Thanksgiving conversation

So we're all sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner and we have this tradition where after everyone has dished their food but before we're allowed to eat any of it we all go around the table and say what we're grateful for, so this way we can all listen to each other ramble and stare longingly as the food on our plates get cold. I like to think my mom came up with this idea as a way to teach us willpower, or patience, the former of which I have tons of, the latter, um, not so much. In reality, though, especially after she reads this, she'll probably come back with something like, "It teaches you GRATITUDE for your food."

Which is true, I am much more grateful for my mashed potatoes when they are room temperature.

So as usual I make some smart-ass comment at the table so everyone elects me to talk first and I say how I'm grateful for the food that we have on the table and that I'm able to be with the ones I love on Thanksgiving, and we go around the table and we finally get to my mom, who mentions a few things she appreciates about all of her children and when she gets to me she notes that she really enjoys reading my blog (Mom, I keep forgetting you read this damn thing) and really likes my writing style, even when I call her weird.

Six more pairs of eyes at the table swivel towards me as the following conversation happens at the dinner table during Thanksgiving.

Brother: You called mom weird on your blog?

Me: Wait, what? Can we start over?

Mom: You called me weird.

Me: I did not.

Mom: You did too. There's a picture of me with Bobby (the kitten we got her for Christmas last year) and underneath it says "Weird."

Me: No, no, no. You've got it all wrong. The blog TITLE is called "Weird" and I put that picture up to make me happy. It's your mother's day blog, remember?

Mom: Well, then, why do I keep seeing that picture with the word "weird" underneath it?

Me: I didn't put the word "weird" underneath! The picture isn't weird, I wouldn't do that!

Cousin: God, Tracy, why do you have to be such a dick?

Me: Okay, we're going to get to the bottom of this RIGHT NOW.

(By this time everyone else is eating).

So I head over to the computer in the living room and sign into my blog, and pull it up on the screen.

Then I call everyone over from eating their dinner, because sometimes I really am a dick.

Me: (pointing) Look. LOOK. It does NOT say "weird" underneath the picture. The "Weird" is the BLOG TITLE.

Mom: Well, then it shows up somewhere else in your blog, a lot smaller, where it calls me weird.

Me: (starting to get a bad feeling) Wait, do you mean...this?

And sure enough, when it comes to the smaller little links at the bottom of my posts that show related posts with the same labels, there it is. A picture of my mom with the kitten and it says "weird" underneath.

DAMMIT.

Me: Okay, fine, would you like me to change the title of the blog?

Mom: YES.

Me: FINE.

So I did.

I changed the blog title to this. And the punchline is? When I look at that blog in the "You Might Also Like" section, it STILL says "weird." Even though I've changed the title.


God hates me.

PS If you want to read my mom's response to the questions I asked her in the "Weird" post, they're here, and they're adorable.

conversation x2

So I spent a majority of Labor Day weekend actually helping out a spiritual youth group, doing chaperone-type stuff and assisting some of the workshop leaders who were giving various talks to kids aged 13-17. The Labor Day event was geared towards kids visiting from all over the nation who were interested in seeing a more spiritual perspective on how Hollywood (and the entertainment industry) works, and I was asked by the director of the program to be part of a panel discussion Saturday night.

So just in case you couldn't tell from previous conversations recorded in my blog, here's how you can tell that I was raised in a family of smart asses:

Me: So, _____ asked me to speak on a panel Saturday night for the youth group event.

Mom: Really? What about?

Me: She asked if I could talk to the kids about how I use spirituality on a daily basis to help me overcome challenges with my career.

Aunt: That's great!

Me: Yeah, so I thought I'd stand up, and the first thing I would say to the kids would be-

Aunt and Mom: "What career?"

Me: Hah. Hah. Hah. Very funny.

(Pause)

Me: I hate you both.

Also, in case you're wondering, my mom and aunt are identical twins, so quite frequently I'm not only getting crap from both of them, but crap from both of them at the EXACT SAME TIME. You try arguing with twice the regular amount of sarcasm.

Anyways, I hope you all had lovely Labor Day weekends and are enjoying a short week as much as I am :) Happy Tuesday to y'all!

conversation*

Mom: (handing a book over to my aunt) This is a great book, I definitely recommend it. I finished reading it on the way over here.

(My aunt and I look at my mom.)

Me: What do you mean, you finished reading it on the way over here?

Mom: You know, at red lights.

Me: You READ at red lights?

Mom: Yeah. What, you don't?

