suggested that Mr. Comic Mom call his dad and that Caleb, Micah, and Jadon thank him for the presents. I no longer have Mr. Comic Mom's dad's phone number (nor do I have his brother's phone number, being that his brother has been ignoring us for a few years now; and by ignoring, I mean that he wouldn't even come to Mr. Comic Mom's surprise birthday party last year), but I did think it was a good idea that he call his dad. Mr. Comic Mom's parents have probably never really liked me, mainly, I think, because I married their son. Or so it has always seemed. And it seems as though I have always managed to piss them off, whether I mean to or not (I don't think I've ever done it intentionally, though). Nonetheless, I really enjoy talking to his dad and I wanted to thank him for the birthday card that he sent me, which contained a recipe for Honey Cake that the boys made me for my birthday. And so, Mr. Comic Mom ended the conversation with everyone's having talked to his dad except, well, the very person who suggested that we call him, that is to say, moi! There was a lot of hurt for me from being left out and as left out as I've always felt in many ways with many different people or groups of people, I kinda hoped that my own immediate family wouldn't leave me out. But I was left out this morning. And I really lost it, breaking my "Mom" mug from Tweetsie in the process. Things eventually turned out okay, and now, the kitchen is cleaner than it was, but things were ugly for a bit. I was really angry at Mr. Comic Mom for not even thinking of me. It's funny how with most of my ex-boyfriends, the moms really liked me. In fact, one told me recently, via Facebook, that his wife doesn't like me so much because his mom had always liked me more than (the wife seemed to think) she liked the wife. I don't know how true that is, but I really do love his mom, and I really liked a lot of my old boyfriends' moms, and they liked me. However, I'm not so sure about Mr. Comic Mom's mom and since I now have three boys of my own, I can understand how you may be a bit uncomfortable with the girl that finally snags your son. That said, I am extremely grateful that Mr. Comic Mom's grandpa, before his death, always seemed to love me and I thought the world of him (as did everyone at our wedding!). I also immediately felt a kinship with Mr. Comic Mom's aunt who, unfortunately, had no children of her own. She is one of the most wonderful people I have ever met and I loved her from the moment I met her. I give that background simply because all of that stuff went into my getting so very angry about being left out in today's conversation. Needless to say, I've been apologizing to everyone today and eventually, Mr. Comic Mom called his dad back and his dad and I had a very pleasant conversation--his dad is a very polite man and I think that either by nature or nurture or both, Mr. Comic Mom's parents instilled some very good things in him. For example, he's never missed a mortgage payment! Let us not underestimate the value of that skill. And Mr. Comic Mom is extremely handy around the house, as is his dad. Even in the midst of things today, after Mr. Comic Mom had left angry, to run some errands, I was telling our sons: Daddy does pay the mortgage. That's a very important thing for which I am very thankful!

As I say, things eventually turned out just fine, and I'm pretty sure that I can buy another Tweetsie mug. I'm really sorry that this scene clouded Caleb's birthday but then again, children are resilient and although they were worried about their dad, who was gone for a few hours, they were happy to see his return, as was I.

Caleb had a party with his soccer team, which he had requested. It was an awesome party and he drew the artwork for the invitations. Unfortunately, the other team didn't show up for their game, but they did play a scrimmage game with the adults. The team that Mr. Comic Mom and I are coaching, however, did get to play and our team not only scored its first goal of the season but went on to win the game (1-0)! We were ecstatic! And I realized that maybe, just maybe, Caleb was two weeks late coming out of my womb so that, nine years later, we could have a bouncy house ready and waiting on his birthday for his brothers' team after their first win. Are the Lord's ways that mysterious?!? Of course, that doesn't explain why his two brothers were each two weeks late. :)

We stayed at the park, jumping and eating, until 6 p.m., way past dark these days. Caleb had a blast with his soccer team (and Micah and Jadon's team, also--try keeping kids out of a bouncy house; I didn't even try, of course, but I imagine it would be disastrous even to try!) and his teammate, S., who told me that she had a crush on him, and asked me to tell him this information, which I eventually did, informed me that this was indeed a fabulous birthday party. Because all I had to do was order the bouncy house, some tables and chairs, and some pizza, I thought it was pretty good as well. :) Many thanks to DOE proposal money for helping my part to be pretty easy.

At 6:18 p.m., Caleb officially turned nine. About that time, we were packing up and the bouncy house was being deflated (always kind of a weird thing to watch). I'm really proud of the young gentleman that he's grown into in these nine years. It's a real honor to be his mom!

