Pirates of Pinataville

Dear Laney,

Yesterday morning, your dad and I attended the holiday show at your elementary school, called "The Pirates of Pinataville." In the middle of a week when we had a million other things going on, one of the items on my To Do list had been "Send Laney to school on Friday dressed as a Mexican peasant girl." 

We stood in the back of the auditorium, smooshed in with hundreds of other parents and grandparents and took our first look at the program. That's when we realized that the kindergarteners would be going last. My mother always said, "If there's a loooong program with a bunch of kids, rest assured yours is going to go last after you've watched everybody else's young'uns sing." 

Here's the plot of "Pirates of Pinataville," best as we could tell: 

There's a peace-loving, pinata-making town called Pinataville. One day, a bunch of pirates (who love to play the recorder, as most pirates historically did) sneak into Pinataville and steal all the pinatas. The Pinatavillians decide to get back at the pirates by filling a second round of pinatas with hot peppers. The pirates eat the peppers and see the error of their ways and apologize. The Pinatavillers decide to forgive them, because "Christmas is about forgiveness." [And the manufacturing and export of pinatas.]

Cue the kindergarteners to celebrate. 

When the kindergarten classes had filed in, you ended up front and center. And girl, you truly channeled your inner, oppressed Pinatavillian:

And then, in a move your dad and I were not expecting, you stepped off the bleachers, walked up to the microphone in front of the rest of the school and HAD A SOLO. 

You sang a verse of something in Spanish, and I clutched your dad's arm in complete shock because we had NO IDEA you'd be singing. Your dad shrugged and said, "Of course she is."

To wrap things up, a second grade teacher came out dressed as a pirate and sang Feliz Navidad. That's you, front and center, the only one acting out the lyrics to the Jose Feliciano classic.

The pageant had almost nothing to do with the holidays, and was probably completely insensitive to our neighbors to the south. But my baby sang, so to hell with global awareness. 

Love,

Mom

Nope

Portraits a la Avedon

Hey y'all - 

For the past few months, I've been participating in a weekly photography challenge group. Each week, one of the women picks a theme and we all submit a photo based on that theme. Last week was my turn to pick, and I chose "Inspired By." We were each to pick a photograph that inspired or perplexed us in some way and take our own photo inspired by it. 

I chose the portraits of Richard Avedon (above), and tried to duplicate the simple, raw feel of his images of political leaders and larger-than-life cowboys taken with a large-format 8x10 camera...by hanging up a white sheet in my bedroom and roping in my children. It felt about 20% less silly than it sounds. My plan had been to get everything set up and take a ton of pictures of Laney until I got one I liked. Figuring that she was older and more willing to sit still - and was even willing to brush her own hair for the photo op - I chose her as my model. 

But then, right as I got everything in place and turned on my light, Hagen wandered in, sat on the stool, looked into the camera and killed it:

One take wonder.

I've since shown this photo to Hagen and asked him, "Hey, who's this?" And he said, "Dat's just me - Hagen - and my boobies." I'm obviously doing an A+ job teaching anatomy around here.

I took dozens of photos of Laney, at her request, but this one felt the most "her" -

Fun exercise.

Love,
Mom

P.S. For this same group at Halloween, I tried to take a "Scary" picture by lighting one of Laney's Barbies on fire.

I figured she would melt in a really icky way and become horribly disfigured and would make for a really scary/grody image... but nope. 

Turns out if you light a Barbie on fire, her perky smile remains 'til the end, and she starts to smell like molten jelly beans. Go ahead: Try this at home. 

Sledding

Hey y'all,

It's getting cold here, as it's been known to do in Montana in December. 

Subaru window, 8:00am

On the plus side, the snow means we're able to go sledding with friends. Or at least Laney is. Hagen would prefer to say, "Ooh, is too cold, mama. 'et's stay here." I told my mother that she and Hagen are going to be perfect companions when she comes to visit later this month, because he's all in favor of jacking the heat up to 80 and watching hours of HGTV from under a blanket on the couch.

Laney and I met some friends at the sledding hill last weekend, and no sooner had we gotten there than this precious little dude moseyed over to me to ask, "Where's my 'est frien' Hagen?" 

A heart-melter of a moment, for sure. I had to tell little Finley that Hagen prefers not to go outside when the temperature dips below 60. Then there's Laney, who doesn't believe in wearing a coat, because it'll just make her sweat more.

 

Going for the Gold

We had been watching a hot air balloon in the sky all morning, and as we kept sledding, the balloon kept getting closer and closer.

It finally landed in the field right next to the sledding hill, which is a very cool random thing to see on a Saturday. 

When we got home, I told Hagen, "Finley asked about you today and wanted to know where you were." Hagen said, "Yeah...he miss me." Must be tough to be so popular. 

Love,

Mom

Go, Laney. Go!

