Archive for July, 2015

Crying with my hands

I wept the moment I saw the school director’s sympathetic face.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Could I get a hug?” I asked, eyes suddenly overflowing.

“Sure,” the director answered while walking around her desk.

After she hugged me, we talked briefly about the dozens of logistics I’m constantly juggling mentally as my older son prepares to start first grade next month.  Read more…


Wherever “where” is

Last night I wrote about how I haven’t seen my friends enough since I had my second child.

Today my family and I joined our friend Rara and her mamasaur at a playground. We chatted while running after my kids, and in between my older son’s breathless entreaties to race him. (Spoiler alert: He always wins, but his races are just on the other side of fair.)

We all went to eat. My oldest sat next to Rara and nuzzled her as if they’d known each other forever; maybe they have. My littlest one didn’t so much eat as smear rice all over the table.

I cheered out loud when I saw her little dinosaur.


Im in ur kitchin, eatin ur pad thai!

My continued cheering quietly as we said farewell. See you soon.

After returning home, I read her newest post. It answers the question, “Where’re you goin’?”

I didn’t know that earlier, when I told her I’m not sure where I’m headed. I only have the vaguest idea.

What I do know for sure is that I’ll be in good company getting wherever “where” is.


Categories: Family, Friends Tags: , ,


Jenn is a Republican.

Her wit’s sharper than a Lego at 3 o’clock in the morning, but her heart’s softer than the lightest feathers you’ve ever touched. You’ll never find out the latter if you can’t embrace the former.

She met my family a couple of weeks ago. Living on opposite ends of the U.S. West Coast as we do, she’s followed from afar my transition from anti-marriage, kid-phobic adventurer to married mom of two as I have followed her own transitions from afar.

I don’t remember more than a thing or two we said over burgers, but I remember how it felt to be sitting across from her and my five-year-old, Li’l D. Listening to her talk to my husband as if the two had known each other forever.

It felt like home; like I had just fallen into orbit after being long adrift.  Read more…

The smile you can’t see

How can there be
a storm and a song
in my heart


A contest
of wills,
one to weep
and the other to wonder?


What strange supposition,
that the human heart
must be so small!

For I,
knowing no better, perhaps?,
dance while dreading;
lift while lurching;
hug while hurting;
blow kisses while bidding adieu;
and still,
find room
for more feelings
than there are words.

Categories: Love, Reflections Tags: , , ,

Being color brave

Sandra Bland was taken into custody after failing to signal a lane change.

She died in custody a few days later. Though she’d tried to post bail just two hours before and would soon be starting her dream job, she was reported as having committed suicide.

I would have taken this story at face value a few months ago, but something happened to change that.

I was between jobs a couple months after events in Ferguson, Missouri inspired a series of protests across the nation. While my children slept, I browsed Twitter, Instagram and Vine for firsthand accounts of both protests and police brutality. I became increasingly agitated by the stark differences between firsthand–yet somehow “unofficial”?–accounts and the secondhand news media accounts treated as official. To hear the secondhand accounts represented as truth infuriated me. I also felt guilty, because I’d never before thought to question reporting I’d more or less taken for neutral presentation of fact; the problem was doubtfully a new one.

As I stood on the precipice of understanding that America’s race problem isn’t just one of redneck outliers, I watched horrifying videos. If others in this country were forced to face brutal realities just for stepping out of their homes, I could fully recognize that brutality and the braveness of stepping out regardless. Read more…

I take you with me

A car like my own zipped past me on the freeway this morning.

I shook my head when I saw an “In Loving Memory” sticker plastered across its rear window.

What a strange place for an in memoriam, I thought.

I’ve thought this dozens of times.

For some reason, seeing the lettering fade into the distance on a car like my own jarred me:

In some ways, that’s the perfect place for a reminder.

Grief can feel like a deep, unmoving, unmoveable eternity.

But when we start pushing against it, learning to take tiny steps against its vastness, we can see glimpses of greater movement beyond. We can see glimmers of how we carry with us in our love and our motion the deceased whom we love.

To emblazon it on a car is a powerful thing;

a mighty reminder that, though I might never hug you again,

I take you with me,


The unemployed assistant director

My husband is an assistant director.

It’s been fifty weeks since he got his promotion call. He’s worked pretty steadily since, a lucky thing in Hollywood.

wrap-party star

Right now he’s between jobs. This isn’t surprising; summer shows number fewer than fall ones. You’ll likely have noticed this if you watch any TV at all. I personally notice the absence of Castle, Brooklyn Nine-nine and Blackish as I count down the days until new Key & Peele lands on Hulu. Read more…

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