Me: NO.

Mom: Then what do you do at red lights?

Me: I WAIT FOR THEM TO TURN GREEN.

Aunt (to my mom) : How do you know when the light turns green?

Mom: When all the other cars start moving-

Me: Or when the honking starts behind you -

Mom: Seriously? You just wait at a red light? But it's so long.

Me: It's like a minute and a half, mom.

Mom: But that's so LONG.

Me: Well, I definitely don't read. Mom? You really read at red lights?

Mom: Well, sometimes I do Sudoku.

*This conversation was brought to you by Adult A.D.D.

imagine all that is shining and new

It's the end of what's been a long, frustrating week for me, not without its good moments, but certainly a few bad moments as well. Today I had another setback and felt, well, a little defeated, to be honest. Feeling discouraged and a little beaten by life, I did what I usually do when things aren't going well -- I go someplace else, in my mind. The change of "scenery" always gives me new perspective, and I remember how transitional life is, slipping from one moment to the next like a cloud changing shape, and nothing is forever except love.

I close my eyes. I breathe. I open them. I am in Laguna Beach, with my mom, sitting on the warm grass in the Friday sunshine, watching the aqua blue waves crash against the shore, the volleyball players, the little kids swing on the swings. We eat mozzarella and tomato sandwiches and ice cream cones and I listen to her tell me stories about when she moved to Boston by herself without knowing anyone, or how she once got to interview the prime minister of Israel, Yitzhak Rabin, before he was assassinated.

My toes are warmed by the sand and I can practically feel my shoulders freckling, and there are jokes and stories told and a lot of them are about all the cats we've owned, and we give each other advice and make references to how we still think The Gilmore Girls totally borrowed from our lives, and when my mom gets home she will play Jeopardy! over the phone with me because there was a Shakespeare category again and she loves how I know 95% of the answers to all the Shakespeare category questions. And when I get home I will dust the sand off my flip flops and put some aloe on my shoulders and go to bed, dreaming of summer days of warmth and love, and I will know that yes, this too shall pass. It always does.

tomorrow is a new day

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense. "

-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

photo: Bobby the kitten asleep on Christmas Day, the day we got him for my mom :)

questions and answers

So... did YOU know my mom was reading this blog? Because I sure didn't. Until I drove down to visit her for Mother's Day today, and as we were chatting on the phone about what food I was going to bring, my mom said, "By the way, I answered your questions."

"What questions?" I asked.

"The ones in your blog."

"You...read my blog?"

"Yep."

"So you've...read...my mother's day blog."

"Yep."

"So you already know what I'm making you for Mother's Day."

"Yep. Honestly Tracy, you told the whole world you were conceived in a Winnebago?"

"Um. I don't think the WHOLE WORLD is an accurate headcount of who's reading my blog. So let's just say I told approximately 23 people."

Anyways, my mom copied and pasted my questions into a Word document, then emailed me the answers. And when I asked if I could post some of her answers on this blog, she said yes. Enjoy, and Happy Mother's Day. :)

To Tracy on Mother’s Day, 2009

Was I planned?

Oh, Lord! I can’t believe I told you that story. It’s time to rewrite history: I had a magical encounter with a most perfect man (no, not your biofather). We were totally in synch, spent the day eating chocolate covered strawberries, while wandering around a white sand beach with the breeze gently flowing and the waves gently lapping at our feet, talking about everything under the sun. We never actually touched each other because our communion was so perfect that it wasn’t necessary. And 9 months later you were born.

Did you feel ready for me?

Yes. I was ready for a little girl in my life. You completed our family. Boys are great, but every mother needs a daughter – like you.

How was the birth? Honestly. You can tell me. Did it suck? It sucked, didn't it. You can tell me.

It wasn’t bad at all. You were born at home in your own bedroom while friends and family partied around me. You started speaking as soon as you made your appearance (“Ma! Ma!”). The nurse said most babies don’t know how to make the “m” sound and just go waaaah or aaaaa, so we knew right away that you were a superior being.

How was I as a baby? Was I a little punk that cried incessantly?

You hardly ever cried. You entertained yourself by lying on your back and doing calisthenics, throwing your legs straight up and then crashing them back down onto the crib mattress. You did this so regularly that 4-year-old Jeff could direct you: “Put em up, put em down.” You also read books while I changed your diaper and we engaged in word games: Me: “You’re a superbaby.” You: “You supermommy.” (A couple grammar mistakes there, but you were only 18 months old.) My friends were very impressed with your word skills. I took them for granted.
What do you remember most about me growing up?

