Where the Wild Things Are, sons and mother love

As I enter the tunnel (as Sundance's John Cooper and Trevor Groth so aptly put it), I took off a few hours to catch WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE before it slipped out of town. I'd wanted to go opening night and couldn't. The next day, on my way to meetings in NYC, I detoured to pay a visit to my 19-year-old son, now in his second year of college. Not a big movie fan (Transformers is his fav!), he'd gone to Where the Wild Things Are the night before.

"I loved Where The Wild Things Are. But it was so sad!! It's a film for sons and mothers. You know, as boys, we get really frustrated and we break things. But what's really sad, is that we break our own things!

Remember when I got the $5 bill and ripped it into a hundred pieces?"

In that second, I did...
"Yes I do. I'm sorry I wasn't a better mother. I know you were frustrated a lot."

"No, it's ok mom. When I think of you, I think of you always trying to help me. Like you helped me tape it all back together."

Ah my son. And ahhh this film - which had me smiling and sobbing within minutes. Really a modern masterpiece, carving so close to the heart of something so delicate and primal. A real rarity in this day and age. I'm very grateful.

1987 Janet & John in Telluride old photo

Mark Lipsky posted this on Facebook. What a treat. 1987. 6 week old baby Georgia in my arms. Telluride. I remember posing with Patricia Rozema and Sheila McCarthy. I don't remember ever looking that young.

wyatt's suggestion for super bowl sunday

I know this blog is crazy dormant. I just work all the time now, and haven't figured out how this blog fits in with that. But my son just sent me a hilarious email and this seemed the best place to mark it. He's funny in person, but he's really funny in email. A relevant fragment:

.... Superbowl is tomorrow though which is exciting. If you happened to be going to a superbowl party and wanted to get SXSW out of your mind, I suggest spending your time making this http://www.holytaco.com/ultimate-super-bowl-snack-stadium.

As we say goodbye...for now

Proud Mom and Son

Countdown to Empty Nest

Yes, it's all been amazing. And yes, hard to believe how it evolves. From here (@1991) you just can't imagine the march forward. Everyday precious. Feeling the clock ticking... Exciting. Achingly sad. The definition (again) of bittersweet.

Contraception is essential

I've been pregnant exactly twice. I'm the mother of a 21 and 18 year old, both of whom I cherish! This couldn't have happened without safe, legal, relatively inexpensive contraception. Contraception is essential if you care about healthy families (and I don't just mean healthy babies...I mean a healthy, functioning, loving unit) and a woman's right not be a kind of indentured servant and victim. Why don't you join me? See the sample letter below.

Dear friend,

Subject: Contraception is abortion?

Hi,

I had to share something with you. Can you imagine living in a place where birth control is considered an "abortion" and health insurers won't cover it? Where even rape victims are denied emergency contraception?

It seems unbelievable, but the Bush Administration is quietly trying to redefine "abortion" to include birth control. The Houston Chronicle says this could wipe out dozens of state laws that protect women's reproductive freedom and protect rape victims. And this proposed "rule change" doesn't need congressional approval.

I just signed a message to Health and Human Services Secretary Mike Leavitt, whose department is considering this rule change, telling him: "Contraception is NOT abortion." Can you add your voice to this cause? Click here to sign the message:

Thanks!

Ah, genetics...

Love this!  Particularly since I'm the mother of an 18 and almost 21 year old.  Love these ages.

Thanks to Thompson on Hollywood

Wyatt's fish

Hey, that's Wyatt with that big fish down in Port Aransas. He mentioned something about going fishing! If you go to Capt. Jon's website - you can see the little animated fishes move too.

mom's take on the emergency room

Monday night, busy at LAFF, I got an email that my almost 79-year-old, very cheery and always sunny mom was in the hospital. She's gone there earlier via EMTs because she was so dizzy she couldn't stand. They kept her waiting for hours, then subjected her to a battery of tests, keeping her overnight. Tuesday, waiting for a lunch date at the lovely Paramount lot, I finally had time to call her.

"Mom, I'm so sorry you had to be by yourself waiting in the emergency room all that time."

"I wasn't by myself! There were a lot of other people there. It was almost like a party atmosphere."

This moment, full of change and evolution

My old bff Susan writes that she misses the personal posts. I'm having trouble finding the right line to toe. This has been a crazily emotional time. My day to day is radically different, filled with an outside place to be, people to manage, and goals to understand, then outline and achieve. We just celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. My Austin mainstay, once a living welcome wagon, then our closest friend, is now living in NYC. And my son, my sweet little guy, the youngest of my two children, is graduating from high school. It's the elixir of life. Change and growth and evolution. How exciting!!! What's better than to watch your little one come into their own, full of spit and vinegar, fully emerged to walk their own way? It's a great rush. But deeply emotional too, combined with many levels of loss.

