When it's time to change you've got to re-arrange...

...movin' your heart into what you're gonna be (sha na na na na na na na na, sha na na na na)

SO MANY THINGS. First trip. First solid food. First Halloween (a pink bunny!), first T-day and a new house. All in the space of about a month. Oh and also - new job.

Well, not quite yet. Let me back up a bit. Things at work had been going famously - my two "half work days from home" a week were crazy, to be sure, and being away from Yoda on M-W-F was very difficult, but I had nearly perfected my, "I'll be home tomorrow, Daddy's at home today" mantra and happiness abounded. My boss was happy with the situation, nearly falling out of his chair upon seeing me online working at 7:45 a.m. (I've always been more of a running in at 9:01 kind of gal). The boss is happy, I'm happy, Yoda's happy, McTasty is happy, happy, happy, happy. So, what's there to complain about? BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

What was wrong with this happy little picture? Two little words. Women co-workers. And no - no one was yelling because my situation changed their work load, or because the quality of my work had suffered, but because "not everyone in the division is allowed to work from home, so why should SHE get to?" Wha?

Interestingly enough, every guy I work with has told me how great they think my work situation is and how well they think it's been working out. So just as a shout out in general - ladies, can we perhaps just cut one another a break? It makes me sad that other women - who should or DO know how hard it all is don't make the choice to support a sister, but instead undermine a situation to the point of ruining it. Pffffft to you! (That was a raspberry, in case you are wondering).

Anyway, I felt pretty certain that it would all blow over. After all, I've worked for this company for 10 years, am valued and felt like the bottom line would be that its working for me and my boss and if I could put up with a little tension in the work place, odds were I could continue on in the same vein. But when you are working at an executive level and it comes up on the radar... well, let's just say that has about as much hope blowing over as that fight you had with your husband about the stripper at the last bachelor party he went to. Ain't gonna happen.

So, our sweet little set up is ending. As I had made it previously clear that being away from Yoda more than I already am would "suck my soul out through my nose", McTasty didn't even want to discuss me working outside the home any more than I already am. If Mama ain't happy.....So, we've been looking at our options and all they entail - amoung them, me trying to find work as a consultant, me trying to find a casual position, and me keeping the home fires burning (i.e. firing the housekeeper and cleaning our own damn toliets) whilest McTasty finds something more full full time that still allows him some flexibilty for auditions and whatnot.

Sha na na na na na na....

I had until recently, kept relatively calm about the situation, looking at the half full glass (getting to spend more time at home and working for less of it), instead of the half empty (did you know that private health plans don't cover maternity?), but lately my body is giving me away. I sprouted 5 cold sores all at one time (don't hate me because I'm beautiful, hate me because I look like someone just punched me in the face), and I'm tearing up everytime Yoda flips out (Today was fun. She decided that naps were "so yesterday" and therefore didn't take a single one.) But, that which does not kill us....

I am very, very strong.

Sha na na na na!

I'm a little bit mental, you're a little bit too...

...we're both a little bit mental, admitting it is not an easy thing to do...


I had a chat with a fellow actor friend several months back, where we talked about the fact that artistic genius seemed to usually be tied to some sort of mental disorder. We had both laughed at the time, lamenting and acknowledging that we were both too sane to ever have our work qualify as "genius". Good, yes. Sometimes great. But genius? Daniel Day Lewis we were not.


Well, as it turns out, it seems I can now qualify as borderline genius. Yay for me.


I left off in the last blog with finding a therapist that would soon lead me back to my happy place in 12 easy peasy steps. After all, I was fine, FINE I say, save for those annoying teary breakdowns at every little thing as well as dreaming up all kinds of weird anxieties to torment myself with at every turn. As usual, not quite as basic a task as I originally thought.


"You know you are OCD, right?" my therapist asked in the middle of my first appointment.


Me? OCD? Ah, no. McTasty is OCD. Not me. He has everything in a neat little order - something that thrilled me to no end when we first started dating. Not because I wanted more order in my life, but because I could mess with him by doing things like putting the pens back on the OPPOSITE side of the computer or by moving his Bert's chapstick to the RIGHT side of the coins. "I'm not even that neat" I said to my therapist. "Don't I at least have to be sort of neat to be OCD?"


