In the Motherhood is Out

I read yesterday that ABC has already cut their season order of In the Motherhood from thirteen episodes to six. I watched it. I thought they had some funny bits.

When I was at the gym last week I saw Megan Mullaly promoting Motherhood on the Bonnie Hunt Show. As I watched, I had a bad feeling, a premonition. Everybody says shows about women don't fly in Hollywood. Married women or older women, I mean I'm surprised they got on the air at all.

This is particularly upsetting to me since I've spent the last two years of my life writing a film about women. What started as a group of 40 something characters has skewed to women in the early 30's. People also say write what you know. Well I don't know early 30's anymore. I'm trying to remember.

The show started online and they had clever hook of using viewer submitted stories from real moms as plot lines. But somebody up there doesn't want to see moms on TV, unless they're perfect moms like June Cleaver or wild and crazy moms like Peg from Married with Children.

Watching Megan Mullaly and Bonnie Hunt together I thought about how funny both of these women are. Really funny women. Why don't we want to see 40 something's? What's wrong with us?

I rented an HBO comedy called "The Comeback" with Lisa Kudrow. It's a show about an actress in her 40's who had a hit show when she was younger and is on the comeback trail with a new sitcom. Originally she was cast as one of the roommates in the show "Room and Bored". The network decides to go in a different direction and Kudrow takes on a new role as Aunt Sassy, the landlord. The Comeback is one of those shows that makes you uncomfortable it's so realistic. Like the Ricky Gervais version of The Office. Mainly it's about this older actress relegated to wearing a bad track suit and being completely overlooked if not persecuted by the show's writers. She's not a particularly likeable character but I really thought she was wonderfully written. I don't think that show was picked up either.

I had high hopes for In the Motherhood. If they can make it, we can make it. I suppose I should look on the bright side - that the show was produced at all, even though their season was cut short. We're going to finish this damn screenplay if it kills me. And I hope we get a shot at making a film. At least we're trying. That seems to be my mantra for the month of March.

Holed Up: Tales from the Motherhood

I spent this weekend in the City but didn't see the light of day except for a couple of coffee runs. Lou Lou flew in from Denver and Rosey trained in from Long Island and we all met in their mom's apartment on Sutton Place. Sounds pretty swanky, but swanky it ain't.

It's a lovely building in a peaceful, pretty part of town but the apartment was last used by their brother Pat, a former Navy Seal with a penchant for Munch-like art and even darker fiction. I slept on an air mattress and the sisters shared the bed.

We were working on our screenplay that we've been working on for longer than I care to admit. This is the toughest writing project I have ever attempted and it still isn't finished. I think because there are three of us with very different opinions. You add the difficulty of managing time zones and a total of 11 children (mostly Rosey's) and we just can't seem to get it together.

Rosey lives in Huntington, near Syosset home of Apatow and other movie kids. A woman in her local book group has agreed to pass along our screenplay to her c-level exec husband at WE if we can get it into MOW format rather than feature film format. They've promised to read it and that is big.

We've been writing all along what we hoped would be a feature film finally stumbling on Save the Cat to help us with structure. A Movie of the Week (MOW) format is different because you have to allow for commercial breaks roughly every fifteen minutes of film for two hours. Plus in this instance, they want what's called a Bible thinking this might be the next Desperate Housewives. The Bible consists of detailed character descriptions, 13 half-page episode synopses and the script in the event the movie launches a series.

It's like the closer we get, the more hurdles shoot up. This weekend we met with other hurdles. Lou Lou's husband is a long-time stoner who has recently decided to try his hand at more serious combinations of prescription drugs, pot and alcohol. On Saturday night, he pulled some major shenanigans that I think I'll not reveal but let's say it kept us up late that night and seeped into the next day as Lou Lou's family gathered round trying to offer their best advice.

I'd brought in a book for her about Adult Children of Alcoholics. I'm one of those. I have the gene and battle it myself. I do pretty well mainly I think because I'm too tired after working and momming all day to get into much trouble. But I understand the root of it and frankly am pretty sick and tired of dealing.

