Alright. It has been a while. Needless to say, in 2007 our lives were tossed around like the boat in the Perfect Storm movie, except for the fact that we survived the "money shot" mega wave and came out the other side of it badly bruised and disheveled... dripping in nasty seaweed... dazed and confused... but alive nevertheless. What happened? How did we end up in rural Sonoma County scaring off critters in a HUUUUGE victorian country house? Where did the time go?

2007; I was pregnant and homeless, couch surfing, commuting long distances to work and wondering how in the hell we got into the mess we were in. I won't go into details, since it might be a legal case, but let's just say that conditions were less than ideal.

The nightmare ended on the happiest of notes with FINALLY finding shelter (and a magnificent shelter it is!!) and the birth of our beautiful baby girl, Sophie Amelie. What a sigh of relied she is to me. Affy and I lucked out with Leo and Sophie. Alls well that ends well.




I have much to say, but just wanted to get back in the ring with a few words on my current love affairs....

Life sucks the love out of me
in a good way
while Leo blows his first spitball
"those are called spitballs Leo
and they are a little bit naughty"
And the little boy gives his new sister
too many kisses "I love you!" he squeaks
In a high pitched attempt to get her smile
"I'm your big brover and I love you"
and the tiny, red mohawked baby
contorts her face and squawks
"Remember the rule Leo, only 2 kisses at
a time" Rules shmules...
He continues to kiss and kiss and kiss
and she squawks and squawks and squawks
And the noise fills up the entire universe
"I'm your big brover and I love you!!"

Leo's Lesson for Mama: Be Nice to Spiders

Well, we’ve moved across the golden gate and it has been a tornado of a month. I am not going to go into all of it, needless to say this has been one of the most stressful periods of my life, I just want to spend my precious free time thinking and writing about my precious little guy. He is growing and changing at an exponential rate lately, and the perpetual tug of war with future planning and being in the moment has never been more bittersweet.

Our new apartment has spiders. Lots of them. I try to keep karma on my side and catch and release them to the wild, but sometimes I just can’t help squashing the little buggers; especially when they surprise me. I rationalize it. They deserve it, I tell myself, for frightening me and being uninvited guests. I don’t usually feel too bad about the squashing, just a moment of remorse and a glimmer of fear that I am chipping away at whatever good luck I’ve acquired over the years. But today I got a real tongue lashing from our little entomologist in residence. Wasn’t this the kid that just last week was explaining to me, as he crunched a snail with his shoe, that he was only smashing the snails as a favor to his grandpa. “Grandpa told me to! The snails are destroying his flowers!” You could tell that he was enjoying the crunch.

“Mama No!” he cries, as I squash the creepy crawler speeding across his bedroom wall.

“Spiders are good! They eat flies, and they don’t eat people, they only bite them!” He explains to me through sobs. He was definitely sad, but his indignation was what was so startling; the look on his face. He was disgusted by my weakness, my unjustness.

I felt so ashamed and so proud at the same time. I mean, it’s not as if the spider is eating our flowers. It’s a house spider, not a disease carrying mosquito or deer tick. What am I, a wuss? My arachnophobia is not extreme enough to justify this action. It was just plain lazy.

“You’re right Leo; I shouldn’t have squashed that spider. Next time I will put it outside and not kill it.” I hug him as I apologize.

“You have to be brave Mama!” He keeps me at arms length, and looks me in the eye. “You have to be brave! Spiders are good. Don’t squash them.” He hugs me, but it is not his typical hug. It is conditional. The same kind of hug I would give him after a time-out. The righteousness in him, his disappointment in me, this is new. And I am startled by how it feels; how grown up he feels and how adept he has become in using his words. I am witnessing the spiritual development of my child, the compassion filling and breaking his almost four year old heart, and am reminded of one of my favorite quotes from the writer Salman Rushdie…

“The weakness of grown-ups (even good ones) forces children to take control of their own destinies, and so, ironically, grow up themselves”.

Leo is growing up, and in the process he is teaching me what life is all about. Roles are reversed and I am sitting in his shade and taking it in. I know that there will be times when his lessons will be harder to take, but right now I am in this moment with him.

