Greek Tragedyhi

this is NOT a halloween post

I've seen my share of fucked up since moving here to Texas. Aside from the wild obsession Texans seem to have with their own state (etching the state's shape into the windows of their homes, outfitted with a burnt orange longhorns flag), or the star spangled cell phone holders, or the roadside jerkey--I've seen scorpions in my house (in my makeup drawer!), had a coyote in my backyard during daylight, have heard of rattlesnakes being on the trail in my backyard, but this, this I didn't think happened anywhere but in the Brady Bunch Hawaii episode.

I was startled for a moment when I saw a Halloween gag on my window. "Ha, ha," I thought to myself. "Norma got me this time." There, outside my window, she stuck a pipe cleaner tarantula. Then I looked a little closer. HOLY MOTHERFUCKER. It was moving. Right there, on the window, beside my front door. A TARANTULA. Where the fuck am I living? Seriously. Who sees tarantulas?! Pictures of my window and our guest, who decided to be fashionably late for Halloween:

Slightly less troubling, I then googled this creature to see what people were saying about it's death factor if you're jabbed by one of these buggers. Guess what I found? People touting them as great "beginner spiders." As in, what a great pet these guys make. They're totally underestimated. Yeah, I don't know who these people are, these exotic pet owners who prefer reptiles to puppies, but a tarantula is NOT a goddamn pet. Look at it. From this picture, it looks like it has one cyclops of an eye, with a gaping hole in the middle, that I can't help but think of as an ass instead of a mouth. It looks like one of those anal sex porn DVD covers, where they show some gaping ass action as an enticement to buy. Then I watched this video on tarantulas, watching a man who looks like he'd be the type to have a tarantula as a pet, fondle his friend, telling us all about the tarantula nemesis. How thoroughly disturbing. And yes, I'm judgmental. One of my closest friends in college had a pet snake in her dorm room. She once showed up at a judge's house wearing nothing but a trench coat, heels, and her pet snake. He asked her to leave. So would I.

wurstfest 2008, new braunfels, tx

cat and mouse games

Home from Denver just in time to catch my cat catching my mouse.

Abigail refused to wear her cat ears by either ripping them off her head, wailing, or by throwing herself to the ground, just lying there. If only "just lying there" got us all out of things we didn't want to do.

firsts photo contest

Thank you to everyone who submitted photos for the Firsts Photo Contest. To those who haven’t, you have until midnight tonight to upload a photo to Stephanie Klein Social that somehow ties into the theme of firsts. Tomorrow I'll post a poll here that lists five of my favorite entries. Everyone will have until this Friday, October 17 to vote for the submission they think should win. If there's a tie, I'm turning to Lucas (my first born), and letting him point to the winner.

photo contest: firsts

Nothing like a contest to stimulate some creativity. Donated by Johnson's Baby, this limited-edition Italian hand-sewn diaper bag (filled with products and worth over $500) is totally up for grabs. Moms Melissa Joan Hart, E!’s Samantha Harris, and 90210’s (old school) Tori Spelling have their own, and now you can get on that shite like powder on a posterior. If you're not in the market for baby wipes (even for your own face), surely you'll be known as the friend who gives good gift by handing this off to parents in need.

The theme of this photo contest is FIRSTS. To enter, register free at Stephanie Klein Social and sign in. Once you’ve signed in, go to the photos link/tab at the top and "ADD PHOTOS" link on the top right. The image you choose to upload should be a photo (old or new) that either you yourself have taken, or that someone has taken of you, and can be of anything, so long as it's original art (not something you stole off someone's flickr site) that somehow ties into the theme of firsts.

Once the photo has been uploaded, you’ll receive a confirmation email along with a link to your image. Click the link and add a description of the photo, including why you chose it, what it represents.

Although this diaper bag prize is directed at parents, anyone and everyone can participate. If you’re shy, why not at least help vote and rate the incoming entries? The contest will run for a week, giving everyone enough time to upload their photo of choice, and then the top five photos will be voted upon to determine the winner.

I’m hoping to make this a monthly photo contest, with different prizes each time. This month’s winner will get to choose the theme for next month’s contest. And of course, they'll walk away with the bag of goods, worth over $500.

my little anyones

1. RubberDucky.jpg, 2. DSC_2226.jpg, 3. DSC_2263.jpg, 4. DSC_2313.jpg

When I wrote about what it is to sacrifice in the name of motherhood, or even in a relationship, I never thought about photography. Of what excellent little subjects I'd have blitzing about. And when I set out to write a few books, I'd told my publisher that I was a storyteller, that it didn't matter the medium. I could write for television, books, blogs, or capture a gesture, tell a story, in a photo. But I can't. There isn't enough time. You can have it all; you just can't have it all at once. Now that I'm on break, between books, I hope to have a bit more normal, steady, time for photography and scrapbooking... as soon I'll need to work on the year two book.

wet 'n' wild child

Photos at the pool >>

photo update

See all the photos of the kids, of Phil, of the grandparents, and yes, of me too. Or three. Or forty.

looking back while moving forward

The past seems easier sometimes, and I think holding onto it allows me, somehow, to move forward. I always hear how you have to let the past go, have to live in the moment, control your now. I think I'm able to move forward because I hold onto the past. Knowing there are people to go back to, friends there for you in another city, options, makes you less afraid to try new ones. New cities, new friends, new things. Because the past, what you knew, what you had, is always there. You already know what it's like. Holding onto the past can sometimes be freeing. It's my security blanket, for sure.

