(Just pretend it’s Monday, okay?)

There is no 'before' picture. Imagine this looking like a room in a frat house, with light purple, dirty walls.

We’re giving the girls’ playroom a makeover because it’s time.  I’d become incapable of entering the room because I was afraid of what I’d find – mostly, kids lying horizontally on the trundle bed, eating crumbly food, watching inappropriate television, while dirty socks, moldy shoes, shin guards, and unidentified objects lurked beneath, and random art supplies stained the walls and carpet.  In a word: disgusting, or two words: health department.

I put on my hazmat gear two Sundays ago and started the clean up.  Before long, I came across the photo albums.  The next thing I knew, it was March.  It’s not my fault.  They’re like heroin, those albums.  As soon as you start looking through them, you can’t stop.  And there’s no methadone equivalent.  You either quit cold turkey because your family has fallen apart without you, or you grow old looking at pictures of your young self, or photos of your children when they were babies.  Where the hell did the time go?!  Damn, those girls were adorable, and boy did Miss T have a big head.

If you’re serious about getting anything done around the house, don’t get near the photo albums.  They’re different than iPhoto, where I’ve stored countless pictures, because iPhoto wasn’t around when Goldie was born or when Bun Bun got her first tooth or when my hair was still naturally red.  How many times have you come across a picture of your former self and thought, “I was so thin”?  And then contemplate the work it would take to be that thin again?  We all looked like puppies in those photos, scrubbed and fresh and young.  It’s taking everything in my power not to get up now and get back to thumbing through the pages.  Honestly, they’re that addictive.

I also came across the board books I refuse to dispose of because they defined my early years as a mother.  Miss Spider’s Tea Party was the first book I read to Goldie.  I can transport myself back into the corner of our old couch, Goldie curled up in my lap, tapping the pages of The Big Red Barn, urging me to read it ‘again, again’.  I won’t let go of Margaret Wise Brown’s Runaway Bunny either.  I always got a lump in my throat reading that one: “If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.” Sniff, sniff.  Moo, Baa, La, La, La.  Is Your Mama a Llama? Sendak’s Nutshell Library, Boynton’s It’s Pajama Time, Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar. There’s no way I’m throwing away Ian Falconer’s Olivia, even if the dog snacked on its corners.  I have my brother’s collection stacked neatly together – Metropolitan Cow, Friday Night at Hodge’s Café, The Pink Refrigerator, and nearly 14 others (look him up – Tim Egan).

There were CDs among the mess, too.  The one from our first Music Together class is staying.  Goldie sang “The Old Oak Tree” sitting in her car seat hundreds of time.  “Silly Songs” by Sesame Street.  “Broadway Kids”.  And then Francie Kelley’s “Wake Up and Go to Sleep” really brought me back.  Ten years ago, we sang along to the first track, “Ce Ce Te Nana” endlessly.  When we were invited back then to a mini-concert at the local bookstore by a mom at the girls’ new school, I scrunched my face when they started singing that song.  Turned out Francie Kelley was the mom and our world got smaller.  My daughters fell asleep to “Kiss the Moon and Stars Goodnight”, whether they were home or in the car.  Last week, after coming across all this nostalgia, Francie sent me her new CD for review, “Where Do You Want To Go Today?” and after listening, I can tell you I want to go to Africa, Hawaii, Jamaica, and back to Ireland.  She writes about them all, with a sound toddlers and new moms will love.  I sniffled again after hearing the short last track, “Mother’s Prayer” – you’ll have wings of your own; may they bring you safely home.  Stab me in the heart.

On “Modern Family” recently, Clare is caught inhaling baby Joe’s newborn smell.  I get it.  Sometimes, it’s nice to go back, to recall the beginnings of parenthood, the potential, the hopes, even the madness of it all.  Sifting through the flotsam and jetsam of the playroom, I was reminded of whom my daughters were, and then knocked off my feet by what they’ve become (or maybe it was the flattened soccer ball I stepped on).  My eighth-grader Goldie was just accepted to high school with honors and scholarships.  I am blessed.

