Conversation 4pm

Answer - Well it said it was meatballs but really it was more like a meatball hot-dog and you know I tried a hot-dog before and I didn't really like the texture of the roll because I don't like that kind of softness because I think it's strange but when I thought I would take the meatballs out and I opened the roll I didn't see any tomato sauce but the meatballs were mysteriously red so I didn't eat them.

Question - What did you have for lunch today at camp?

Dinner Party

Over the weekend we threw a dinner party for a dear friend who recently earned his Master's degree. A great reason to celebrate, a small crowd of funny people, most old friends, one beautiful new addition, and good food and drink. It was a really nice evening. I'd do it again - in about 6 months.

Honestly, there is something wrong with me. Yes, throwing a dinner party is a lot of work. Anyone who has ever done it knows that. And I had no help (other than my husband, who, after a recent conversation that I'll not go into here, was terrifically helpful all day) because while, if you're not me, it might be easier to have have some paid soul around to polish the glasses and snap at, if you are me is not easier due to the fact that -

a) I don't really like having other people in my house ( I mean of course I do. But I don't. You know what I mean) and since I'm having people over that night I can't possibly have someone there all day.

b) I have real trouble having someone in my house helping me put paper leaves under cheese who will then go home on a bus and listen while helicopters circle her neighborhood all night.

c) Thinking about the inherent social inequity of life in America while trying to choose music for an evening's festivities makes me feel guilty and leads to me digging out my Tom Waits CDs. They do not a sparkling cocktail hour make.

So I choose to have no help yet still insist on breaking out the wedding china and I begin to go into what can only be described as a tizzy. My chest starts getting tight, my cheeks flush, my breathing gets a little labored. All I can see is dust in the corners, all I can think about is my kid forgetting to flush his # 2 and I don't make a final check before my first guest arrives needing to use the bathroom after his long drive from the east side. My husband sees what's happening and usually says something like "There she goes" which, as you can imagine, helps tremendously. He starts looking around for something to do outside the house, I start hyperventilating.

And why? Why? There is no good reason to get so worked up. Yes it would be awful to start your evening by finding a big poop in the host's toilet but, really, other than that, my friends are anything but judgemental and very willing to take things as they come. If a glass breaks or the food isn't perfect or something it's not like the evening is a total loss. So why do I get so worked up? I'll keep working on my own stuff but, in the meantime, I have found some things that really help. This is is what I've learned through the years about hosting a dinner party -

1) Begin listening to Sammy Davis Jr around 2pm. What ever you are doing to prepare for your party, listening to Sammy will make it better.

2) Try to arrange for at least one child to have a birthday party to go to. My youngest had a party from 3-5. Of course, he's the child who needs the supervision at the social gatherings. For the first time we did a drop off and I sent my husband on a party related errand. My child was at his party for an hour and a half alone. And it worked out fine, mostly. When my husband returned to stand with the other parents and oversee the last half hour my son had just been given the "magic power" by the clown and was using it to pretend to punch himself in the penis, thus proving that he was now indestructible. At least he didn't get into any fights.

3) Get as much food as you can from good take out /catering. I ordered a sheet of flat bread, 3 chickens, several containers of snap peas with mint and a coconut cake from Huckleberry. I made the salad and a potato gratin. Dividing the food up this way will reduce your blood pressure by several points and, if you pick the food up rather than having it delivered, it isn't much more expensive then cooking at all yourself.

4) Try not to drink as much as you want to. I know, it's a perfect occasion because you are at your own house, no driving. But trust me. Why? Because if you have no help, you still have to clean up. And that's not great fun if you are drunk at 2 am. It's less fun if you're hung over at 7:30 the next morning and your kids want waffles. Really, this is excellent advice. Advice which I often take but didn't on Saturday night. It wasn't so bad, my husband was still on top of his game and the kitchen got cleaned up just fine. But you see that picture? That's the remains of Zoe Nathan's beautiful coconut cake and I was planning on having it for breakfast. One glass of wine less and I probably wouldn't have dropped the thing.