I tried to keep writing as the sister and a brother were counseling Lou Lou. I know the objective of alcoholics whether intended or not, is disruption. Same with any addict I'm assuming. After 40+ years of it it's really getting old. Same old stuff over and over again. It's very unimaginative.

My friend Lou is a tough bird. She's one of 9 children and they do not mess around when it comes to toughness. I think it comes from their mother who possesses a very black sense of humor for someone in their late 70's. She's also a ruthless tennis player, a very unlikely grandmother to scores and until recently a real estate tycoon in the Hamptons. I think they'll ride out this real estate storm; they will if Betty Ann has anything to say about it.

I feel for my friend Lou Lou. She's in a serious pickle with 3 kids and no work experience in roughly 15 years. She's trying and will no doubt find her way. As the old hand in the addiction department, I feel it my duty to keep us moving on the screenplay. Like I said, the disruptions have worn thin. No more drama as Mary J says. Or Mr. Eliot, "For I have known them all already, known them all."

Looking Good Out There

My new profile picture is actually about 2 years old. My brother took the picture when we were out in Montana visiting my dad's place in Whitefish. We were on Whitefish Lake learning to wakeboard. I got up for about 2 seconds and that was it. My brother Clay rode around for quite a bit and my sister-in-law did well too.

It was a funny day. We thought we were taking a water skiing lesson but our instructors told us no one water skis anymore. Everybody wakeboards now. The water was freezing as it always is there. So every time I fell, I got smacked by water as cold as ice. It felt like I was hitting pavement.

One of our instructors was this guy named Link. He was much older than the kid driving the boat. He was in good shape, probably in his 40's like me. He was a small guy and he had what is probably the worst hair piece or weave or whatever it was that I've ever seen. I was thinking this guy has some nerves wearing that thing into the water. We nicknamed his hair the badger.

He was in the water trying to help me and my sister-in-law stand up on the board. You have to just stand up straight when the boat starts to move so it's an awkward feeling. On my first try I got up for a brief shining moment. And subsequently fell, fell, fell until I hit my forearms so hard on the water I thought I was going to cry.

At that point I gave up. I really should've kept going until I too could ride around the lake on my board. But I was embarrassed and I felt badly that they had to keep circling back to pick me up. Now I look back fondly on getting to meet Link who in spite of his badger hairpiece was a real sweetheart of a guy. He wanted me to succeed more than I did.

I like this picture for a couple of reasons. One, my legs and my arms both look pretty good. You can't even see the back of my arms waving behind me in the wind.

I also like this picture because it's a reminder to me to keep trying new things. It wasn't pretty and I really only saw what it could be like for about 2 seconds. But I tried and that's what counts.

Trapped with a Ten Year-Old

Yesterday we had a conference with our son's teacher. This is the second. The first was not that great. We're used to Will being good to great at pretty much everything so it was a shock to learn his teacher thought he was basically coasting. This is a specialty of mine so I can relate.

This conference went much better and I almost started crying at one point. I was so glad to hear his teacher say she thinks he's ready for the big leap to middle school.

Before the meeting began, we were in the hallway waiting. The three of us - me, my husband and son. My husband was glued to his iPhone and I was OCD-ishly checking my blackberry for new email. My son started in again about how he wants a phone. At ten, I just don't see that happening.

I said, " I was thirty before I got a phone." Oh sure I had that old Princess phone back in the day but that was tethered to a wall and closely monitored by my parents and brother. I neglected to mention cell phones weighed about 15 pounds until I was 30 but hey, I'm allowed to edit.

My husband was sitting about 10 feet away, again engrossed in iPhone. My son was harping, going on and on. Finally I said, "Dad said you can't have a phone and I agree with him."

My son whispered to me, "Daddy can't help you from over there."

What's a Renal Carbuckle?

Further Adventures in Motherhood: Taking Will to the Doctor with Me

I whacked my toe on a flashlight that I keep near my bed. This happened about two weeks ago but my toe is still bothering me. At first it turned black and blue. Now it's red and kind of swollen. This is particularly bothersome to me because I have pretty nice feet. So the thought of amputation or other foot scarring is upsetting.