I haven't shared this yet, but I've been secretly turning our guest bedroom into a recreation of my apartment bedroom from New York. When I feel sad or in need of encouragement and strength, I climb into that bed, with that same bedding, my same soft sheets, from a frivolous time in my life, when I wasn't married and didn't have to answer to or compromise with anyone. So I could spend $220 on ONE PILLOW CASE--actually it was a Euro Sham, but still! Because there wasn't anyone telling me not to. It was my money, to spend as I pleased. But now there are joint priorities. Now when I'm in a store, I've become the kind of woman who says, "my husband would kill me." Because all he hears are all the things I want. A pool. A nanny. A music class for the kids. A new camera. But in that room, I can close my eyes and pretend for a moment that I'm just home from a birthday party, that I've just ordered in sushi, that Linus is still at the groomer or something. I can pretend it's just me again. And I need that, to be able to remember who I was before I became a wife and mother. Because I love that girl.

pouty mcpout pants

It's Sunday, and it's late, and I've been flipping through old (1989) diary entries trying to figure out which ones to include as the chapter openers in Moose. "This one reveals too much too soon." And writing about fasting on Yom Kippor won't fit with the chapter about measurements and before photos. Should I sort them chronologically so they make sense and have an arc of their own, or just pepper them as they fall? Oh, decisions. That's where I am now. The problem is, there are a lot of entries from before camp, but there are only four chapters before I even arrive at camp.

Oh, how I wish I had time to blog about Cashmere Mafia, though. Maybe later. So for now... the pout of the precious. More photos here >>

photography 100

This was a comment, but since I get so many emails about photography and camera advice, I figured I'd make this a post, so people can refer back to this in the future. I plan to post more of these in the future, including photoshop tutorials (with photos to demonstrate), and also just fun projects. Hopefully, people will send me a few of their favorite shots from that week's project, and I'll post them here.

I cannot give advice when it comes to buying a new camera. I just don't keep up with all the models or reviews unless I'm actually shopping for a camera. I can tell you this: I hated the white balance on the Nikon D70/D100 models. Made everything yellow. I suggest you check out the cameras you're considering in person, at a store, then buy it online and pay no tax (and find a coupon for free shipping). I'd ask if it has auto-bracketing (both exposure and white balance bracketing)... you might not use this right away, but it's HUGE when you're ready to really learn more about photography. You don't need a camera with night settings, or fireworks or an icon of a mountain. If you want that, buy a point and shoot. I could write all day about this (but it's time for bed)... I will say, get ready to learn more. You have to. Otherwise, why buy an SLR? You are ready, and you can do it, even if you ease into it slowly. It's a wonderful hobby you'll always have. On that Hallmarkety note, maybe I should do some posts on my 101 notes from back when I was first learning about photography. It would make me happy to share what I learned in the past.

Here is what you need to know at first: learn what aperture is and what it does. Then learn about shutter speed and what it does. Then learn about exposure. Then metering. Search for these things online. You don't have to memorize it, but at least spend a half hour understanding an overview of these things. It's why you'd want an SLR, to play and customize and learn. To have the camera record exactly what you see, just as you see it that moment. Or to keep your subject crisp, but to add a motion blur to everything around them using a panning technique.

I use Nikons and just prefer them to Canon. But that's probably just because Nikon is what I know and what I learned on. I began with an N80 (film) and learned all I did shooting color negatives (aka slide transparencies... those things you put in a slide projector) because when processed, they were less forgiving if you made a mistake, and they weren't spit through a machine, so they were not color-corrected. So I was able to see the result of the smallest changes I made. So I could shoot the same image, modifying the aperture, let's say, in each shot. Then I could look at each one and say, "Oh, I get it. That's what it does." Now you can do it digitally, and auto-bracket (which means you can set the camera to take 3 different photos, even though you press the button just once... and although the photo is the same, the settings are different, so you can compare them and see which exposure you like best) which is much, much cheaper than developing all that film. Though I do still love the silkiness of film. The photos seem more poetic, more buttery, when shot in film. How I love black and white, where you tell them to "push" the film a stop. Okay, getting too complicated on ya. So long story longer, I'd probably buy THE BODY ONLY and buy a good lens separately (buy just the body, then purchase a decent lens, not the crap it comes with). When I say "good lens" I mean a "fast lens." So it would read something like 1:2.8

Sorry, this is getting complicated. I just know for me, what made a huge difference in all my photos was buying a good "fast" used lens. I bought two excellent (used) lenses with fixed focal lengths (you can read all about what the different lengths do to your actual photo). Here's what I've got (and use):

Nikon af nikkor 35mm 1:2 (That means it's a fixed 35 focal length (no zoom). So you see a lot of stuff in the picture, good for groups, for street photography, for capturing a scene, a photo journalistic feel, AND the lowest number aperture is an f 2 (I typically set portraits to f5.6 or lower... what this does? Keeps subject nice and crisp but blurs the stuff around them). A fast lens also allows you to shoot in low-light conditions without having to use a flash, allowing you a lot of great ambient light, to really capture the moment. Also, you can pop your flash and set to a slow shutter speed (30 or less)... this allows for more ambient light. See, photography can get complicated, but it's so much fun. I just love it. Love learning from others, too.

85mm 1:1.8 af nikkor (This is a fixed 85mm lens, again, great for portraits. And the 1.8 aperture is awesome. No photo taken with this lens is ever bad).

Sigma ex fixed 105 1:2.8D macro (I like a 105mm lens because it's a flattering focal lens, good for shooting fashion). Also, MACRO means you can photograph something small and make it seem larger than life... like the sprinkles on a cupcake can look like Mike and Ikes. Something like that.

Af nikkor ED 70-300 1:4-5.6 (zoom lens. Zoom just means several focal lengths... you can zoom in and out. Telephoto means it magnifies something in the distance. I use it a lot. It's not the fastest of my lenses, but I rarely shoot with this lens inside. Though it's fine inside! It's great for shooting anything outdoors).

Sigma DC 18-50mm 1:2.8 EX D (If you get a Sigma lens, just make sure it's made for a Nikon. This is considered a wide angle lens. Anything below 60 (from what I recall is considered wide angle, though a fish eye is an extreme wide angel giving a novelty effect). With WA lenses, you have to be careful what's in the foreground of your composition, because it tends to make it seem larger than other things. Not flattering for a portrait, as the nose and forehead might make you look like Rocky (from that Cher movie about the mask kid). Now, everyone chime in and say how insensitive and horrible I am. Dear Lord.

unsent messages

Cards we will not be sending this holiday season:
 

a day in the life

I once had a photography instructor who told me everyone should, at least once, have a "day in the life" photo-series done, where a photographer documents their day from the time they rise to the time they pass out. I immediately thought, "I'd need to have veto power over all those double chin photos." Then I thought about wearing makeup to bed the night before the big film.