Pick a good reason and have at least one dinner party this summer. Celebrate a friend, the sunshine or just the fact that in all this mess, and all the recent deaths of childhood icons, you and your friends are still here. As Sammy would say - "Ain't that a kick in the head?"

A follow up: Post Game Wrap Up

Thank you, dear friends, who want to know how my boy did at his final baseball game on Saturday. His team lost. He gave up the second to last out with his 3 strikes. He cried. It was awful.

My son went directly to a birthday party and I came home, really upset, and called a friend. I told her what had happened and she agonized with me for a minute. Then I said, "What do I do? I don't know what to do." I was wanting to make it better, wanting to take my boy's pain away. "Nothing" she said. "There's nothing you can do" and, of course, she was right. The desire to take pain away from your kid makes you look around desperately for some action to take, something to do. And there's nothing to be done at times like that. Just be there. Tell him I'm proud of him. Tell him I love him.

He's gotten over it, was over it the next day and had a great time with the friends we had for Father's Day. But I know that inside it's there forever. That's just the way it is. It's the way it is for all of us. Remembering this, I think I'll be nice to someone today.

Talking to My Son About Sex

I had the talk with my almost 11 year old last week. Yes, the talk. I had to do it. It had been coming up at school toward the end of the year, thanks to some of the girls in the class, and I know he's going to hear about it at camp this summer. I've been ignoring it for a while now. Well, that's not quite true. I haven't been ignoring it. I've been dealing with it by trying to push it off on to my husband. He's been ignoring it. But it had become obvious that our son understood something, and was wanting to talk about it. He kept looking for ways to get the word "sex" into his conversations. So, I grabbed the book I bought years ago, took a deep breath, and told him to have a seat on the couch.

Me - I guess you guys have been talking about sex at school, huh?

Him - Sometimes.

Me - So, tell me what you know. What is sex?

Him - I don't know. Kissing.

Me ( trying to take a deep breath) - Well, do you know about making a baby?

Him - You mean mating?

Thank you all those BBC animal videos...

Me - Yeah, okay. When the male and the female come together to make a baby.

Him - Huh?

He looks confused. I panic and think I made a mistake - this isn't right - he actually knows nothing - I should stop right now or I'm going to freak him out forever. But, wait, I've already started, and it really took a lot of effort on my part. I've been preparing myself for this for days. And if we stop now it's going to feel really weird and taboo and I definitely don't want that. We're doing it.

Me - Well "mating" is like the scientific word for sex. When the female and the male of any species... come together... to make a baby...

I'm fumbling for my lines but I'm prepared and, like any good actress, I reach for a prop.

Me - Here, look at this book.

The book I have is called "It's Perfectly Normal - Changing Bodies, Growing Up, Sex and Sexual Health" I keep it on the child rearing shelf right next to "What I Believe - A Young Person's Guide to the Religions of the World"

We open the book to the cartoon picture of a sperm swimming to meet an egg.

Me ( brightly) See the sperm comes from the male and enters the egg and the baby begins to be formed!

Him - How does it get in there?

Damn, right off the bat. I was hoping I'd have a minute.

Me (stalling) The sperm?

Him - How does the sperm get to the egg?

Me - How does the sperm get to the egg?

He looks at me sideways.

Me - Huh. Well. You know. The sperm comes out of the penis. The male puts his penis in the vagina and the sperm comes out. Then it kind of swims up to meet the egg.

Him (backing up into the corner of the couch) Did you do that?

Me - Yep. That's what you do when you want to have a baby.

I am really proud of myself now. Hard part over. I can handle anything from here.

Him - When?

pause

Me - What?

Him - When did you do that?

I did not anticipate this. I don't know what to say. I mean I could say "um, a week ago I guess" but somehow that feels wrong. So I say something stupid.

Me - Almost 11 years ago.

cue the rim shot

Him - And 9 years ago too.

His brother is 9

Me - Yep.

I'm feeling weird about this line of questioning. I don't want to be evasive but I'm not going to tell him that his parents have sex just for fun either. I want to move on and get whatever images he has in his head out of his head so I turn back to the book.