I made a doctor's appointment for the following day and then quickly changed my mind thinking I'll take my son with me this afternoon . It will take five minutes for the doctor to say there's nothing he can do and then we'll leave. Why put off until tomorrow what can be diagnosed today?

When we got there, Will asked if he could come in with me. Thought twice about it, but how bad could it be? When we finally got in the exam room, Will started playing with the various plastic models they have of asthmatic airways and clogged arteries. Then he started studying this chart with kidneys and a bunch of lines leading here and there. That's when he asked me, " What's a renal carbuckle?" I'm pretty sure that's not the spelling but that's the gist of it.

A renal carbuncle (correct spelling) is a medical term for a kidney abscess. I'm not going into the rest of it because it involves the word pus and that word makes me faint.

The running commentary ensued. "You know Leprechauns drink a lot of beer." (It was St. Patrick's Day) "What's that glass they drink out of? Shots?"

"It's called a pint," I said. Then he says, "Are my eyes completely white?" He has this thing about rolling his eyes all the way back in his head until only the whites are showing. At this point, I started cracking up. Then he started laughing and we were both laughing until the doctor came in the room.

He asked us to switch seats so that I was on the chair beside him and Will got up on the exam table. Will started swinging his legs, swish, swish went the paper. Swish, swish, crackle.

The doctor asked him to settle down. Said he couldn't hear what I was saying. I asked Will if he'd like to wait outside. The doctor answered for him. "He doesn't have to go. I'd just like him to be quiet."

I don't like when doctors interfere like that. I've had that happen several times actually and it's annoying. You're the doctor not the parent. You do your job and I'll do mine. Of course I just sat there quietly, knowing Will wasn't about to stop fidgeting.

Finally the big reveal from the doctor, there's nothing he can do. He said something like, "The infection idea was a good thought. Well not really because I don't think you have an infection but.."

Then the doctor asks if I've ever heard of buddy taping? Yeah my dad used to make me run plays with him and my younger brother. I know about buddy taping and stick'em and ice packs and having a nice big shiner on my first day of eighth grade from getting hit with a baseball.

I didn't know about renal carbuncles but I'm thrilled to add them to my repertoire.

With Friends Like These

I am perpetually on the lookout for moms like me. Deeply flawed but trying.


This weekend my sister-in-law had a friend down from her hometown. This friend is one I covet because she is really funny. I was telling her about my son's various sex questions from my Nag in the House blog. She shared this story with me. Her 9 year-old daughter had a friend over and they were in her room being very secretive. She could hear whispering but wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Then her daughter told her they were writing a book called The Valley of the Vaginas. Bonni called the other girl's mother and said, "I think you'd better get over here. They're writing porn."

I just got off the phone with my friend Lou Lou who lives in Denver. She'd sent me an email last night that her daughter is going deaf in one ear. They're not sure why or if it can be reversed. Her only comment? She said it was weird.

Lou's going through quite a bit right now so I figured she was holding back emotionally because what else is there to do? At some point, it's all just overwhelming. I called Lou today to check on her and she went on to explain that she felt like she had to keep it together so Olivia wouldn't get upset. But she stayed up half the night worrying about what had happened, what she could've done, all the things moms worry about when something is wrong.

She went on to say that on the way home from the hearing specialist, Olivia asked her what she couldn't be if she lost her hearing. "Can I still be a vet?" she asked. Lou Lou said, "Of course you can be a vet. But you probably shouldn't work at a shooting range."

I Am a Shit

My husband didn't get home until 9:15 last night - Friday night. He was just, I don't even know the word, maybe wrecked, defeated? He was texting me from the train like he always does about what's for dinner and the answer was nothing. I left a cupcake for him that my neighbor gave us. My intent was to split it with him but he looked so friggin' bummed out, I told him to eat the whole thing.

I told him I had a good day. I had three unsolicited positive remarks on my blog. One from my stepsister even, who read Adventures in Babysitting and somehow didn't want to kill me for that story about taking care of her son.