Caleb's Last Day of Being Eight
It's not that I've been lazy lately, just working on some Department of Energy proposals and such. It's absolutely fabulous to be making some money and fortunately, things with Mr. Comic Mom's job are going well. Sure, my adrenal glands may have shrunk to almost molecular size when he was laid off last January, but then again, if he hadn't been laid off, he wouldn't have found this nifty job, which has a much better commute. I guess sometimes we don't quite know what God has in store for us; so far, things have been good.

But hey, this is supposed to be about Caleb's last day of being eight. We did a LOT today, including going to Torrance to pick up a proposal check; going to Cub Scouts, where Caleb took a tour of the Thousand Oaks police station; and going to Caleb's soccer practice. During soccer practice, I went to some dance classes and then, I went to Lulu's Beehive to do some comedy. There's something about Caleb's turning nine that seems so very, well, old. It's really hard to believe that it's been nine years since I was at Cedars-Sinai, almost begging him to come out of me. But also, as I said to Mr. Comic Mom the other day, nine is halfway to eighteen. I remember thinking, as I was almost constantly nursing the infant Caleb, that eighteen seemed eons away. Now, we're halfway there, which is really hard to believe.

Birthday Backstory
I've written about this previously, but my birthday is always a pressure-filled day. It has been. I remember turning 18 during my first year of college (at Wake Forest) and my hallmates (I lived on a hall then) bought me a present of perfume that I love and were going to have a celebration with me. I, however, had run away to the mall, crying and feeling sorry for myself. Even at 18, I got depressed on my birthday and threw some kind of tantrum. I really didn't know how to react when I found out what they'd done. I felt pretty awful, but then again, my birthday is a really sad time for me and how was I supposed to let them know that?!? Especially being that I felt so very awkward and sad. When I transferred to N.C. State, things were a little better. I had a roommate who tried to understand the whole birthday thing and she even gave me a surprise party for my 20th birthday, the only surprise party I've ever had. It was very, very cool.

The birthday after I found my parents was interesting and my mom came out to visit--we'd just moved to L.A. We went to my favorite funky restaurant: Inn of the Seventh Ray and I really, really dug the whole thing. Here was my dream come true: being with my mom on my birthday. The next birthday, she was here for Caleb's birth, even though he decided to come a couple of weeks late and she had to come back after he was actually born. By his second birthday, when I was pregnant with Micah, she had stopped speaking to me. And part of me is okay with that, but part of me is not. There is a part of my brain that holds tightly to the rejection I experienced as an infant; that rejection, orchestrated by the adoption industry that I loathe, has placed my mom and me in a position where we can never have a normal mother and daughter relationship. My birthday brings out that rejection somehow and there is usually some kind of anger that I need to express on that day and the pressure to avoid the anger and to make the day perfect simply makes things a lot worse. It's also made much worse by the fact that I'm 3,000 miles or so away from Joni, who is like a sister to me; Tish, my Scorpio friend who really tries hard to understand the deepest parts of me and usually succeeds; Elizabeth, whose darling baby Dash recently celebrated his first birthday; and all the wonderful people at church, who know and accept me whether or not I ever get work from any Hollywood audition.

Oddly, it's a little more comforting on my birthday to be away from my mom, and maybe from the rest of my family, being that my birthday brings up the very awkwardness of being separated from them for so many years.

That's the backstory.

A Day in the Life of Comic Mom
This wasn't any ordinary day, of course, but the day before my birthday. My birthday has always been sort of bittersweet and will always be, being that it's the day my mother saw me for the first time. And rejected me. Most people don't have to think about that and I'm very happy to say that my children do not; indeed, they can remember their birthday with joy, as their dad and I were quite happy to see them and didn't plan to give them to strangers; this, my friends, is a real difference. As a result of the whole adoption thing, I struggle each year with this day. I guess it does take the focus off of the plus one added to the age I've been the past year. :) The official time for the plus one, by the way, is 5:22 p.m. this afternoon, Eastern Time.