Dear Laney,

You've been working so hard in kindergarten at learning to read, which, as a bystander, is a wild thing to witness. Having never really thought about it before, I can now say with certainty that the English language doesn't make a damn bit of sense. There are words that make no phonetic sense and letters that rarely behave like you think they will. I personally went on a rant the other day about the insidious nature of the letter "C." I mean, almost everything it does could also be accomplished by an "S" or a "K," except when you need that damn "Ch-" sound. Somehow, you are persevering and learning new words and pronunciation tricks every week.

And last night, you said, "How about I read YOU a story at bedtime?" Well, of course! You picked Go, Dog. Go!, and we settled together into your twin bed and you began to read. I mean really read. A lot of words you knew, and some you had to sound out. 

I was so proud and overwhelmed and excited, I might have even teared up a little. I felt like my heart was going to burst over how hard you were working on deciphering each page. But I'm not going to lie: it was a long process. You'd sound out each word on each page until you made sense of it, then you'd go back and repeat the sentence with the new words figured out. 

I started to doze off. And you started to elbow me. And an hour into the reading, I called out sweetly in the direction of our bedroom: "Hey, Thor? Did you know that Go, Dog. Go! is over 60 pages?" "No! I had no idea!" he called back." "When we get to page 30, I'm going to call you in here so you can have a turn!" I worked with you on pages 1-30, and your dad took 31-64. At least I think he did - I was asleep before he made it to bed. Neither one of us wanted to tell you to quit working, because it seemed like such a momentous moment. 

You're one little girl going into kindergarten. One big reader coming out. 

 Love,
Mom

Perfectly, Pleasantly Peculiar

Dear Hagen,

We have some family coming to stay with us for the holidays, so I'm going to mention this new thing you're doing as a matter of public safety:

One night last week, I walked to the bathroom in the middle of the night and discovered you had pulled your blanket and pillow off your bed and dragged them to the hallway, presumably so you could sleep with Ella. I thought it was so sweet, I just stepped over you and let you stay there. 

...but then it kept happening. And got weirder.

You pick a different spot in the house every night to crash after we've officially put you to bed. When I was working in LA, your dad called me and said, "I walked out to the top of the stairs, and Hagen was laid out in a diaper, fast asleep." "What did you do?" I asked. "Pulled him back here on the carpet."

When we put you back in bed, you don't stay there very long, and by our next bathroom break, you've relocated yourself somewhere in the house, and are once again asleep where we'd least expect it.

I've learned to do this sort of zombie shuffle through the dark living room, moving from the stairs to the bathroom without picking up my feet so I don't accidentally sleep on my second-born. I tripped over you coming out of the bathroom this morning and took a chunk of skin off my toe. You are an (adorable, but still) road hazard.

You'll notice that you're wearing a hat in most of those photos. You insist on wearing a hat every day, all day. When your teacher asks if she can take it off, you say, "No, tinks. 'On't want to." You even prefer to wear it when you sleep. I bought you a second one, just so we'd have something to rotate into your wardrobe when it was time to wash the other one. 

This week, you added a scarf (actually, a neck gaiter), thus raising the level of peculiar to a whole new level. I may or may not have described you to my mother as "Howard Hughes without the money."

Eh, if it makes you happy, do it. Sleep wherever you want, as long as you sleep. But please note the dog isn't giving up the good spot. 

Love,

Mom

Feedback

Hey y'all, 

You both had parent-teacher conferences a few weeks ago. 

First up was Laney. I was a little nervous, just because this was to be your first evaluation by a "real" teacher at a "real" school. Kindergarten is usually the first time a child is thrown in with lots of other kids of varying backgrounds and skills, and I was anxious to find out - as a parent - if we'd done everything we could to prepare you for success in the classroom. I didn't want to hear that you were the kid who spent recess huffing glue under the bleachers.

Laney, your teacher raved about you. Called you her "most mature" student. Said you're a delight to have in the classroom. "You know," I wanted to whisper, "She has a dark side." But I didn't, because let's face it, I was super proud of you. So proud, in fact, that I told you you could pick any treat you wanted as a reward for being a great student. You chose a trip to Cracker Barrel for macaroni and cheese. And it should tell you just how proud I was that I didn't say, "Okay, anything but THAT."

I was on such a parent/teacher high that I threw in a stop at Dairy Queen.

We called your grandmother Peg Peg to tell her the good news. "Mmm Hmmm," she said. "Call me after Hagen's." Your grandmother is one of those "Don't count your chickens..." types.

The next day was Hagen's conference. I was met by a panel of FIVE teachers at a miniature table, and I was instructed to sit in the 9" plastic chair across from them. "Is it just me?" I asked, "Or does this seem a little like Fisher Price My First Inquisition?"

Then these lovely ladies told me everything I already knew: Hagen doesn't really care about participating in circle time or group mayhem. He wants to pick a project and take it in the corner and work with it until he's figured it out. He's very logical and methodical and extremely intelligent and loves puzzles and anything with moving parts, but he'd prefer to work on things in his own space, in peace. Though he does join us for lunch." "I love driving across town to have people describe my husband to me," I said. They described Hagen as always sweet and calm. Then one teacher said, "We have this other student who's anti-social...not that Hagen is anti-social!" she quickly clarified. "Nice save," I said. "...But this girl and Hagen like to take their things over there in that corner and work next to each other." "So that's the lab?" I asked. 

