Comic Mom

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Happy Birthday to Micah!
We're doing all kinds of Micah stuff to celebrate Micah's birthday, including watching a cinecast of Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion" at the movie theatre in Burbank. Micah is really happy being 7. He turned 7 at 3:59 p.m. today, while ice skating at Topanga Canyon--yes, he officially turned 7 while on the ice--very cool! (Literally:)

Micah's Last Day as a Six-Year-Old
As Six becomes Seven tomorrow, we celebrated Micah's last day as a six-year-old in a typical L.A. way. Sure, it's snowing in North Carolina, but it's raining LAPD helicopters in Los Angeles. Yes, our neighborhood had some kind of lockdown. I guess there was a criminal loose somewhere, or something. The odd thing is that we'll probably never know. I'll bet the newspaper will have nothing in it and even though the major boulevard right behind our house was blocked, it didn't even make the traffic report, at least when we were listening. It all started around 4 p.m. I was watching from the inside while Six and Five were playing outside and a police office came by and told them to go inside. Later, when I tried to take the boys to their gymnastics class, with at least two officers in sight of the Gingerbread House, one officer came up on our driveway and told me that I had to leave or stay; if I lingered, a police dog would bite me. Sorry to be such a wimp, but that kind of thing really scares me. When we finally were able to leave the neighborhood, I was totally and completely freaked out. This kind of thing just doesn't happen in the tiny town where I grew up and if it did happen in Raleigh, it would be headlines. In Los Angeles, it can happen anytime and often does. The fact that it's so very commonplace and that my children went on to Burbank and took classes and played kickball, et al., shows the resilience that L.A. children must have. We had to act as if nothing had happened because in Burbank, 20 minutes away from this police activity, everything was peaceful. It is a very strange thing and I'm extremely thankful that when we returned, around 8 p.m., there were no police, no police dogs, and everything was nice and quiet and lovely in the Gingerbread House neighborhood. What a way to spend the last day of being six.

Yes, it's a giant shoe. Los Angeles has its many downsides, but an upside is a certain craziness that really is cool, such as this shoemobile, which advertises a shoe repair shop:

One of the last pictures of my now six-year-old as a six-year-old:

It's That Time of Year Again . . .
On Friday, after I took Nine and Six to Mad Science class and as Five played on the playground, I checked my voice mail and heard Joni's message: eight to fifteen inches of snow in North Carolina. My body was in California, but my heart was there, listening to the silence of the snow. I told the boys about sledding and we talked about how wonderful it would be to sled. And I keep wondering how long we'll be here, so far away from friends and snow. This kind of thing happens every winter, and because this winter's snow is so very deep, I am so very homesick. So, I guess the bottle of wine that I drank on Friday night was supposed to cure this homesickness, but of course it did not.

We moved out here for one year, remember? And yet, here we are, a decade and three children later, with memories of this place. Mr. Comic Mom just started a new job this week, which is a contract position, but if he makes full-time in three months, he will have some smashing insurance benefits, which will be fabulous. Last year, on the last day of January, he lost his job. So, things are better this year, at least for now. And certainly, he's making more money. Would this scenario continue in North Carolina? Scout Sunday is next Sunday and I long to take the boys to church in their scout uniforms. Then there's the sledding thing again and the silence of the snow. Sure, we can go to Palm Springs or one of the various mountains around here, but it's not quite the same as a whole community stopping to watch the snow.

Also, Last Comic Standing auditions are coming up and I'm wondering what to do with comedy. Dante's Life on Wilshire show is not happening for three weeks and so I've got somewhat of a break. What shall I do with it?!?

My boys certainly love North Carolina--even Mr. Comic Mom misses some things about it. However, we have no immediate plans to move back there and what would happen if we did? Certainly, there'd be no Tittie Tuesday or Peni$ Game. :)

This whole thing really scares me sometimes, the way we are becoming accustomed to SoCal and its craziness.

Mr. Comic Mom's dad, by the way, has decided not to include us in his travel budget this year. Evidently, it's too much for him to handle. Or something. I guess some people would jump with joy at the thought of not seeing their father-in-law, but there's something sad to me about a man who doesn't much care to see his son and grandsons. Mr. Comic Mom's brother has turned out to be very weird, so weird that I don't even have his phone number in my address book anymore. We invited him to countless birthday parties and such and we've yet to hear from him. Apparently, he wants nothing to do with us. I used to think that Mr. Comic Mom had the perfect family but I guess there are no perfect families.

I'm thankful that my dad is so great (and of course, that I found him!), considering the strange situation that the evil Children's Home Society of North Carolina (separating children from their parents every day!) created for us. He sent Six a nice light saber that he can use with one hand while he recovers from his broken arm. But really, my dad's pretty much the only contact that I have with my natural family these days. Things showed some potential with my brother this past summer but that has pretty much gone the way of Mr. Comic Mom's dad; I think it's probably just too difficult for each of us. Having family members that you don't know is very strange indeed and it places everyone in a very weird situation.

I can't imagine not seeing my children for years at a time. Perhaps we have come out here to make our own home, away from the craziness of North Carolina and Florida. Still, I really miss my friends in N.C. and we really miss the snow.

