Category Archives: Family and Friends Blogs

fiesty girl

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Really, this is suppose to be a video driven site, but gosh, still having some technical issues. They are coming…I hope. In the meantime, let’s talk about my fiesty gal.
Vivien is a nice girl, but like all kids she can have her moments. She is very sweet to her little brother, most of the time. But, when her beloved older cousin Charlie comes over she doesn’t want to share him with Rex. At 12 Charlie is a sport about playing a 4 and half year old. They had started a game of pirate ship using her pop up princess castle when Rex crawled in. He loves being where Vivien is and loves climbing in and out of the castle. But, shiver me timbers, Vivien ejected Rex from the castle like he was a drunk hanging out after last call.

For her friends’ party this weekend for the time EVER she asked to have her hair put in pony tails. I was so excited and she looked so cute. I had visions of cute little girl dos.

But, as we were getting the two of them ready for bed last night Vivien was left alone in her bathroom for a few minutes. I saw a chunk of her hair on the floor.
“Vivien, what have you done?”
“nothing” she looked scared.
“Where are the scissors?”
“no where.”
I opened the drawer to the vanity. Little did I know she had smuggled in a small pair of scissors. I ran my fingers through her hair and more chunks came out.
“oh, Vivien”. I didn’t handle it with good humor. More like, “oh,no, your pretty hair!”
She started to cry and Mark ran in and kept saying, “it’s fine, it’s fine” as I commanded him to put all scissors to higher ground.
He admonished me later that I made to much of it.
This morning I see that she kind of has a shag….sort of. Maybe if I leave the scissors out she can finish it off and have a full Suzi Quatro look.

Celebration for Hunter

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Saturday was a celebration for Hunter. When Hunter passed away last month, I couldn’t write about it. I was too upset. And it’s not my story to tell. His mother Lenore has written about their saga so well on her blog, www.healinghunter.com where she continues to post about their life since Hunter was taken by cancer.

I was really touched to be one of the people asked to help put together something to celebrate Hunter’s life. He was a gutsy little kid. His mom didn’t want it to be a memorial, but like the Dr Seuss quote on the program, to “be happy that it happened.” Fortunately she is good friends with a couple of party planners who really did the heavy lifting. You understand, that because of Hunter’s protracted illness his parents are financially wiped. So, their friends needed to pull together to make this all happen. And we were happy to do so. It’s such a little thing compared to what they have gone through and continue to go through. Mark and I contributed food for 50 from The Point, and I brought two dozen balloons in red and silver. Colors of Lightning McQueen, Hunter’s favorite.

I won’t lie. I was dreading it. I was worn down by a week where I worked more than usual. I was pooped, and Rex has been waking up more than usual. Then my dad went into the hospital. So, I felt emotionally and physically fried.

It may sound strange, but the gathering energized me. Hunter’s spirit was there and embraced by all. I arrived at a lovely private home where a dear couple who didn’t even know Lenore and Zen (they are friends of friends) had offered to host the event. The worst had already happened; Hunter died. To see that his parents were even able to function is a cause for celebration as far as I’m concerned. The home was lovely;, it was a breezy, sunny day. I wore my Iron Hunter shirt and approached this as a house party, not a memorial, which is what Lenore wanted. Her friends, most of whom I didn’t know, were all getting things ready, and they helped me lay out the food. A couple of people came up to me and said they had read my posts or seen the Momversation I had done with Heather about what to say to a grieving parent and that they appreciated them. That was very nice. I recognized them by posts of theirs on Lenore’s facebook page. We all had in common that we had been cheering Hunter on, and now wanted to do that for his parents.

My friend Molly showed up and helped me tie the balloons to the white folding chairs in the backyard.  I wasn’t sure where they were suppose to go, and I didn’t want to mess up. I was a little nervous to do the wrong thing. There were big beautiful pictures of Hunter. And videos of Hunter played in one room. People would silently walk in and gaze at him for while thinking of him and what might have been.

Molly, her husband, and I sat down as we were told things were going to begin. She and I decided we needed a drink. I ran to the table and poured us some red wine. I’m not going to lie. I drank about three glasses of red wine while I was there and didn’t feel it at all.

