Every day I have to bug my kids to clean this:
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So I can go ahead and make this bed (which matches very nicely with my sister-in-law's childhood teenage furniture. All we need is a John Hughes movie and we're good to go.
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Then I do dishes at a sink that's been having nightly sex with a jack hammer.
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And fold the laundry that my husband daily "line dries" (on my patio furniture) in an effort to save five cents which we won't be spending on lunches out....
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Which are really no big deal because at least once a month they shoot a movie on our street at someone else's perfect house (which they are able to make perfect due to all the money they are making having movies shot there) and craft service (the food people) set up a fancy bbq on the other neighbor's lawn next door.
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Except I'm never invited to eat there. But that's okay. While I"m mopping my floor I can smell the teryaki. Mixed with Pine Sol and Yuban it's quite lovely!
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I always get the stink eye from some big fancy grip or director for coming off like a tourist ON MY OWN FRONT LAWN when really all I want to do is back the bleep out of my driveway without going head first into the dressing room truck.

But who cares. Because I have the best life ever. I wouldn't give up my leading lady....
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Or on set comedian...
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For all the house bookings in Hollywood.

Though I'd appreciate if they'd clean their rooms a bit more.
Perhaps I should start screaming "I need a TAMPON!!!!!!!!!" during their next shoot. The director would have to pay me off, then I could pay a maid and a cook to come weekly - make that daily - to my house - for a year. I wouldn't feel bad at all. It's the biz, baby.

PS: My husband is mindful of our pennies since we are brats and actually own a cabin also. It's just easier to be snarky sometimes. I love you, baby.
 
 

Mission Control, Mom Has a Problem



So I'm a control freak. You might not know it by my messy car and easy going attitude with friends, family, and the random stinky public at large. But I am. Why? Because it's my dirty car. It's my funny joke lobbied just at the right time at a tense P.T.A. meeting. It's my decision that day to give, or not give, a quarter to the fat bum on the freeway offramp with the sign, "Will work for A Starbuck's Nonfat Half Cap Cappucino."


Newsflash: With children, they don't do what you want all the time. Hence the fact that I have no control. Hence the other fact that this lack of control gets me really ticked off. Hence thirdly I'm ticked that I can't control my internal anger (and occasional outbursts) at not being able to control my kids.

I mean, really, I've got to let it go sometimes. Does Stink need to go to bed when I say? Yes. But in the morning, when I ask him to put on his socks, and he spends 5 minutes bunny hopping down the stairs with both feet in one socks squealing, "Mommy, I'm a little lost rabbit who can't find my second sock"... well... that I have to chuck up to "He's got a good sense of humor."

But sadly, I don't. And whose fault is that? Certainly not his. I am the one who is forever running behind because I have "one more email" or "one more blog post to publish." 

I am the one who is frustrated that Rex is still in Germany due to that volcano DIE VOLCANO DIE!

I am the one who has unrealistic expectations of what seven year olds are capable of and what they are not.

'm going to talk this week about strategies for discipline. For those of you who have read some great parenting books on the subject, I'd love it.

For those of you who pray, I'm asking for patience.

For those of you without kids or who have survived this insanely frustrating period, a hearty congratulations go out to you. Have some wine on me. But if you're going to drive, like my flaw, CONTROL YOURSELF.

* Pic of my son making "butt prints" from a puddle. During free time in summer? Awesome. When I want to go to Trader Jo's and my house smells like fish oil? Not so much.
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So you know that scene in Titantic where Rose is swimming through the boat trying to find her way to safety? I kind of feel like that today. Only I don't look like Kate Winslet. And I don't have the fancy ball gown. Though I'm kind of wearing a period piece since I'm PMSING really bad, but not sure if that counts.

Rex left last Sunday for Germany. Not a big deal normally. He'd be back on Friday and all would be well. Except A VOLCANO ERRUPTED IN ICELAND.

Yeah, that puts a little kink in ye old travel plans.

So now my husband is half a world away. He'll be back Wednesday if he's lucky, but most likely he'll be here in a week or two.

I certainly know that this is not a life threatening emergency. Many women have husbands off fighting wars. Many of you are single mamas trying to stay afloat like Rose. Some of you are don't have husbands at all.

I suppose my point of this post is that with Rex out of town, I've once again realized how much he does around here. His quiet presence is an anchor to the often back and forth rocking of my crazy boat. Our days are marked by his quiet routines: Switch over the laundry before work, go to work, come home, switch over the laundry again, change into Ward Cleaver ensemble (plaid pjs and green robe) give kids toe hangings, go to bed.

I'm sure that I am missing a lot of other details. This is because his slow and steady, just do it and be done with it attitude, makes it all appear effortlessly.

And yet, the grass... it's so green. And the bills... they are always paid. And the roof over our head that doesn't leak or the toilets that get magically fixed? All this happens without a gardener, an accountant, or a plumber. (Hint: It's not me who does it.)

And so , this post is dedicated to Rex. Get home safely. Bring me some German chocolates. And do me a favor. Next time you plan on getting sidetracked by a volcano, show me how to recharge those frigging camera batteries that take an engineering degree to plug in.