I know a woman who refuses to allow her significant other to see her without makeup. The true testament of how close they are has nothing to do with letting one rip or having the spits and spins. For her, it means no concealer, foundation, or powder. And, it makes me angry. The idea that someone is out there, rushing to the bathroom before he wakes up, to quickly pat down her face with pressed powder and cover up, makes me sad. There are far too many medical advances for anyone to live that way.

So in a bold move of solidarity, I plan to have Phil (and other unsuspecting participants) photo-document a day in my life. No makeup, double chins, the whole thing. Though I cannot promise anything exciting, and given that he works, too, I might need to do a few self-portraits. I'll only use Photoshop for color-correction and cropping (because he'll totally have to shoot a shower scene. I mean, a girl has to have a few thrills). That is, when I actually shower.

As promised, here are the photos (just click the actual photo to scroll through... and if you can't see the full photo, you can drag it around). I actually have more, but I'm too tired to post them now. Will have to wait for morning.

First thing in the morning, I cleaned baby bottles. Said hi to the family. Brushed the teeth. Changed Abigail's diaper, then went downstairs to check email and took these photos of myself with the camera inside my mac. Then I baked cookies for a cookie swap I have tomorrow  (by the way, I bet you can still catch me on the TV FOOD NETWORK, when they filmed my last cookie sway. Their 12 days of cookies programing should still be on). I took photos of the tree, ate way too many cookies, raw and otherwise. Cranberry, white chocolate, macademia nut cookies, and chocolate chunk walnut cookies. Cleaned the kitchen. Then upstairs for Lucas's physical therapy session, where Abigail and I went into my closet. Mommy needed a bra! So I got dressed, put on makeup, then came downstairs to write. Filmed a short video, then worked on Moose until it was time to head off to CHOW (a foodie club where you meet new people). Now I'm home, posting the photos. Somewhere in there, I also put on deodorant...and my wedding rings. And I only put the scarf on my head to listen to Phil tell me it looked ugly. But he never said that. I never actually planned to leave the house with a scarf on my head. I'm just sayin'. Now I'm off to bed but don't want to wake Phil just to ask him to take a photo. I can't wait to dive into bed!

while I was sleeping

While I was sleeping, the beans went for a ride this morning with Super Nanny and Phil.  He took these sweet photos of our sweet beans.  I am now off to run errands.  Tonight we're going to a cocktail party at a country club.  I imagine many of the women will be in skirt suits with colorful BIG jewelry.  Dresses.  Fashion.  Surprisingly, the women here really can dress when they set their minds to it.  When we first moved here, I was kinda shocked.  I'd been so naive, and thought people didn't really know how to dress outside New York and California.  I was an idiot.  What do you want?  I was invited to an Anthony Nak sample sale.  In New York, you go to a sample sale in any old thing, during your lunch hour or something.  So I showed up in jeans, remnants of mascara, hair in a bun, only to arrive to valet parking (at someone's house mind you), a staff welcoming you inside and offering you white wine or pellegrino, and a kingdom of women dressed to the tens.  I haven't been shopping in ages, and I'm really hoping to find something hip and girly to wear tonight.  Perhaps there'll even be time for a blowout!  Oh, how I love being a girl.  "Cocktail party attire" the invite says... martini bar... sushi... there is no better hour in the world than cocktail hour.  Not even happy hour!  And a whole party just for finger foods and adult beverages, well, I'm just glad I slept in this morning.

september beans

This Saturday is my birthday.  I don't know how much celebrating I'll be able to do unless I finish this last chapter.  There has just been so much going on.  It's hard to get work done.  I'm turning 32.  I'm eager to hand the sucker in, even though by no means will I be finished with the process.  I'll still have plenty of decisions and corrections to make.  But hopefully I won't feel as rushed or panicked about my choices, and hopefully I'll have some time during the editorial process for myself.  To get my nails done, hair, all the girl bits.  And to play tennis again, to swim, to walk, to get outside, and mostly to spend more time with my family.  I took these photos the other day of the beans and realize just how fast they're growing.  Lucas is right now in the hospital having an image-guided spinal tap of some fluid, just a little higher up on his spine than last time to see if anything bacterial grows.  I just know the white blood cell count is going to be higher than last time, even though he's doing so great.  The cyst has not improved, has gotten, in fact, slightly worse.  It doesn't make my heart hurt quite yet.  I just hope we learn something from this because he's still undiagnosed.  We still don't really know what's going on, and quite frankly, the neurosurgeon here is worried about what the last MRI pictures from about a week or so ago looked like.  So we'll see.  As far as the helmet, both his neurosurgeon and pediatrician both said he didn't need one.  So at least that's one less thing to deal with.  Next stop?  Letting these little tots eat Cheerios! 

And thank you for all your beautiful sentiments about my grandfather.  I took these of the kids two days ago, the day he died.  I know my dad will enjoy them.

true lies

I wonder why some people are so embarrassed about revealing that they went to fat camp once upon a time. As if it's something about which to even be ashamed. It's says so much about our society and fears. It's something I can't understand hiding about yourself.

as promised...