There was a makeshift stage, and the program alternated between songs (two incredible gals took turns singing lovely songs) and eulogies. Some very sweet words by friends. Because we sensed how hard it was for them to speak, we applauded for everyone, and the applause was for Hunter. A balloon kept being blown down by the wind and landing in Lenore’s hair in front of us, I froze, “yikes. “  Molly’s husband held it back. Lenore had wanted me to bring the balloons, but I think I placed them badly.

Then his parents got up. Zen said, “You can pop the balloons.” I guess they had been getting other people’s hair as well. Oh crap, well, at least it punctured the sadness for a second.

Lenore cried and talked about how much she missed him.  What more she said, I can’t even say with detail, partly because I think anyone can imagine what a mother who has lost her child would say and how she would act. And partly because I was crying myself… as was everyone. At one point I realized if I was alone I would have been heaving, crying the way you do when you are child. I thought, “I’m looking at a woman who has lost her child.” Unreal.  She said that every one’s support had helped them.

Then Hunter’s dad, Zen, spoke. He was calmer and thanked the doctors and nurses who had tried to help. He thanked all who had given their “hard-earned money” because they really needed it in order to help Hunter. Family and friends who had been at the hospital.  As they stood up speaking of their grief and their gratitude, I thought how incredibly brave they are. And lastly, as his voice cracked, he thanked Hunter for being his son. Then they took a few balloons (not the troublesome ones I had brought) that said Hunter on them and had pictures of cars. Lenore said she wanted Hunter to have them. She kissed them, and they released them into the air. We applauded again for Hunter as his mother wept.

Zen talked about what people learned from Hunter, “Even it’s just to hug your kid a little tighter.” That is very true. I have learned from the three of them. Hunter’s calmness and bravery going through so much in such a short life. And the humility and graciousness his parents showed. I was struck today thinking, “They’ve handled this with class.”

Molly said to her husband afterward, “I know I would have tried to make this your fault.” We marveled at their equanimity because we know our own shortcomings that would lead us to lash out at our spouses in times of duress and feel justified because it’s a difficult time. Now, I’m not a fly on the wall, but when I visited them in the hospital, Lenore and Zen were always so kind to each other. It struck me as not the norm. And today Zen said that he was more in love with her than ever and that most people would have “gone crazy,” but his wife was strong.

Now, here is the good news. Lenore is pregnant. She is 6 months pregnant with a boy. And there is no replacing Hunter, and the loss will always be felt, but I’m glad they will have a place to put their considerable love. I pray that this child is healthy. They can’t be asked to go through that again.

One of the people who spoke so well at the gathering was their friend Matt Nolan, and this one line stayed with me. I was quoting it to my mom and Mark when I got home. ”They say when two people that love each other have a baby, they are, in fact, reborn themselves. May the imminent arrival of Hunter’s baby brother be another rebirth, and may Hunter’s fighting, loving, generous spirit fill the heart of his little brother to set Lenore and Zen’s spirit on the path to healing.” Amen to that.

And isn’t that what makes parenthood so special? That we are reborn with our children. Seeing life in a new way or in a way long buried by years and the hardness of life. A rekindling. Our hearts open wider than they’ve ever been.

Send them good thoughts.

Happy Easter

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No offense to the seriously religious here, but my favorite part of Easter is a new dress. For me, when I was little, and now for my daughter. I well remember that excitement of my new spring dress. Of course back in the day, white gloves and bonnet also went with it.

I was feeling not super pretty myself as somehow during my vacation my skinny jeans shrunk. Don’t know how that happened. (quizzical face)

Vivien got right into the spirit of the day, even though it was the coldest Easter in LA I could remember. We were at my sister’s house for the egg hunt. I also decked Rex out in his Easter finest, but unlike Vivien he didn’t seem to be that into it.

Honey, mommy wants a picture, sit still, um, oh, oh forget it.

Spring Break: Palms Springs

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Okay, I’m going to need a little time to get back up to speed. You know when you go on vacation and the various stages you go through?