Anyway, I really have to work to be positive on the day that commemorates my passage into this world and I usually end of throwing some kind of tantrum. However, this year is off to an awesome start. Things were pretty sane yesterday until around 4:30 p.m. Caleb had a piano lesson, but that was it for appointments during the day. However, at 5 p.m., we had to run over to Micah's soccer practice, which I led. Mr. Comic Mom arrived a few minutes later to help. The practice itself was awesome. Almost everyone on the team was there and one guy's older sister, a wonderful soccer player who is Caleb's age, was able to practice with us. I love it when someone older can play; I think it inspires the younger ones. So, that went well and ended around 6 p.m. By the time everybody went to the car, etc., it was 6:15 p.m. and I had an audition in Hollywood at 6:45 p.m. I haven't done much auditioning lately, but I wanted this audition because it was for a late-night show that I'd really like to be a part of. Tracy Esposito, who puts together these awesome audition seminars made it so that I could come a little before 7 p.m. and meet the woman who books the skits for this show. In addition, Tracy went over the script with me and in five minutes, I learned more than I've learned in all the years of scene study classes I've taken. I'm not saying that's because I didn't hear it in those classes, but right before an audition seems to be an excellent time to learn what to do to make a script funny,especially when someone as honest and helpful as Tracy is there to help. I don't know how Tracy does it, but she certainly does a good job of making everyone feel as though she's there to help them get the job: She certainly made me feel that way!

Here's a picture of Tracy, whose one-woman play, Chicken Parmigiana, is awesome, by the way, and me:

So, I was able to leave the audition and make it to Studio City, to my ballet class, a little after it started, at 7:30 p.m. I absolutely love my new ballet class; the teacher, Nancy Dobbs Owen, is awesome and she very gently, very nicely gives you the corrections that you need to do things right, which is the way I like to do them. Ballet is such a wonderful exercise for learning how to use your body correctly and I think it's about time that I learned. I'm glad I went to the class last night; it's an excellent way to recover from the inherent craziness of an audition.

I went to sleep with the boys last night, after reading a few paragraphs of Henry Huggins, which explains why I didn't write this entry until this morning. When Mr. Comic Mom tried to wake me up, I evidently asked him, "Is it fixed yet?" I'm guessing that was from some dream I was having, some dream I don't remember this morning.

And here's me in the HO, with my new birthday haircut:

Happy All Saints Day!
After all, that's what it is. You can also look at it as two days before Tricia's birthday, which has also been true since, well, not that long ago.

I've been pondering where I want to be a whole lot lately. Tomorrow night, if all goes well, I'll help to coach Micah's soccer practice and then go to Hollywood for an audition. That's not the kind of life I'd lead in Raleigh. We have been having quite the blast out here this week and yet, we had hoped to go to North Carolina for Halloween. I'm sure that we would have had fun there as well, perhaps even more fun, but it's hard to pick up and go right in the middle of soccer and dance and gymnastics and Cub Scouts and all of mommy's stuff season. Which is right where we are, right at Halloween, right when I'd thought we might be able to go to the N.C. State Fair this year. Oh, and then there's the money that it costs to go across the country. I sometimes forget about that part; Mr. Comic Mom does not. My friend Nita sent me pictures of the fair, but we weren't there, as we were for the L.A. County Fair. Money saved is one way to look at it, I suppose.

We also weren't trick or treating with Tish, as we'd hoped we might do. It was, in fact, Tish's birthday this week and mine is coming up on Tuesday. And what I'd love to do is go to the little Vietnamese restaurant on Avent Ferry in which Tish and I have had many conversations. Whatever I'll be doing Tuesday night, it won't be parking anywhere on Avent Ferry Road. Last night we went trick or treating in our neighborhood, where there are houses, owned by people who work at "the studios," as they call it here, where the yards are really, really scary. One elaborate scheme from a studio worker gives trick or treaters a visit from a ghost that's wired up in a tree. Another house, too scary for 8-year-old Caleb and 6-year-old Micah, but not for 4-year-old Jadon, included two really scary live figures, both with masks. It's one thing to watch a scary movie and quite another to have someone come close to you with a pretend knife as you try to leave the house. Well, I hope it was pretend. Whatever the case, my personal favorite was the guy with the telescope. Last night, in honor of the upcoming full moon, I called him Full Moon Guy. And indeed he was. I think he gave out candy as well, but he offered free telescope views to all trick or treaters, and to their geeky parents. Well, at least to Mr. Comic Mom and me and any other parents who cared about seeing the moon's surface magnified 100 times. I absolutely loved it, of course. Mr. Comic Mom didn't know how much he'd repaid Full Moon Guy (FMG) when FMG asked Mr. Comic Mom about his outfit and Mr. Comic Mom said that he was "a monk with a bad habit." FMG hooted with laughter at Mr. Comic Mom's witty pun and I wondered if he'd be willing to go to one of my comedy shows and laugh for a while. Of course, I guess I'd have to hire Mr. Comic Mom to write some material for me.

Anyway, seeped in geekiness, we were offered, during a slow trick or treating period at FMG's house, to see Jupiter. He turned the telescope to another part of the sky and we were able to see not only the largest planet but also four of its moons. One moon had disappeared a couple of hours earlier, FMG told us. This guy, who worked for the "air crash industry," as he described it to us, really knew his night sky. Our astronomy lesson was so much tastier, to me anyway, than candy. And it definitely had fewer calories!