As it turns out, not so much. OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) can be anything that you compulsively obsess about. To be fair, by definition, it needs to entail obsessing for at least an hour or more a day about one thing in particular, so I'm not clinically OCD, just sorta OCD. And sorta genius.


Part of OCD is also something called, "bizarre thoughts", which is just what it sounds like. Creating massive anxiety for yourself by thinking of random, weird things that you would never actually do. (i.e. sleepwalking in the middle of the night, taking Yoda on a walk, leaving her to be raised by wolves and returning from said walk alone.) "I had a patient once" my therapist said "that would be driving along the freeway and for no reason at all would think, 'what if I just crashed into the car next to me or ran my car off the bridge'". I blinked at her. "Well, everyone does that" I said. She blinked back. "C'mon. They don't?? Normal people don't ever 'what if' things like that?? That's OCD?" I asked. She answered in the affirmative and went on to say that she was pretty darn sure that with the stories he makes up, Stephen King is OCD too. As are most doctors and lawyers. And, as it turns out, virtually EVERYONE I KNOW!


"I read your depression blog and it was hilarious" a visiting friend told me recently. "I've had a lot of those same thoughts. I think everyone does and is just afraid to say anything." Amen, sister, amen. Maybe it's because my circle contains mostly artists, maybe I'm just attracted to people who are a little whacko so that I'm in good company, but it's only since I've been feeling so abnormal that I've found out how normal I am.


Anywho, I'm working really hard now to rationally deal with the irrational and talk myself down from the high places when I get there. I'll never get rid of the magical "what if" that is ingrained in me, and as an actor I don't really want to. But I'm figuring out what things I can do that give my brain some peace without giving into the craziness. And if I get THERE, well then, that WILL be genius.

Am I blue, am I blue...

...yes I'm blue, I'm true blue, how 'bout you?

On a very special episode of "What You Don't Expect When You're Expecting": Post part 'em depression, it's all the rage.

I've been tinkering with this post in my head for a long while now because I haven't been quite sure how to lay 'er all out there. I also know that some women really struggle with horrid depression issues, and in comparison, mine didn't seem all that bad. I had expected to have some "baby blues", as they say, and McTasty and I looked for all the big bad warning clues they tell you about in your baby prep classes - problem is, I was somewhere in between all of that.

I knew my emotional make-up had changed the day after Yoda was born; I was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed watching McTasty change a diaper. He had just finished with the meconium mess she had laid out and as he turned back to her with a fresh diaper he hysterically yelled out, "Oh no! She's pooping at me! It's crowning! It's crowning! What do I do?!"

I, as any sane person would do, collapsed laughing. I laughed until I cried; but I don't mean like the laughing caused my tears, I mean, somewhere in the middle of joyously laughing, I began sobbing with sadness - like the wires got crossed or something. I stopped. Wow, that was weird. I took it all in stride though - after all, I was tired, in a bit of pain and overwhelmed emotionally. I figured that all, or at least most women go through some bouts of tears and I would get back to my old self in no time flat. Over the next weeks and months, it never got TOO too bad, but it never went away completely. I was eating and sleeping as well as could be possible, and I didn't think too much of it.

At the same time though, there were other, newer things to worry about.

First, those of you who have not lived with me should know that I have always had a particular little habit concerning the toaster and/or the curling iron. It is a lovely trait that I inherited from my Mother, who inherited it from her dear old Dad. As long as I can remember, I have needed to unplug the toaster before leaving the house. Nothing else needed to be unplugged mind you; just the toaster. I'm not really sure why the toaster got singled out - its not as if 8 of every 10 house fires are caused by a toaster - but for whatever reason toaster=fire= mayhem, death and destruction.

I carried this little toaster obsession with me until several years ago when I dated a guy who thought the toaster thing was too weird for my own good and took to plugging the toaster back in right before we left my apartment, only to tell me about it when we were too far away from my apartment for me to do anything about it. (He would also be driving in this scenario, so I wouldn't have any recourse except to grin and bear it all. Or should I say grin and bitch at him until we returned to my apartment where I could unplug said toaster again?) We could all delve into all the levels of this relationship, but say what you will, he broke me of my "oh my God the toaster is plugged in!" cold sweats. Mind you, if you come to my house, you will observe that the toaster is still kept unplugged, but that's become more habit, less obsession now.