First is anxiety before you leave worrying about all the things you have to get done. Pack, don’t forget to cancel the paper, board the dog, what have you. I have such a worry check list prior to travel that, even though I don’t have a dog, I still worry about it.

Second, you get to the destination and have to dial down from normal life. “There isn’t cable! I can’t live like this!” “Intermittent wifi, gasp! The room is getting dark; hold me, I’m frightened.”

Third, and this takes me about two days to achieve this totally. Mellow groove. If it’s a trip where I’m living out of suitcase in Europe going to 50 countries in 50 days I click in and think, “I could do this forever. What do I need more than this one black cotton dress I clean in the sink at night?” If I am having a beach vacation, “Why don’t I sell shell necklaces and just stay here?”

So, when I was trying to think of a vacation this year I had a few considerations to keep in mind. Money, travel with an infant. I’m not super plucky in that regard, and if I am going to blow the bank on a big trip I want to enjoy it, and sorry, need older kids in order to do so. I don’t want a 13-hour flight with small kids. Mark works constantly and getting him to take time off is… um, difficult. So, when he was asked to be in the Palm Desert Food Festival I smelled an opportunity. They would put us up for the first night or two (check savings off the list), and it’s close (no long plane ride). I imagined renting a stunning mid-century home until I saw how much they cost and that none had a fence around the pool. So I settled on a condo (more like a townhouse) with a communal pool. Added benefit, they don’t charge extra to heat the pool, which the house rentals do.

Okay, I’m getting ahead of my story here.

First off, the food festival. Which Mark and I have been referring to FOR WEEKS as the Palm Springs ood Festival.  It’s only when we were 15 minutes from the springs that I suddenly came to.” Hey, I think it’s in Palm Desert.”

“It is?” Mark asks. I check my emails. “Yep, it’s Palm Desert.”

Mark: “Well where is that?” Mind you he is scheduled to be doing a food demonstration in about 45 minutes from our conversation.

“Keep driving, it’s about ten more miles.”

I’ve been down here many times. We had our wedding ceremony in Palm Springs (the big, fun one, not the legal one). We easily find the place, and it looks great. Big white tents and a couple people ready to help Mark. Normally he has someone to help he brings, but logistically that would be tough. Now, I could be of some help, except I am alternating pushing Rex in the stroller or strapping him to my body in the Ergo and minding Vivien. So, helping him make the gnocchi is out of the question. What can I do? Try to eat and drink with a mildly cranky 13 month old. Vivien’s been to enough of these she kind of gets the drill. I will find her some yummy nibbles if she lets mommy try that French Red the nice man is going to pour for me. My sister Carole, brother-in-law Kevin and nephew Charlie also came which made it more fun.

I did notice there was no signage for Campanile or Mark at his table, and we hadn’t brought any. Must remember to have a big sign I can roll up and travel with. I stacked some of his cookbooks up around his chafing dish for an improvised sign. His catering director had also made up some cute cards with a description of the restaurants and a recipe from the book.

I hear Mark’s voice loud as he is finally up at the stage showing how to make gnocchi. I think he was about 40 minutes late as they had to be made there. He served them with beef cheeks. Very good. He also had meyer lemon and basil sorbet, but since he was understaffed, so most of that never got served, and we took several quarts to our condo. I wish there was a taste app for this blog because this sorbet is the definition of refreshing.

My sister and her family really wanted to hit the pool at the Riviera where we were staying and so did Vivien. Mark, ever the nice guy, said go ahead! Kevin said he would come back and pick him up later and Mark said that maybe he could hitch a ride.

Well, none of us realized how FAR Palm Desert is from Palm Springs, especially where our hotel was. It was about a 4- minute drive. I checked in, had to change rooms, change a poop diaper, get a snack for Viv. And the place was kind of strange. The Riviera has been redone recently. My family and I used to stay there when we were little kids, so I remembered it had two big pools, which it still does. The grounds and rooms are a nice. The staff is good. Their nice restaurant, where we had dinner, is good. But… the clientele. Well, there is no other way to put it.