I sit at the Lacrosse Banquet and see my son at the seniors table up front. It's my fourth banquet. It's a crystal clear marker of this time we've spent in Austin and what it's meant for my son. As a stranger, a newbie, this was the tribe that took him in, and gave him a platform. These are the parents that I've sat with, convivial strangers, strangers who carried the load so that my son could shine. His name is called last, the award the tallest, I know it's inevitable when the coach describes this very special kid and his commitment, dedication and constant leadership. It's my son, Season MVP. Again. Of course I'm overwhelmed with pride and pleasure. But also sadness and tears. He did this all on this own. And it took a lot. He had so much to overcome. Physically, logistically, even with me. I used to say, "just quit the damned team! It's too much of a hassle." But of course no, he didn't. And now simply, humbly, he's accepting the coaches and teams' acclaim. Again. I am so proud. And so grateful. And this moment has come to an end.

A week earlier I'm in the school cafeteria, where I've barely been. Sad about that too. Remembering my own high school, considering all the ways I could have been a part of this one. But no, my life in Austin has been chock full of the film world, not my kid's high school. We're there for the academic awards. Trustee award. Check. Scholar-Athletes. Check. My son's girlfriend gets something from the Principal - I think it's for best all-around leader and I'm thrilled to have a routing interest. Then a marine calls my son and the girlfriend's names and we're all confused though we laugh at the pairing. My son is laughing the hardest. What the ???!!! Oh... we deduce, must be the top two scholar athletes, one from each gender. All the h.s. kids here are amazing. Several raising hundreds of thousands of dollars in scholarships and awards to pay for college. I've loving watching my son banter with whoever he's next to as the lines change. I love hearing the whoops and hollers as his name is called. The kids get up one by one to parade around the room as their college choice and major is read off an index card. It's a major celebration, one they're not too cool to enjoy. These are great kids. Kids who've worked hard. Kids who've served. Kids' who've led. And I can't believe I'll no longer have access to this very particular kind of moment.

Last night was a backyard party with the high school steel drum band. High School Steel Drum Band!!! They certainly didn't have that at my high school. It's a totally diverse group of kids grooving for hours. They sound great. They look great. My son's pal Evan a particular delight as music bursts from him, his showmanship dominating. I'm in a backyard with families full of history. We're the newcomers but welcomed for this fleeting moment. I'm thrown back to the graduation parties of my own youth, 35 years ago. More grist for the mill.

Our kids have consumed us for almost 21 years. We love them excruiatingly. Every single moment, every single phase. We loved their wee selves. We love who they are now. As my son celebrates this newest landmark, this series of victories and parties and graduation. It's the very definition of bittersweet.

The real birthday gift this year

I hope I'm not tempting fate by posting this, but this was the joy this birthday. Sure, the Facebook barrage was a delight. But the real joy came in this card. The front cartoon, an illustration of what's become a running theme within the family. And inside? A simple thank you. It may not seem like much to the rest of you, but we keep things simple and pared down in this family. No big celebrations or elaborate gifts. Just simple store-bought cards, chosen for their laugh value, filled with love communicated by a handwritten scrawl. For me, this year, from my daughter, (sure, ok, with a sweet add-on by my son that was actually a joke too in a really subtle way, but the card was really from my daughter), a real thank you. It meant everything.

I haven't written much about my daughter this year. Why? Because it's her life, not mine. She's already been cast into the public eye more than she's comfortable with. But it's been an incredible year. Tremendous growth on both our sides. Really enjoying this more adult space between us. Really engaged with who she is now, and who she's growing into being. The tightrope has been being there, but letting her be. I've had to provide a support system without mucking up her own growth by experience. It's been more time consuming than I would have figured. And at times, more nail biting. But over all, what pleasures me the most is the dynamic of trust between us, and how it keeps growing. I wasn't sure we'd have a good adult rapport. I pictured her off adventuring, not needing anything from me. It's been quite the contrary. Real, involved, grounding and full of love. Again, as Lou Reed called it, "The Great Adventure" continues.

LOL a moment ago, and again yesterday

Is it crazy self indulgent for me to be so amused by my son's blog that I need to re-post it here? You decide.

Suspended Suspense

Getting accepted into college was not nearly as exciting as I imagined it to be. There is no suspense, no drum roll as you open the letter, it is very disappointing. You get a big packet when you get in, and a little letter when you do not, which just seems like such an anticlimactic and flawed system. On top of that Lehigh wrapped congratulations around the outside which just made me care even less. If you were thinking about applying to college, do not, because it is nowhere near as exciting as the movies make it seem.