One of my baby photos, not of my babies but of me... here with my full head of red hair.  And my eyes are just as wide as Miss Abigail's.  However in the other photo, where I'm a bit older (and have more hair) dressed in green, I look just like Lucas!  That's right, both of these photos are of me, even though I look so different in each of them...and we've yet to capture his sweet little smile properly on film, but it looks exactly as mine does in the image of me sitting on a planter.  Such creative parents I have. 

splendors in the grass

porridge

I knew it as hot cereal they ate in nursery rhymes, or perhaps in Oliver.  Though maybe that was gruel.  It looked like Cream of Wheat, farina, something from my own childhood.  I was passing it down to a new generation.  I fed the babies their first "solids" yesterday and let them really play with their food. 

hermes scarves and babies

swimming with the ducklings

play dates and pull & pray

They're almost three-months-old, gestationally, so it seemed fitting to include them in the six-month-old play date, considering by the time they're two, they'll have finally caught up.  These are the kids with whom Lucas and Abigail will be in school one day, and these are their moms.  It was wonderful being around a group of mothers I could relate to.  Women with schedules, lives, and hair appointments who seemed to have struck a balance in the who comes first scenario.  Finally, a great group of women: educated, smart, put-together.  Normal!  I can’t wait to host the play date over here.  Hopefully our furniture will make it out of the NY warehouse in time.  Conversation at the play date spanned from “Princess class” (a summer class where girls do art projects, and I assume, learn to adjust their tiaras) to the “Pull and Pray” method.  “I mean, what are you girls doing now about birth control?”  This was not princess class, so details were shared, not in whispers, but in laughs.  “You have to be careful.  I know way too many IUD babies.”  I felt right at home.  "And to be sure, he's getting a V."  And surprisingly with all this talk of vasectomies and the anti-pill, Lucas and Abigail refrained from crying, both wide-eyed, watching in amazement as the other babies did pilates.      

two-step too short

Someone once said to me in the comment section of this blog that this would happen every time.  I wasn't sure if it were true.  Last time, when my father and Carol were here, I cried for two days after they left.  Then I got my period.  I explained it away.  It's happened again.  I didn't think it would.  I just walked into the guest room where they had been staying.  They re-made the bed.  Their towels were hanging.  The white tank I lent Smelly, hanging, alone, on a wooden hanger.  Everything else is gone. 

The bathroom no longer hosts their makeup and hair bands.  There's a trash pail with tissues.  It's all that's left.  I start to cry.  I miss my friends, and when I see them for the first time, I realize how much.  But now that they're gone, it's not about realizing.  All I do is feel it.  I miss my friends and their stories and particular ways of doing things.  I miss Smelly's laugh and Amy's facial expressions.  I had the most wonderful time with them while they were here, and it hurts now.  It's not homesick because I don't miss New York, not really.  I miss, very deeply, my friends.  And I can't stop crying.  It's not rational, of course.  I mean, I'll be in New York in June.  And then again in August, but right now, it's all I feel.  I want so much to play tennis with them again.  To run our drills and give each other pointers, to drive with the top down, to pass approval hoping to narrow down our shoe selections, sharing sushi and stories.  I miss them so much. 

If this is to happen each and every time someone visits, I'm not allowing any more guests.  Okay, that's not true at all.  But I swear to God... you know what it's like?  It's like a break up.  I just went through their garbage.  I'm not kidding.  There was a shopping bag beside the garbage pail filled with empty shoe boxes.  I wanted to double check it, to ensure they hadn't mistakenly left something behind.  And here's the fucked up bit: there were some magazines at the bottom of the bag.  Magazines I'd never read.  In Touch, US Weekly, and a host of other tabloids.  I pulled them from the bag and put them on my coffee table.  Knowing they read these makes me feel closer to them.  And it's kind of psycho... like the kind of nut who saves someone's tissue because they know it was used by them.  I'm not that bad, but I'm definitely clinging on, wishing, so much, that they were still here, that we could live our lives together for the rest of them.  Close.  I mean who hasn't had those hopes?  The hope of, "we'll all live next door and have barbecues and all our kids will play together."  And then next, after all the husbands and boys die off (God-forbid, but if that happens...) we'll all have each other, to have and to hold, Golden Girls with more closet space.  I just miss them so much. 

Here's what I think I miss most.  I have a handful of wonderful friends here, but they've all known me as married.  They're not friends who knew me single and miserable.  Forget not sharing the history together.  It's more than that.  It's missing friends who love you for you, not for "you and Phil."  They know me as Stephanie.  Just Stephanie, not part of something else.  And I miss that.  I am of course happy I'm part of something else, something bigger than just myself.  Of course I am.  I do miss the girl time though, the sharing of stories and fears.  The encouragement and laughter.  It's what's missing from my life now, a pack of girls.  And it makes me incredibly sad.  I have to make much more of an effort to get out with other women.  To feel comfortable enough to bring both my children along.  It's frightening meeting women out with babies.  I worry they'll cry the whole time, that I'll apologize too often.  But I need to do it.  For me. 

And although my girls are gone, their shoes are here.  It seems there was no room in their bags for their new purchases, so I'm FedExing their things tomorrow.  Five pairs each, I think.  We broke them in at The Broken Spoke, where real cowboys (complete with hats, belts, boots, and jokes about "toe-trucks") asked my friends to dance.  Phil stepped on my toe.  There's a reason we chose not to have dancing at our wedding.  We're determined though to learn, here at home, because it was fun.  Texan waltz, Polka, Progressive Two-Step.  I loved The Broken Spoke, loved seeing couples in their seventies still doing their thing.  It's polite and chivalrous, where a man can ask for a dance and want only that.  The cowboys we met were all polite, offering to teach us the steps.  Our shoes were broken in.  Here are the photos to prove it:

which two things don't go together?