WHITE TRASH.

I’m used to being the only one these days who doesn’t have A tattoo, but everyone around us had multiple tattoos, baseball cap backwards, smoking, and bags of fast food. There seemed to be packs of young adults who had gathered for a mini Vegas experience.

We finally made it down to the “kiddie” pool (which was calmer than the wannabe pool) and spent a nice 10 minutes when I hear my phone, “Can you pick me up now?” my husband asks. I’m a kind wife.

“Can’t you get a ride?  It’s really far.” As luck would have it, Kathy Ireland’s chef was leaving right at that moment. So, he got a ride and was given her latest book and a blueberry cheesecake candle. He said he also told the guy Kathy should guest on momversation, which I thought was really cute.

Kevin and I felt kind of bad for abandoning Mark. Kev had noticed two messages from Mark, “Kevin, I’m ready to go now.” As Kevin downed his martini, “I did tell him I would pick him didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” As I sipped a gin and tonic bouncing my son on my knee.

In short order, Mark appeared and happily grabbed Rex and went into the pool. I took a bunch of shots from our balcony, but this one was my favorite. What joy!

The next day I dropped Mark off at the festival again, and I made my beeline for what I was sure would please my kids. Sonic burger. Not at the pool, in the car. Now, here in the big city we don’t have Sonics. But I had spotted one in Cathedral City and figuring there is only so much being dragged around my kids would nicely put up with I had to give them a win. And I love Sonic. We get to stay in the car, the waitress with the skates, the toys and I got a chicken wrap, which wasn’t fatty, fat, fat.

I was in mom mode taking them grocery shopping for the week (thanks homeless guy who helped me load the bags into my car, will give you $5 for that anytime), moved all our bags into the condo. Helped a lot by the sweet neighbor Brenda who offered me use of her dolly. How else would I have brought my wine in? But I was thinking, I would like to experience  a LITTLE of the food festival if I could.

Beat it back to the festival in its last 40 minutes.

“Here” I put Rex in Mark’s hands. “Jump in Vivien, I’m going to find you a brownie.” I did… but I also found myself, great bbq, some yummy shrimp and various samples of wine.

Mark said he had a good time at the festival, but he was a tad rattled by one lady. Now, you got to understand that the older ladies of the desert are painted ladies. I found my big take away of the weekend was, “I have to remember to wear LESS make up as I get older and not to wear tight dresses.” One lady who he figured was in her late ’60′s or early ’70′s asked what he was serving.  He gamely offered her the beef cheeks.

“Will you feed me?” she asked. Nervous laughter from Mark.

Then she said, “I’d rather have a chef’s BLANK in my mouth.” I’m censoring the lady here.

Poor Mark, “Um, well, here are beef cheeks.”

“you big stud. They are throwing themselves at you.” I said.  He didn’t look pleased.

We packed our Coleman coolers back in the car and made the pioneer like trek to Palm Springs to start the chill part of our trip.

I told my mom about the hotel and she said, “Don’t you remember why we stopped going to the Riviera?” I was about 5, so no, I only remember when I won the doll whose hair you could wash in the pool games. God, she was a cool doll. I can see her washable hair now.

“It was a nice hotel, but there was a low-class element that congregated there.” Mom continued. “They used to bring their Coleman coolers to the pool.”

Like Sonic, our Colemans stayed in the car.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch…

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When I got home from my trip, I felt a big surge of love for my husband. He had totally dealt with the kids. He had come early to let Dolly go home at a decent time, as opposed to letting it ride when I’m here. He even bailed on work one night because Vivien said she wanted him home. Ahhh, that’s my guy.

I got on an earlier plane and called them from the airport so Vivien stayed up for me. Also, she wanted to give me my birthday present, a coffee mug that she made with Mark at Color Me Mine.

“Momma, is it okay that there is some purple here?” It was more than okay. So sweet. Granted it probably cost $40 by the time it was done, but she had fun making it.

And I got what I really wanted for my birthday: two new nightgowns. They were EXACTLY what I wanted. Old-fashioned, short-sleeved, knee-length, vaguely house coats. My old gowns were literally fraying so it was time to set them ablaze. Or whatever you do with old nighties.