And so, here we are, 3,000 miles from the land and people we love, missing North Carolina and enjoying our crazy L.A. neighborhood. There is something about Halloween, at least in L.A., that is very warm and comforting. Perhaps it is because in this lonely city with so many people from so many backgrounds, Halloween is something that most people can share without offending anyone else. If you don't want to participate, you can just shut your door.

Is Anyone Else Exhausted by Halloween Before the Actual Night?!?
Here are some pictures. I plan to post more later:

What better to do during Halloween week, of course, than have Jadon's physical? Well, I can think of not much, especially when our doctor's office is so much fun. Really, it is. Jadon had a t.b. test (negative, btw) and we had to go back a couple of days later to have it checked after the initial scratch. When we returned on Friday, this nurse, dressed in Halloween attire, was dressed as a baby, complete with a diaper and a pacifier around her neck. She's also in the third picture in this entry. Here, she's giving Jadon a hearing test, which he passed:

Can you find Mr. Comic Mom, me, Caleb, Micah, and a newborn Jadon? We're there, among the many pictures in our pediatrician's office. And right beneath that picture is the picture from Jadon's birth announcement:

Here we are, after eating at Home, a fabulously cool L.A. restaurant close to our pediatrician's office that has a koi pond. No kiddin'. My little devils found some webs on the way back to our car and I told them to give me their scariest look:

An Afternoon in the Life of a Soccer Mom: Where's the Vodka?!?
Look, the one thing I've tried to avoid in my life is becoming a cliche. Therefore, the idea that I'd ever be a soccer mom is something that, well, I didn't think would ever happen. Even though last spring's stint as a baseball/t-ball mom made me feel a bit snooty. Yes, it was the same thing, more or less, i.e., dropping my eight-year-old off for practice and helping Mr. Comic Mom to coach my six-year-old's t-ball team, with my four-year-old as bat boy, but still, it wasn't exactly the cliched soccer mom that I'd avoided as long as possible. With the fall season sports upon us, and my children begging for soccer, I knew that it was inevitable: the HO minivan and soccer practice. Yes, I had indeed become a cliche.

Today marked the second official soccer game day, with pictures added as an extra special treat. Mr. Comic Mom and I are co-coaching, if that is indeed a word, our six-year-old's team and our eight-year-old, Caleb, is in heaven, on a soccer team that has "pretty girls," one of which is even taller than he is. The four-year-old, Jadon, was on the waiting list for his team; so, technically, he is not on a team, but he is our assistant and today, he was even able to play. The day started off nicely as I was able to go to my tap dance class and enjoy a bit of mommy-alone time. Then, I met Mr. Comic Mom and the boys, who'd been asleep when I left, for the Jadon's arts and crafts class. The older brothers played on the awesome new playground at the recreation center while Jadon took his class and afterwards, we ate at Sharky's, which offers organic Mexican fare in a somewhat fast food atmosphere. We came home to learn that what we thought was the 4 p.m. game of our six-year-old, Micah, was actually a 2 p.m. game. So, while Mr. Comic Mom was getting the boys ready, I was frantically calling parents and telling them about the schedule change; it was 1 p.m. We headed over to the soccer field and there were enough people there to play, barely. Caleb was even able to play for the first few minutes, on his brother's team. Jadon played as well. So, everything was more or less awesome and I was the team coach on the field, which involved lots of running and yelling, the latter of which I'm an expert. After the game, we ate snacks brought by a team mom who is much more organized than I. The snacks were wrapped in Halloween-themed plastic and tied with twist ties. I can't help but wonder how parents do such wonderful things, wondering if the secret lies in their drinking even more alcohol than I do: Could that be it?!?

While we were all enjoying our beautifully wrapped holiday-themed snacks, someone came and told us that the photographer was indeed waiting on our team to get our uniforms over there, with children in them. I just wanted to take a long bath in my Aura Cacia lavender bubble bath. Nonetheless, we headed over to the photographer, gathered the money and photography forms, which we should have done much earlier, and actually seemed to succeed at getting everyone's individual and group photo. Caleb's team was right after ours. In case you've never tried to get a soccer team ready for pictures, let me tell you that it's right up there with being the only adult who's going across the country with three children in the HO in terms of times you need to really drink. However, here I was, all ready to figure out how I could escape to home without being missed for Caleb's game. Mr. Comic Mom ever so gently reminded me, as I was taking a few minutes to sit down, that I had agreed to provide snacks for Caleb's game. I know that he had no idea that he'd interrupted my fantasy of the lavender bubble bath. It wasn't his fault for jolting me back to reality; still, part of me wanted to slap him.