I went to the track this weekend (not to run, no).  To bet on horses.  I love gambling, but not the kind you do online.  I need to be there, in person.  I'm not one to bet on sporting events, unless I'm at the actual game (and even then, eh.)  I understand the idea that if you've got a little something riding on a game, it makes it all the more reason to get into it while watching it on TV, but I'd just as soon go cook or watch some chick flick in another room than partake in the festivities.  I know it's kinda Sports Grinch of me, but I can't help it.  The only reason I look forward to some "big game" is for an excuse to eat unhealthy food.  Wings.  Fries.  I guess some people do chili (not me, but some people).   Even now, when I go somewhere, as I did this weekend (at Azul in East Austin), and I get a great unexpected sandwich, I add between bites, "This would make a great appetizer when we have people over."  I am forever inventing menus for parties I'll never throw.  A pork sandwich with cheve and crisp apples, bibb lettuce and a mustard vinegarette.  "You know, pressed and served as triangles when you're watching some sport thing."
"Nah, too messy," Phil concludes.
"You're wrong, actually," I say.  And he rolls his eyes, and I roll mine back, and that is how we do things. "Everyone loves mini-sandwiches.  Everyone.  Especially with cheese."  There's really no arguing with me.  I wonder what food they'll have at the track.    

My whole theory on gambling is you have to expect to lose.  That is, when gambling, I view it as a form of entertainment.  So, I'll cap myself at $300 if I'm at a casino, seeing it as my entrance fee for the evening.  Once it's gone, I'm done, but it's the price of admission.    Roulette is my thing.  I get feelings about numbers.  I won't bet, however, unless I'm "feelin' it."  If I gamble with a few people, they're usually down half their money before I even begin.  I like to take my time, people watch, and get a feel for things before I commit to a table.  I want to learn to play craps.

This weekend, it was all about the horse racing, and I'd refuse to place a bet until I saw each horse and accompanying jockey.  Of course I'd study the odds on paper, but mostly, I went with gut instinct.  I chose one horse to win because the jockey was the spitting image of Steve Buscemi as Crazy Eyes.   We bet on four races, and I won three of them.  Phil on the other hand...

Let's just say, he was confident in his bet.  Surveyed the horses, took his time.  Then placed his bet on horse number 4.  "That jockey looks good to go," he said as he gripped his curled stats papers.  Yes sir!  He and Scott watched from the stands.  I got a spot up close to the action, leaning against a fence.  I won money on that race.  Two of the horses I'd predicted to claim first and second place (or Win and Place) came in.  But I didn't know it yet.  At the time, I couldn't stop looking up to Phil up in the stands.  It seems his jockey was indeed good to go.  On the floor.  The jockey had fallen off his mare, so number 4 was the only horse to race the track without a jockey.  "Figures," he mouthed to me.  And I punched my fists up in the air.  "Don't worry baby.  I won enough for us both."  Enough being all of seventeen dollars on a two dollar bet. 

I love doing weird things like that, new things.  I learned this weekend there's a rollerskating rink quite close to our house.  I'm going to have to brave it on Eighties Night.  And... drum roll please... I plan on doing a drunken BINGO night soon and hope those of you in Austin will join us.  Come alone, bring friends.  Whatever.  We'll be going to an actual BINGO hall!  I don't know about you, but it's time to do my part in keeping Austin weird.

Speaking of... I've combined our latest photos... of the horses (Phil took those) and of the babies (I took those).  Thanks to Jaimee for the darling monogrammed club chairs from Pottery Barn.  Just too cute!

go scratch

It seems I need to do a better job at trimming their nails because I refuse to keep bundling them up in mittens!  So please pardon the scratches on Miss Abigail's sweet face.  She's just now starting to smile.  Lucas, on the other hand, looks like The Godfather.  CLICK THE IMAGE, and it will automatically scroll through to pictures of Lucas (as well as more of Abigail).

the four questions

All statements began with "Aunt Stephanie" and ended in a question mark.  "Aunt Stephanie," my niece Mikayla asked while watching me pump, "why are you doing that?"  While breastfeeding, "Why don't you feed the baby on the other chest?" and "Why aren't you using a bottle?"  "Aunt Stephanie?  Why is your chest so big?"  She's four and three quarters and come September she'll be going to kindergarten.  Her mother, Phil's sister, is beyond terrified.  All the big firsts scare her.  "You'll see," she said to me, "you'll cry too."  And I imagine that's true.  It's bittersweet realizing your baby, who will always be your baby, isn't a baby anymore. 

"Aunt Stephanie?"
"Yes."
"Um."
"Yes."
"I forget."
"..."
"Oh, Aunt Stephanie?"
"Yes."
"Do you know when Uncle Phil and Mommy are coming back?"
"What time did they tell you?"
"They, um.  Well, they said they'd be back before I know it, but when is that?"  Four is fun.

They're gone now, all the inlaws, and Phil and I are here, for the first time in a while, without visitors.  It's a big exhale, being alone again.  Just our family.  As helpful as everyone has been, it's also nice being able to walk around naked again.  My father and Carol should have been here, but their JetBlue flight was canceled.  So we'll be expecting my sister and mother in another week, then my father and Carol.  None of my family has met their new family yet.  They don't know the way Lucas grunts and tries to talk while he's eating, or the way Abigail will wail continuously and suck it all back as soon as you swoop her up.  You can't spoil babies this age, they say.  It's true.  Really.  But it doesn't feel true. The saddest part for me is realizing I want their family close.  I want them to know their grandmother's voice and the way their Aunt laughs.  I want them to know my parents, the way I knew my grandparents, on Sundays, when my grandfather carried me around the house, stopping at each framed piece of art, letting me touch it, telling me the stories behind them.  I want them to know their histories, not in words and points at photos of relatives, but actively in their arms and between breaths.  I hope our family visits a lot. I think I'll know what "a lot" is once the kids KNOW who all their family members are without the use of photos.  By the time they're four?  Good question.

only fair

I was drinking a wine flight the other night, out at an actual restaurant (Trulucks), thanks to my very helpful in-laws.  I was surprised, and delighted, to see how helpful they've actually been, from cleaning dishes to cooking, but much more than that, hanging (and shopping for) blinds, building us a swing for our porch, and dealing with all the feedings and crying and diapers, to the point where Phil and I were actually able to go out, alone.  And in being out, and after a glass of wine, I admitted something to Phil. 
"All this time, I've loved Abigail a little more."
"..."
"What?  I can't help it.  She has red hair and is a girl, and she's such a little actress, and... well the point is, now I think I like Lucas more."
"You're not allowed to have favorites."
"It's more like having moods, not favorites really.  Sometimes I can appreciate Lucas more than I appreciate Abigail."
"Keep drinking."
"No, no.  I know this sounds bad and all wrong.  Of course I love them equally, but it has taken me a while to appreciate what a little bean lover Lucas is.  Besides, he's good at breastfeeding.  She kind of wants to take me out back and kick the shit out of me."  So for the record, since I posted so many photos of Mr. Lucas the other day, well, it's my girl's turn. 

