Never Miss a Date Night

O: Why can't I come? You're going to get dessert, aren't you?

We talked a lot about this mythical idea of a "date night". That's a thing people do, right? But sitters are so expensive, and no one else can get our kids to sleep, and by the time the evening rolls around we are so tired, and fill-in-the-blank with another generic excuse here. But something about this article in Darling magazine about dating your husband, inspired me. I think it was the part about investing in what you value. 

This is what I value.

So we've been making a real effort to have a date night, or even a date morning, every week. Yes, it is expensive. Yes, it takes some planning and thought. Yes, we are exhausted.  

I guess, the thing we've learned is to not over-complicate it. Most of the time, we've had a sitter come, on a weeknight, for two hours while we walk to a casual dinner up the street. One time, we went to get pecan rolls while Jim's mom and dad enjoyed a morning with the girls. Once, we just went to Target. Just to clarify, I did not drag my husband to Target on date night; we were prepping for a camping trip.

We have yet to tackle the high-stakes, high-price, dress-up kind of evening I used to associate with a date-night, and we don't plan to. The idea that it is going to happen every week has taken the pressure off, made each evening, afternoon, or morning, more enjoyable. The stakes are so low: a burger and fries, a picnic blanket, a beach sunset. There is no huge layout of funds, no massively complicated logistics, no expectation of romance, hence our trip to Target.

But in the last few weeks, I have found myself gesturing wildly over a basket of food truck tacos, talking passionately about the theatre. I have found myself laughing until my sides ached. I have found myself sharing some of the quiet truths that we sometimes don't have time for over the course of our average day, the things that don't get said at 10:00pm when the girls are asleep, the dishes are done, we've watched Game of Thrones, and the dog needs to be walked. I have found myself being kissed, long and slow, under a street lamp, just like on our first date all those years ago when he walked me back to my car. 

A long, long time ago

It has been both easier than I expected and more fulfilling than I imagined. Jim and I aren't trying to fix anything that is broken, but after eight years of marriage and two kids, it sure is reassuring to remember how much you like the person you've always loved.  

I really like Jim. 

Never miss a date night. 

A Museum, a Park, a Beach, Repeat

O: Momma, are we starting the day, or ending the day, or in the middle of the day?

I love summer, or at least I used to, when I was a kid. As I trudged into adulthood it has started to mean less and less. Sure, it is warmer and it is light later into the evening, but gone is that free feeling of having nothing to do, nowhere to be. I no longer live in my swimsuit, my hair in an eternal matted pony tail. 

But here we are, at the beginning of O's second summer off from pre-school, and somehow, that tingly summer feeling is returning. This week I rolled down a hill, swam in the ocean, and ate ice cream for dinner. Our bathing suits are living on the line outside and haven't been fully dry all week. In a few days, we are going camping. We will return home, exhausted and that first post-camping bath will leave a dirt ring around the tub as satisfying as the trip itself. Summer is a time to be dirty, to roll in the sand, to eat cherries until your fingertips are stained red, to lay in the dirt on your belly and look for bugs, to lay in the grass on your back and watch the clouds. I'm ready. I suppose, if O and P want to join in, they are invited too. 

This summer, my recipe is this: a museum, a park, a beach, repeat. Every week, we are going to attempt those three things. That should leave plenty of time for cloud gazing, getting dirty, and cherry eating too. 

Learning Through the Camera Lens

O: I'm gonna take a picture. No! Not of you, of the pretty flowers.

I've had my camera for a little over two months now and, while I've learned a lot about aperture, shutter speed, and iso, the most interesting things I have learned have been about people. I've found that I am not very interested in taking pictures of landscapes or objects, but rather, I love taking candid photos of people.  

Everyone reacts differently to the camera. Some people sit up a little straighter and relax their face just so (I'm pretty sure this is where I fall).

Some people become so instantly self-conscious, taking their picture becomes nearly impossible.  

Some people just start making goofy faces.  

Some people, the lucky ones, have faces that fall into the most beautiful smile, without them even knowing it.

Some people have no problem just ignoring me and that camera altogether. They are my favorite.  

I'm learning a lot about people, but mostly, I'm learning that I need to be sneakier. 

Especially when I'm trying to take a picture of O.

It Doesn't Take Much

O: The car is too hot. I won't get in the car. I guess we will just have to live here.

It was hot last week. No, scratch that. It was mind-boilingly, unreasonably, unacceptably hot last week. I wore my bathing suit cover-up in public because I couldn't imagine putting on real clothes. 

hot, sweaty, and cranky, even if she doesn't look it

One day, we went to Pamper and Play, and you should seriously check them out, and not just for their wonderful air conditioning.

air-conditioning and an adorable, tiny, retro-kitchen, and a wonderful staff that watches your children while you enjoy some peace in the PARENT'S LOUNGE (that is a real thing with wifi and coffee)

One day, we went to school and melted at the park and sniped at each other for the rest of the day, except while we had a french fry party on the floor in the girls' air-conditioned bedroom.