“I’m sorry Leo.” I hug and kiss my little guy. He is more open to my embrace. He believes me. “I’ll try to be brave next time”.

Be Here Now

My dear son;
Oh, if only I could freeze you in time, and thaw you out periodically to savor your wonderful toddlerhood in precious tidbits over time… to enjoy your three year old magic in perpetuity. (sigh). Oh but this would never work! My craving for your face and voice and soft peachiness is insatiable, and I can barely make it through a workday away from you! I could never send you off to Brigadoon!

Speaking of musicals, I’ve just finished casting the kid’s production if Into the Woods that I am directing this spring. I have such a special place in my heart for this show. Woods is one of my all time favorite musicals. I acted in it twice. When I played the role of Little Red Ridinghood in college, the role was so timely. I had recently lost my own grandmother, as Little Red does in the play, so the character resonated.

This time around I am approaching it as a mother, and the text is so much more profound. It is now the Witch that I am feeling, and I can empathize so deeply with her agony as she urges her daughter Rapunzel to forget the slimy Prince and remain at home with her. She sings..

“Stay with me, the world is dark and wild…stay a child, while you can be a child… with me.”

Leo is at the stage… this is such a cliché huh, to start a sentence this way? “Toby is at the stage where he is arches his back and screams whenever I try to put him in the car seat!” or “Sophia is at the stage where she shoves crayons up her nose!” or “Henry is at the stage where he calls me a fuckin bitch and slams his bedroom door!”

Anyway, Leo is at the stage where the malapropisms are so darn adorable and precious that I am no longer correcting him for fear that this baby that I’ve known and loved for so long will drift away in the wind, lost to the sands of time and my wistful remembrances.

I don’t want him to give up saying “begot” instead of “forgot”! I love the way he replaces his l’s with y’s, so his love is “yuv”, lemons are “yemons” and his best friend Liam is “Yiam”. For the ultimate combo of adorability, add the lisp, and lips become “yipsth”. Oh sweet Jesus, those “yipsth”! Those “yipths” are enough to turn me into Julie Andrews twirling around on a green mountain top. Such joy!

“Katy” you might be thinking “Baby talk is a slippery slope! Your refusal to correct your son’s impediments, however endearing they might be, could result in his being teased, not getting into Harvard, or even worse, not acing that million dollar job interview!”

Alright I get it! My kid might need speech therapy. The proper authorities have been notified. But I have a hunch that the fears are just that, and that the “yipsth” might have a brief stay in my life and I don’t want to miss out on them in a paranoid spiral of “what ifsth”.

So for now I revel in the fact that yogurt is “yorgit”, his cowboy bandana is his “alabama”, “actually” (his new favorite filler word) is “ackchewy” and shishkebobs are “shishkeballs”. It’s as if I am living in one of those family circle cartoons, except there is nothing saccharine or lame about it, it is just humor in its purest, most innocent form, and I am in a constant state of adoration. I am not exaggerating; really I am in a constant state of adoration.

Okay, that is all true, but it is not the whole truth. Perhaps is it not so fun when he screams “I don’t yike you!” at the top of his lungs at a restaurant, as he did tonight, after which I urge him to reconsider his tone of voice with the good old (but totally ineffective) “Knock it off Leo.” His response to my request? Complete aquiescence? A heart felt ”I’m sorry mommy”?

Yeah right. Try “KNOCK IT OFF IS A BAD WORD MOMMY!!”. Needless to say he wasn’t using his “indoor voice”.

The lady eating at the table behind us found it hilarious. And now looking back, ackchewy it was.

Anyway, my 3 and a half year old can be temperamental, but his rages pass quickly if he is allowed to express himself, and his kind and gentle moments are much greater in number than his feisty moments. More than anger or frustration, my emotional responses lately fall mainly in the “outed and embarrassed” or the “where the hell did he get that from?” categories. His precociousness is in overdrive, and his vocabulary is expanding exponentially while his attempts at integrating multisyllabic words result in some pretty curious moments. In addition to the “when you say fuckin, does that mean you are mad at daddy?” I recently got “Mommy you are being unethical!”. Shishkaballs!

Overall the age he is at now is my favorite age so far. People are telling me that I’ve been saying this from the beginning, but I really mean it this time!