View her photos here (scroll down for the latest) >>

And since there are always questions about my photography: I used my Nikon D100 with a 105mm Macro lens.  I used manual focus and also shot in both manual and aperture-priority modes.  As for how I created this particular collage, it's an action found inside Photoshop.

wedded bliss

I wish I could get all the photos to appear chronologically, but it will take me too damn long to rename files.  So check out the gallery of photos here >>

magoo

Is it just me, or does my son look like Mr. Magoo?  I'm thinking he's got a nickname, now.  How's my little Magoo?  I sing to them, the same song each time, every day.  Of course it's a Carly Simon song, and if they don't like it, they better hurry it up and get strong enough to punch me out, or at least drown me out with their cries. 

I love lilacs and avocados
Ukuleles and fireworks
And Woody Allen and walking in the snow
But you've got to know that

You're the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life
From the moment I first saw you
The second that you were born
I knew that you were the love of my life
Quite simply the love of my life

I love Lucy and pumpernickel bread
The Statue Of Liberty and standing ovations
And falling into bed
But get it through your head that

You're the love of my life...

I change the words, creating my own now and then, changing the lyrics up to include "Magoo" and something to do with milk and my boobs.  But the message is the same, I love them, so sweetly, and I was lucky enough to bond with them before I even touched them.  As soon as my doctor pulled them from my body, and I was able to tell their father, he had a son and daughter, I cried right there.  I was in love from the second I first saw them.  And I know that doesn't happen with everyone, but I do, even if one of them does look like Mr. Magoo. 

panoramic

Photo courtesy of Joergen Geerds at my New York book signing of Straight Up and Dirty
(Click this image, then you can zoom in)

A friend of mine has a fun new site that makes me a bit nostalgic for home.  It also makes me miss photography.  I've decided to focus on it again, though unlike my friend, I won't be focusing on panoramas but on the details, the edges, and gestures within.  I miss looking at everything through a lens, deciding on how to best capture it.  Though it might be tough to balance a heavy SLR along with two children, I can at the very least, read up on photography practices.  And that's what I do, in fact.  It's not just about going out there and snapping away in automatic mode.  I like giving myself assignments (shooting white objects with white backgrounds, or photographing reflections or shadows only).  I like experimenting with my metering and still find white balance to be completely challenging with my Nikon D100.  I might just have to invest in a small quality camera with my Hannukah gelt, one with an immediate shutter release snap (there is nothing worse that clicking and missing the shot while the camera sets up to record an image). Since I often receive emails asking for help or ideas for photography projects, I also direct you to the site of a former teacher of mine, Jim Beecher, who covers everything from tips on photographing Christmas lights to including daily assignments to improve your work.  I like the idea of photographing the same thing each day, learning about light and mood, but I don't know if I'd follow through with all that I have to do now.  I could make room for it, if say, I gave up television.  There'd be room for a much richer life if I did so, but I have enough changes going on this year.  Perhaps it will be my New Year's resolution.  Perhaps, indeed.

thank you

Each time I begin, I cry.  There's so much to say, things that begin with "thank you" and include both "overwhelmed" and "overjoyed."  I'm warmed, genuinely moved, by all the comments and support here.  It's a time when blogging really makes me step outside myself and realize how powerful human communication, and even prayer, can be, especially with people we don't know.  It's amazing.  I receive thousands of emails from people thanking me for my book, my blog, my ability to put myself out there.  But really, it's my turn.  Thank you, seriously, for this outpouring.  It isn't just warm; it's extraordinary, and I am so so thankful.  I have plenty to write and express beyond just this thank you.  I've been trying to keep a journal, but when you're living in moments, sometimes it's hard to find quiet ones that don't involve sleep or my breasts.  Please be patient.  I promise many more photos in the coming days (this is one of me with Lucas today practicing our "Kangaroo Care").  Soon there will be photos of my redheaded daughter Abigail, too, along with detailed accounts of our little beans.  I just don't know where to start.

holiday special

If you happened to have missed the banner I created on the upper left hand side of this blog, there's relief found here, in this very post.  I'm running a holiday special, offering a signed first edition copy of Straight Up and Dirty along with an 8 x 10 archival print of your choice for $29.99 plus shipping.  Via PayPal, you order your book.  Then you'll receive an email directing you to choose your photo from my photography web site.  It's that simple.  Enjoy.  Just click the BUY NOW button to get started.  Or, if you already have a signed copy and would just prefer to buy a series of photographs, check out my photography site.

celebri-trees

"We didn't think you would make it out tonight."  They meant because I'm pregnant, and it's now 30something degrees here in Austin.  Tonight was the opening ceremony for the University COOP Celebri-trees.  I only have one long-sleeved shirt that covers my belly.  Two pairs of jeans.  Nothing feminine.  I just give up.

"Yeah, lately I don't commit to anything, not even massages, because I never know if I'll feel like getting dressed."  Or showered.  Or made up.  Mostly all my clothes just hurt.  I'm nesting at home with Linus on my lap, writing television outlines and chapters for MOOSE, updating a baby registry, trying to figure out what else we'll "need."  But I did make it out tonight, and I was thankful that I had.  It was nice to be out, in the cold, seeing the smiling faces of the kids whose school will benefit from the proceeds of the COOP event.  "Thank you so much, Ma'am."  And I smiled.  I'm totally fine with being a Ma'am. 