We start looking at cartoons of reproductive systems. He looks for a while, silent, reading. He points to a word.

Him - What does that say?

As Beckett said - I can't go on. I'll go on.

Me - "Menstruation"

Him - What does that mean?

Me - Well the woman's body provides the perfect environment for the baby to begin growing in but, if a baby is not growing, she gets rid of the blood and nutrients and stuff ( wait is this right? are there any nutrients in there?) that she doesn't need. This happens every month.

Him - What do you mean? You mean it comes out?

Me - Yes. It comes out of the vagina.

He looks at me. He looks away. He turns the page.

At the top of the page big letters spell out Planning Ahead; postponement, abstinence and birth control. Again I am tempted to close the book but, as I am trying to convey my counseling availability for future hard parts of growing up, we continue. My kid will know that he can come to me with stuff if it kills me.

Me - So if you don't want to have a baby there are things you can do to stop the sperm from getting to the egg.

On the page there are all these drawings of pills and creams and sponges ( I told you I bought this book a few years ago) and there's a cartoon of a male figure with an erection putting on a condom.

Him - What's that?

Me - It's called a condom. You can put it on and it catches it so it doesn't get to the egg.

Him - (panicking)YOU MEAN IT FALLS OFF?

Me- (alarmed) WHAT?

Him - YOUR PENIS CAN FALL OFF?

Even though I know this is the absolute wrong thing to do, I start laughing. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to stop.

Me - No, no. The penis can't fall off. The condom catches the sperm.

Him - Oh. Then what do you do with it?

Me - Put it in the trash I guess.

Him - Yuck.

We go on for a few more pages and I am working my way up to taking "It's Perfectly Normal" away from him. I want it to look casual and organic when I do but I'm also acutely aware that the book gets to - well, let's just call it other things - toward the end and they are not a mommy's job.

I lift it out of his hands saying -

Me - Any questions?

Him - Uh uh.

Me - I want you to know that you can talk to me about any of this stuff any time ( except, of course, for the aforementioned) It doesn't embarrass me. You can ask me any questions or anything. Okay? Your dad, too.

Him - Can I tell my brother?

Perfect, just what I was hoping for.

Me - No! It's not that there's anything wrong with it but you are more mature. We'll make sure he knows when he's ready. Let us do our job, okay?

He has a glint in his eye.

Me - Seriously.

Him (disappointed) Okay...

He runs off and I realize I've been pretty much holding my breath for 15 minutes. I take a slow, deep one and give myself a pat on the back.

You can avoid the challenges of a conversation like this with a 10 year old by taking advantage of the window that opens around age 4 or 5. This window is very real; I had it, many of my friends have had it. Most of us slammed it shut as quickly as possible, telling ourselves it was better to wait until our kids were older, but you can walk on through and it might have been easier for me if I had. When my kids started asking the "how did I get here" questions I could have quickly and easily dispense with them by saying, "Daddy puts his penis in Mommy, his sperm meets an egg from her body and a baby begins to grow" There would have been no mention of menstruation, nothing about condoms. The kids simply would not have asked. Oh, well. Too late now. At least it's over with and I think I did a pretty good job. Now, if I can just make sure my reverse psychology works and my son tells his brother, I won't have to go through this again.

A Nice Drink for a Hot Day

The weather guys say we're going to hit 90 tomorrow so I am preparing. I'm getting the fans in from the garage and beginning my summer experiments with herbal and fruit and/or vegetable infusions. My lemon balm is going like mad so that's what I made today. It's so easy and incredibly refreshing.