Here's Five, after he won not one but two raffle prizes at the Cub Scout meeting last Monday night. He was absolutely ecstatic and yes, it's the first time that anyone from our family has won anything in the raffle:

Cub Scout Euphoria
Evidently, it's not every day that two cute (mommy's totally unbiased opinion here) Cub Scouts stroll into Trader Joe's. On Monday night, after the Pack meeting, Nine and Six strolled right in and Nine got to talking with one of the people stocking the shelves. Before long, she went and got a sheet of paper and Nine was able to scribble his cursive "signature" on the sheet, joking that he'd charge $2. Okay, so I'd suggested he charge her for it :) Still, before we left the store, both Nine and Six had given their signatures to the checkout woman and both were absolutely thrilled that she'd asked them to do so.

Here's Five, Nine, and Six, with Five as the "nothing scout," as he's called himself, saluting in front of TJ's. However, the nothing scout's status should change next fall when Five officially becomes a Tiger Scout:

Here are my four boys at the Pack meeting:

Parents' Night Out
I just dropped the boys off at My Gym for Parents' Night Out. Nine, who is getting far too old for this kind of thing, or so he was chanting at regular intervals throughout the day, found that he could build a town with blocks and drive cars through it. Therefore, he has now changed his mind about My Gym tonight and was thrilled to stay. I've got tap class and then, Mr. Comic Mom and I may just have a drink or two of wine, or something, before we pick Nine, Six, and Five up at 9:30 p.m. The My Gym staff asked if I wanted three or four hours tonight--evidently, you can pick your child up at 8:30 p.m. They didn't have to ask me. I'll take the longest possibly number of hours of child care, being that we haven't really had babysitting since Joni took the boys to a movie last summer. And Mr. Comic Mom wasn't there for that. The house is quiet now. And I'm okay with that for the moment.

A Fabulous Night of Dance
On Thursday nights, Jadon, a.k.a. Five, and I have nursery rhyme dance class. Then, he joins his brothers, Micah, a.k.a. Six, and Caleb, a.k.a. Nine, in ballet and tap. Five is clearly in heaven because he is taking the same class that his brothers took last year. After their classes are over, I take jazz and then belly dancing. It's quite an evening of dance.

Anyway, I was very proud of Six tonight. He sat in my lap until the last few minutes of tap class. We'd sat through all of ballet, with my mentioning every few minutes that he was good to go out and dance; he just had to be careful with his broken arm. Nope. My advice, was, of course, not good enough, kind of like the food that's been in the cat dish too long and Shatley acts as though that food is disgusting in comparison to the fresh food that I've yet to pour out of the cat food bag. Little boys are a lot like cats in that way; they find their mother's advice often horrid, even though they will sometimes find a way to follow that advice, especially when their mother can receive absolutely no credit for it. And so, Micah did that very thing tonight, when he decided, all by his lonesome, or so it looked, that he would put on his tap shoes and dance. I could have kept my mouth shut instead of bugging him. Well, maybe. Anyway, he got out there and danced and had a blast with his friends on the dance floor. With my three sons gracing the dance floor, even the one who broke his arm last week, I could only sit and smile and be extremely proud.

By the way, the boys are tapping in this year's recital to "California Girls" by the Beach Boys. It is such an absolutely cute routine! They are also doing ballet to the Lonely Goatherd (I think that's the name of it) song from The Sound of Music, which we saw a few weeks ago with a little girl who's in their dance class.

We went by, on the way back from the Ventura acupuncturist, Mr. Comic Mom's office. Tomorrow is his last day of working there. He starts a new job on Monday, which we're all looking forward to. Still, the company he works for now would like very much to keep him. I'm thrilled that he's in such high demand.

Random Thoughts After A Comedy Show
Micah's arm seems to be feeling better. He complains hardly at all, although he was sick on Friday, throwing up sick. But now, all is better, for which I am very thankful, and tomorrow, we are going to an orthopedist (sp?); he'll probably have on a cast on at this time tomorrow.

Today, Caleb and I were in our hip hop class and a young woman in the class told Caleb that she had flown, by herself and now, Caleb simply must fly across the country by himself. Wasn't it yesterday when I was holding him in my arms and breastfeeding him across the country?!?

Tittie Tuesday seems to be quite a success, at Life on Wilshire. I still find it hard to believe that of all the things I've done so far in life, Tittie Tuesday seems to be the most popular.

A Day at Childrens Hospital
Okay, so as an editor, the whole "Childrens Hospital" thing drives me crazy. When we first moved to SoCal, "Ralphs" drove me crazy also. One night, at an STC (Society for Technical Communication) meeting, where people sometimes discuss grammatical guffaws and such, someone told Mr. Comic Mom and me that it was indeed the Ralphs family that started the chain, rather than a guy named Ralph, as I had imagined. I felt much better after that and now, I look at Ralphs and know that it is indeed correctly spelled. But Childrens Hospital seems to me to just be a plain old grammatical error, made by people who should know better. Children, after all, is the plural of child, and no "s" is necessary on the end.