He couldn't be consoled my husband. He wanted to talk about what a shitty day he had. I should've just sat there quietly and listened. Instead I laid into him about what the hell are we doing if he hates this job.

I thought he was enjoying it. He seemed cheery enough. Maybe it was just an exquisitely bad day. Seriously though, what are we doing? Will and I never see him during the week. He leaves at 8am and the earliest he'll be back is 9pm. That's everyday, Monday through Friday. And he's working on the weekend. Baseball is starting soon and I can't help Will. I used to have an arm but now I throw like a girl. And no way I can catch Will now, he's throwing way too hard.

So I'm up now at 4am. blogging about this mess. Writing, writing, just keep writing. For what? The only money I make writing has absolutely nothing to do with this blog, which is unfortunately the only writing I really enjoy.

Yesterday on the thread (yes, the same thread, world's longest, will soon have a spot next to world's largest ball of twine), yesterday Jack took a "hafe" day as he put it. Jack is in the process of losing his job as a well-paid lawyer. In light of that situation, he decided to say f - it and he took off to watch his little girl swim.

I keep telling my husband you have more power than you think. Don't let them mess with you because you think you have no power. And in most years, that would be true. But this year, with the way things are going, there could definitely be another 100 guys in line to take his shitty ass job. We won't even have paid health benefits until April so if he quits now, we are screwed

Here's what Jack said on the thread:

Since these f-ers have turned me loose in the worst possible f-ing time, I said f-them today and left at 1:30 - watched my daughter Sarah's swimming lesson at 2:00, then went to the gym, then hung out with my kids (Sam too) and that's how I spent my hafe day, the other hafe.

Things are bleak. Things are grim. There's a feeling out there that the worst could happen at any point. I should've listened to my husband who has apparently been telling me for several weeks now that he's unhappy, but I missed the signs. Now he's downstairs sleeping with Will because he never gets to see him. And I'm up here, blogging in obscurity.

I have to write this thing. I have to keep putting it out there even if no one reads it and nothing ever comes of it. It's like the thread. My blog sustains me during tough times and we are in tough times. My husband is proof of that. I'll tell you one thing, that biatch at work who's giving him so much trouble, better back off. I will come after her. I will write about her and make her life a living hell, if only in my own mind and on this here blog.

Nag in the House

My husband started a new job in January. It's a good job and we're lucky, that's what I keep telling myself. But the hours are a pain in the ass. He works in the City from 10 until 7. You add the additional 4 hours of commute time everyday and that's a long day.

Sorry brief interruption. My son just asked me what is sperm? He's 10. Then he asked me, "What time is it?" That's the fourth time he's asked me what time it is since 8:03. It's 8:10 now.

What's been most difficult about this new job is I'm the only one here most of the time to answer questions like, "What is sperm?" What's a booty call? I got that one last week. What's foreplay? I got that after we went to see Pink Panther 2.

The ironic thing is I'm the last person who should be answering questions about sex from anyone. I didn't have sex until I was in college and that was with my 8th grade boyfriend. It took me 5 years to warm up to the idea and to him.

I'm the only one here with my son. I don't know how single parents do it. It's the monotony of hearing your own voice over and over again. I can't imagine being the recipient of that voice. Like nails on a chalkboard I'm guessing.

Brush your teeth. Put your shoes on. Where's your backpack? You need a coat. What's going on with your hair? Practice guitar. Hurry up. Slow down. Stop watching wrestling. Turn off the computer. Are you reading? On and on until he finally goes to sleep.

It's always nag, nag, nag. And let me tell you nagging makes you feel like a nag. You start to shrink. You don't brush your hair. Your clothes are mismatched. Who has time for these things when there's so much nagging to be done?

We had a schedule that was working out great for me. Now that my husband has this new job, we're totally off schedule and back to nagging. This weekend I'm making a new schedule, something that takes me and my nagging out of the equation.

It's amazing how I'll make something simple like changing a document this huge thing even though not changing it, is causing me and my son so much grief. Yes I'll have to boot up my husband's Mac, and email the file, change the file, save and print.