The room was painted over the weekend and the carpet cleaner is coming today.  The furniture will be different.  The girls are ten, eleven, and thirteen – past the term ‘playroom’ or ‘playdate’.  (I never once said ‘inside voice’.)  We’re moving forward, so what do I call it now?  ‘Den’ has been taken.  ‘Rumpus room’?  I’m open to suggestions.

I’ve been distracted since Mom died – by actual commitments too many to list, and then just distracted.  It’s hard to explain.  I sat down to write my end of the year list of things I loved in 2012, and then went and did ten loads of laundry instead.  I tried again and then went and hung some pictures.  Once more in front of the laptop and instead of sharing with y’all that I loved “Silver Linings Playbook” and Julian Barnes’ The Sense of an Ending, I took the dogs for a walk and vacuumed.

There are moments.  They last about ten seconds.  I catch a sob.  The other night, Bun Bun wanted some ice cream (even though it’s freezing here by SoCal standards) and I scooped some Dulce de Leche from the pint I took from Mom’s freezer the day after she died.  We had to clean out the fridge and we were raised to be frugal and not waste food, so I took several items back to our house.  We’ve already eaten the frozen chicken (after I cooked it, naturally) and the unopened bag of pita chips (after I opened them, duh) and I was fine.  But scooping the ice cream got to me.  So did pulling out of the Ralph’s parking lot the other day, benignly.  And oh, I was making a sandwich on Monday and realized Mom is never walking in my front door again.  Not ever.  As Taylor Swift would say, “Like ever.”  (I didn’t love that song, by the way.)

I was busier over the holidays than I can recall in my adult life and when I found myself complaining about anything, I’d think, “No.  I don’t want to be that person.”  And while I’m past making resolutions, I did stop to consider 2013 as the year of getting on with things.  Mom’s best quality was that she did stuff rather than talk about it (except the diets she always started on Mondays).  It’s honestly what I most admire in anyone, it seems – the ability to live life rather than think about it.  But here’s the rub.  I’m a writer and therefore live much of the day in my head.  I’m behind on a project because of this distraction that hovers over and around me like a squishy force field.  (I’ll work on my similes.)  So what’s a girl to do?  Is there a cathartic cry I haven’t allowed?  Buried emotions I can’t access?  Exactly how does losing one’s mother evolve?

I know the answer to that question.  It just does.  Grief develops itself.  But it’s been four weeks since I’ve written here at Daily Cup and I wanted to explain myself, for myself.

I’m distracted.

But for the record, and off the top of my head -

Favorite songs of 2012:

- Ne-Yo, “Let Me Love You”

- Gotye, “Somebody That I Used to Know”

- anything by P!nk

- anything by Rihanna (even the “Diamonds” song they won’t stop playing)

- Mumford & Sons, “I Will Wait”

- Passion Pit, “Take a Walk”

- Imagine Dragons, “It’s Time”

- The Wanted “Glad You Came”

- The Lumineers “Ho Hey”

- Alicia Keys, “Girl on Fire” (and I mean, ON fire)

- Ed Sheeran “The A Team”

- and the most fun I had listening to a song this year – Nicki Minaj’s “Starships”

(Can you tell I listen to the radio?)

Some books I read worth mentioning (for better or worse):

- the aforementioned The Sense of an Ending by Julian Barnes was quietly moving

- Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex from 2004 had one of the most likable protagonists, how could you not like this book?

- I’ve never laughed out loud harder and more consistently than when I was reading Tina Fey’s Bossypants (from 2011)

- The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon (2000) is expertly written and mostly entertaining, but too dense for my busy taste

- Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl disappointed in the end but getting there was super fun

- I finished Yann Martell’s Life of Pi the night before I watched the movie and thought it was one of the best film adaptations of a wildly original story that I can remember seeing

- Can’t say the same about “The Hunger Games”.  The book by Suzanne Collins (2008), was far superior to the movie – disturbing, sad, triumphant – though Jennifer Lawrence is Katniss.

- I couldn’t finish Karen Russell’s Swamplandia! (2011).  Well written but I couldn’t get my head around the story, or care.

- Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried (1990) is on must-read lists for a reason.  Its straightforward yet lyric depictions of Vietnam in separate-but-related stories illuminates again why war is bad, bad, bad.

- Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly is my favorite self-help book ever (I’ve read about four.)  Inspiring.

- Short stories by authors like Sherman Alexie, Amy Hempel, Antonya Nelson, Junot Diaz, David Foster Wallace, Aimee Bender, Thomas McGuane – among many others -  continue to demonstrate why I love the form.  It’s more fulfilling than reading People Magazine and takes about the same amount of time.

- I’m happy to say I read more books than those mentioned here, though they’re not necessarily worth mentioning themselves.

Movies:

My personal cinema score would be about a 3 on a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of the number of movies I saw, so keep in mind I haven’t yet watched “My Sister’s Sister”, “Lincoln”, “Django Unchained”, “Skyfall”, or “Beasts of the Southern Wild”.  We’re busier in this house every year.  That said:

“Silver Linings Playbook” made me happy – a quirky romance, an unexpected plot device, football fanaticism – it was complete, for me.

So was “Argo”.  I enjoy most movies that teach me about something I’ve forgotten the details of.  This story, of course, was previously unknown.  I’m aware Ben Affleck manipulated the tension in the end and I didn’t care.

I would have directed “Les Miserables” differently than Tom Hooper (not so dark, not so many close-ups, the prostitute scene was too stage-y) but STILL.  It was grand and moved me in ways most movies don’t.  Amanda Seyfried has the voice, truly, of an angel.  Hugh Jackman’s eyes say it all.

“Zero Dark Thirty” should have been 25 minutes shorter, but Kathryn Bigelow makes these films (including “The Hurt Locker”) exactly as they should be made – straightforward, non-manipulative, thorough.  The controversy over the torture scenes is fabricated.  There are torture scenes; Bigelow makes no comment on them.  We’re the audience.  That’s up to us.

I saw “Pitch Perfect” more than once because often, when I feel good about something, I want more of it.  Who cares if it was a feature version of “Glee”?  I love “Glee” for the same reason I loved “Pitch Perfect” – the music.  And Rebel Wilson is a riot.

“The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” took me to India and for that, I’m grateful.  Transport me, while simultaneously entertaining me with the likes of Maggie Smith, and I’m good.

It was nearly impossible to watch “The Impossible” but it must be named among the best movies I saw.  Based on a true story about a family who struggled after the 2004 Indonesian tsunami, I couldn’t help but think, “What if that were us?”  Surely there’s a special filmmaking award for the tsunami scene(s) itself.

I don’t always go in for Wes Anderson, but “Moonrise Kingdom” was what I needed several weeks ago when I watched it.  Quirky in ways that only served to entertain me, there are few films with Frances McDormand that I don’t like.  Anderson’s washed-out “Instagram” film stock effect was perfect.

Won’t see “The Sessions” or “Amour”.  Can’t do it.  Not now.

Television:

I watched one new show last year – “Veep” – and can’t wait until it’s back.  Laugh out loud funny.  I added “New Girl” because everyone should.  I became further addicted to “Homeland”.  My other regulars: “Modern Family”, “The Daily Show”, “The Good Wife”, “Downton Abbey”, “30 Rock”, “Nurse Jackie”, “Glee”, “Mad Men” and “Justified”.  What I would like to add: “Parks and Recreation”, “Children’s Hospital”, and “Girls”.  I promise to lock myself in the closet one of these days and power through all sixteen seasons of “Breaking Bad” because I know if I don’t, my friends will abandon me.

It’s nice to be back, folks.  Having recently watched President Obama’s speech on new gun control ideas, aided by Veep Joe Biden, 2013 must be OUR year (that means you and me) to eliminate as many guns in this country as possible.  Despite Wayne LaPierre’s idea that a good guy with a gun is the answer to a bad guy with a gun, LESS GUNS MEANS LESS DEATH, regardless of who is holding the weapon.  About 35 percent of Americans have a gun in their house, which means most of us are not owners.  There is a strong historical foundation for majority rule in this country and 65 percent is beyond even a super majority.  There are approximately 4 million members of the NRA.  The U.S. population is over 300 million.  Do the math.  What are you waiting for?  Email your congressional representative.  NOW.  You don’t want to look your child in the eye ever and tell them you didn’t do anything to help prevent gun violence.  Trust me, you don’t.  Pass the word.  Pass it often and quickly.