We've often gone by Childrens Hospital on the way to Dr. Fleiss's office (yes, it's Heidi's dad. And no, I didn't know it was her dad when we started seeing him as a pediatrician); it's literally right down the hill from his office. I have, of course, always been very thankful that I've never had to actually stop in at Childrens Hospital and I know that Dante collects presents from comics and takes them there for sick children around Christmas. However, it's often great not to be in a hospital, especially if you're a child. Fortunately, we've had no dealings with Childrens Hospital of Los Angeles (CHLA) until yesterday.

To start this story, I'll tell you that Tuesday was an absolutely fabulous day. Sure, we had to go to the acupuncturist. I've started seeing a new acupuncturist and she's in Ventura. She is awesome. Her 88-year-old grandmother is still doing acupuncture somewhere near the Yangtze River, which should tell you, if she's still working at almost 90, that there's something to this whole acupuncture and herb stuff. Yes, she's an hour away, but once we finished that lovely visit with her, which took about twenty minutes or so, we went to Andria's for some good old fish-camp-tasting deep fried fish. Yum! We sat beside some really cool and very good-looking grandparents from Carlsbad who were, I guess, on holiday. We eventually started talking to them. Turns out, the grandpa's brother had homeschooled seven children and so, we had a pretty good conversation. I was thrilled to drink Coke, being that we try not to bring that into the Gingerbread House (we often fail, but still, we try), but these grandparents had one bottle of wine each!, making the whole grandparent thing look especially awesome. After a nourishing lunch, we went across the road to the beach and spent a few minutes there. We had to leave at 2:30 p.m., however, because I had some prep work to do for the comedy show and also, because Caleb had a piano lesson at 4:30 p.m. The piano lesson was supposed to be at 1 p.m., but we changed it because we were in Ventura.

We came back down the 101 very happy and refreshed and we spent about an hour at home before I took Caleb to piano. His piano teacher, Ron Roy, who's well over 70 and spry as ever, or at least it seems (maybe he does acupuncture :), was very nice to reschedule. And so, everything was going dandily and here it was, time to pick up Caleb at 5 p.m. We were going straight to Burbank for hip hop classes and Jadon's tap class afterwards and so, I was trying to get everything and everybody in the car before picking up Caleb. I asked Jadon and Micah to get in the car seat and eventually, they did. On the way to Ron Roy's, I heard Micah sniffling and I asked him if he wanted a Kleenex. He said no and it sounded as though he was getting a cold. He sniffed a second time and after the five-minute trip to Ron Roy's, as we were pulling into Ron Roy's driveway, Micah said, while crying, "My arm hurts." It was one of those cries that tells you something was really wrong, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Had he done something with his arm in the car?!? We were trying to pick up Caleb and I was trying to talk with Ron Roy and leave for Burbank and figure out what was going on with Micah. It was a lot to handle in, oh, about three minutes and the whole thing seems kind of blurry right now, as I recall it. My instincts told me, especially after listening to that cry, that something was wrong with Micah, but his arm looked okay, from my cursory glance, and he seemed to be able to move it just fine. As we were leaving Ron Roy's for Burbank, I was trying to find out what was going on with Micah and also calling Mr. Comic Mom and telling him that I needed him. The one thing I absolutely knew growing up was that I never ever wanted to be a medical doctor. And so, Mr. Comic Mom, being an Eagle Scout and much better at emergency things than I am, would be much better, I knew, at interpreting things. He left work a few minutes early and told me he'd meet me at Burbank. Even though Micah's arm seemed okay, I wanted to take him to the emergency room. Our Burbank classes are close to St. Joseph's hospital, so I knew that we'd be able to go. Micah told me on the way to Burbank that he'd been running and tripped over a rock and fell. Obviously, he and Jadon did not get in the car and buckle in, as I'd told them, until I came out the door, and in those couple or so of minutes, Micah fell and twisted his arm. I'd like to say that I reacted calmly about the whole thing but I was completely freaking out. And wondering if I should even take Jadon to his tap class. And thinking that I may be spending the night in the emergency room instead of doing comedy. It was, of course, past our Dr. Fleiss's regular hours.

Mr. Comic Mom got to Burbank very quickly and I was extremely happy to see him. He looked at Micah's arm and asked him all these questions, getting him to move it around a lot and everything seemed just fine. He told me that we'd just watch it and see how it was going in the morning. I completely trust Mr. Comic Mom's judgment on such things and Micah seemed okay, not crying and such. I hoped that he'd just bruised it or something. Still, it was curious that Micah didn't want to go to hip hop class, being that he loves it. Jadon went to his classes and Mr. Comic Mom took Micah and Jadon home while Caleb and I went to our hip hop class. We were planning to go home, I'd drop off Caleb, and go on to Lancaster to do comedy. Micah seemed fine when we got home although he wasn't using his left arm, the arm he'd hurt, very much. I asked him how he was doing and he said he was just fine. Curiously, the Lancaster show went very strangely and I came back early from it and stopped by the house before going to to Dante's Life on Wilshire show. The boys were thrilled to see me, although Mr. Comic Mom was worried that I'd delayed their almost being asleep. And I was really thrilled to see the boys. I think everybody was happier after I stopped by the Gingerbread House and I was glad to know that Micah seemed to be doing fine; we kept asking him how he was and he seemed okay.