Nonetheless, I was off to Ralphs. I knew that whatever I could put together in the few minutes I had before Caleb's game started would not be wrapped in Halloween paper. I'd be lucky if I got back in time; and the gas light on the HO was on--the HO needed gasoline. Fortunately, Ralphs is not too far from the soccer field and I figured the HO would make it to and fro with no problem. I go into Ralphs about twice each year. Mr. Comic Mom goes more frequently, but my philosophy is that if I can't buy it at Trader Joe's or Whole Foods, I probably don't need it. Nonetheless, I was trying hard to be the cool soccer mom that I have always felt is such an oxymoron. In other words, I knew that Caleb would not be pleased if his mom brought soy milk or any other supposedly healthy thing in lieu of the junk food that everybody seems to crave after a soccer game. Therefore, I was forced, at least in my own mind, to buy all the crappy-assed snacks that I so hate. Caleb didn't even want juice boxes, but only Gatorade or some such. Being that I'm not a regular Ralphs customer--not only because they use the grammatically incorrect "15 items or less" instead of "15 items of fewer"--I had no idea where any of this crap was. I knew that Caleb would love me if I bought pudding and I figured that it would help if his mom could impress the pretty girls with such fare and so I was looking for plastic spoons. I asked the Ralphs employee in the fruit and vegetables section and of course, he had no idea. I guess he'd been fired from Whole Foods. He acted as though he had no idea what was beyond the confines of his sacred and healthy section; Caleb would have never spoken to me again if I'd brought vegetables for everyone. I finally found a Ralphs employee who knew where the spoons were and my cart was loaded with crap I normally loathe. For some reason, I was afraid that the freaks who frequent Ralphs would judge me: I'm trying to be a cool soccer mom! I wanted to yell throughout the store, barely remembering that's exactly the goal I've been trying to avoid.

It was close to 4:30 p.m. and I knew that I had to check out very quickly to make it in time for the end of the game. More terrible than being a cool soccer mom, of course, is being a failure at being a cool soccer mom. I do hate to fail.

I used the oxymoronic "self-checkout lane" and failed miserably. I have no idea why. I don't even like those damn things; they seem way too impersonal and yet, here I was, trying to save time by using that line. I suppose that it served me right for something I did to screw it up--I still have no idea what--and the screen was blinking: An Attendant Has Been Called Yeah. Right. After all, this is Ralphs.

I immediately chose the longest "15 items or less" line, trying not to care about the grammatical error. I switched to a shorter line that touted the same thing, hoping I was not over 15 items. It took a while, but eventually I was out of there, placing the soccer snacks in individual Ziploc bags as quickly as possible, hoping that this simple act of a frantic soccer mom was still not a crime in the Ralphs parking lot. The HO fumes took me to the soccer field, past the apartment where Mr. Comic Mom and I lived during most of my pregnancy with Caleb, and I found a parking place in the lot close to where Caleb was supposed to play. It was 4:40 p.m. and I figured I was on time. I looked up and there was no team, there were no goals, there were no players. Had I failed?!?

I ran across the field, soccer snacks in paper bag, not even thinking that I hadn't had a bath or shower today. I found Mr. Comic Mom at the playground and Caleb ran over to me and greeted me with a tantrum: The other team didn't show up and that sucks! Boy, were Caleb and I ever looking at things from a different angle: I was ecstatic to find out that I hadn't failed; Caleb was pissed that he hadn't gotten to play.

Turning into just a mom, I reminded Caleb that tantrums were not okay to throw and that he had to stop yelling and saying the word "sucks" on the playground. I held him close to me so he wouldn't make a scene. He ran off mad at the world because he hadn't gotten to play; Mr. Comic Mom's theory is that probably there was a scheduling problem, as there had almost been with Micah's team. Regardless, I had not failed as a soccer mom and I hope I had not failed as a regular old mom who was trying to comfort her son.

Eventually, we made it back to the Gingerbread House and as I write this, I still have not had the bath of my fantasies. Or the vodka. I probably need the bath a whole lot more and it's more likely to happen. Well, maybe.