One day, we just stayed home. Now, we don't have a pool, heck, we don't even really have a yard. I had thrown away last year's kiddie pool the week before because someone small, blond, and adorable had thought that it would be fun to fill it with rocks and potting soil, and it was genuinely too gross to salvage.

Instead, I filled three plastic storage tubs with water, grabbed a ton of small cups and two grown-up paint brushes, and set them to work. 

P washed her precious rock collection.

O repainted my stairs.

Nothing like a fresh coat of water 

When they started to lose interest about two hours in, I pulled out a tray of ice and frozen teething toys.

They drew on the cement with half of it, and ate the other half. Win?

When that lost its novelty, we had popsicles. When O snuck the last bite of P's popsicle, it was time to come inside.  

There were a few casualties.  Poor Fred, the teddy bear, got an unexpected and un-needed bath. P did attempt to wash Sam, with Poor Fred as a sponge, much to Sam's displeasure, but all and all it was a very enjoyable day.

I often try to do too much, or even worse, I often feel bad about what I can't do, what they don't have. We have made this choice, to live in this city, to live in this small space, to forgo a yard, to not live in what, I image, is a more typical suburban neighborhood. Most days, I feel good about that choice and genuinely believe that there are positives that outweigh the negatives.

The day we stayed home during the heat wave was one of those days. It really doesn't take much. Most of the stuff is superfluous. In fact, it might even get in the way. Play is so much easier than we grown-ups imagine it to be. 

It doesn't take much

But I still really wish they had a garden. 

Last year's bounty, our closest garden approximation.

It's So Hard to Remember

O: For my next birthday, I want tools, house-building tools.

K: Okay. Why?

O: Because I want to build my own house and move-out. Don't worry. It'll be close by. 

It is so hard to remember, when you are trying to finish a simple task made complicated by the squirming toddler on your lap, that someday they won't want to hug you in front of their friends.

It is so hard to remember, when they awaken every morning at 5:00am, that you will someday be dragging them out of bed.

It is so hard to remember, when every toy, book and art supply is strewn across the floor, the dishes are stacked inches from the ceiling, and no one has clean underwear, that someday this house will be empty, that even the junk drawer will be organized.

It is so hard to remember, when they cry at preschool drop-off, that someday soon, you will be the one crying as you leave them, be it the first day of elementary school or in their dorm room, or more likely, both.

It is so hard to remember, when you are frustrated and tired and impatient, that these moments are a gift, the things you will look back on with warmth, love, and longing, when things really get tough, when the stakes are so much higher.

And yet, it is impossible to forget, when you are rocking them to sleep, their heavy, sweaty bodies slack in your arms, their breath sweet and even, that they are only little for a second, that they are only ours for such a short time. Soon enough, we give them over, to kindergarden, to best friends, to sleep-overs, to summer camp, to college, to lovers, to the world. They are ours, in our hearts, forever, yet they are truly ours for only a moment.

Why is that so hard to remember?

Grand Plans

O: Mooooom, slow down. You walk too fast. Why do we always have somewhere to be?

Summer is nearly upon us and I was making grand plans.

I have a tendency to make grand plans, aspirational, over-reaching plans. I love schedules, lists and graphs, but I don't alway love following them. Sitting with a lined legal pad, a sharpened pencil, a cup of coffee and a world of possibilities is one of my favorite things. Everything feels possible from that place. I like possible.  

A friend shared her goals for the summer with me, and it got me thinking about how I set goals and measure my own success at reaching them. I will usually set a detailed (no joke: like by the hour) schedule and attempt to follow it and as soon as I miss one bench mark or time stamp, I will chuck the entire thing out the window, because my perfect plan has been sullied and is no longer viable.  We will then proceed to spend the entire day in our pajamas, watching Frozen on a loop and counting the minutes until bedtime.  

Photo Credit: O Felton

My friend's goals didn't need a time stamp or bench marks.  They were big-picture goals about what she wanted for herself and her children. They were attainable, reasonable, and exciting. My list-making mind instantly saw the smaller steps that they needed to be dissected into, but the goals themselves were beautiful in their simplicity and focus: one for her alone-a commitment to her own physical health, one for her family-embarking on a creative project on behalf of her daughter that she would share with her husband, and one for her kids-to spend as much time as possible exploring our beautiful city.  These clean, lovely goals instantly made me realize my own lack of focus, in spite of my color-coded graphs and charts.

So, following the rubric of my dear, and very wise friend, here are my summer goals:  (I am not sure I will be able to resist the compulsion to schedule, graph and color code, but if I am at least working from a big-picture place, perhaps that will help.)

1. A goal for me: I want to begin making relationships with theaters closer to home. There is a lot of theatre in Los Angeles and I need to start putting in the time and energy to make relationships there, so that I can do more than one show a year and not kill myself with the Long Beach commute. 