After everybody settled into bed, I cruised down to Wilshire, did the show, and returned a little after midnight. Micah slept just fine. In the morning, however, I noticed that his arm was swollen; it had not been the night before. I called Mr. Comic Mom and then the doctor's office. The nurse at Dr. Fleiss's told me to bring Micah in. We skipped Jadon's numbers class with the fabulous Mrs. R. and went to the doctor's office. I called my friend, Joni, along the way, and she assured me that everything would be fine, reminding me that her sister, Donna, had her nose broken by sister Toni when we were all much younger. I'd forgotten about that event, which made me realize that even the seriousness of a broken bone will lighten one day and once the healing takes place, everybody can usually laugh about such things.

Miriam, Dr. Fleiss's wonderful P.A., examined Micah and said that he needed an X-ray. She wrote us a script for it and sent us a few blocks down the hill, to CHLA. The X-ray showed a broken radius and ulna, but fortunately, it was a pretty clear break and it should easily heal straight, with no surgery or anything required, except, of course, a splint and eventually, a cast. The emergency room doctors were all under 30, by the way, and they were all very, very nice with children, as is to be expected, I suppose. I'm not much of a hospital person and the last time I visited a hospital, as I recall, was to give birth to Jadon. And so, it wasn't the greatest thing to spend an entire afternoon in a hospital, with three children, all by myself. This kind of thing made me wish we lived closer to my dad, who is very helpful with taking the boys for a while when we are in North Carolina. CHLA was very helpful in allowing Caleb and Jadon to tag along, even though, I think it was against their official policy. And it was a beautiful hospital. It is inevitable in such a place that you see really, really sick children, however, as we did. One guy was being wheeled on a gurney; I'm guessing for some type of operation. He looked very sad and very imperfect, the opposite of what L.A. children are supposed to be, here in the land of the beautiful. One never knows when a circumstance may land a child in a hospital and at the end of the day, when we finally left around 5 p.m., I was extremely thankful that we could leave so easily, and with only a broken arm, one that will easily heal. I can't help but think about these doctors, many of whom look almost too young to be parents themselves, who dedicate themselves to helping children get better. Yes, it seems odd to have a McDonald's in a place of healing, as CHLA does, and yes, I hope to avoid hospitals, for the most part, from now on, but it is absolutely wonderful to know that there are very good and caring folks who take such good care of children, often children in heartbreaking situations. Sure, we've got a child with a splint on his arm and yes, it'll take some time for him to heal, but soon, he'll be back to his normal self, with his two healthy brothers and healthy mom and dad. I have rarely been more thankful for this wonderful situation that we're in. Indeed, it is hard to be more thankful for anything on earth than our good health and the good health of our family.

As with the bow and mallow incident (another long story :) that almost knocked out Micah's tooth a few weeks ago, this incident has made me even more thankful for my boys. "Why do these things always happen to me?" Micah asked. And I had to answer, "I don't know." I hope that we have no more emergency visits for a while, either to the doctor or dentist. I know there are many families, however, for whom hospital visits are a much more regular part of their schedule. Seeing a child who has cancer will really make you thankful for your child's seemingly good health. We have so much to be thankful for. Spending a day at CHLA will certainly make you see that.

Jadon and Micah talk after Micah's X-ray:

A mural at CHLA:

I still don't know the story behind the CHLA name, but it is indeed a beautiful place, with fabulous architecture:

Yes, it's an aquarium:

A Brave and Happy Micah:

When A Comedy Show Doesn't Go Your Way
Something happened at the Ruben's Bar and Grill show tonight. And I'm not sure what exactly it was. I do know, however, that I felt it was right to leave. Somehow, I felt disrespected, and I'm not even sure that the host meant to make me feel that way. And so, I left, after about a minute on stage. Somehow, I think it was the right thing to do tonight. I'm off to Life on Wilshire for another show.

Jadon checks out the statue of Sonny Bono in Palm Springs. I was trying to explain to Jadon and his brothers who Sonny Bono was. Then, I thought of Sonny and Cher and I was trying to explain that whole scene. And of course, there's no explaining Chastity Bono, who now fancies herself to be a man, except that Chastity's parents are Sonny and Cher. Indeed, that may explain a lot:

Happy New Year!
I'm in the middle of editing a DoD proposal in a hotel room in Palm Springs, so this entry may not be as long as I wish it to be. Yes, we decided to spend New Year's Eve in Palm Springs and we decided around 3 p.m. on New Year's Eve to do this. It was a bit easier this year, being that we didn't have to worry about Mojave, our German Shepherd who ran away in February of last year. Last New Year's, our neighbor was supposed to look after him while we went to Palm Springs and when we returned, we learned that she had not let him out because she had a heart attack. That's a pretty good excuse for not letting the dog out, but Mojave was a real trooper while we were gone--but was he ever ready to go out when we returned. Fortunately, after a few days in the hospital and a surgery, our neighbor seems fine today.