Balloons, et al.
This balloon boy incident has certainly taken everyone for a ride, so to speak. We first heard about it as we were in Ventura for a homeschooling park day. The last I heard before we left on Thursday, the boy was up in the air. By the time we arrived at Burbank for classes, we learned that the boys was in hiding. We were thrilled! I was so very worried about him when I thought he was in the air. Now, I'm learning that the whole thing may have been a hoax by his attention-seeking dad and that, even worse, they may be homeschooling. Yikes! I just hate it when homeschoolers do something like this. Still, I don't think that the government should be taking away the children or sending the parents to jail. I think that the dad should be forced to pay for all the rescue efforts, which I last heard would be around $28,000. We are way too quick in this country to send people to jail, which may well be why our incarceration rate is one of the highest in the world. Instead, let's make people pay for damage if there is no harm to other people. And in this case, there is no overt physical harm. Sure, the boys, if indeed this is a hoax, have a really bizarre father who is teaching them to lie, and yes, that's bad. But is it any worse than what many families do? Is it worse than families who divorce and make their children have two separate abodes, never feeling a sense of home? Is it worse than families who adopt a child and pretend that the child is their flesh and blood? Should all these people be jailed? Bad things happen and if indeed the Heene family thing is a hoax, they should pay for what they've caused and be allowed to live their lives. Let's face it: A culture of government schools has produced a society of infantile-acting attention-seeking adults. The father in this case is certainly not the only person who has lied to his children or taught them to lie. Let's make him pay for his lies and move on. Period. End of story.

Happy Anniversary, Baby, Got You On My Mi-ind!
Does anybody else remember this Little River Band tune?

Well, I meant to post this entry earlier, but I'm just now getting around to it. It's fabulous to have our twelfth anniversary. I feel as though I should be buying or making something for Mr. Comic Mom that signifies twelve years of being married, but then again, I really am not making time to do that. In fact, I am barely making time to write this entry. But then again, twelve years is not such a bad amount of time to be married to a wonderful man, especially when you're a lesbian.

Here are some things I did on our anniversary:

10:30 p.m. Body Worshipping in the Church of Richard Giorla, at www.cardiobarre.com. Preacher Kenny is, unfortunately, on the East Coast; however, West Coast Sunday mornings are often filled with this inspirational 60 minutes of ballet-based exercise.

12:50 p.m. Burning sage that I got at Whole Foods; the boys are gone and the house is quiet in the daylight, thinking about how if I, a very bad lesbian, can thrive in twelve years of marriage, why can't everybody? Then, I think about my comic friend, T., who, newly divorced and a father of a seven-year-old, was married longer than I have been (this time, the first marriage for me was a little over three years). He didn't plan for his divorce to happen. There may well be an element of fate, which, according to Beowulf (the edition much earlier than the Angelina Jolie version), "goes always as it should." Somehow, I took a lot of comfort in that saying when I was going through my divorce with my first husband, something else that wasn't consciously planned by me. I even quoted the Beowulf line, in the original Anglo-Saxon alphabet, in my master's thesis; it was in the forward section. Fate has so far left me with my wonderful husband and descendants, and it has also allowed me to find my parents, siblings, and other family members, for which I am extremely thankful. Now, I'm taking a shower . . .

3:30 p.m. We are eating a lovely meal of baked spaghetti; Caleb found the recipe and Mr. Comic Mom made it. Yum! Of course, there is wine. Double yum!

There was much more to day, of course, but if I try to make this entry perfect and if I try to make it exact, it will never be published. Maybe I'll post some pictures later.

Still Missing Canoga Park Bowl Comedy
We've done all kinds of things that I should be writing about; instead, here I am focusing on stuff that's only important to me. Then again, it is my blog. Still, I hope to write about our lovely visit to the Chumash Interpretive Center in Thousand Oaks with the Cub Scouts and my first class as a belly dancer (yes, I'm taking belly dancing and hip hop). It's near Dante's birthday and I remember that last year, before going to Canoga Park Bowl for Dante's birthday celebration evening, the HO ran over something on the 101 and our gas tank was punctured. Only after the fire department arrived, when we were safely away from the car, did I begin to think about how devastating things could have been in that situation. We were coming back from picking up Caleb and Micah's Lego exhibits at the fair. Needless to say, I didn't make it to the Bowl that night. A lot's changed since then; James was killed at the Bowl in December and since that time, things were never the same. There's no longer a comedy show at the Bowl and I am still searching for some comedy venue to replace it. Nonetheless, my children and I are okay and when I consider what could have so easily happened with a punctured gas tank, I am extremely thankful indeed.

I remember well the last night I did comedy at the Bowl, driving by James' memorial before I left and even though the memorial had been taken down, I felt the spirit of James telling me it was time to leave. Perhaps last year's gas tank puncture that kept me from appearing that night was the first sign that things were coming to an end. Who can know? After six years of doing comedy there, I probably felt a bit more connected to the place than I should have. But now, what?!?