I’ll be back.

It’s a good bet that headline will be repeated, even though it’s kinda lame.  When I say ‘lame’, am I being insensitive to anyone who has a problem with their legs?  Including my mother who contracted polio at a young age and walks with a noticeable limp?  I digress…again.

I first saw “Pitch Perfect” at summer’s end when I dubbed it “Bridesmaids” meets “Glee”.  The fact that NPR repeated this description proves that I am, occasionally, very clever.  About the movie…

Unlike “Bridesmaids”, which dove right into hysterical shenanigans, “Pitch Perfect” takes a little more time – about two minutes.  From there, the movie possesses a quiet confidence building its characters and plot, so while the laughs don’t come fast and furious, they do arrive, usually wrapped inside Rebel Wilson as Fat Amy, and around Anna Camp as uptight Aubrey.  They support Anna Kendrick as “whatever” Beca, a slightly alternative, criminally cool, wannabe music producer who must attempt a stab at higher education to appease her father, a professor at the college where she arrives to begin her first year.  Hustling out of her dorm room with new roommate Kimmy Jin to escape her father’s hovering, she runs into members of the Barden Bellas, an all-girls a cappella group looking to fortify their ranks.  After Beca rejects their advances, she’s caught red-handed one night singing in the shower by Chloe (a charming Brittany Snow) who convinces her to try out for the group.  And we’re off!

Kudos go to Kerry Barden and Paul Schnee, the movie’s casting directors, who put together an ideal combination of mostly unknown, though highly accomplished actors (Grammy Award-winning songwriter Ester Dean is solid), who understand where the focus is in each scene.  Though Wilson nearly steals the show, Kendrick’s lovely, intriguing singing voice leaves you wanting more.  From Elizabeth Banks (who also produced) and John Michael Higgins as emcees for the a cappella competition to Skylar Astin as the love interest, from Adam DeVine as the pompous leader of the Bellas main competition to John Benjamin Hickey as Beca’s father, the cast is as perfect as the title suggests.

Camp’s Aubrey wants to redeem herself and the Bellas after last year’s unexpected choke during the collegiate a cappella finals at Lincoln Center.  With help from Chloe, she pulls together a ragtag group of young women and attempts to form something that resembles a cohesive whole, with varying degrees of success.  Astin’s Jesse is getting his feet wet with the competition, Barden College’s Treble Makers, while simultaneously trying to woo Beca.  But she’s a tough one.  Burned by her parents’ divorce and mostly sullen, she doesn’t give it away…unless it’s about her music.

Director Jason Moore helmed “Pitch Perfect” with a winning momentum – with help from screenwriter Kay Cannon (based on the book by Mickey Rapkin) – taking care to find laughs in unexpected moments while focusing on the talents of his singing cast.  Current hits from Nicki Minaj, David Guetta, Bruno Mars, and others are littered throughout the movie and, as is often the case with “Glee”, often sound better covered and mashed up than their original versions.  Take a look at this promo video for the movie for a taste of a cappella goodness.

“Pitch Perfect” is a comedy with singing.  We’re treated to both, equally, with one serving the other in ways both endearing and unpredictable.  The audience last night at the premiere seemed grateful for a chance to walk out of a movie smiling, ready to recommend, anxious to recall favorite moments.  I won’t give anything away by telling you mine.  See the movie and choose your own.

In select theatres this Friday, September 28^th.  Opening everywhere October 5^th.

The term comes from Theodore Roosevelt, who wrote:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the

man who points out how the strong man

stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could

have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually

in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat

and blood, who strives valiantly;

who errs and comes short again and again;

because there is not effort without error

and shortcomings; but who does actually

strive to do the deed; who knows the great

enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends

himself in a worthy cause,

who at the best knows in the end the triumph

of high achievement and who at the worst,

if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly…”

I’ve confessed in the past to not enjoying self-help books, mostly because I believe I don’t have the time to help my self.  I now understand that that perception is a crock of shit.  Of course I have the time.  Self-improvement is practiced in moments, not 24/7 cycles.  We are human, after all.