So, here we are in 2010; ten years ago, we were in Miami, celebrating the New Year with Mr. Comic Mom's mother at a comedy club. We had just moved to Los Angeles and I hadn't yet gotten pregnant with Caleb. My friend Elizabeth had just given birth to Jack, a few days before the New Year. I had no idea at the time that I would be Comic Mom in the coming decade. Nor did I have any idea that I'd be giving birth to three children and having two miscarriages. Lots of things can happen in a decade and I'm extremely thankful that ours has been relatively properous. It is very sad, of course, that Mr. Comic Mom's mom is not physically with us in this decade. That was a real surprise, as I'd figured she'd be with us for a long time. So, we never really know what's going to happen.

I'm making money working at home and staying with my children, doing comedy at night. I never quite imagined that scenario either, but it is one of the good things this decade. We'd hoped to make it to North Carolina, either during Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Year's, but that didn't happen either. Fortunately, I've talked to some of our friends from North Carolina and it is absolutely fabulous to hear from them. But we are a long, long way from there and it's tough to justify a four-day trip when I'd be missing out on work that will make it easier, for instance, for us to remodel our bathroom, which really needs to be done. And so we're here, in Palm Springs, or as Elizabeth would say: "That's so Sammy David, Jr. of you." Indeed, it is. Palm Springs is filled with gay men and grandparents and the latter were passing by us in droves on the street last night as we sat at a sidewalk cafe that serves Mediterranean food and pasta, eating creme broulee (sorry, I don't know how to do the accent mark on this blog) and yelling Happy New Year to people. More than one grandparent noticed that the boys were up past their bedtime. Fortunately, this whole New Year's thing only happens once each year.

Christmas Report:
We love our Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker, btw, which is what Jadon requested from Santa, which Santa very nicely brought. It's a low-tech gadget that works beautifully. Each boy also received a letter from Santa, postmarked from Finland! Many thanks to Mervi for giving me info. on the Web site that gives the letter requests to Santa. Micah got a popcorn maker and a special edition Nerf Gun, some kind of automatic deal (as if the Gingerbread House needs more of that kind of thing). Caleb got Pokemon cards (not my doing, but Santa's) and a train set. Everybody got a desk. We're cleaning up, or trying to, at the Gingerbread House and I'm hoping to have lots more room for the stuff we need after I get rid of what we don't need. Speaking of organizing, Mrs. Claus brought a present for the Gingerbread House: A Dyson Ball vacuum, which I absolutely love (so does the Gingerbread House, btw). And we are still celebrating: Each day, for the twelve days of Christmas, the boys get something in their stocking from what Santa left. This morning, on the Eighth Day of Christmas, each boy received a calendar that Santa had brought on Christmas Eve. Yes, Mr. Comic Mom and I have to remember to place gifts in the stocking each night, but if there's something we forgot at Christmas, Santa probably brought it on Christmas Eve (he brought all twelve gifts that evening--we're on the Old Christmas plan with Santa) and we can still place it in the stocking. So, in that way, a lot of stress is relieved. :)

We'll probably save the black-eyed peas and collard greens for tomorrow's supper; it's not easy to find those to eat in Palm Springs, at least to find them cooked right.

Happy New Year to Everyone! It's the beginning of a new and wonderful decade!

On the Third Day of Christmas
I decided to give my own self a gift. I'm in the midst of proposal hell, which means that I have four proposals to edit and return by tomorrow morning. But let's face it, I'm not out priming tobacco, am I? Sometimes I wish I would spend less time at the computer, but I am extremely thankful that I can stay at home with my family and work as well. It's awesome.

Much work, however wonderful it is, also leads to less of a reason for going to North Carolina. Eight total days of traveling back and forth would be eight days of proposals missed. Therefore, the boys and I are staying here and merely hearing about the snow that people close to where I grew up are now using for building snowmen. I know that the more politically correct of you will want me to call them snowpersons. I talked to my dad on Christmas Day. It's sometimes kind of nice that we don't have the baggage that many fathers and daughters have. However, we also don't have the connections and shared history of most fathers and daughters. Nonetheless, he sent me a gorgeous card, which said exactly the right thing. That's hard to do when you didn't know where your daughter was for 34 years. But he did it and that's totally awesome.

I also cooked pork in the crock pot yesterday and, while it was cooking, my dad told me I could pull it and make some pulled pork barbecue. I may edit proposals that go to NASA and such, but something so simple as thinking that I could get pulled pork from, well, pork had eluded me. Just so happens, we had some Ole Time Barbecue sauce from Ole Time Barbecue in Raleigh. We pulled us some pork and I fried some hush puppies, from a recipe in The New Cookbook. Although the scenery was much different, I felt as though we were in North Carolina.

We went to Church of the Chimes on Christmas Eve and the boys really enjoyed the children's service.
Mr. Comic Mom called on his way home from the store, telling me that Cheech and Chong's Christmas song was on 100.3, which I quickly turned it to. Neither of us had heard it on the radio this year. We also heard my favorite Waitresses' song, Christmas Rappin'. Things were shaping up rather nicely and we talked to Mr. Comic Mom's dad and uncle on Christmas Day and to my dad. I'd tried to call Tish, but got her voice mail.

