E is for elephant.

i couldn't resist

Halloween came and went and M didn't get to dress up.
This just couldn't be. Not for his first Halloween.
He didn't know what was going on or why I was laughing so hard.
At least my Halloween dreams were fulfilled.

happy 1/2 birthday

I can't believe we made it.

Eating his giraffe's face.

babooshka

we went for a walk on sunday.

it was colder than anticipated.

but still pleasant.

so we wrapped him up.

he loved the attention.

he sees his dad.

donated sweatshirt.

life lessons from the cornfields

Simon has had many phases to his life.

He can draw upon them for examples relevant to any scenario, and he does.

The story starts with: "here's the thing...."
And then ends with a phrase like: "bottom line is...."

I refer to these discourses as Simon's "Life Lessons from the Cornfields" because that's where it all began for him. A boy working in endless cornfields in an endless summer...turns man working on Wall Street, then London. A world away. He figures he's got one life to live one time, so he's going to make it good. We visited those same corn fields this summer, in Americas heartland.

And they were beautiful.

Reminded me of a slower, simpler life that we could choose to live if we wanted.

Maybe one day, but not yet.

new at this.

I apologize in advance to child #3. Everyone says I will be way less concerned about you.

not so world famous

Do you know who "Take That" is?
Or how about "Girls Allowed?"

My British and Australian co-workers didn't believe me when I said that I had never heard of them, and proceeded to laugh in my face. I was retouching a poster of Take That as they stood around me. The uber-cheesy man-band was looking pretty haggard these days and my job was to make them look 20 years younger. I say man-band, because these are no boys and they've apparently been making hits out here for ages. Then my coworkers began reciting their favorite songs and best concert memories. Who knew?

Can you name at least 1 Kylie Minogue song? I can't. There was one techno-ish song that hit the states a few years back, but it didn't stand out much. When I first arrived here I went to a museum that had a Kylie Minogue retrospective exhibit. I felt like I had been let out of the barn for the first time in my life. Room after room was filled with costumes, albums, and photographs of the megastar. Apparently she's won tons of awards and performed hit after hit. Again, who knew?

These, and other European artists are wildly popular here. And because they're popular here, many people seem to assume that the whole world knows about them. Not so. Making it big in your own country is one thing, but making the jump to America's music charts is really tough, and so many people try. This is why foreign artists who make it in America are such a big deal. When you're a famous musician in America, then you're world famous.

Oh, and they've never heard of Ryan Seacrest or Martha Stewart,
so we're even.


Obligatory Mason picture:

How to Speak New Zealand

It's really easy.

The e in bed turns into an ee like bee.
The i in time turns into o like Tom.

Time for bed.
Tom for beed.

Back = beck
text= teext
Last= lest

Simon end I have some good freends frum New Ziland. We used to play with them loads before they moved back they-uh. We always hed fun with them because they were fun people END because we loved their fabulous acceents. So we started mimicking some of their wurds for fun and had a leff. But the mimicking begen to steek end now they ah certain wurds that always come at New Ziland-ized.

Yeees
Teext
Cheest


Give it a go. See, it's fun.

flight attendants won’t let you jump out the window, trust me

There are some places where having a baby in your arms comes with perks. Like when you’re in a line and everyone insists on letting you cut to the front. Or walking around Manhattan, where you’ll be showered with compliments, smiles, and friendly conversation. (I’m assuming there comes an age where the cuteness wears off and civilians stop oogling, so I’m milking it now. No pun intended. Maybe it’s when the kid starts throwing tantrums and juice boxes).

There are also some places that you really don’t want to be with a baby. Like in an airplane lavatory. Next time you’re feeling claustrophobic in there, ask yourself how you would maneuver that one with an infant. I was asking myself the very same question a few days ago. But life finds a way.

Everyone kept asking how it was flying with a baby so here it is.

Now I’m that person that everyone dreads to see coming onto the plane. Me and the 400 pound man. I see dread fill their faces as they start obviously praying that I won’t sit anywhere near them, casually placing their own items on the seats next to them and avoiding eye contact. Then I get the pleasure of choosing the sucker who will get to know us very well.