I guess that is the lesson. Parenthood has forced me into finally being that which I’ve meditated on for so long and yet has remained thus far as elusive as the mysterious Brigadoon; living in the moment. Hopefully, looking back on these moments in some future moment, this journal will remind me of what once was… and right now is so wonderfully now.

Katy's Blog

There are Many Santas in My World

“There are many Santas in my world” were Leo’s words to me last night. A random statement made while were cuddling on the couch and watching a Peanuts movie called “I Want a Dog for Christmas”, or something like that; a bittersweet choice considering Leo wants a doggie very badly, but knows that he cannot have one until we get a house someday. For now he will have to make due with a constantly molting hermit crab and some goldfish.

During the commercials Leo was fidgety and in my face, obviously because he is sick with a cough and cold and was exhausted and needing to be put to bed. The ultra talky and philosophical Peanut gang didn’t help matters. For some reason I didn’t feel that I could execute my mommy powers and put him to bed before the movie had ended. I guess I just didn’t want to deal with the tantrum. What a wuss.

Anyway, to get back to the multitude of Santas inhabiting my child’s imagination. I didn’t interrogate him as to the genesis of this idea, I just responded with an engaged but passive “Oh”. Not so much because I wasn’t curious as to the thought process that gave rise to this realization, but because whenever he makes such completely and unselfconsciously adorable statements I try not to gush or make a big deal. I just inwardly beam gratitude to the heavens for this gem of a kid. Such brilliance!!

Okay, enough of that. You get it. I love my kid and think he’s a genius. (You had to be there, I mean writing it down doesn’t do it justice, it was the way he said it- with his little voice and nonchalance! So damn cute!)

Will the Real Santa Please Stand Up?

Obviously the multiple Santa observation can be interpreted many ways. There is the most basic fact that there are Santas everywhere you turn this time of year. Thinking back on this last weekend alone, my son witnessed at least three different Santas in three different contexts, two on the same day. Not to mention the myriad Christmas cartoons and claymations featuring Santa on TV. There’s mall Santa, in front of the supermarket Santa, and the ubiquitous Santa of advertising. Of course none of them are identical. Each Santa has his own specific motivation. So of course on the most basic level Leo would come to realize that this world is inhabited by not just one Jolly Old St. Nick, but many different version of the dear Father Christmas (including the fat lady Santa at the Zoo’s reindeer romp).

There are also aspects of this mysterious man of the night, not all of them jolly. Santa does have a dark side… the Us and Them/ Naughty or Nice false dichotomy Santa. Does anyone remember what a bastard Santa was to Rudolph in the old school “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” stop motion movie from when we were kids? I didn’t remember that Santa was part of the pack that rejects Rudolph for being different, but then conveniently changes his mind once he realizes that he can exploit the freak’s talent. It also didn’t dawn on me as a youngster that Herme the Elf who wants to be a dentist was making a not too subtle argument for queer rights. Maybe I just tuned it out because I didn’t want it to be true, the part about Santa being a racist homophobe. I guess Santa is like America, the way Chris Rock describes it… “like that uncle that molests you, but then puts you through college”.

Having a second childhood as a parent can be very disturbing at times. It really forces you to face the sickness in which we are embedded. It can also be so liberating. I can see things now through the lens of experience and the strength of my years. I now have the ability to reject the old paradigm and can choose to raise my own child with awareness. Screw you, you old fart, and your fascist regime. I’m moving to the land of misfit toys!

The Physics of Santa and the Gift of Gratitude

I remember the multiple Santa hypothesis from my own childhood emerging around the age of 8 or 9. It was less an attempt to reconcile the inconsistencies, as it was to bargain for another year or two of belief. My theory: that since the physics of Santa was an impossibility, there must be a different Santa for every neighborhood. Oh the things we concoct to hold on to our dreams!

But Santa is such a beautiful dream. He is worth fighting for! The Santa of “T’was the Night Before Christmas”, the jolly old elf with twinkling eyes, is the Santa I feel the most affection for. Like the mischievous Amelie, he wants to surprise and delight and spoil. In our sugarplum dreams he brings warmth and abundance in the dead of winter, when people are feeling cold and barren. He brings a sense of hope and wonder. In the dream he brings magic to all children all over the world. Jingling his bells he brrrings, brrrings brrrings, brrrings, brrrings, toys and joy across the sky and around the world in one glorious night.