That you were happy, fun, so smart, and I loved every moment with you. You were the little girl in the Abba song, going off to school with your backpack (decorated with a “Mean people suck” sticker) waving absent-mindedly at me as you left because you were eager to tackle the day.

What was the biggest challenge you faced in raising me?

I can’t think of any. Wait, maybe…um, I’m still thinking. I’ll let you know.

When was the time you felt I let you down the most? What about the time I made you the most proud?

I can’t ever remember you letting me down (unless it was the time when you told me you “totally hated me” because I made you wear your Brownie dress to a Brownie event, not knowing that no one ever wears a Brownie dress for any reason.)* There are so many moments when you’ve made me proud that I don’t know where to begin. One that comes to mind is when you played Polonius in “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead” at Chapman. More recently it was your performance at the improvisation theatre, which was hilarious. And making Jody into such a likable character. But it isn’t just your acting that makes me proud. I’m so proud of the wonderful person you are.

How was I as a teenager? What did you want to say to me as I was going through those years?

I wanted to say, don’t grow up too fast, don’t leave because I can’t imagine life without you. But I didn’t want to hold you back, so I hope I never said that to you. (If I did, I’m sorry. Mothers have to learn to let go.)

Now that I'm an adult, what choices that I've made do you support the most? How about the least?

You have relentlessly pursued your dreams of acting, and I’m so proud that you’ve stuck with it, even through discouraging times. But I’m also glad that you haven’t made acting the center of your being. You have filled your life with other activities that bring you much joy.

What would you like me to do for you to make our relationship even stronger?

Come home more often so we can spend the day at Laguna Beach together on Fridays. Keep calling me to check up on me, so I don’t go astray. Never give in to sadness; don’t ever lose your joy. When you’re happy, I’m happier.

Oh, and yes. Of course I remember reading you "Goodnight Moon."

*that Brownie dress was hideous. You gotta draw the line somewhere.

Not weird at all! Perfectly normal!!

I was going to write today's blog about something more positive and upbeat, perhaps wishing all of you a happy Cince de Mayo and suggesting some places to get rockin' Mexican food (there are a TON) in LA, but honestly, I'm feeling weird today, and what's a blog for if not honesty and a little self-authenticity, mixed in with a dash of respect for other peoples' privacy. I'm sure you guys have probably guessed that my life, much like yours, doesn't always go as planned, that there are occasional hiccups, issues, and even a little bit of drama every now and then, and I don't usually blog about it because a) that's not what this blog is about, and b) life's bad moments are usually so transitory, why on earth would I want to permanently memorialize something negative that I'm going through in a blog to remember for the rest of time? So I can go back six months from now and re-read what I was going through? No thanks. I'll keep the lessons learned and pass on reliving the pain.

So here I am, in all my over-sensitive, slightly weirded out glory, blogging about it for all the world to see. What's a girl to do when things that usually don't get under her skin are getting under her skin quite well today?

I know. I'll make a list. Because lists make me happy.

My mother's day project this year is a sort of scrapbook with watercolor paintings and hand-written memories and questions for my mother, because I like to throw as many visual mediums together (this is kind of how I do my salads, too, only I'm not sure ranch dressing hides a scrapbook's taste as well as it does a salad's) and hope for the best. I have taken exactly four watercolor painting classes in my lifetime, I have scoured my photo albums for pictures of my mother and myself, and I have racked my brain for memories to jot down and questions to ask. And now I will share with you that list of things I'm going to ask my mother. Feel free to steal, share, or simply opine your thoughts on the questions.

• Was I planned?*
• Did you feel ready for me?
• How was the birth? Honestly. You can tell me. Did it suck? It sucked, didn't it. You can tell me.
• How was I as a baby? Was I a little punk that cried incessantly?
• What do you remember most about me growing up?
• What did you think I was going to be when I became an adult? Why?
• What was the biggest challenge you faced in raising me?
• What was your favorite game to play with me when I was little?
• When was the time you felt I let you down the most? What about the time I made you the most proud?
• How was I as a teenager? What did you want to say to me as I was going through those years?
• Did you agree with my choice of college? What about my major?
• Now that I'm an adult, what choices that I've made do you support the most? How about the least?
• What would you like me to do for you to make our relationship even stronger?

And finally: Do you remember reading "Goodnight Moon" to me when I was little? Because I do. Thanks, Mom. For everything.