It's such a pleasure to have my three healthy boys around, and I am so very thankful that last year's gas tank puncture is a $1,200 memory that I can put behind me. Things could have been otherwise and I am extremely thankful that they were not.

Micah, my ray of sunshine:

After my first hip hop class, which I took with Caleb; our ballet and tap dance teacher, the lovely Miss Sandra,also teaches hip hop. Caleb, by the way, was trying to look really mean, or so he said:

Jadon and I are taking an alphabet class. Here he is starting at the beginning, with an ant hill and a bunny:

Post-Comedy Show Musings
Last week it was Indian summer, with the temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit; today it seems more like a California fall. The fires are burned out, or so it seems; the arson arrests and efforts to make a national arson arrest database or some such, is definitely sliding the heroic firefighters out of the limelight. The firefighters are still heroic in my book, as are all people who truly help to save people's lives. Then again, what did the late and wonderful William Carlos Williams say about poetry? Something such as this: Poems contain nothing that is considered newsworthy for newspapers, and yet men die every day from a lack of what is contained therein. That's a mighty generous paraphrase of mine, but the quote's meaning is intact.

It's quickly becoming fall, in one week's time the weather has changed so very much, which reminds me of how quickly life can change in one week or even in one minute or less. All of which, of course, remind me of how very lucky I am to be seeing the weather as the biggest and most difficult change in my life. How difficult can it be; it is SoCal, after all. I'm very thankful that things have the normalcy that they currently do, crazy as this very normalcy seems from time to time.

Having said all that, my children must think it's fairly normal for moms to go traipsing out after dark, all ready to go to a bar and do comedy. That's exactly what I did tonight, by the way, singing the much-beloved Dildo Song along the way. When you can take your children to classes by day and do comedy by night, kicking in a bit of workout in the morning, wow, is that ever a wonderful life. I am so very thankful that I have it.

L.A. County Had A Fair!
Last Sunday, instead of going to the church homecoming, which was 3,000 miles away, we went to the L.A. County Fair. It's not quite the church homecoming, of course, but it does give us an inkling of the bucolic life that we rarely see here in Los Angeles. Just today, I was telling the boys, as we went to obtain much-needed haircuts at Denny's Yellow Balloon, that I don't know what we'd do if we lived where I grew up. I talked with a realtor friend of mine when I was at VBS this past summer and when I asked her who was moving to the area, she replied, "retirees." Well, I'm guessing that's mainly because if you don't want to work at the bank, a government school, or Wal-Mart, you better have a good retirement income to live in the Tri-County area. It's interesting how the government, by regulating the total hell out of everything, has driven a lot of people away from rural areas and to the larger cities, where we can be drones for corporations instead of independent business people. Farming, which once supported many people in the country, is now either owned by giant agra-corporations or regulated by the increasingly socialist North Carolina government. What in the world would Mr. Comic Mom do if we lived there? And assuming that he did find a job, if he were laid off again, could he find a job in three weeks in a place where the fastest growing industry is wine. Yes, wine, that drink that no Southern Baptist should ever be caught dead drinking. In a land filled with Southern Baptists, the only thing for them to do is to work at a winery. Ironically, North Carolina's humongous pot crop is illegal and while the N.C. government will gladly tax you for growing pot, they'll also put your behind in jail. It's the same, of course, with raw milk, although I don't know that they'd tax it (although, why wouldn't they?!?). So, I was explaining to Micah, Jadon, and Caleb today that one of the reasons I left the Tri-County area was because I didn't want to teach or work in a bank. I also had a strong desire to leave because I felt that doing so would allow me to find my parents, which it eventually did. I was also rather tired of hearing people say such things as, "Well, you can't do that around here," which pretty much applied to everything that I wanted to do.

On the other hand, even though I wasn't born there and have no real family there, I really feel connected to the whole place, to the people, and to the earth there. I doubt that my children feel at all connected to Los Angeles, although today, post-haircut, we went to a Mexican restaurant and the guy there commented on how much the boys had grown. Even though we haven't been there for months, I was pleasantly surprised to find that people actually remembered us. The same thing happened at a hotel where we stayed coming back to California from North Carolina this summer. Someone serving breakfast there remembered us. Perhaps we are just memorable.