Then one catastrophic day it is taken away… that moment is a flashbulb memory… the “where were you when Kennedy was shot” moment of childhood. It came to me in the form of “Katy, do you want to help me fill the stockings this year?” Oh the humanity!! But for so many lucky children, there are 8, 9 maybe (if you are really pushing it) 10 years in which it really is real!! And the glorious ritual, that day of all days, is worth it. It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all…

Forgive my sentimentality, but I can’t help myself. Living with Leo, It’s a Wonderful Life, everyday. The other night while Leo was taking a bath:
Leo: “Mommy, is Christmas Santa’s birthday?”
Katy: “Christmas is Jesus’ birthday.”
Leo: “Who is Jesus?”
Katy: “A man who lived a long time ago. He taught people to love each other.”
Leo: “Me yuv him.”

I hope… I know that the Santas in Leo’s toddler world are mostly kind and virtuous, that the Billy Bob Thornton version remains a mystery, and will remain so hopefully until he is in high school and appropriately cynical. I know that Leo knows the truth on some level, but on an even deeper level the truth is that Santa is real, and that it is not just a single man, but that we are all Santa. I hope the naughty or nice thing translates to an appreciation of character and a sense of justice, not intimidation or judgment. I hope that in every dark winter of Leo’s life the Santas of his world bring him all the good things he deserves; love, acceptance, encouragement, and respect.

Thank you to all of you, my Santas, for bothering to read these words, and for encouraging me to continue this blog. All my love and encouragement right back at you!!

“Merry Christmas to all! And to all a Good Night!”

(Give yourself a Hanukkah/Christmas Gift... Do something you’re afraid of!! Smile and wave at a stranger on the street!! Sing out loud!!)

Chill Out, Freakday Mama!

Okay- it's been a few months since I wrote the above post (ignore the dates). I have since learned a few things. Child development is a nonlinear process; 2 steps forward, 3 backward, 4 steps to the side, 3 diagonal chasses ..."then do the pelvic thrust! it really makes you insa-a-a-a-aaane!!!" (pardon the non sequitur)

Anyway, let's just say as a general principle you should not let yourself become too attached to any of your child's talents or interests, unless of course you want that child to promptly reject them. Is that fair? Is Leo rejecting his talents just to piss me off, or am I just an overzealous, overbearing mother who needs to take a chill pill and back off? Most likely (alright, definitely) the latter.

I have to confess my disappointment that Leo's gymnastic development might have peaked on his first class. I have had to abandon my delusions of grandeur for more realistic expectations: for example, that Leo not poop his pants during class, or that he not push his freinds off the balance beam. This is where he is at, at the moment. We are not in communist Romania, and the Tootsie Roller coaches are not Bela Karoli. In class several weeks ago he was told by his coach to "sit with mama until you are ready to listen."
Later on I had to sweep him up and leave class early after he spat on a classmate. Yikes. Did he sense that Mama was overly emotionally invested and was he rebelling? Was he overtired? Was it that there were too many children in class that day? Was the fact that Daddy was videotaping for out of town relatives throwing him off his game?

Of course these are rhetorical questions. The answer is yes, yes, yes and yes. Perhaps a chill pill is called for, but basically it is just another lesson learned. Motherhood is still awesome, but I need to step back and remember that the activities he is involved in are about HIM, not me or my pride. It is okay to feel pride, okay to praise him after a job well done, call Grandma (in front of him of course) and brag, but beware. Beware of gung ho high fives, beware if you notice yourself muttering intensely "stick it... stick it!" while your 3 year old is unselfconsciously tumbling and bouncing around like a blissed out chimpanzee, beware of greedy thrills (that's my boy! that's my boy!) and beware of the fantasies (in my case, the 2020 Olympics... your case maybe Harvard? Carnegie Hall? The White House?)