Iron Hunter

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I was shopping today. I had just left seeing my dad in assisted living. He was recently discharged from the hospital, and he is not doing well. He is a shadow of his former self. I was a little down and waiting for a mediocre lavash sandwich at a deli counter. As I waited I logged on to Facebook. I saw something that pushed my dad’s decline aside. My friend Lenore had posted, “Our little love is dying.” I have told you before about Hunter.

A boot was kicked in my gut. No. No. I walked to the nearest chair and bawled. I called my husband. I sent her a message. I didn’t know how I would get home.

I’m a friend who lives far away. Yet, I can think of nothing else and everything else has been pushed and twisted in my mind, and I have not been in the trenches. I’m not his family. If I feel like this, what are his parents going through? The level of heartache boggles the mind.

There are NO words to comfort Hunter’s parents. This is the worst thing imaginable.

I know, children die all over the world. They died in Haiti. They die in Africa. They die in America. And the suffering they and their families go through is awful. To focus on a dear child that I know doesn’t take anything away from what others have suffered. But for me this is not an abstract number. This is a beautiful boy that I saw lying in a hospital bed before he could talk. This is a boy whose name I knew when he was still being carried inside his mother before his birth. Who calmly submitted to the upside-down life he lived in. These are parents who showed great humility and courage as they have fought for their son’s life.

Hunter has been so brave. He has gone through so much. Staying in hospitals for months. Living in a tiny hospital room. Countless needles, marrow surgery, chemo, you name it.  And with the best parents there for him every step of the way. I just saw a video of him a few days ago. He was laughing in his father’s arms. There is NO GREATER sound then a child’s laugh. Nothing that connects us to life and joy more.

I thought, this laugh cannot be silenced.  There must be some mistake about his diagnosis. A miracle will present itself. Right?

I’m not that eloquent. But even in the face of her worst nightmare Hunter’s mom is. If you read her blog you will see that. I’m just profoundly sad, and I didn’t know what else to do but write about it.

My dad use to say, “The sign of a really dull person is when you ask them how they are doing, they tell you.”

I’m pretty dull. I made it to the check out and the cashier said, “Are you okay?”

“No, I just got some really bad news.”

I can’t be light. Hunter is supposed to live.

Hungover Mom

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Is it okay to stay up late and drink too much if it’s with other pre-school parents? That’s my excuse. Vivien’s school had their annual fundraiser, and I lucked out.  I liked my dress, and I liked the people at my table.

The theme was “Mad Me,” and I bought this dress for $22 at a secondhand store. I grabbed five and tried them on fast, and Rex was with me in his stroller. The dressing room was tiny so I kept having to open the door just enough to say, “I’m here Rex.” He was pretty mellow, but you never know when they can explode.

I put up my hair, pinned with 5,600 hair pins, and MP slicked his hair back. Let’s drink. The food at the event was not good.

“What is that?” Mark kept asking pointing to various side mounds on the plate. As the event rolled down one dad said, “Are you going to the Tar Pit? We would go.” Great idea.

Next thing I knew there were 14 of us there. The pickled deviled egg hit the spot. At one point, the art teacher was there thanking me. That’s when I realized he thought I was picking up the drinks.

Fortunately enough people knew otherwise so it was all good. I haven’t closed down a place in, um, let me think… that was so many anecdotes ago I don’t remember.

When I got home, Rex had woken up. I tried to soothe him, but finally was like, “Dude, get in the pack and play and cry it out because I may pass out.” He showed me though. He still woke up at bright and early like normal.

As I staggered pushing the stroller this morning, my legs feeling like clay, my mouth like a desert as Vivien asked me little kid questions like, “Why is the sky blue?”, I thought:

Mother hood and hangovers are a bad combination.

Healing Hunter Part 2

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I had linked before to my friend’s blog about her journey fighting with her son and husband to save her young son’s life. I have just read her latest entry: “Living life on the edge of fear.”

It’s not good.