I do have another example of something that cracked me up so much yesterday that I broke out LOL in the car. I was listening to Terry Gross on KUT interview Meg Wolitzer on the eve of the publication of "The Ten-Year-Nap." (love the title). Wolitzer was recounting a crazy moment when after taking her 3 year old for swim lessons - as she was stark naked changing back into her clothes, he ran out of the locker room. At that time, at that gym, the towels were the size of , as she put it, kleenex. She had to quickly decide, cover the top or bottom. Which? She chose the top, and ran out into a lobby full of older people waiting around. Funny now. Mortifying then. But what made the story was that afterwards, she asked a group of her pals what they would have done. Which part would they have covered. Some said top, some said bottom. Finally someone answered, "my face."

Of course, the best possible answer.

The night before Valentine's Day

Missed blogging on Valentine's Day. Just busy and not feeling well. Not that same cold and strep that's been going around. Maybe hormones, maybe anything, who knows what? Weird and odd. Can't remember a time when so many people were so sick. But I don't think this has any relation to that. Think it's more something odd and personal to me.

But back to Valentine's Day. I'd pretty much forgotten about the whole thing until I was on my way home @ 10pm on Wednesday night pre-Vday and remembered to stop in at the local 24 hour Walgreens for some cards. Wyatt reached me just as I walked inside looking for some art supplies. I arrived home to find a pizza delivery car outside, a nice hot pizza inside on the table, and Wyatt ready to hand-make a card for his girlfriend of many months. A little later two of his pals show up. One with ingredients for gluten free cookies for his girlfriend (peanut butter, sugar, eggs, choc chips, + pecans.) For the next several hours, these sweet good looking high-school seniors diligently sit at the table constructing cards. I've pulled out boxes of old glitter, rubber stamps, metallic hearts, ribbon, pieces of wrapping paper. Wyatt says, "Mom, I know what you should do -- teach art to elementary school kids. You'd love that! You can just have them make stuff out of anything!"

The boys work super hard and carefully. Wyatt's is crazy! Globs of glitter and scribbles and three dimensionality. Tim's is extremely precise, with a printed color photo at the center and subtle elegant design. Will's is somewhere in the middle. I can't remember when I've had as much fun just hanging around the edges of these teen-age boys. "When I was in H.S. I never had a boyfriend on Valentine's Day..." "Mom, we don't care!!!" "Oh yes, we do" the other two politely reply. I wasn't going to bore them with any ridiculous details - like my one H.S. V-day memory of going to see Straw Dogs at the movies for a one-time date with Joey Acompora -- that's the kind of girl I was. Straw Dogs!! I was just marveling at the strange species in front of me. I don't think I knew H.S. boys like this! Certainly wasn't their beneficiary. And I know it's no comfort to all my 30ish-plus year-old girlfriends who are looking for the good guys. But it's still nice to know that good guys do exist in some generation. Boys, like my son, who've bought flowers, and a gigantic stuffed animal almost as big as the petite girlfriend herself, and still put their all into a handmade card with a personal note on the back. (No, I didn't get to read.) Totally heart warming and delightful.

Mr. Whimsical

Forgive a doting mom but my little guy (now over 6 feet and almost 18) really makes me laugh. I mentioned his blog when it first started. It's continued to delight and surprise me. Very proud of the used computer/free internet initiative as well.

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Mr. Whimsical Keeps Rolling

So on Monday I came to school feeling a little sick. My English teacher sent me home because of how sick she thought I looked, and upon returning home I discovered that my fever was 103. So I am sorry that my posts have been nonexistent, but I had to get better. At 104 your brain starts to melt and I knew for the sake of you dear readers that I must be at full brain capacity to please the ever demanding people that cherish this blog. Well, dear readers, I got my temperature down and I am back to you feeling good. My brain is not melted and therefore Mr. Whimsical keeps rolling.

At least I'm not this bad

Maybe there's something wrong with me in the first place that I thought this was so funny and shared it with my kids. From Dan Savage's 1/24/08 column: (if the link doesn't last, check out his archives, here.)

Q. On my 21st birthday, my mother got so shitty drunk that she had to buy a pair of pants off a gas-station attendant after she pissed her own. She dropped her giant bag of pot in the limo. We put her to bed, and she got up and tried to screw my roommate. Then she fell out of the top bunk of his bed and hurt herself so bad she grabbed her car keys and left. She got a DWI on the way to the hospital, where they found out she broke her rib. What does all of this do to my psyche?—Please Answer Me

The cards in the mail

The cards went out Saturday. Calling Jeanette from the Book People parking lot on Wednesday afternoon she said, "Just now? You'd better hurry." Then she gave me an awesome printer reference. For the first time ever, the job was done on time, just right. Later I tell Rebecca I'm working on my cards and she laughs, "Now?!! Aren't you a little late?" And to both of them the answer is "No." Emphatically. It's not too late. The general marker is if I can get them into the mail by xmas eve. So this year I'm ahead of the game.