Start with a big handful of an herb you really enjoy. Lemon balm and most members of the mint family are good choices. Boil water like you are making tea and pour the water over the herbs, steeping for 15 to 20 minutes. I used a 2 cup Pyrex and got three pours ( 6 cups) out of my handful of lemon balm. If you like it a bit sweet add honey or sugar while the herbs are steeping so the warm water will dissolve it completely. Pour into a pretty glass container; the flavor is delicate and plastic will interfere with it. If you want to add something else do it now, before refrigerating. Today I put in a half cucumber. I love the cucumber/lemon combination. Sliced citrus is also a good choice. Use something hardy. Berries and stone fruit will dissolve quickly and get gross. At this point taste for flavor and add some plain water if you like. You can also add some sparkling water each time you pour a glass. The infusion will keep 2-3 days in the refrigerator, with the flavors of the added ingredients getting stronger over time.

Other favorite combinations are mint & lime, mint/rosemary & orange, and basil with lemons.

Play around with different combinations. I'd love to know what you come up with!

please please please please

I am praying one of those prayers - tiny, fervent, constant. What Anne Lamott calls "beggy prayers." It goes like this - please, God, please, let my son hit the ball.

I know there's a lot going on in the world right now. Perhaps in the face of global financial collapse it seems ridiculous to be fixated on one small boy and one tiny, stupid ball, but there it is. Why not? I'm not going to fix the automobile industry. I can't pay someone elses mortgage. Now, as always, it's good advice to tend your own house and heart. Saturday mornings my heart is up at bat.

My son has been playing baseball. He was supposed to be playing with kids his own age but there weren't enough to make a team so he's out there with kids 2 or 3 years older. Big kids. And they can pitch. My boy looks so small out in the field. He's so skinny and dreamy. He played soccer once years ago and I watched as the ball kept rolling past him because he was spinning around with his arms out stretched. I thought this was adorable but some of the other parents didn't agree. Now, at nearly 11, he's got his "head in the game" most of the time. The coach sometimes yells that the kids look like they're "asleep out there" but, believe me, there's been a lot of growth. The thing is... up at the plate.

It's not that he can't do it. When his Dad pitches to him he hits it and hard too. He's really gotten a lot better. In the beginning he was afraid of the ball. Not anymore. He's right in there, stronger, more confident. In the beginning, too, he was swinging at anything. Now he lets the 'balls' go by so he's been able to round the bases twice after being walked. So much better. But he hasn't hit the ball, not really, not the way he wants to. He did have one solid bat/ball connection a couple of weeks ago. He had such a moment of pride after that first hit, his thin shoulders suddenly straightening as he ran to first. A moment later the little SOB they call the "shortstop" caught it. But still, he had hit the thing. He can do it again.

This Saturday is the last game. So I'm praying - please, God, please, let my son hit the ball. He's been so brave. He didn't quit when he found out most of the kids were older. He didn't quit when he figured out most of the kids were better. Give him something for hanging in. He doesn't need to be the hero, not in this one. But let him be proud of himself. Let him feel like he's part of the team not just in name but in ability. He's come so far, been braver than I, at his age, ever would have been. I know you've got a lot of people coming to you and I know a lot of them are in real trouble. If there is such a thing as a day of rest you've surely earned it by the weekend. But Saturday morning there will be a 10 year old boy at bat. And I'm praying here. Please, please, please, let my kid hit the ball. Amen.

Mommies in the rafters. And I don't mean me...

In the chaos of the final weeks of school, when I forget that my youngest has early pick up today and I, instead of being there with the other mommies, am asleep on the couch because I'm sick. And the teacher had to call to tell me to come get my child...
And my oldest has another special activity at his school and, though I told him I was going to try to get to my doctor today because I am sick, still has another mommy, there at the special activity when I am home asleep on the couch not picking up my other child, call me to let me know that my son is looking for me...
This is what I am thinking about. Right outside my front door. Beautiful. Amazing.
(not a perfect image as I don't want to get too close)

And I'm grateful, for the tiny miracles all around us and because, even though at this very moment my boys are in a shouting match seeing who can call the other a "JERK" in a louder voice, and even though I messed up a little bit today and I feel guilty (I hate this special mommy guilt) still gratitude is bigger right now. Because it's late spring, school is almost out, my garden is crawling with lizards, my rafters are filled with squawking babies and my house is over flowing with summer-ready, wriggling boys.