So, I woke up around 2 a.m. this morning, finished a proposal, and started to go to bed. I ended up getting up and calling Tish. And she was there! It was awesome. She had a fabulous Christmas as well, sort of a version of the Waitresses' song (and I will tell no more details). And she laughed. I really dig it when Tish laughs.

What a gift Tish gave me in letting her breakfast get cold so that she could talk with me this morning. What a friend Tish is! As a result, I'm giving my own self a gift by writing this journal entry.

Many thanks to Tish, and to Mr. Comic Mom, Caleb, Micah, and Jadon, who, if they awakened from their slumber for a few minutes early this Third Day of Christmas, probably heard me either talking loudly to Tish or laughing right with her.

Happy Winter Solstice!
Yes, I know; it's really four days after Winter Solstice, four by the time I'm completing this entry (I started it yesterday :). I've written some stuff lately that I wish I hadn't. It's not that I didn't need to be angry, or that I'm still not a bit miffed about the situation, but I was kind of mean and nasty to people I had no business being mean and nasty to, mainly because I was mad at someone else. As we celebrate Winter Solstice, with its longest nights of the year and the shortest days, I have been reading a lot about Winter Solstice and we had a candlelight feast on Monday night in honor of the coming sun. One of the things about Winter Solstice that I read is that during this time, you are supposed to appreciate the dark. Perhaps that's what's happening with me: I'm appreciating the dark side of myself. But it's still not very nice of me to be mean. And at this time of year, when we celebrate the birth of the Son and the re-emergence of the sun, it's important to right wrongs. I'm sorry for any hurting I've done.

I am not planning to be perfect during the winter and spring seasons, but I do plan to progress, if possible, and become more of who I am and not as much the tangled cord of insecurities and fears that I possess. There's a lot of pain in each of us and as we look toward longer days and shorter nights, when we should all have more light in which to see reality, I hope that my reality will include working through my fears and insecurities and emerging in some kind of way that makes me more pleasant and positive.

I'm still a bit sad about not being in North Carolina, but while we are here, in sunny SoCal, perhaps I can work this year to relieve and deal with some of the pain that I've moved 3,000 miles to avoid.

Late Night Wondering
Today, after going to Sara's for an eyebrow tweeze (painful, but effective), I decided to be a bit deviant and instead of going straight up the 405, I went down Wilshire to Santa Monica and turned on to Pacific Coast Highway (PCH). It was just the Honda Odyssey (HO) and me, driving along the ocean at dusk. Wow, it's fun to live in California sometimes. And I don't say that just for the pot stores. Or the gorgeous and often scantily clad women. Although those things are good. I say it because after a good eyebrow tweezing, you can get on PCH and cruise up to Sunset before returning to the Valley, or wherever your destination is. So, we're never that far from the beach. Pretty darn cool, I'll have to say.

Meanwhile, I've gotten pictures from North Carolina and it's snowing now. There's as much snow as I remember as a child. As beach-centric as my babies are, they are quite snow deprived. In fact, we're thinking of going to Palm Springs, where we went last year, and going to the top of the snow-covered mountain, the name of which I'm forgetting right now. I feel bad about missing the snow. And it is exciting to be here. And there are the pot stores. And the women. Still, there is something about North Carolina and the South that I really miss, although I wonder, sometimes, how well the South and I would get along these days. There's not much raw milk to be found at Whole Foods there; in fact, there's not a drop--it's illegal to sell. It really bothers me that a lot of people in the traditionally freedom-fighting South have sold out to neocons and other politicians, allowing jobs to be taken left and right. When Surry County, a county filled with hard-working farmers, has the highest unemployment rate in North Carolina, you know that something's amiss.

Would Freud Laugh At My Dreams?
Look, I'm supposed to be running right now, but I really feel compelled to write. And I guess I'm procrastinating because I've become a real California wuss and although it's 54 or so degrees outside, I think Gosh, it's so cold!, even though it's not really that cold to most of the world. Anyway, I had this dream last night and when I told him this morning, Mr. Comic Mom laughed at it, much the way that I was having a session with my NEP practitioner the other day, telling him about another dream, and he, too, laughed. I guess my dreams, which I place so much weight on, are really funny. Yet, I take them so seriously.