For several years running I've said to John, "I'm not going to bother this year. The kids are getting old. I don't have a good photo. It's a waste." He knows now not to listen. Because once the few cards start coming in, (a trickle down from the waterfall of years ago), I get inspired. I love seeing my friends' kids grow. Or even without kids, love the energy touch. Because that's what it is. No matter what kind of cards I make, I spend hours looking at the list, removing and adding to keep it at a constant number. I handstamp each one. I write notes on most. It's a project demanding time and attention, and it's come to mean Christmas to me. I know it's totally old fashioned and hokey. It's expensive and time consuming. I assume most people don't care. Even the cards themselves are idiosyncratic and obscure. But it means something to me. It's an energy exchange.

Last year my yoga teacher said it was all about lights and cookies. Yes, lights and cookies and cards. The tree up was the start, then the porch lights (thanks G!), then the cards. And that's it. Keeping the stress quotient totally down.It's a no present occasion this year. For the most part that is.

I still happened out into the crowds yesterday, just wandering around, soaking up the flavor. It's perverted I know. I walk out among those buying, buying virtually nothing - oh sure, replacing my shower curtain and picking up the 4th season of The Wire. But not actually buying Christmas presents. I just like to feel the buzz. Then a lovely intimate dinner. I cooked as I did last year. It now feels like tradition. It feels like the right kind of check in, with the family we've chosen, not the one we came with. Today was mellow, helping Wyatt with the finishing touches on his college applications - his work ethic and sense of pacing unparalleled, as he gets this done, stress free as promised, on time before he heads off skiing. It's a sweet time together. With more to come tomorrow as his sister joins us. Simple. Just us. Just fine.

A simple gift from my mom

You hear all kinds of stories about mothers. Shocking stories often. Stories of control and intolerance, neglect, unbelievable selfishness, and about mothers who are just plain mean. I've often been surprised and appalled. But it's not like it was all glory days in this maternal lineage either. I've had plenty of frustrations and hostility. The "my mother's my best friend" tales never applied. I didn't want my mother to be my best friend. I needed (still need) boundaries and separation to be who I need(ed) to be. I definitely had (have?) some anger and regrets. But for the most part I was lucky. I didn't necessarily learn some of the "can do" skills, but I did duck the pain from too much perfection or bossiness (hmmm, from my mom that is).

Trying desperately as I age to see the positives instead of the shortcomings. To be grateful for the simple, clear generosity, even if it did come with some difficulties and unhappy baggage. How can you not love and appreciate someone who sends the simple message below:

Looking forward to meeting your friend - I'm thinking of having some
t=shirts made that say "I'm Janet's Mom -- you may applaud now."

The tree is up

The tree is up. And all our noses are already running. The tree is up, the ritual intact. Listening to the new perennial old Sinead O'Connor and last year's addition, Sufjian Steven's Avalanche. John brings down the xmas cds but I'm not in the mood. It's not til I sit down to write this that I realize I've chosen as my musical companions, two Christian rockers. Unconsciously chosen. Two of my favorites.

It matters to me, what's become my private ritual. Communing with my dead dad and all those memories of Christmases past. No drama or bad attitude this year. I've gotten over even the desire of anyone else helping. Although G. beautifully put up the porch lights, and John accompanied me to the tree lot. And I guess Wy gave me moral support. A couple of nights ago I mused to him that this would be the quietest xmas ever - just no presents for anyone. "And no tree?" "Of course a tree, I love having a tree." "Me too," he said. Surprising me. I actually didn't think anyone else cared. And then even tonight, as I've been shifting with my own feelings of it being too small, and how that feels disappointing, then of course thinking of Charlie Brown's little tree, and being grateful for everything that allows this life we have and even this tree, - Wyatt comes home and says, "I like this size. Last year's was too tall." (He's the best.)

I trim the tree and drink some tea from this little cast iron Japanese tea pot. It's a pot I coveted for years, back when I lived alone on Broome Street in Soho, and observed the holidays by window shopping on West Broadway. In particular stopping into the lovely little Japanese gift shop, Five eggs I think it was called? Endlessly desiring one of the iron teapots. It was too dear for me then. I just dreamed about it and coveted it. Probably the same way I felt about having a boyfriend. So funny now to realize, ok, the boyfriend locked in, 25 years and counting... the teapot acquired too, somewhere along the way. I can't exactly remember when. And whether I bought it for myself or received as a gift. I just know that I cherish it as much as I thought I would.

My sweet sister

I've always loved the way she looks. I mean, check this out, even with an eye patch. You can still see the style.

My little texas gal