They did say that Hagen loves to come out of his corner when it's time to dance. "He really likes to boogie!" Miss Cassidy said. "Well, his sister's been teaching dance classes in our living room for years and forcing him to attend as her only student, so it's probably a Stockholm thing."

In any case, another great teacher meeting. Hooray!

Although this is supposed to be a post about your teachers' feedback, here's something I'VE noticed about you, Hagen: For a two year-old, you're extremely empathetic. 

Just the other day, Laney had a full-on hissy fit over nothing. Not being allowed to watch Kung Fu Panda 2, or something equally eyeroll-worthy. She stormed upstairs in a huff. You looked at us and said, "Ooh! She so ang-wee! Is okay! I talk uh her!" And you followed her upstairs and climbed up to where she had taken to her bed in abject despair. And you talked to her about Lord knows what. But whatever it was seemed to work. 

Thanks for being such incredible little people. 

Love,

Mom

Get Pumped

Hey y'all - 

So here's what's been consuming me for the past month:

For a while, I've been doing some freelance PR work for a global gym franchise. And for almost as long, I've been suggesting that they produce a commercial spot that they could share with their small-town franchises who might otherwise not be able to afford a slick-looking ad. So a year or two passes, and I get a call that starts, "WHAT IF we produce a commercial spot that we could share with our smaller franchises..." Having served my time in Hollywood, I'm more than familiar with people pitching my ideas back to me, and then pretending they're new and brilliant. I have no problem with this. 

After reminding them that I'm one woman who lives in Montana and whose wardrobe consists primarily of pajama pants and I should NOT be confused with an advertising agency, I pitched them two ideas. They liked both. Then I opened my big mouth and said, "Well, for only X dollars more, we could shoot and edit BOTH!" I'm still in my pajama pants, mind. 

So they approved both and suddenly, I was in the advertising business. And that's pretty much when I stopped sleeping. 

I put out a casting notice that we were looking for fitness models to appear in our commercial(s), and actors and models started sending me pictures of themselves, more nude than not. And I sat at my desk, eating box after box of Triscuits, deciding which perfect specimens should be called in for a meeting. At some point, I should mention that I do not belong to a gym myself, and have no business (again) having anything to do with the fitness industry. 

Your dad did a Navy stint in San Diego, flew home at midnight, and I flew out the next morning at 5am for casting in LA. We may have given each other a high-five in the middle of the night like wrestlers do when they're tagging each other in. 

I spent a full day in LA, meeting a new model every 15 minutes, all day long. I can't imagine what it's like to pursue a career based entirely on your appearance. God bless these folks, truly. 

At the end of the day, I went out with friends to a cool tiki-themed party at an even cooler restaurant on Sunset Blvd, but because Karen and I are both mothers of preschoolers and it was after 8pm this is how we looked in the ultra-trendy photo booth:

I spent the night at Brian and Tyler's house (sharing a bed with their dog, Ben), and flew out the next morning. I had been in LA less than 24 hours. 

Three days home, then it was time to fly back to LA for the actual shoot. By this point, I had developed a habit of taking pictures from the window seat on my flights.

Salt Lake City, Sunrise

De-icer, drying

Zen

Great Salt Lake

Vegas suburbs

I had worked myself crazy over this project, stressing over how every dollar was spent, and fearing that we wouldn't get the footage we needed at the end of the day. But when the day arrived, I could not have asked for a better shoot. The beautiful people were beautiful.

...and the crew - all of whom I'd worked with before and loved - were hilarious. 

The trainers who worked at the gym where we filmed gave the models a hard time all day for not lifting more weight or doing more reps. So I told the home team I would reserve the last hour of the shoot day for them, and if they had something they wanted to show me, I would film the heck out of it. And when it was their turn, they really brought it. 

They worked together with such heart and commitment and passion - stopping to high-five each other along the way - that I imagine they're going to end up being the bulk of this ad. 

On my way out of town, I stopped to have lunch with my friend Will and ate more sushi than I have ever eaten in one sitting in my life. More importantly, I got to see his sweet baby, Ethan.

I apologize to Will's parents for not being more sociable - it was great to see you! - but after 6 weeks of anxiety and a 12-hour shoot and two flights in one week and 18 pounds of rice in my system, I was bordering on comatose. 

Now I'm home and happy and ready for the holidays, and so thankful I have a family that puts up with my ridiculous job. 

Since getting back, I've gotten word that the gym is going to be opening franchises in Tijuana, so I'm also producing Spanish versions of these ads. I guess if I'm already not an advertising agency and I don't know anything about fitness, it won't matter that I also also don't habla espanol. 

Here's to failing upward. 

Love,

Mom