Fast forward to my curling iron obsession. This came after, and seemed to replace the toaster. I had, of course, curled my hair growing up to achieve those big 80's bangs and never had much anxiety then about whether or not the "stick of fire" was left plugged in on the counter, waiting to ignite a nearby towel, so I'm not sure when I made the obsessive leap to the curling iron, but I do remember it began after the toaster. (I was always a one obsession at a time kind of gal.)Everyone who has ever lived with me has at one time or another has received the "hey...I'm pretty sure I unplugged it, but could you check..." call. The really fantastic part of all of this, is I have NEVER, EVER left the curling iron plugged in. The curling iron has never shot sparks at me, nor have I seen a Lifetime Presentation where someone killed off their whole family by inadvertently leaving the curling iron plugged in. And yes, I have the auto shut off kind.

Anywho, once little Yoda entered our life, the anty was upped. Here was this creature, completely and totally dependant on us, and there were curling irons lurking around every corner. It also didn't help that my Mom would call and say things like, "I had a dream that you forgot to feed Yoda four times in a row!" Or, "I had a dream that you left her with me and I left her with a babysitter and that babysitter let her fall off the changing table!" Or my personal favorite, "I just saw a seven year old with a pacifier...when are you guys going to take away the binky?!" I couldn't deal with my Mom's anxieties as I was having my OWN curling iron problems. I woke McTasty up every single night with, "where is the baby? I think we fell asleep holding the baby!" Even going so far as to pass him my neck pillow to prove that indeed, the baby was in the bed. (Yeah, that scared the shit out of him. But I AM an actor, I come bearing props.) Finally, he convinced me to check the baby monitor before waking him up, which helped until I began having dreams that my Mom came to visit and brought another baby with her, and THAT was the baby I was seeing on the monitor, NOT Yoda, who was obviously in our bed in the form of a neck pillow. Whee!

The mental torment I was putting myself through continued from there, giving me all kinds of anxiety, which, coupled with the depression, coupled with the lack of sleep, coupled with the hormones, was putting a hitch in my step. "Do you think I need to see someone?" I asked McTasty. "You had me at hello" he replied.

So, I began the quest for someone who would lock me up and throw away the key. I started with my O.B. whom I am in love with. (It's okay, McTasty has a total crush on her too, as she is a total rock star). On the phone, my voice warbled as I spoke to the nurse. "Can you have the Dr. call me as soon as possible? I think I need a referral for post partum depression."

She called me back in no time flat. No one, I repeat, no one, takes post part 'em lightly. She listened as I outlined all the stuff I was going through and laughed in all the right places. Another star to her for getting my jokes. "This is all pretty normal stuff" she said. "I think you need to just see a therapist and talk it all out. I don't think you'll need medication, but if you do, the therapist can let me know and we'll take care of it." Talking to her made me feel 20 times better, but before I could let her go, I needed to know one more thing. "I've been freaking out that I'm going to do something in my sleep. Like, try to give Yoda a bath or take her on a walk and then forget about her and go back to bed." "Do you even sleepwalk?" She asked. "No!" I wailed, "not since I was a little girl! I just need to hear from someone with a medical license that I'm not going to suddenly START sleepwalking and leave my child out in the wilderness to be raised by Darryl Hannah and a pack of wolves." Good ol' rock star doctor calmed me again by answering, "Well, I have a medical license and I can tell you that that's absolutely not going to happen. I can also tell you that a lot of women have various and strange fears after having children - talk to some of your friends who are Moms and you'll see."

We hung up and I wanted to marry her - even if it's no longer legal in this state. I ceremoniously put in calls to all three therapist names she had given me, leaving messages for the first and the third, and opting out of leaving a message for the second on the list, as her voice on her voicemail annoyed me. Hey, it's how I roll. If I'm gonna shell out $150 an hour, I don't want to be annoyed. (I know several people who already annoy me for free...no, it's not you). This was a Friday and no one called me back until Monday evening, which is a story in itself (always nice when you finally get the balls up to spill the beans on what horrifies you most and no one responds), but late Monday night I finally spoke to the woman who is now my therapist.