Operation Smile Benefit

Friday night I attended a benefit for Operation Smile, the international service program whose medical volunteers travel the world repairing cleft lips, cleft palates and other facial abnormalities. I was deeply moved by the video presentation and grateful to be able to make a donation to such a worthy organization. I encourage you to check out their website and if you feel moved, give a little - www.operationsmile.org

Now, here's something for you- if you live in or are planning to visit the Los Angeles area this summer spend a sunset evening at a wine tasting at Saddle Rock Vineyards, home of Malibu Family Wines and our host last night. I can hardly find words for the splendor of the place. 1000 acres of fertile soil planted lushly with a variety of grapes. Rosebushes overflowing at the end of each row in the vineyard spilling their red or white beauty. Acres of rolling lawn. White fences corralling horses, lamas, buffalo (and 2 zebras!) The sun setting behind the coppery hills. As darkness settled white lights twinkled in the trees. It was stunning. And it can all be yours for the evening. You don't even have to be getting married or throwing a benefit. Click the link below and click over to their calender. Then, take yourself to one of their upcoming weekend evening tastings. Their tasting room is open during the day (hours vary) but, really, drive up the coast around 6:30 or so getting to the vineyard before sunset truly begins. Get yourself a glass of wine and drink deeply of it all. I can't report on the Semler wine (the lovely and hospitable Semler family owns the vineyard) but the Saddleback wine, the lower end label is worth a glass or 2, particularly the Chardonnay. Word is they are improving yearly. Truthfully? I would have taken an 8 ounce glass of veal stock if it meant I could stay in that beautiful place.

www.malibufamilywines.com

I hope you dance

My beautiful, passionate, talented, giving friend Anjini comes from India. Her children and mine have been going to school together since preschool and Anjini has been sharing the customs of her country with our community since our oldest kids were 3. Every year, except the year she had a baby, she organizes an Indian Festival based on traditional festivals of her homeland. She designs costumes, coordinates the decorations, makes crafts with the kids, cooks traditional foods, designs and coordinates the making of a Flower Mandala, choreographs dances for the children and, perhaps most tellingly, convinces varying numbers of parents to learn and perform 2 or 3 dances as well. For the whole school.

For some parents this is nothing but fun. Some are up for anything, some are actual dancers. For myself, well, every year I've got to go through all my stuff again. I used to be a performer, not a dancer but an actor and singer, comfortable on the stage. I also used to be younger, thinner, and well-rehearsed. When I was working I had an everything must be ready, as good as I can get it or I'm not going out there mentality and rightly so. People coming to see your work deserve your best. Once I was ill-prepared, singing at a celebration for people who are important to me, and I was awful. My lack of preparation detracted slightly from the beauty of their day. It was a shameful experience and though it was 20 years ago sometimes it haunts me, feeding my perfectionist monster, using its stick to push all my control buttons. Today, not often "working", singing only at home and mostly lullabies, I won't even do Karaoke unless I've had a few drinks. So when Anjini asks me to dance the voice in my head instantly goes to, not this year, I don't have time, I don't remember what we did before and I can't learn new dances. "Come on, of course" she says in her soft, melodious voice, "you know it." What is the sound of a small moan pushed out between clenched teeth while shutting your eyes and maybe even sort of hoping the person who is making you uncomfortable will see that you're scared and not ask you to dance? That's the sound I make before I say "yes."

So why, do I do this then? Well, it's fun. It makes me feel beautiful because dancing will do that. And it's truly a gift to be able to join in this glorious Indian culture. Thank you, thank you dear Anjini. Also I remember a mom, strong and lovely, who said yes to Anjini back in preschool and danced with such a smile on her face. I envied her. When she was killed in a car accident a few months after that Festival, leaving 3 children under 10, our small, devastated community talked a lot about her dancing and sang a song called I Hope You Dance at her memorial service. Message received.

Also, did I mention that Anjini is very persuasive?

