Dad

Wow. 2013. I was absent from this blog for the end of 2012. To be honest, my goal was to keep this blog fun and light, but my Dad died in the fall and I had trouble finding fun and light things to write about. In fact, I went to a holiday party just before Christmas…when there was a lull in the conversation I started to rack my brain for some conversation starters. The only topics I could come up with were baby poop and how to execute a last will and testament. Needless to say, I wasn’t invited to any more holiday parties. 

As soon as the baby was ready to travel last year, I planned a September trip to visit my Dad for his 65^th birthday. I wanted the little guy to meet his grandpa. And boy am I happy we made the trip. When we arrived I could tell that Dad had been keeping quiet about how bad his emphysema had become. His activity was restricted to the couch and a short radius around it. TJ was at the stage when being on a blanket and trying to roll over occupied him for hours. So I put a blanket in front of the couch and the three of us just hung out for a few days. Dad and TJ had an instant connection. And it wasn’t just because Dad had a nose for TJ to grab onto. The two of them babbled to each other all day long, giggling and holding onto each other’s fingers. I managed to get a few words in edge-wise to ask Dad questions…things we don’t think to ask our parents about their lives…his teen years, his time in Vietnam, his career. He had strong feelings about staying in his home to die. I told him I wanted to be there to help him at the end. He said he would tell me when he needed me, but was never quite forthcoming about how much help he really did need. Too stoic and proud. And stubborn. Four weeks later, I was on the plane on the way to see him again when he died. We had already said our goodbyes, but I wish I had been there. Hugged him one more time. Said thank you one more time. I think of him constantly. At first it saddened me every time something came up that I wouldn’t be able to share with him. Now I’m starting to see reminders and thoughts of him as little pieces of his sense of humor that have stuck around and that I get to share with his grandson. Slowly but surely, the fun and light will come back.

Dad wasn’t strong enough to hold TJ when they met, but I managed to balance a lap sit so that I could get one photo of the two of them together.  I will cherish it and that trip forever.

Lamaze Class Reunion

Our lamaze class had a reunion. Missy, the instructor, is the spitting image of Jane Lynch and has a football coach's approach to lamaze. During class she would get us to practice our breathing and then start yelling "A CONTRACTION IS 90 SECONDS LONG. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING FOR 90 SECONDS!!!" "SQUAT! DO IT! GET THOSE KNEES UP! PARTNERS, MAMA NEEDS HELP WITH HER KNEES SO SHE CAN PUUUUUUUSSSSHHHHH!!!"

Despite the yelling, the whole class came back for the reunion. We last saw each other back in April when we were seven very pregnant ladies and seven supportive partners. And now there are seven more people in the world. Seven new little souls. When I walked in the door with TJ, Missy yelled "YOU DID IT!!!" so loudly it startled TJ awake. He and all the other little ones ate, pooped and cried while we exhausted parents shared our birth stories. The prize for the most dramatic delivery went to the couple who had an intern try nine times to insert the epidural causing the doula to faint and have to be taken to the emergency room.

The most amazing thing was to see how the little ones reflected their parents personalities and demeanor. The high strung couple's baby cried a lot, the laid back lesbian couple had the most laid back little dude, the daughter of a librarian and a teacher was quiet, alert and observing everything. Nature or nurture? If TJ reflects us already, I'm too close to see it. Oh wait...he just spent fifteen minutes going cross-eyed from staring at his own hand. Yep, he's definitely part of this family.

Lamaze class reunion:

Here's a recent photo of TJ caught in a non cross-eyed moment:

Do you have your club card?

INT.  DUANE READE IN HELLS KITCHEN, MANHATTAN - DAY

The young, bright eyed quirky GIRL steps up to the cash register and hands the CASHIER a box of headshot envelopes and mailing labels.

CASHIER

Do you have your club card?

GIRL

What’s a club card?

CASHIER

A Duane Reade club card.

GIRL

I don’t know what that is. I just moved here. To New York City.

The cashier gives the girl a blank stare.