I am stunned. I am so sad for them. I find it hard to believe in God when I see a lovely little boy who has fought most of his life, and now his mama is told they are out of chances. I don’t know what to say to them. I think this is such an immense sorrow there is nothing adequate.

I am so sorry to any parent that has gone through a child’s loss. My friend writes beautifully, even now.

May I Take Your Order?

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Mark went to Vivien’s school and made grilled cheese sandwiches for her class. He was proud that she was more adventurous with the ingredients than the other kids. Campanile is known for their Thursday Grilled Cheese Nights. They are not normal grilled cheese sandwiches. Things like open face faced Burrata mozzarella, toasted garlic, cherry tomatoes, along with a basic grilled cheese. All delish. Vivien loves the walkie talkies dad uses at the farmer’s market and when he puts her car seat in the van.

If she worked with him now it might violate some child labor laws. But maybe one day…

Healing Hunter

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Any gripe or complaint in life has to be dropped kicked to the curb when compared to what I think is the THE SINGLE HARDEST thing a human could go through: being the parent of a seriously ill child. I was friends of friends with a nice couple Zen and Lenore. I met Lenore when she was pregnant with her son. Her fiance Zen was taking my headshots. She already knew he was going to be named Hunter. Vivien was about one, and we had mommy talks. I later heard through our mutual friend that they had had their son and gotten married.

Then when Hunter was 16 months I got an email for a fundraiser. Hunter had been diagnosed with Leukemia. I was dumbstruck. His parents are this cool, hip couple. Attractive, kind, living a very normal life. I know there is no profile for people dealing with tragedy, but I was stunned to hear they were going through this.  I went to the fundraiser. I think like a lot of people I didn’t know what to say, how I would act… what can you say to a mother whose child lies in a hospital seriously ill? Other than I will pray for him, affirm for him, see him whole, vibrant, healthy. The only constructive thing I could think to do was bring them food.

I visited Lenore and Zen and Hunter at LA Children’s Hospital a few times either bringing food from Campanile or homemade. There is no good food at that hospital, and they are too devoted to their son to leave him to go anywhere good. I was shocked at how they had to live. Bad enough to go through the agony of seeing your precious, beautiful boy full of cords, wires, poked and prodded, but most of the time they only had half a room. They were all living in half a room. One would sleep on the bed with Hunter, the other would be on the chair bed. They had their possessions piled high. DVDs, computer, change of clothes. And separated by only a curtain, another family was going through their own hell. Lenore and family were there for 5 months. (A friend who was helping with fundraising for the hospital said, “Well, I’ve heard the families can give each other comfort.” I said, “That’s BS; would you want to share your life crammed in half a room with complete strangers?”)

Yet, they were so positive and so gracious. They said they were humbled and felt lucky because there was a chance their son would be all right, but they had seen kids there who were so ill or disfigured they wouldn’t. I was so touched by their courage.

And then joy, they got out. Hunter was better. He would still need to see the doctor monthly, but his signs were good. Yeah. His family had had it with LA at this point and quite rightly thought a healthier lifestyle for all of them was in order. So, they moved to Oregon.

One day Lenore was in town, and we met for lunch. It was great to see her out of a hospital. They loved where they lived, and even going to Portland once a month for checkups was ok as they liked the hospital more than in LA. They were paying down their medical debt to a manageable level. I was so relieved. Maybe life is like a movie with a happy ending.

But some movies have sequels that shouldn’t be made. And I got a  notice about another fundraiser. Hunter’s cancer had returned. No, it can’t be I thought, how can they go through this again? Then there was a quest to find a bone marrow donor for him, made more complicated by the fact that Hunter is of mixed race, so it’s harder to find.  Then he did have the transplant. Things were going well. More life in the hospital, then out of this hospital. Back and forth. Many visits to the ER when his fever spikes. Recently, on her FB page Lenore said all was good.

And now, his fever has returned. I am stymied by what this little boy has had to go through. By the courage of he and his parents. Lenore wrote an essay called Teardrops and Smiles on his website recently, and I asked her if I could share it here. She said yes.

It is so unfair. I don’t have the words. But these are hers.