I'm an English/Irish girl from Pennsylvania. I'm never going to look like the cast of Slum Dog Millionaire. There's no way I can do this perfectly. And that's okay. To tell you the truth I don't even really know all the steps of the second dance. When we were rehearsing today there were a few moments when I just bounced up and down (in the back, thank God) and waved my hands around like I was at a Grateful Dead show. So, with a little anxiety (and a small prayer that I still fit into the Kurta I've been wearing to dance this way for 6 years now) I said yes to dancing again. And that's what I'll be doing at 8:30 tomorrow morning. When you get the chance, I hope you dance, too.

Gold Medal Mothering

I have long had a plan for when my kids are older and they reach that age where they start to examine their childhoods and figure out all the things I did wrong - you know, the you love my brother better than you love me, you never really supported me, nobody in this family understands me, my parents never really got me, did you ever even love me!?!?!?!?! kind of place they are sure to at least pass through (but hopefully not put down roots in.) My plan was to pull out the monitor paper from the 34 hours I was in labor with my first child. Yes, that's right 34 HOURS. I keep this scroll, inches in diameter, in a special box marked ammo in the garage. I have so much because there was meconium in the amniotic fluid when my water broke and the doctors insisted that I remain monitored through most of the long labor.

Of course, after about 24 hours the doctors wanted to do a c-section and I'm sure I could have requested one hours earlier but I was determined to have a "natural" birth so I would have none of that. At about hour 30 we (by "we" I mean my cervix and me) were finally getting somewhere and my Dr., a good guy but, by now, a bit pissy about what he saw as my stubborn foolishness, told me it was time to push. 3 hours later, the top of the kid's head appearing and disappearing with every push and release, and the word "c-section" was beginning to feel like a get out of jail free card. I was 33 hours in and I was exhausted. BUT, in one last effort to fulfill my natural birth dreams and keep my hardy earth-mama vision of myself going, I insisted that they try forceps. He wasn't "crazy about the idea" but I had been going for a day and a half and, well, I guess my eyes looked kind of funny because he went to get this thing that looks like a medieval torture device but can probably more accurately be compared to a farm implement, shoved it in there (okay, he probably inserted it very gently but I know that in his mind he was shoving it). Nope. This kid is not coming. This kid is getting cut out. Okay, I said, I surrender. Make me a mother.

My son weighed nearly 10 lbs and was what they call "barrel chested." His chest was wider than his head so his collar bone kept getting stuck on the way down. I, still a tiny bit suspicious of the whole "medicalization of the birthing process" thing asked what they would have done in the old days. "Break his collar bone" the Doctor said.

In the 11 years since I have heard worse birth stories. I won't go in to them here but suffice it to say I soon realized I would need more evidence for future parent child confrontations about how much I love them and what I did to make sure they always knew it. Luckily my second child was born 2 and 1/2 months early! First there was the trying to keep the little fellow inside as long as possible by going on immediate and complete bed rest in the hospital and getting regular testosterone shots in my tush in an effort to get his little lungs to develop before he came bounding out. Then - early one morning I casually mentioned that I felt something in my vagina. Well, it turned out to be a foot. They threw me on a gurney, rushed me down the hall to the operating room screaming over my head "I need an anesthesiologist STAT STAT STAT" ( I can't tell you how calming that was) stabbed me with the epidural and cut me open vertically and horizontally to get him out as quickly as possible. These two slices had wonderful lasting effects both visible (wanna' see my scar?) and invisible - the intricacies of my frequent digestive problems due to interior scar tissue will forever remain with me. They pulled my son out and the anesthesiologist, who had, someone informed me later, taken an unfinished epidural out of the back of another laboring mother (must have been all those "STATS") leaned over and whispered in my ear, "You won't hear him, he won't make a sound because he's intubated (a breathing tube down his throat) but he's okay." God comes in all kinds of forms but that man who understood what was going on in my head at that moment has got to be one of her loveliest.

Anyway, I can use all this later, no? With my kids I mean. Well guess what, I won't have to. Want to know why? Because I spent 4 hours this weekend at BOT-CON the Transformers Convention held at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium. Who loves you, babies?