GIRL (CONT’D)

I’m going to be an actress.

More blank staring.

GIRL (CONT’D)

Well...can I get these things without a club card?

CASHIER

That’s $14.87.

Ok. I didn’t really tell the cashier that I was going to be an actress. I did, however, figure that I would be frequenting this store they call Duane Reade. But why would the guy not ask me if I wanted a card? Did Duane Reade corporate headquarters really pass down the rule that all cashiers ask if customers have a club card without suggesting that there could be a follow up question if the customer said "no?" I like to support good marketing and customer service so I vowed then and there that if any employee ever actually offered me a card instead of just asking if I already had one, I would certainly take Duane Reade up on benefitting from their club card program. If they couldn't take the extra step to tell me how to get one, why should I? I don't need your stinking club card!

Cut to...eight years later...

INT.  DUANE READE IN DITMAS PARK, BROOKLYN - DAY

The frazzled new MOTHER juggles pushing a stroller up to the cash register while handing a box of newborn diapers and a pint of Haagen Dazs to the CASHIER.

CASHIER

You have your club card?

MOTHER

No.

CASHIER

You want one?

MOTHER

What?

The mother looks up. Stunned. The cashier reaches for a club card brochure.

CASHIER

It’s a rewards program. You can fill this out to get one.

MOTHER

I know what it is. I’ve been waiting eight years to be offered a club card!

The cashier gives the mother a blank stare. 

MOTHER (CONT’D)

This is a really big moment--

The BABY in the stroller starts crying. The mother hesitates.

MOTHER (CONT’D)

(motioning to stroller)

I have to get him home...I guess Duane Reade missed the window.

More blank staring...but then...

CASHIER

Take it with you. Bring it back anytime.

The cashier gave the mother the club card discount anyway. She took the application and thanked him as she pushes her crying baby out of the store.

Why did it take EIGHT YEARS for me to cross paths with a nice Duane Reade cashier? Is it me? Do I finally look worthy? Did Duane Reade corporate headquarters train their cashiers to offer cards only to those who look frazzled and desperate? Was it the spit-up on my shirt that sealed the deal? Or the way I didn't brush my hair? Well, I'll take the sympathy points my crying baby got me and I promise to cherish my sacred club card.

"It is not the employer who pays the wages. Employers only handle the money. It is the customer who pays the wages."
-Henry Ford

A Letter to Bacon

Dear Bacon,

I have never been one of your fans. To be frank, your white glistening fat gives me the heebie-jeebies. Sure, I know you add all kinds of flavor goodness to soups, beans and egg scrambles. The most appreciation I’ve ever had for you was when you were hugging a tender piece of perfectly grilled filet mignon. But even then, you always ended up in a pile of uneaten pieces on the edge of my otherwise clean plate. Until yesterday…

I went to brunch at Buttermilk Channel. It was my first time. To my surprise, I was delighted to see what a strong presence you had there, Bacon. Everywhere I looked, I saw you on the plates of other diners. All of a sudden I felt one of those cravings I've only felt during pregnancy: an insatiable desire to eat one particular food. It was you, sweet Bacon. You, and you alone, would satisfy me. I needed you immediately. I wanted only to devour as much of you as I possibly could. The waiter and chef agreed to my request to make you extra crispy. And when you arrived at the table, I had to remind myself that I was in public. Oh Bacon, if we had shared some private moments together I would have whispered sweet nothings as I nibbled all five pieces of you. I would have apologized for all those years I looked down my nose at you and your fat. The way your crunchy smoked deliciousness complemented my eggs and hash browns…it made me melt. I completely gave in to your prowess.

Thank you, Bacon, for our afternoon tryst. But please understand that I was overcome by the pregnancy hormones. It was not the real me. If perchance we never meet again, I will always remember our time together on that fateful February day in a quaint Brooklyn café.

Yours truly,

Sarah

Lisa: "I'm going to become a vegetarian."         

Homer: "Does that mean you're not going to eat any pork?"                    