Thank you for all of your ideas for my Holiday Foodie Tree.  Golden whisks, miniature bottles of maple syrup, olive oil, jams and honey.  Raspberry garland, pears, and star anise bundles.  No, no placenta on my tree.  Maybe next year when I have a nursery rhyme-themed tree.  There's one photo of me and my chin and the designer who helped execute my idea, Rona (pronounced Rone-A).  Enjoy the start of this delicious season!  View photos >>

mr. mom

You know that scene where Michael Keaton fills the front-loading washing machine with too much laundry detergent?  Philip drew me a bath the other day.  The FRESH Saki bath remedy instructions were there, on the back of the glass bottle.  There might have been something about trying to add the two capfuls of product to a bath "as hot as you can take it."  Something about expelling toxins from the body.  We know better.  As a pregnant lady, you cannot let your body temperature rise too high.  So he kept things tepid, but he used a cup instead of a capful.  Then he turned on the Jacuzzi.  "Now I know," he said.  It was the first foam party I'd ever attended. At least I'll be good and clean for the Texas Book Festival this weekend.  It's free.  I'll be reading from and discussing Straight Up and Dirty, among other things, from 3-4 on Sunday.   

with two cats in the yard

I'm now a homeowner.  We closed on a house yesterday.  It's the very house I wanted since February, when I first came to visit Austin.  We'd put in an offer back then, but the house was snatched up by a higher bidder, in a rush.  Since then, everything else we've seen hasn't compared.  The house we wanted was nearly 5,000 square feet of perfect.  It was move-in ready.  Carpeting didn't need to be pulled from bathroom floors (ew, who puts carpeting in a bathroom anyway?).  Fixtures didn't need to be updated.  The house was beautiful.  There weren't tiled floors I'd need to change, or a formal dining room that would need to be repainted, crown molding removed.  But it was taken. 

Until it wasn't.  The deal fell through because of an easement.  Once the potential owners learned of an easement where they could not install a zero-edged pool, they backed out of the deal.  The house went back on the market.  We refused to go after it again with the same fervor.  We waited.  We heard some potential homeowners didn't like that the master bedroom was upstairs.  Prices came down.  The market softened.  And now, I'm a homeowner in Texas. 

Does this mean I'll be in Texas forever?  I doubt it.  But with twins on the way, and no family nearby, we needed space.  Space for double-everything, and a lot of space for visiting friends and family, a nurse, and maybe a nanny (at least at the very beginning, so we learn what the hell we're doing).  We move in NEXT WEEK!  So now I'm in the midst of packing.  We don't know which room will be the nursery yet, or how we'll decorate (no, the house did not come furnished).  We know it will all take time.  We also had the playscape removed, as I cannot survive in Austin without a pool.  So soon, our house will look like a construction site, as a new pool will be installed where the playscape had been.  There will be arguments about style and taste; I am certain.  But it's an exciting time.  I'll post photos here in the next day or so, but you can see the photos I took back in February.  And yes, wedding photos, too, but those will take longer (still waiting for CD from photographer).  Though all photo collections in the future will be on my photography site, simply because it's far easier for me to upload the files using that technology... not because I think anyone would want to buy a photo of my bathroom.

love sweet love

I recently attended the wedding of one of my dearest friends.  Sweetest friends, really.  Everyone who meets her describes her as just that, "what a sweet girl."  She never has anything mean to say about anyone, so it amazes me that she's had a seat beside me for as long as she has, given my mantra since high school had been "if you have nothing nice to say, come sit by me."  But I'm learning that I'm actually not like that anymore.  I worried nice meant boring, but my dear friend changed all that. She's a classic bowl of French Vanilla and I love her that way.  And so does he, her groom, the man I introduced to my friend one night in a busy bar.  Seems she had to kiss a few frogs before she stumbled upon her prince.  Congratulations to the adorable couple.  Now come spy on their wedded bliss >> (In Punta Cana, Dominican Republic)

austin photos

Most of these photos were taken recently.  There are photos at the Capitol, yes, but the ones of tables and a lake with hills were mostly shot at Mozart's, a coffee shop where I write more often than not.  And then, one black & white image inside Alamo Draft House (where they serve you food and drinks while you watch a current movie).  Tonight we're going back to see The DaVinci Code (with a wine and food tasting).  And just FYI, becuase you asked, I made the above collage using Adobe Photoshop (I have this technique saved as an action script), and I shot these photos using a Nikon D100.
View all my photos of Austin >>

kimikazi shots

This weekend, I helped celebrate one of my best friend's thirtieth birthday parties.  The cake matches her dress and her list-addicted personality.  The drinks were her very own (see the cocktail menu photo).  I bonded with her sister, who lives all of three minutes from where we'll be living in Austin.  The Suitor was away in Boston for a camp reunion.  More on his being away up next.  First, photos >>

I am not a planner. I don't like choosing the venue, planning and studying the details.  I'm not built that way.  I just want to show up and have it all done, good enough.  Nice enough.  That's fine by me.  When I get married, I cannot imagine obsessing over any details, beyond the menu.  The rest will fall into place.  I'm anything but a control freak.  Lazy.  Much better word to describe me.  It's why, in part, I think I get along so well with my friends, and with The Suitor.  Though he doesn't really like to plan either.  It's why we haven't decided what we're doing for our wedding.  A brunch.  A wine tasting dinner.  A vineyard.  We have no idea.  And I'm okay with that.  I refuse to stress over a wedding. 