* I already know the answer to this one. I was conceived in a Winnebago in Canada. Which makes me one third American, one third Canadian, and one third Winnebagan.

conversation*

Me: So, Mom, what did you think about the pilot episode of Hell Froze Over?

Mom: I loved it! I thought it was really great.

Me: Yeah? I'm so glad to hear that.

Mom: Yeah. It was really funny.

Me: Awesome. I'm just relieved that you weren't offended or anything.

Mom: Well...

Me: Uh-oh. Well?

Mom: I just...

Me: You just...what?

Mom: Nothing.

Me: No, really. You can tell me.

Mom: It's just...that when you showed your panties to the guy...

Me: Oh, Mom! I told you there would be sexual stuff, but they didn't actually show anything. It's not like I was naked.

Mom: Oh, no, I'm not upset that you showed your panties.

Me: Then what are you upset about?

Mom: I just don't understand why you would show your panties to THAT guy. I mean, he's so clearly the WRONG GUY for you!





*this conversation actually happened. This? This is why I love my mother so much.

Why my mother is my hero --- reason #321,046

There are some days when, while we are driving to and from our daily lives, we may see someone stranded on the side of the road, or sitting with his or her broken down car waiting for a tow truck to arrive, or dealing with the aftermath of a car collision. We may even actually witness car accidents happen in front or around us, and most of us, myself included, usually keep going on with our lives, hoping that it works out for the best with those who were involved and grateful that it wasn't our car or our lives that were disrupted.

My mom doesn't do that.

Visiting my family for dinner last Saturday night, because there is no place I'd really rather be on a Saturday night then eating fantastic food and spending it with the people I care about most in this world, my brothers turn to me and kind of nod towards my mother.

"Did she tell you what she did?" one asks. I raise my eyebrow at my mom.

"No."

And my mom gets this look on her face, the kind of look that I know well, because it's the look I give my friends when I have already executed a crazy idea that I just thought up two minutes beforehand because I know I couldn't have done anything otherwise, and I'm begging them not to kill me a lot. It's kind of a half guilty, half totally-justified, yes-I'd-do-that-again-in-a-heartbeat kind of look -- the kind of look that most of my circle of friends yell at me for, because I just bought a homeless person coffee or rolled down my car window to tell another driver their trunk was open when I wasn't sure if they'd be grateful or flip me off. Or throw something at me.

"Mom," I say. "What did you do?"

Everyone at the table kind of laughs, and my mom gets that sheepish look on her face again. "I sort of..."

"Yes?"

"I chased down a hit and run driver."

"You....wait, what?"

Here's the story. My family lives off two main streets, both known for having long stretches of mostly straight road, which drivers that are into racing have come to know and love. So my mom is driving behind these two cars that are obviously racing, just trying to get home, and because there are two left turn lanes, the drivers decide to continue their race, dodging and weaving in and out of traffic and across lanes. The left turn arrow turns green, both cars gun it, and that's when one unsuspecting driver pulls out of a parking lot, and, IF the car that had been racing had been going at a normal speed, would have avoided being scraped on the side as the racing car tried to maneuver around it. Hey, it totally worked in The Fast and the Furious, so.....

But what happened instead is just that: the racing car tried to move around the other car at the last minute, and the car ended up being scraped and banged up on the side as the racing car totally and utterly failed to get out of the way on time. And to continue on the trend of Epic Fail, the racing car that hit the other car? Yeah, he decided to keep driving. As in, away from the accident.

My mom has been in two serious car accidents in her life, both of which landed her in the hospital, one of which landed her and her car crashed into the side of a house, so she takes car accidents fairly seriously. I can only imagine her reaction at watching this collision happen, and then seeing the offending car take off, and I can imagine the words going through her head, most of which probably involved the word NO and some swear words.

And off she goes. My mom followed the speeding car that thought it could make a clean getaway for a couple more intersections, leaning on her horn to get the driver's attention until the driver finally turned his car around, probably thinking she had his license plate number by then, drove BACK to the scene of the accident, got out, and gave the driver of the car that had been hit his information. My mother sat in her car a few yards away and glared. Sorry, let me rephrase that. She sat in her MINI-VAN and glared. How freakin' awesome is that?!

So my mom finishes her story and looks to check my reaction, as I lean forward across the table and say, quite earnestly, "Mom, that is one of the coolest things you have ever done." And as she smiles back, glad that I'm not going to lecture her on how dangerous what she did was, I add, in the same breath, "But please don't ever do that in Los Angeles."

Love you, Mom!