Lisa: "Yes"                                                          

Homer: "Bacon?"                                                     

Lisa: "Yes Dad"                                                

Homer: “Ham?"                                                       

Lisa: "Dad, all those meats come from the same animal."                    

Homer: "Yeah right Lisa, some wonderful, magical animal!"

-- The Simpsons

Shit non-pregnant girls say...to pregnant girls.

Picture me in a bad wig with a valley girl accent.

I want to be cute when I’m pregnant.

How do you stand not being able to drink?

You should be enjoying how big your boobs are.

How do your pants stay up?

I had a friend who did an all-natural home birth.

I hear you’re supposed to do Kegels.

You know people aren’t circumcising baby boys anymore.

I couldn’t live without sushi for nine months.

Could you walk a little faster?

I bet you always get a seat on the subway.

Your pants have an elastic waistband?

When I have a baby, I’m going to take him everywhere.

Can I touch your belly?

When I’m a mom, I won’t let it affect my career.

Aren’t you sad it’s not a girl?

You know your vajayjay will never be the same.

I hear you poop right there in front of everyone.

Are you wearing grannie panties?

Do your Kegels.

I’m scared of getting stretch marks.

I can’t wait to dress my baby in all those adorable tiny outfits.

I can barely take care of my plants and you’re going to be a mom.

Can I see the waistband of your pants?

When I’m pregnant, I’ll eat only raw organic foods.

It’s so cute the way you waddle.

What are you naming it?

Why are you crying?

Are you doing Kegels right now?

If pregnancy were a book they would cut the last two chapters.
-Nora Ephron

The Belly

My pregnant belly and I waddled onto the subway the other day. No seats and no one jumping up to offer my belly a seat, so I grabbed onto the pole by the door. Across from me was a woman in her 70’s wearing a floor length fur coat.  Also standing. She smiled at me and spoke with a thick Russian accent, “These people. No respect. We stand here and that boy sits!” I follow her bony finger to a 20 year old kid sleeping on the bench, his headphones blaring music, and his jaw slack with escaping drool. “Oh, they’re just not paying attention,” I say, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. “Not paying attention?!” she hollers, “you watch, I throw $100 dollars to the floor, they pay attention!” Then she comes at me with her Skeletor hands, wraps them around my belly and proclaims: “AHA, it is a BOY!” How did she know that??? I kind of wanted to hear more predictions, but we were at my stop so I ripped my belly out of her hands just in time to slip out the door.

People really do look at you differently (or don’t look at you at all) when you have a baby belly. The acting world says to call them when you get back in shape. Strangers smile when they first make eye contact, but then notice the bump, become extremely uncomfortable, stutter and get away as soon as possible.  People close to you won’t let you do things because they think you’re fragile. Sure, I move slowly, demand odd foods and cry on occasion, but there’s no need to marginalize me. Besides, I owe it to my son to show him that I’m a doer, right?

So here’s me doing: had a great talk with my friend and partner in writing and crime. We’re going to shoot a few shorts for the web in March. Not too big of an undertaking…we’re talking a weekend and a few bucks. But it’s getting my creative juices flowing and I can’t wait. Watch out world, here come me and my belly!

Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing.

-William Shakespeare

2012

Happy New Year!

And welcome to my blog! I had a blog a few years ago back when we were all on myspace. Remember myspace? Anyway, I realized that I missed it. The blog. Not myspace. And after an extremely difficult 2011, I plan to concentrate on things that I enjoy in 2012: writing, acting, directing, coaching, working for the most awesome boss ever, enjoying living in New York City with my husband, fixing up the new apartment I call home, traveling, but tops on the list is preparing for the baby boy that I have due in May. This blog might cover any or all of these topics plus all those little random things we observe on any given day. Looking forward to your comments.

“I love writing, but hate starting. The page is awfully white and it says, 'You may have fooled some of the people some of the time but those days are over, Giftless. I'm not your agent and I'm not your mommy: I'm a white piece of paper. You wanna dance with me?' and I really, really don't. I'll go peaceable-like.” 
-- Aaron Sorkin