Anyway, this whole thing is causing a lot of conflict for me. I feel as though I'm cheating the boys by having them grow up in this hellhole. On the other hand, remembering my traumatic experience with a quack doctor who very unnecessarily took out my tonsils at the Baptist Hospital in Winston-Salem when I was six, I am thankful to have the very wonderful medical care that we have here. And I am thankful that we have such a huge selection, even if the very crappy Blue Shield refuses in a very sneaky way, to pay for the acupuncture that is helping me so much. There was some physical and emotional trauma in my childhood and my body, being 3,000 miles away from the trauma, finally seems to be healing from it all. By the way, in that particular unnecessary tonsilectomy (even Ann and Beauford, who were at the doctor's much of the time and completely trusted whatever doctors told them, realized that this guy was a quack, after he'd gouged my body, of course), I was also witness to nurses forcing my roommate, Beth, who was from around Madison-Mayodan, to have a very long needle stuck in her legs so that she could have a hernia operation. As I write this, I still remember her screams, as she stood up in bed and tried to stop them. It was truly awful, soup to nuts.

But wait, I've almost forgotten about the fair! Here are some photos:

The theme this year was "Under the Sea" and everybody could make a whale squirt water, via tire pump:

There is a railway, called the Garden Railway, which has been at the L.A. County Fair for decades. I think it is run completely by volunteers. Needless to say, we always stop here:

This puppet theatre thing is extremely cool. You put your hand in a puppet; then you look through a window and watch your puppet, and everybody else's, in a mirror:

Micah and Jadon explore a cage:

Happy Birthday to Joni!
First, Happy Birthday to Joni! We really wish we could have been there to help you celebrate, but we were certainly there in spirit.

Things Are Very Up in the Air Right Now
It's been ten years since Mr. Comic Mom and I moved here; ten years ago this week, if I'm remembering correctly. I gave up right much to come out here. Most notably, perhaps, my sacred job with the state. Or as people around where I grew up like to say, I "got on with the state." Indeed I did, as an English teacher at NCSU. It was a dream job, but how I did hate grading those papers. And things were definitely headed in an online direction and I'm not much for online teaching, in English anyway. I really like to have contact with my students, not merely know them by e-mail. That said, I have a friend who's an online teacher and I'm certainly not averse to being one, especially if the money and conditions are right. But I do like editing so much better. My scientists usually appreciate what I'm doing and I'm paid for what I do per hour; people pay me to rewrite their stuff and make it sound prettier. I'm in hog heaven, jobwise.

But what about comedy? What about the creative part of me that figured I could write screenplays as well as I could write poetry and the part of me that, when I tried to develop this skill, found out that screenplays were as arduous as the novel that I once intended to write.

As I celebrate the tenth anniversary of our living in L.A., I wonder how I can fulfill the comedy part of me. I do like writing comedy and I do like performing, but I don't particularly want to go on the road and play clubs in Iowa or whatever. I really enjoy making comedy videos. Right now, it's hard for me to focus on what I want. And of course, my children are my first priority. Then, there's the house, which always seems to need cleaning and the laundry, which always seems to need doing.

Right now, I need to go to bed.

Happy Autumn Equinox!
On our last official summer weekend, we went to the L.A. County Fair. It's hard to believe that we've been in California ten years this month. During that time, we've developed somewhat of a ritual in trying to make it to the fair each year. This year, it lasts almost a month, from Labor Day weekend until October 4th. We saw the cow maternity pen, which had four calves this year; went to the Garden Railway, a really cool model of lots of places in California; rode the world's largest transportable ferris wheel; and ate fried dough and a hot dog on a stick. I'll try to post more pictures later, but I've posted a couple here. I have to claim proud mother status regarding Caleb and Micah's entries at the fair. Jadon is too young to enter this year, but Micah won a white ribbon and a "Good Use of Theme" ribbon for his "The Extra Added Submarine" and Caleb's "The American Express" won a blue ribbon:

Words I Didn't Need to Hear
As if my boys aren't growing up fast enough, Jadon, 4, informed me last night that "I used to love Thomas; now, I like Thomas." Somehow, as they grow out of pajamas nightly, or so it seems, I really didn't need to hear that Jadon's love for Thomas has waned. Meanwhile, all the boys are busy, as we remodel the Gingerbread House, putting together Thomas train tracks. Even Caleb, now 8, adores the tracks still. Nobody tells you when you give birth how hard it is to watch children grow up. And of course, that's what you want. Micah, now 6, loves for me to accompany him to the bathroom and stand outside the door, which is what I'm supposed to be doing right now, as I write this. I don't have long before I'm discovered. Sometimes, all this parent stuff seems like a real pain--I remember when I could write all afternoon without being disturbed, part of me says. And yet, I am so very, very thankful to be disturbed and I know that there are many people who would love to have the disturbances of children and are not able to. We are lucky indeed. I'll try to remember that as I sneak back to right outside the bathroom door.