Happy weekend, all.

PS: No one said I would get a Webby Award for my graphics.

 
 
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I've been socializing a bit less these days and it's felt nice. Spending more time with the kids... more time with the hubby (when he's not in Germany.) I've been a bit busy with school stuff, but that, too, will pass.

I look at my kids who are so unafraid of change. "Hey, look, Mom, my head now touches the window sill !" Growing a few inches in one month is as easy breezy as it is for me to brew a cup of coffee. (And both of us are equally as hyper afterwards.)

Me? I'm a mixed bag. I write a column for the world to see. I can chat with the street bum. I love parties and dancing. A last minute invite to a play? I'm there.

But I'm also that ten year old girl who just wants her quiet. I miss my dad. My mom is getting older. My kids are needing me less and less. And while things in my marriage have never felt more peaceful, I'm also standing on this precipice of new beginnings. Of change. Of, like my son's overgrown mop hair, growth.

I often wish I could go back to the times my kids were babies. When I'd rock them in my arms and hear Elmo chattering in the background. Things were simpler then. Slower.

I try to remind myself of that. "Andrea, slow down. It's okay."

And so I am trying. More than trying. I am doing it. I need it.
So tonight, while my husband sleeps a whole world away, and my babies are resting comfortably in their beds, I will turn off my brain and rest. Ebay can wait. My work can wait. Hell, my dishes can wait.

The only thing that can't wait? Growth.

Anyone else know what I mean?
 
 
I've been on Facebook about a year now. In the past few months, I've checked in more frequently. Once/day... once every other day. And without a doubt, it's been stressing me out.

I shouldn't be stressed out. After all, it's simply a bunch of my friends telling me what they are eating for lunch, what they are wearing to work, and why they are voting for a particular political party.

But there's really so much more than that. There's writers I've met, some actors, old bosses and some really earth shattering farm games.

Plus it's a superhighway of information. It's where I launched my first artist salon. It's where I can be pinged about my ex-husband's birthday, my ex-boyfriend's party and my sister's current relationship status. (For the record, she's in a relationship. There's even a heart next to her name. Ahhh...)

The issue I have with it is that I feel this pressure to keep up with everyone. If I forget someone's important day, or simply ignore it because it's someone I know but I don't really know, it still weighs on my mind. After all, they are a "friend". And "friends" don't forget other "friends" birthdays.

I'M OVERLOADED WITH INFO! Yeah yeah... I know it's the future of the world! How will I ever launch a book without a platform of fans to "like" what I wore to the gym that day? And yet,how will I ever write that book if I'm so caught up in everyone's brain farts that I'm depleted at the end of the day? Perhaps no one will even care to read my book because it's so much quicker to read someone's wall than a 400 page novel by an author they aren't even "friends" with on their social networking platform.

For those of you who love it, I wish I had it in me. But I don't. I already share enough of my life with strangers on my blog. And lately, not enough. Why? Because FACEBOOK IS SUCKING THE LIFE OUT OF ME.

I know, I'm a wimp. I'm just letting you know. Give me a year and I'll be living in a cave with battery operated Tiffani lamps and a year's supply of spam. Yup, that's how I'm going to roll.

Wish me luck. Tonight... I'm going AWOL.

Adios, Facebook. It was nice knowing you. You've been a good "friend".

Here's someone else's take on deleting her account - stated much better than my post!

 
 
My kids each caught "mosquito bats" last night. They proudly showed them off to their friends at school this morning.

Pipqueak had no problem, at the end of the day, letting her's fly back into nature.

Stink, in typical forlorn fashion, was too sad to let his go. "I'll miss my friend," he sighed.

Pip's teacher chimed in, "Sweetie, bugs aren't meant to live in cages. They are meant to be free. Just like you are!"

Never underestimate the persuasive powers of Stink. "I'm not free!' he bellowed. "My mommy tells me what to do all the time!"

While I certainly don't keep my son under lock and key like that poor mosquito, I do keep him safe. There are rules, like it or lump it, that he must follow.

It's a constant battle: Be a free floating spirit (who might get squashed by a windshield for passion) or stay safe within plexiglass walls. You won't get hurt, but it's not a bunch of fun either.

Maya Angelou talks about this in her epic poem. In it, there are two birds contrasted: One who has the world under her wings, and one who is stuck behind a cage, singing of what he doesn't really know.

As a mom, and a wife, I know what's out there. I know what I'm missing by leading a safe, predictable existence in a respected suburb, but I also know what I'm gaining in grounded children and solid foundations.

There's a fine line in balancing routines that tie me down and partaking of adventures with questionable outcomes.

The ticket is to be grateful for the mediocrity of my life - my safety net - but always remember that the key to true purpose and fulfillment lies in my hands.

I am giving God the credit for that power of those keys - the gentle whisper of right and wrong, hope and love.

Perhaps you'll validate someone or something else for it. But what I hope you never do is blame another person or event for sitting on that boring perch and singing the same old song.

Cock-a-doodle do. No thank you.