And so, last night, I had a few dreams, but the one that stuck with me the most was the one that I had right before I woke up. In that dream, two LAPD officers were offering me $600 or $700 to help them arrest a prostitute and I felt compelled to tell them that I didn't believe prostitution should be illegal, which is true, and I was debating the money and one of them held out the money and I touched it and yet, he told me I couldn't have it until I agreed to help. To procrastinate, I asked them if they knew Stephen Bell, who's a comic friend of mine and also an LAPD officer. They didn't know him. I also dreamed that Mr. Comic Mom was driving us across a lake and that we weren't sinking. I'm not sure exactly which dream came first. The prostitution dream made not a dab of sense to me until I started thinking about the proposal I'm working on this weekend. And other proposals that I've taken on. This week has given me quite a few proposals/reports/and such to edit and while I am quite thankful for the money, I can't help but wonder how much good more helpful surveillance equipment, for instance, is for our society, being that we're already on the brink of being surveillanced to death, or so it seems. And so, I'm quite sure that prostitution has not nearly done as much harm as unConstitutional surveillance in our country. At least in prostitution, both parties are usually willing. A similar thing goes for pot. The L.A. City Council is having a field day trying to regulate a God-given plant, which is really more about controlling people, i.e. let's not have a pot store too close to public schools now--yeah, right, as if pot is more harmful than the public schools. Globalists and such really thrive on distractions such as pot and prostitution to keep us focused on what's not really that important. I'm concerned if Mr. Comic Mom goes to a prostitute (he better not!), but I really don't care if the rest of the men in this country go or not. However, I do care that the government is sneaking (and looking for even sneakier technology) on Americans in ways that we do not know. Meanwhile, bread and circuses seem to satisfy the masses and as the author of the article writes near the end, he'll probably be writing another article like this one in five years or so, with not much difference in number of people who are paying attention.

Although people think it's fabulous that I edit proposals that go to some government agency that I don't support, and many people would probably judge me as being some kind of 'ho' if they found out that I used to be a topless dancer (partly because my girlfriend at the time was one), I can't help but believe that the topless dancer part of me was much more honorable than the part that's calmly edited some of the proposals I've worked on. I'm extremely thankful to have the money, of course, and I can't really think about another line of work that would be honorable. A government school teacher would, of course, even be worse than what I'm doing now: At least I'm not trying to stunt the minds of children with the latest educational theory handed down by the federal government. It sure would be nice to be paid for one of my blogs or something, but as I saw, when the LaLeche League dropped me as a speaker and the book publisher dropped my stint as editor of a breastfeeding book (but both, fortunately, still paid), doing something that you love for a living and having what you think is a purpose might be more trouble than it's worth. I really do love the English language and I really do love editing and even though I may work on some proposals that scare me, others seem to really help people. Besides, the way that Obama and his predecessors have socialized the United States, you can't help but do some kind of work that helps the federal government to do something obscene, unConstitutional, or just plain old wrong. It's not as though I would find it easy to make a living being a blacksmith. And editing helps to pay the bills as well as allow me to raise my children. Still, I don't think that government work is nearly as honorable as prostitution. Nor is it usually as honest.

Letting Go of My Flaky Friends
I heard some p.r. guy on AM radio a few years ago; it was not long after we moved to L.A., but I think I'd already given birth to at least one of my children. Anyway, he was saying that in order to be successful, you have to "get rid of your flaky friends." For better or worse, that's been happening with me for a while now. A couple were gone shortly after we moved to L.A. One friend decided to be a real bitch after I'd known her for, oh, about 15 years, and had made her the godmother of my children (her status has since been rescinded :) Flaky friend gone!
Another, whom I've written about on my lesbian blog, went out the door when I found my natural parents. In fact, I think that changed a lot of flaky friends into former friends, including one who'd been friends with me almost all my life. Although part of me is sad to be rid of them, another part is joyous--the friends that I have now are one that I truly treasure. Maybe it's like getting rid of clutter, which I'm also trying to do here at the Gingerbread House. Getting rid of flaky friends is totally awesome.

So, so, so, there's this girl whose mother is a cousin of Beauford's. And I found out that her wonderful, absolutely fabulous mom was dead when I sent a Christmas card to her mom and dad last year. Beauford's cousin's girl (BCG) called me and told me that her mom had died the previous October. I remember the last time I talked with her mom; I had to hang up the phone because my boys (Mr. Comic Mom excluded:) were making so much noise that I couldn't hear her. The mom had told me that she'd had lung cancer and that she was doing better. Unfortunately, her good state changed to bad and she died a year ago last October. She was an awesome woman and a part of me, even though I know it's wrong to envy, really envies the relationship that BCG had with her mom. Probably one reason I've not had a daughter is because of the horrid relationship that my own mother and I had, beginning with her giving me away when I was just a few weeks old. I've written a lot about that strange relationship, which got even stranger after I found my mom and she eventually rejected me again. But hey, I probably wouldn't have the courage to write what I do if my mom had stuck around. Or maybe even, if I'd grown up with her. So, I'm glad to be rid of my flaky mom as well. However, it seems as though that experience (or something) stuck with me so much that I only feel comfortable with boys. That being as it is, I'm always very in awe when a mom and daughter get along splendidly. And when a daughter misses her mom very much when the mom is dead. So, for that very reason alone, I admired BCG. Unfortunately, as that kind of thing sometimes does, my admiration for BCG, and the trust for her that I felt because of her mother, led to some rather lengthy phone conversations with her. She also had promised to help me edit The Peni$ Game, in book form, which I greatly appreciated. In the few months that we communicated occasionally by phone, I felt that we'd become some weird kind of friends (pretty much the only kind I really know with women). And so, when she talked at length to me about her wedding, and about whom she'd invite and whom she wouldn't, stupid me assumed that I was to be invited, especially since she told me that it was to be held on the first day that we would be in North Carolina this past summer. Stupid me--who hadn't received an invitation when we left for N.C., but thought that maybe, just maybe, it was such an informal wedding that she wasn't sending invitations--called her and asked where the wedding was. Stupid me then thought that the message I left would be returned. Stupid me waited. And waited. And waited. And the boys thought that we were going to a wedding, but fortunately, resilient as they are, were fine with it when they found we were not (hey, they got to spend more time with their friend, Gracie, in Asheville). The afternoon turned out really well and I'm fine with getting rid of yet another flaky friend. But I'm wondering if I should keep BCG as a Facebook friend. It's a question that I'm pondering. Meanwhile, as I try to get rid of a lot of clutter in my life, I become even more thankful for those who are still my friends. And I am very thankful for my wonderful boys and Mr. Comic Mom, all of whom seem to take whatever comes their way and run with it.