There is more of the story to come of course, but for now, suffice to say that I am writing this from "the outside" and as usual, the more I talk about it, the more I find I am not alone and am, as my O.B. stated, totally "normal".... Chyeah.

Hello again, hello. Just called to let you know...

...I think about you every night, and I know it's late, but I just can't wait. Hello.

My old friend Mr. Mastitis came aknockin' again on Friday afternoon. Since the last bout, Yoda has been fussy at the trough and I've been chugging Mother's Milk tea and Guiness because I thought maybe my production was still down. So as I was driving home from work feeling a bit uncomfy I thought, "Aha! Mine cup runneth overeth!" (I was feeling high Victorian). But alas, once my "cups" were empty, the discomfort was not.

Crap. I ran desperately through the gauntlet of fixes - heat pads, cold packs, showers, baths. No go. I warned McTasty that his Volleyball game might be out the next morning if I woke up with 102 temperature again and headed off to bed.

Woke up in the morning, still in pain, but not yet sick. I had arranged to go on a long walk with some friends down the street and their kidlet and figured I could navigate the walk to stop by the local Vallarta (a Hispanic food Market) on the way home for the final weapon in my breast infection arsenal. "Do you think they'll have cabbage?" I asked McTasty. "I think so" he answered. "You put cabbage in tacos. I pretty much figure they have everything there that goes in a taco."

Strange reasoning, for sure, but pretty apt, all the same.

So, I left for our walk. I called the friends I was meeting on the way to ask if they had any cabbage in their fridge. "No cabbage. But we've got some cilantro. Would that help?" Ah, no. But maybe later I could use it to make some guac in my bra?

The walk was wonderous - in the park, not too hot, although the humidity was starting to rise, and both babies were in good spirits. I left the store visit for the way back though, which was a bit of a mistake. Yoda started getting a bit restless just as the store came into view. "You run ahead and grab the cabbage and we'll walk with Yoda" my friend said. So I grabbed my wallet and jogged ahead.

Note to self (and you); no bra + breast infection + jogging = bad.

I managed to quickly grab the head of cabbage and run to the front of the store. There was a line of a few people ahead of me with enough food per person to feed all of China. Mexico. Whatever. "Excuse me? Hi. Would you mind if I went in front of you?"

What a site I must've been - sweating, breathing hard, wincing in pain and clutching a head of cabbage. Everyone kindly let me squeeze by. Probably because they all thought I was loco de la cabeza.

Got Yoda home without further ado, got her fed and situated and I cabbaged up. McTasty got home a short time later and I announced that I wasn't feeling well at this point and was going to take a nap. I decided if when I woke up things hadn't changed for the better, I was calling the Dr. for more antibiotics. Hate to take 'em, but I can't have lefty fall off either. That would be bad.

When I woke up, I was starting to feel feverish and achy so I called for a prescription. My Dr. was out of town so the service ended up paging the on call doc.

"Have you tried a hot compress?" she asked. "Yes" I replied. "And baths, showers, massage, and I currently have a cabbage leaf in my bra." Silence. "You, know I figured whatever works..." I trailed off. Forgot she didn't know me. One more point for team "loco de la cabeza."

So I'm back on the hard stuff and I'm healing up nicely. Still on the cabbage leaves too, because whatever works, works - and hey - you'll never know when you'll need a taco.

I Like Big Butts and I Cannot Lie...

Had another fun bout with good 'ole Mr. Mastitis this weekend and didn't get around to a new post. More on THAT later. However, I wanted to post something and I thought it would be fun to make this post a little interactive. Whoo!

Before the dust settles and I forget all the neat stuff that was said to me during my pregnancy, I wanted to share my two absolute "fav" comments. So here goes:

The first was a few weeks before I left work for my maternity leave. A coworker called me over to her desk from across the building and said (and I quote), "You are really starting to waddle!"

Um, how does one reply?

The second was a few days before my due date when I was at my nail salon getting a pedicure. As I walked (WADDLED!) by, the receptionist said, "Oh! Are you having twins??"

Nice. Anyhow, there were several others goodies and I assume you all have some as well, so give it up. Whats the worst comment you made to someone or someone made to you while you were trying to get pregnant/pregnant/just dropped said child?

C'mon - everybody's doin' it!