Pride is a slippery slope, and many wonderful kids turn away from activities that bring them great joy and satisfaction because of the twisted karma of their parents. Even if I don't say a thing, Leo senses my competitiveness. He is telepathic and empathic. In a single glance he will read my face and take in all of the acceptance or rejection that I have to offer. Small children are not able to say "screw you and your f***ed up priorities." I can't just change my words and actions, I have to change the way I think. I want to change the way I think. I want Leo to be a success, but what does that mean?????? Is it important to me that Leo excel in gymnastics? Will that make him a success?

It is all so ridiculous!! Why should I expect Leo to "stick" a landing when I couldn't do a cartwheel after 8 years of weekly dance classes that ended with "cartwheel time". I still get hot in the cheeks remembering the weekly humiliations. Is my goal for Leo to surpass my own gymnastic inabilities? Is that unattainable cartwheel still haunting me, and am I unconsciously passing this regret on to my child? Is Leo's sense of unconditional love from his mother interchangeable with a cartwheel? Jheez Louise. Scary thought.

We took 2 weeks off from Tootsie Rollers. I am hoping to go back this week with a fresh start. I will remind him to go potty beforehand, I will sit quietly in the stands and smile during class, and I will let him tell me how he feels about his class afterwards. And if he doesn't push or spit on his friends, I will feel so proud!!

Hello there friends! Anyone interested in my thoughts on things?

Welcome to my Blog.

Today's Theme: Taking the time to do the things you love when the only time you have is after midnight.

I've been on a late night random cooking binge. What I mean by random, is that I don't necessarily plan the project. The items are a strange brainstorm of whatever grabs my eye on the grocery store shelves. The dishes do not blend well together. There is no yin to the yang, and the result is culinary schizophrenia. For example, last night I stuffed bell-peppers, made the new trader joe green-tea muffin mix, and prepped a loaf of garlic bread for future broiling.

No I am not pregnant.

It's just that I have been so busy with other projects, shopping lists have just not been happening.

I've been thinking lately about all my ancient twisted karma. This is something we chant at my favorite Zen retreat that i go to every several years, and it's been on my mind lately. It is chanted in a vibrating monotone way..."allllll my ancieeent... twisteeed... karma..." in a dimly lit temple surrounded by cloaked monks. I just love that image, that all of the baggage we carry around is ancient and twisted. It makes you humble to think that the burdens we carry are ancient; puts things in perspective.

Anyway- this has been my mantra. And the karma that has been popping up in my head is my judgmentalism. This tendency on my part is a struggle that I do not wish on anyone, because the judgment gets pointed at myself more than anyone.

With that in mind, can I just brag for a minute about my little guys latest achievements in acrobats? Let's just say that Leo is a rock star on the playground. However, his desires surpass his abilities and he attempts things that he is not quite ready for, resulting in a repetedly bumped head and multiple purple goose eggs protruding from his forehead. Tired of feeling anxiety that my child will hit one of the giant goose eggs protruding out from his forehead, and not wanting to see what a giant purple goose egg portruding from a pre-existing giant purple goose egg looks like (a unicorn child perhaps?), I decided to sign Leo up to be a Tootsie Roller at Acrosports- this really cool acrobatics gym here in SF.

Oh my God, I've become one of those sports parents. How did this happen? Leo's first Tootsie ROller class... My little guy takes off running to get in line for the obstacle course, and when it's his turn he trampolines his way, with pure joy, across the gym floor and (I skip over the other obstacles to my favorite part...) from a platform maye 4 or 5 feet high, leaps into the air, grabs the flying trapeze, lifts his feet and tucks them to the bar, and swings through the air maybe 12 feet, lowers his legs, and falls, sticking a perfect landing! Afran and I jump up and yell ecstatically "wooohooo Leo!!". We are practically high fiving each other we are so ridiculous. (The other parents glance at us, disinterested, and return to their cell phone calls, magazines or chats.)

Of course to top it all off Leo looks up at us high above him in the balcony and yells to us "Me Yuv You Mommy!!" It reverberates through the gymnasium, and I am self conscious but beaming with pride and shock. Did the little baked potato that I gave birth to just do what i think he did? It looked so strange, and yet was one of the biggest thrils of my life!!!!!!! Afran and I rode that high for DAYS!!!