Hey, that rhymed! Look out Maya Angelou! (Okay, maybe not.)
 
 
I was fortunate this weekend to find out that not only do I have a crappy marriage, but I'm terrified of my husband who beats me and am very unattractive.

Yup, look what I found in my inbox this morning!

"I read your post on Yahoo's front page and had some fun with it on my website.

I hope you don't find it offensive."

No, no. Why would I be offended at statements like this from his award worthy "parody"?

He writes, "She did the “My husband is awesome(please don’t beat me) thing.  That’s amazing.  And she said she’s ugly, which I’m sure Rex tells her every night."

I can't say I was hurt. I mean, who is this person to me? No one. But I am always surprised that someone would lack such class.

I am also bringing this up to remind all of you to live fearlessly. Another tip is to bill yourself as a comedy writer only if you're truly funny.

Oh, and the "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it all" thing. That works also.

Parents out there, let's never underestimate teaching our kids grace, humility and kindness. And when we fall short ourselves (I know I have) let's call each other on it. Let's apologize. Let's forgive. Let's move on.

In closing, if you'd like to take a look at the post, go for it! But do me a favor. Don't leave something nasty. Leave something kind. Give him examples of what he could do with his time that is more uplifting. Poor guy could use some tips.

http://www.dalezcomedy.com/2010/03/5-habits-of-happy-couples/
 
 
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All this goodness leads me to the last photo. Or perhaps it's because of it. Either way, happy weekend to all!
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What I love about my daughter is her fearlessness. She wears what she wants. She dances and sings and laughs with her whole heart. And she's not afraid to say no. Or, in her case, with a very straight back and lady like gentility, "No Thank you."

Pipsqueak is the pint sized version of Mary Poppins: Self assured, polite and a bit sassy, but she's so dang beautiful, not to mention a bit bossy, you simply have to listen.

Just this week I have been schooled on keeping my elbows off the table, leaving early for school so I'm not screaming obscenities on the way out the door, and how it's best to stick with the first scheduled event rather than do too much and be late.

Many people say that Pipsqueak is her mama all the way, but truth be told, she has taught me to be more like her. If it's simply assumed that the world will courtesy for her wishes, then I might as well take on that attitude.

Speaking of, I did indeed hear back from Oprah's people. They don't accept outside submissions for work, but they did provide addresses for me to send something anyway. So I will. I'll share those with you when I can find my phone and retrieve the message. (If nothing else, what a classy organization to actually return phone calls. Nice work, Oprah!)

Sticking to my "Be Brilliant in 2010" plan, I have been in touch with several other magazines and muckety mucks - many who have turned me down. But it feels good to be back out there. I'm not doing it from a "I must validate myself" perspective. I'm doing it, as Pip has so wonderfully taught me, because my talent and love are in those areas. 

And so, I bring you this question: Why deny your talent? Why not simply, like Pip and Poppins, put on that fancy hat and let the world see the star you are on the inside?  What is holding you back if you are not?




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...you know... cause I left a message at their editorial offices today. Because they really need me over there even though they don't know it yet.

It's really odd, though, because no one has called me back yet. Not Gail, not the secretary, not even the dog walker. But I'll wait.

Just like I'll wait for that lottery scratch-off ticket to one day show me I've won 10k along with my 99cent Diet Coke purchase.

Just like I'll wait for that extra writing job that will make me happier than my last in-office job and not break my spirit doing so. (Oh, yeah, last job... loved the people - most of them anyway, but the virtual paperwork was just not for me.)

Just like I'll wait for those five items I put up on Ebay to sell. It's a tough economy when a 99cent Polo shirt isn't grabbed quicker than a pole dancer at a half-off strip tease. (Dumbest analogy ever... moving on.)

I'll wait for the soup in the crock pot to soften my carrots and for the right amount of patience and prayer to soften my heart.

I'll wait for my husband to come home safely in our L.A. rainstorm (Calling Live Doppler 7000! People have to drive slower to jobs they hate and homes they can't stand! The tragedy!) I'll wait for kids to finish their 20 minutes of computer time and my mom to call me back about the Costco Run of 2010..

I figure if Hatian
Mireille Ditmer can suffer several days under a collapsed building for light and sustenance to reach her, I can do the same for more trivial matters. Yup - even a buzz from Oprah editorial offices is trivial compared to other calamaties.

Now if you'll excuse me, the kids' timer is about to beep, which means my perspective is about to be shot to oblivion as I deep breathe my way through whining and fussing until bedtime.

Actually, it won't be that bad. I'm certain the madness, like my 99cent Store box cake last night, will be full of sprinkles in the form of "I love you's" and "You're the best mama ever!"

I can't promise the two snow seals above will lavish me with affection forever, but until they change their mind, I'll be, like Oprah's call, eagerly waiting.

What are you waiting for these days?

* Photo taken in Big Bear a few weeks back. It was my kids first time in snow. They loved sliding on their bellies, but after seeing kids with fancy sleds, they wanted some themselves. After all the Christmas excess, I told them that at least for a month they'd be... yup... waiting.