Happy Birthday to Mr. Comic Mom!
As I mentioned in my previous entry, things are fabulous here at the Gingerbread House. Oh, sure, I'm fantasizing about a bathroom remodel and I'd love to pay someone to paint the exterior of the house, and I'd love a new kitchen floor, oh, and . . . it would be great to have a new heating system and to finish painting the kitchen cabinets, as I started last spring. There's always something to do with a home. Something. I have a lot to be thankful for, however, in that I am very glad to be in this house of ours--and part of the debt we owe, except that we don't really owe it because nobody's collecting it or even allowing us to pay it--is to Mr. Comic Mom's dad who gave us a bit of help with the down payment. When we tried to pay him back, he wouldn't accept our money. So, with everybody's family fights broadcast on reality shows these days, it's quite wonderful to have a father-in-law who simply loaned us some money. And then, refused to allow us to pay him back. That's the kind of parent I'd like to be, but I'm not so sure that I will be. Mr. Comic Mom's dad told me the other day, when I was talking to him on Thanksgiving Day, that he was a very private person. Sure, I don't understand why he's only seen us once in the past three or so years. And no, I didn't understand his wife, Mr. Comic Mom's mom. And yes, I still feel guilty that my house was such a mess (or so I perceived it) that I asked his mom not to come and visit after Jadon's birth. I really feel bad about that. I had no idea, of course, that her offer would be the last she would make to come and visit us. I assumed, as did everyone else who knew her, that she would live more or less forever, or at least for another 50 years or so. She was that tough. Or so it seemed. The whole cancer thing, from its detection to her death from chemotherapy, happened pretty quickly and no, I really didn't think she'd die, even after she received the diagnosis of cancer. At least, I was sure she'd live a few more years. Or perhaps I was just afraid to look at what was happening. The last time I saw her, she was watching our brood get on the shuttle bus from a rental car company to go to the Miami airport. As she watched her brood load on to the bus, I saw her start to cry. She certainly didn't seem to be the crying type, at least she didn't seem that way to me. And as with lots of things that I don't understand, I simply froze that picture of her somewhere in some crevice of my mind. After her death, I would retrieve the picture and wonder if she knew then that she would never see her firstborn, his wife, and her grandchildren again. It's hard to know what people know about death. Perhaps she also views things differently now. I really took a lot of things for granted before her death. After her death, and the two miscarriages that I had, I began to see that maybe, just maybe, I've been somewhat of a spoiled brat, not really looking at other people and their feelings. Maybe that's where we become stuck as humans: looking at ourselves instead of at other people. I don't really have this whole thing figured out, of course. Not at all do I have it figured out. I am beginning to clear clutter from the Gingerbread House; it's hard to let go of things that she gave us. Fortunately, the most valuable things are the ones that she made for us, as she was pretty talented in most every sewing, needlework, et al. way. When I talked to Mr. Comic Mom's dad the other day, he said he still missed his wife. Spoiled as I am by being surrounded by four lovely men pretty much all the time, I felt, once again, like a spoiled brat. How was I to understand his loneliness, his missing the woman he loved? He said that he missed her insight on things, her "perceptions" and "intellect." One thing is for sure: there was a lot of love between Mr. Comic Mom's parents. For that, I am very fortunate. And I say fortunate because I have benefited greatly from Mr. Comic Mom's parents. They produced a lovely son and when I look at some people's loneliness, whether as a single mom or a widowed man, I sometimes take for granted how fortunate I am to be spending Thanksgiving Day in a house that's never had a late mortgage payment. Or to have a husband who can make some totally awesome shelves for our video and audio equipment. Yes, it's absolutely fabulous to have Mr. Comic Mom in my life and I am thankful for the three children that we have produced. While a part of me yearns for the notoriety that having my own sitcom would bring, another part knows that real success in life is measured not so much in notoriety but in the success of your descendants. Mr. Comic Mom's mom and dad have been wonderful indeed in that aspect.

So, on this day when we pulled out ye olde crock pot, I threw together some beef stroganoff, and we all decorated what was supposed to be a Vanilla Train Cake and turned into more of a Vanilla Train Wreck Cake, I celebrate Mr. Comic Mom's birth and I celebrate the woman who did it.

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.