2. A goal for my family: A move away from our beloved screens. Frozen and Curious George have become a huge presence in our house over the past few months, and I am not apologizing for it, but I am excited to see a lot less TV time. As for Jim and me, we have both made a commitment to be more present and less plugged in this summer. We've been looking here for that inspiration and support: The Hands Free Mama.

3. A goal for O and P: Spend as much time outside as possible, recognizing that our adventures don't have to be grand in order to be exhilarating.

It is a place to start.  I will still use my giant blackboard wall calendar in my kitchen. I will still draw out schedules on those legal pads. I'm not sure I know how to stop myself, but I will also try to forgive when I fall short, to pick-up and carry on where we left off, instead of chucking my well-meaning plans out the window. 

I can't wait for summer. I am replacing my grand plans with trips to the beach, playdates, and days with no schedules, where I will say yes as much as possible, slow down, and try to quiet my own mind when P wants to spend twenty minutes talking to a leaf or O wants to take pictures of some flowers. I can't wait. 

These Three

P: DAAAAADDDAAAAAA! MOOOOOMMMMMAAAA! OOOOOOOOOOOO!

This is my happy place, right here, with these three.  I try really hard to hold the feeling that this picture gives me in my heart all the time: when both of the girls are screaming, when the house is mess, when I am struggling.  

I try to remember how easy it all can be, when I remember the important things.  There really are only three important things, when you get right down to it. Okay, maybe four. I am trying to remember to put myself on that list too.  

Mother's Day: a photo essay

P: Mooma, Mamoo, Mama.

Once you become a mother, you become the keeper of memories. You are suddenly responsible for the collecting, compiling, and storing of all of the firsts: teeth, steps, words. You store them away jealously, guarding these details that mark the passing of time. You study them and file them, like there might be a pop quiz at any moment. 

One of the most important parts of being the archivist of your children’s childhood is the photographic documentation of their every waking moment, and frankly a fair number of their sleeping moments too. I started to notice, when scrolling through the countless digital images, that something, or rather someone, was missing. I had become such a diligent archivist, that I had managed to eliminate myself.  It was then that I started making an attempt to pass the camera to Jim.  

Compassion

I realized that I couldn’t be alone, so I started to make a real effort when I had my camera with me, to watch, when I was around the other mothers in my life, woman that I admire and respect, and if I could, to snap a picture for them.  While I started out just snapping pictures for them, I ended up finding so much joy, beauty, and strength.

Bliss

Joy

Genetics

Tenderness

Warmth

Beauty

Strength

Delight

Being the keeper of the memories is not an easy job. Some of those memories are heavy and hard to hold. We are all someone’s child, and even if it isn't a mother who holds your memories, tomorrow is a good day to say thank you.  

Love

And to those of you have taken on your own archival duties, remember to pass the camera off, to make yourself a part of the record, because your children deserve to see your joy, your beauty, and your strength.

Happy Mother’s Day. 

POTUS v. Preschool

O: I mostly didn't like it.  It was exciting, but loud.

This is not a political post. I promise, not even kind of.  

Los Angeles is a strange and wonderful place.  A few days ago, after sign out at O's school, a bunch of parents were just hanging out in the park, when WWIII began, or at least that was where my hyperactive worst-case-senario brain went.  

Several large grey helicopters flew low over the playground, ruffling the kiddos hair.  They landed in formation just up the hill.  Moments later two identical green helicopters approached from different directions and landed on the field too.  The loose perimeter was maintained by a couple of intimidating dudes in polo shirts and jeans.  Everyone ran up the hill to watch.

  It was very clear that this level of security was way too lax for Marine One to have it's illustrious passenger inside, but it was still pretty cool.  A couple of the babies are still pointing emphatically at any plane, helicopter, or bird they spot in the sky, and then insisting that their mothers force a landing for closer inspection.  

I'm not saying that that was a dry run for Obama's visit to Los Angeles this week.  I am saying that preschool was unexpectedly shut-down for two days due to unforeseen "park maintenance".  I guess it makes sense that POTUS trumps preschool, and at least we got a really awesome, up-close, personal air-show out of it.  

This Guy: a birthday

O: It's still my birthday, right? It's always my birthday, until it is daddy's?

I asked Jim what I should write about him for his birthday and he said, "This is Jim. He is great. Let's have cake." I tried, but I couldn't come up with anything better, so...

This is Jim. He is great. Let's have cake.

But, seriously.  This is Jim.

The most loving, generous, compassionate person I know

He is great.

A great partner, a great friend, a great father

Let's eat cake.

Let's have cake together to celebrate this birthday, our daughters' weddings, our 50th wedding anniversary.  Hell, let's have cake to celebrate tomorrow and the next day too.  

This is Jim. I'm a big fan. Happy Birthday.