Is that really such a big deal in exchange for having my freedom back in the morning? No it is not. The nag has left the building.

You Know You Work from Home When

1) You eat taboule salad straight from the container at 10:15.
2) You change shirts, but the jeans stay the same.
3) You wish the crow would pipe down.
4) You have to muzzle your children during conference calls.
5) You covet other people's jobs on facebook.

Cooking Up a Blog

I had an idea for another blog today. This is what happens when you limit red wine, ideas flow. At any rate, I had this great idea for a blog about music but I have to write it while cooking dinner.

Typically when I multitask while cooking, it ends badly. So far into this blog, I've burned my hand on grease (rather seriously I believe) and then I turned off the wrong burner. I am now typing with an ice pack. this is what my vtypy ing woulsd realyy look like.

Using left hand and right middle finger, I shall proceed. My idea was about oldies music and that eventually my music will be oldies music. It is to some degree already, but it's not quite like doo wop and a 57 Chevy. Soon my music will become doo wop and then I don't know what will become of me. Will I sing too loudly to the wrong lyrics like my dad? Will hip young groups be sampling my music? Gwen Stefani sampled Rich Girl but it was the Tevya version, not Hall & Oates.

On my Facebook thread we were discussing bad white man dancing to It Never Rains in Southern California which made me think of other gay songs from the late 70's like You Don't Bring Me Flowers and Escape aka The Pina Colada Song aka super gay. But I loved those songs. Hell even KISS was getting in on that morose action with Beth. But the one song I came up with that I don't think will ever be sampled is The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. I loved that song.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee

They don't write'em like that anymore. I mean who else could rhyme Gitche Gumee? I looked it up and Gordon Lightfoot hit the #2 spot on the Billboard countdown in November of 1976 with Edmund Fitzgerald. Some entrepreneurial young rapper could've sampled that song and written the theme to The Perfect Storm.

Will Sweet Home Alabama become the next New York, New York? Will Summer Breeze become the next Summer Wind? Could some poor sap show up at the Carlyle boasting the musical stylings of Todd Rundgren?

Only in Moderation

My friend Christina told me I need to update my blog. Since she is one of 4.5 followers I have, I shall gladly comply.

What to write, what to write. I'm still on my Facebook thread. We're balancing bad joke telling with mocking distant family members. Also our friend from Costa Rica sent some pics from a local surfing competition and once again I'm wondering why I live here in Connecticut.

I had coffee last week with my friend Steven and we were talking about misperceptions surrounding women and technology, namely that we don't get it when in fact, women are on the web, women make most of the household purchasing decisions and women are speaking out about everything from annoying commercials to products we love. Women have had strong opinions all along - now we have a big ass megaphone for airing them.

This morning I've been researching women bloggers. I saw a segment on the Today Show at the gym about Digital Moms. I looked up some of their experts from Heather Armstrong who writes Dooce to Cafe Mom and Blogher. It's so funny to me that I've been plugging away thinking I was the worst mom of all time but well hidden here in the burbs. Then I read Dooce and Baby on Bored and truemomconfessions and am just so grateful there are others like me out there.

My hero for the day is Romi Lassally who actually wrote on Huffpoo about becoming the oldest intern of all time at 43 to get back in the workforce. It's the exact same thing I've been thinking--how to pull out of self-employed world and back into some level of social interaction. She also told a story about one of her kids throwing up in the middle of the night and she left it for the dog to eat. Yes! That's what I'm talking about.

I've said this before and I'll say it again. Never trust a perfect mother because it's just not possible. Somewhere there is a chink in the armor. As my friend Kristen says, "I love the chinks." This was right after she invited me to a Pilates class that will "work your ass off" while holding her 4 year-old. Hey I taught my son his first curse word. "Goddammit," I said when I guy cut me off and in almost a whisper from his car seat behind me I heard Will repeat, "Goddammit."

Or as Mrs. Mulderrig said about her pregnancies, all nine of them, "I always had two scotches a night. That was it." Hey at least she quit smoking.

http://dooce.com/
http://babyonbored.blogspot.com/
http://www.truuconfessions.com/channels/Mom