Yesterday, I spent the entire day in a warehouse, sorting through furniture.  What will we take with us to Austin?  We sorted it out, though nothing is as I want it.  Mismatched furniture.  Something of his, a bit of mine.  Nothing goes.  It's thrown together.  But there's no sense in buying new furniture for a rental.  There really should be more design shows and books on furnishing a rental. Design is one thing I don't want to be lazy about.  Home, for me, needs to be comforting and serene.  A place that soothes me.  And it doesn't just come down to the voices I hear at the end of the day when I walk in the door.  It comes down to color, mood, and balance.  Lighting.  My surroundings influence my productivity and happiness.  And since I'll soon be vacating my surroundings and all that I know, I hope home is at least "me."  But that's not how I should be thinking.  Home should be "us."  I'm working on trying to be less selfish.  But it's hard!  Man floppy leather sofas!  Everything is a compromise, except for myself.  I'm not compromising that.
 

austin

The home photos seen here--well, the first was a home FOR RENT.  $2400 /month.  In Manhattan, that gets you a small one-bedroom.  In Austin, it gets you a four-bedroom, with a majestic view, and your own private mini golf.  The other "un-home" photos are of homes with which we didn't end up moving forward (including a model home).  I love model homes; they give you so many decorating ideas (a wine rack in the bathroom for towels!).
Click to view more >>

brooklyn

Okay, I wouldn't use the word afraid because it's the wrong word.  I just don't visit Brooklyn very often.  I could say it's a convenience thing because that's what most Manhattan-dwelling women who never visit Brooklyn would say.  But it's only a short subway ride, or walk, away.  So that's a crapass excuse.  It's the idea of it.  Brooklyn.  It's another borough, and what the hell would I do once I got there?  That's what I thought.  It's what I guess I still think.  Unless I'm going to NorthSix for a concert or meeting a friend who lives there, why would I go?  Because it's something to do.  A new restaurant to try.  Yes, we know.  We all fucking know.  I told you; afraid wasn't the right word.

It's also only a subway ride to the zoo or Coney Island, but that's a damn field trip, something you plan for.  So when we who live and work in Manhattan pull the, "I don't know.  What do you want to do today?" Understand, it's an activity, something that sounds new and like a field trip, to visit Brooklyn. I wouldn't be bringing a bagged lunch.

When I was growing up on Long Island (another field trip), I'd listen to Z100 radio and hear people phone in from Brooklyn.  "Brooklyn in da house," Elvis would say to his morning listeners.  So I assumed it was full of dark-haired girls who wore their hair and jewelry too big.  Name plate jewelry.  I stopped believing it the first time I walked Smith Street and realized it felt like Boston's Newbury Street.  I try to visit somewhere new and not compare it to what I already know.  But it's hard not to draw comparisons, and to be completely honest, that was just a lie.  I've never tried not to compare places.  I never understood that thinking, the way people say you should visit somewhere, clean.  Why?  What's wrong with comparing?   

When I was dating like it was my job, I ruled men out if they didn't live in Manhattan.  It wasn't snob-factor as much as knowing myself, knowing I'd want to date someone I could see every night, without having to worry about how he'd get home.  Or if I went to his place, how the hell would I get home late at night?  Yes, taxi.  We know.  We know.  But still.  Who's finding a taxi late-night?  It's a pain in the ass dating someone who lives in another borough.  Hoboken.  It's the same deal.  It had nothing to do with the type of person and everything to do with the type of person I am.  Lazy.  Today, I wasn't lazy. 

Today I hooked it to Red Hook.  See what I did>>

scans

When I’m reading a book with an illustrated cover, something with a drawing or photograph, mid-paragraph, mid-book, I’ll consult it for some insight, to make sure I’m imagining what I should, what the author intended.  Often, I’ll check the back flap and stare at the author photo, looking for more, an answer.  Did that really happen?  Was it to you?  Is that your story?  Yeah, fiction?  Please.  Then I use the corners of the pages to clean beneath my nails.  When I'm done, I go back to picking my scalp, then smear the warm clump on a page.  I do not lend out my books for this reason, among others.  I never know when I'll need to consult one. 



above: flowers I placed on my home scanner.

I'm looking for something more than what I see in the writing, in a photo or jacket cover.  Yet I know the author rarely has much say about her cover art.  Marketing.  Focus groups.  Feedback.  They get in the way sometimes.  After working in advertising for nine years, I know a little something about it.  All those years with a scanner at my desk, and I never once thought to scan everyday objects.  Home offices are a good thing.

06

View more of the photos from the night >>

sweep the leg, johnny!

This past weekend I attended the Sumo world challenge, battle of the giants, at Madison Square Garden brought to us by "Big Boy Productions."  For once I wasn't the only one with a ponytail, wedgie, and cellulite in the room.  Admittedly, this time I was one-upped by the boys.  "The Boys" were mostly from Norway, Poland, Georgia, and Russia (or so the announcer said).  It seemed to be more of a WWF show than a traditional Sumo match, rich with tradition, streamers, and rice. 

What kind of people attend a Sumo match at The Garden?  Would spectators be Japanese or family members of an Italian nicknamed "tartufo" from Parsipany, NJ?  Mostly, the crowd was what you'd expect to see at a NY Ranger game, without the orange foam fingers and sport jerseys.  Instead, spectators tightened white headbands on and repeated, "Yes Danielson" often.  Karate was the closest they've known to Sumo.

The crowd lept to its feet in cheer for the true fatties weighing in at 419 lbs.  Though when up against a wee bit o' man, the crowd shifted its attention to the underdog, weighing in at 220 lbs.  A deep steady cheer of "Roooo-dy.  Roooo-dy," passed through the crowd.  The little guy made it to the semi-finals.  But "SU-PER-TITS" made it all the way.  Before his final round, he tucked in his sack and vagina, gave his ass cheeks a slap while lifting a leg, then pushed his opponent out of the circle. 


  View more of the photos from the night >>

young patrons society of lincoln center

Last night I attended the Second Annual Young Patrons Society Benefit.  I took the time to collect the names of guests with the recording device built into the battery pack of my Nikon D100 SLR.  This morning, while uploading photos using iPhoto, all the audio files were deleted.  I could scream, but I won't.  Instead I'll whine on the blog.  The room was resplendent, a magical view of the city, candlelit, and glowing, like the inside of a jack-o-lantern.  View the photos>>

tears of oy

There comes a point on your actual birthday where people ask you the birthday questions.  "Sooooo, how does it feel?"  I don't like this question.  It's right up there with, "Did e