The flight from LA to London is 11 hours. I spent 7 hours or so walking and rocking around the plane, letting Mason look at all the interesting sleeping people. Then I noticed that I was being trailed. An 11 year old girl cradling a doll was following me around the plane, copying how I held Mason. I stopped walking and she came 8 inches away from me, staring at us as if that was a normal thing to do. I began holding Mason in strange ways just to see if she really was mimicking us. She was. I was tired and cranky and found this terribly annoying. So I sat in my seat and pretended to be asleep. She stood there next to us, still staring. Finally I decided that she was too old to play with dolls and thought maybe she was slow. I felt sympathy and tried to be nice to her. This exposed a huge character flaw I never knew that I had. I resolved then, to be nice to people even if I don’t assume them to be mentally retarded.

So I did the nice thing to do. “How old is your baby?” I asked.

“Six months.” Then I saw the pencil width gaps between each of her teeth and knew that she’s probably not going to get those fixed, and felt even more sympathetic.

“What’s her name?”

“Jasmine.”

Then the conversation proceeded with me convincing her not to touch Mason’s hands or face. Which is a good thing because she started scratching herself in her pants right in front of me as she continued talking. My doubts about her mental capacity returned. You just can’t have a normal conversation with a stranger when they have their hand down their pants.

Anyway, having a baby on a plane is hard. So many mothers told me “he’ll just sleep the whole time; that’s what my babies did” so I had hope. But M doesn’t like flying or driving. He likes rolling and playing. I had already spent 15 hours flying with him and he was sick of it. He was good at times, and a Chucky doll at other times. When he gets strapped in or cooped up, he goes renegade and tries to muscle his way out. Those times were the worst. All peace offerings were rejected. He would try to wiggle out of my arms to get to the floor; thinking about it now is painful. It got scary. So scary in fact that it inspired me to write a screenplay called Snacks on a Plane, based on what it's like to feed a baby applesauce in your lap on a bumpy plane, because it's the only thing that can distract him long enough from screaming so much the captain is forced to do a nose dive. The best part is when he feels the applesauce in his mouth with his fingers and then tries to grab your hair with a fistful of baby food/drool mix.

And yes, lady I see you staring at us the entire flight. This is not the time to tell me about your grandkids or compliment me on how cute my daughter is. And please don't touch him.

My advice is: bring a helper. Toys and snacks are good. But if you have an active baby, it’s too much to do flying solo. When they told me my stroller would be at the baggage claim and that I'd have to carry Mason and all our carry ons through customs I cried. I was so tired.

Now that we’ve arrived in London and gotten some sleep, he’s suddenly Mr. Cheerful back to his merry ways. I'm recovering too, but man that was hard.

reaching our roots

80,000,000

acres of corn

26
hours on a plane with a baby

15
"oh, he's a boy actually" corrections

3
clothes lines

2
great grandparents

1
little boy

London Supercars

I'm learning that normalcy is much dependent on when and where you live.

I grew up in Arizona, where driving a pick up truck is pretty standard—a white pick up if you do landscaping, dropped to a low-rider if you're a gangster, and lifted if you're a teenager. In Arizona, a BMW or Mercedes is a symbol of success and there weren't too many around. In high school, I drove a truck one year and a Mercedes the next and it/I got way too much attention for it.

The other day, Simon pointed out that in London, the Mercedes becomes the equivalent of the Ford Taurus. We see cars like Aston Martin's, Maserati's, Ferrari's, Bentley's, Rolls Royce's, so often that we don't notice them anymore. The Lamborghini dealership around the corner is filled with a neon selection; I pass it a few times a week. Simon and I used to be shocked by these cars—staring wide eyed as they rolled by. The newness wears off after a year or so of this.

I've never seen a truck or a suburban out here.

But then summer comes and the car show around London escalates. A distinct crowd filters in of wealthy Middle Easterners. Note: This did not happen in Mesa, Arizona. They fly their "cars" here and vacay during their hottest season. I say "cars" because you have never seen cars like these, and the word seems too dirty to describe them. They are completely custom made; the only one like it on earth. They are often found illegally double parked around Harrod's because what do they care if they get a ticket? I'm always telling Simon to drive slower as I imagine trying to make an insurance claim if we crashed into one of them.

Have you ever seen a license plate in squiggly? Simon and I saw this coming home from a walk the other night.

I don't understand the signs new parents put in their windows—Baby on Board. As if you're going to try harder not to crash into that particular car. But in London if you see a Princess on Board sign, it's most likely true.

Since we're on the subject, I should also say that there are also some very small cars here.

The first time I saw a smart car I laughed hysterically and took a picture by one, fulfilling my touristic obligations.

This one put puts around our neighborhood sometimes. It's basically a chair with wheels. He can't possibly feel like a man driving that thing. Sometimes he drives on the sidewalk. I don't understand it.