Heigh ho, heigh ho...

...it's off to work I go...

Or rather, went. Started back to work this week and whoo dog, am I tired. There was much angst leading up to my return, many tears and a couple of therapy appointments, but I went, I saw, and no one's ass was kicked.

I had decided to return mid-week so that I wouldn't be too overwhelmed. With all the back-to-school commercials currently running, I felt like I was starting the 12th grade or something. I even picked out an outfit the night before. (This was due in part to wanting to look good and in part to the fact that I don't really have that many work things I can currently wear as I am still between sizes - where I've been, and where I'm going).

The morning kicked off with a feeding while McTasty took Aries on a run. After I fed Yoda, she and I had some girl chat. I told her what a great time she and her Dad were going to have while I was gone, and that I would be back before she knew it. She responded by having what I am currently dubbing as a "shitstorm" in her diaper. I'm not sure if McTasty had booby trapped the baby in an attempt to get me to stay home one more day, or if in his sleepiness just didn't pull it up high enough, but in one "foul" swoop, she managed to dirty her diaper, her outfit, the blanket and our bed. Thus ending the girl chat.

The unexpected shitstorm put a bit of a wrinkle in the overall schedule of the morning, something that seems to be happening more and more. The very word "schedule" is a bit laughable now, since the schedule seems to be anything but. Anyway, I somehow managed to clean everything up, grab something to eat and get dressed. Poor McTasty had to change and clean the sheets on our bed as soon as he came back from his run, so if he had been working on some grand scheme, it clearly backfired.

All too soon, it was time for me to go. While McTasty did the car dance outside (we have a single driveway), I picked Yoda up and stroked her fuzzy little head. "I'm gonna miss you so much, little one!" I said to her. She smiled, and I started crying. McTasty came back inside and I cried, "take the baby, take the baby, I hafta go and I just put my make-up on." He took her from me and came outside to wave good bye as I pulled away.

As I backed out, Yoda was ready for a nap and rubbing her eyes, but looked pretty content. As I looked at McTasty though, I realised that he looked as shell shocked as I did. Through all of this, I had been concentrating on how hard it was going to be for me to be away from her for a whole day. I never realised that he had never been at home alone with her for a whole day. I wasn't nervous in the slightest about him taking care of her - he's a better diaper-er and swaddler than I by far, but I realised HE was nervous. Babies ARE daunting.

I am pleased to say though, that we all got through the day unscathed. My boss bought me flowers to welcome me back, and my co-workers couldn't have been kinder. We were having an employee training and celebration week and it felt a little like going to camp. Every time I went to pump, McTasty was also feeding Yoda and we spoke "hands-free" on our cells. We helped one another through.

In the end, the first day back was harder and easier than I imagined, just like every part of being a parent. It's all quite a juggling act, but in the end, being on "Team Yoda" is better than anything I could have dreamed of.

You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog: A dog's reply

Look, I am a hairy, hairy freakin' dog. Every book, article and person will tell you the same about each and every Husky. You people decided to rescue my particular breed anyway, so don't get all up in arms when I shed. I shed, therefore I am. Not that I'm not really happy that you chose me to rescue. We've had a great run of it. Sure, there were some behavior issues to contend with in the beginning, but you folks were patient with me and I got it. Much appreciated. Of course, all I ever wanted in return for my good behavior was non diet dog food, walks every hour on the hour, a siren to howl at now and again and you not minding that I was like velcro to your leg.

So imagine MY dismay, when one afternoon fairly recently you two wandered in the house with this little creature who howls louder than me. I'm not quite sure what it is yet, as you won't let me get very close, but I do know is it's usurping my walks, playtime and sleep. For sure, if I got up that many times during the night, you people would put me out in the yard. But no, this thing not only has you jumping up in the middle of the night, you give her treats for doing so.

Since it seems I need t occupy my own self these days, I've decided to go through your purse while you were out, as well as rip up the signed copy of the play you premiered, Gulf View Drive , ingest the page with your name listed as part of the original cast and stuff the rest behind the couch cushions.

I decided to eat the paper in your purse since this stupid diet dog food is NOT cutting it, damn it. I need a little filler. Fear not, I did leave you the prescription your doctor wrote you for birth control pills. We can't let this crap happen again.

Aries