I just finished Brené Brown’s book Daring Greatly, which I was asked to review by BlogHer (so consider that my disclaimer).  It was a quick read except for those moments when I had to put the book down in order to sob.  Yeah, it’s one of those.

Who wants to talk about shame and vulnerability?  Raise your hands.

According to Brown, and she makes a convincing argument considering the years of research she’s done as a professor of social work, shame is the root of all evil.  She never once quite said it in those words, but this is my review and not hers.  And I agree with her.  Once I thought it was money, then lawyers, but nope – it’s SHAME.  Her definition: “Shame is the fear of disconnection – it’s the fear that something we’ve done or failed to do, an ideal that we’ve not lived up to, or a goal that we’ve not accomplished makes us unworthy of connection.” Connection, of course, has everything to do with love and belonging – the two aspects of life we seek, consciously or not, more than any others.

For men, in a nutshell, shame is being or appearing weak.  For women, shame is not being able to do it all while fitting into a size 6 dress (a 2 or 4 to some).  We all experience it on different levels and it never feels good.  More than that, it stops us from living a Wholehearted life.  I capitalized ‘Wholehearted’ because Brené Brown does and I want to be like her, just as I wanna be like Mike.  Remember the Gatorade commercial?  Michael Jordan is full of quotes that fit neatly into living life in spite of shame: “I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career.  I’ve lost almost 300 games.  Twenty-six times I’ve been trusted to take the game-winning shot and missed.  I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life.  And that is why I succeed.”

Last weekend, our little Neil family went to the school picnic.  It was Africa-hot, or as I’ve recently discovered, Phoenix-hot.  Record-setting temperatures.  Most of the kids made a beeline for the pool and the water slide. Several of the dads joined them…and me.  Not once since Goldie was in kindergarten did I even bring my suit with me to these gatherings, but I got a wild hair last Saturday and decided I would only survive the afternoon if I got wet.  I’m not using myself as an example of profound confidence, or as a woman who looks good in a two-piece.  I wear a one-piece with swim shorts and if it was comfortable to go in the water fully clothed, I’d opt for that.  Me heading down the water slide last weekend and then getting in the pool was a one-off.  What I’m trying to say is that I have shame about my body and it’s prevented me from doing all sorts of things over the years, too many to name.  Clearly, judging from the lack of other mothers in the pool, I’m not alone.  But here’s what I got from the experience, aside from not melting in the hot sun: at least one of my children, maybe two, thought I was kinda cool.  We connected, and whether I was aware of it at the time or not (I wasn’t), I was demonstrating shame resilience, or as Brené Brown calls it: vulnerability.  “Vulnerability is not knowing victory or defeat, it’s understanding the necessity of both; it’s engaging.  It’s being all in.”  It’s putting ourselves out there.  It’s taking chances.  It’s trying regardless of the outcome.  It’s daring greatly.

I’ll leave you with a few quotes from Daring Greatly but not before recommending to you Brené Brown’s TED talks and this book.  Published by Gotham, September 2012.  Remember, I don’t like self-help books but Brown earned my praise and respect in part because her conclusions are based on extensive research, culled from data.  She also appears to be someone I’d enjoy hanging out with.

“When we spend our lives waiting until we’re perfect or bulletproof before we walk into the arena, we ultimately sacrifice relationships and opportunities that may not be recoverable, we squander…those unique contributions that only we can make.”

“Perfectionism is not the key to success.  In fact, research shows that perfectionism hampers achievement…”

“Perfection is the enemy of done.” – from Andrea Scher

“I am not what has happened to me.  I am what I choose to become.” – from Carl Jung

“Who we are and how we engage with the world are much stronger predictors of how our children will do than what we know about parenting.”

Now skedaddle and get thee to a bookstore.  (That’s not a quote.  That’s me telling you what to do.)

Is it possible that I remember Mother Teresa being swiftboated by a few misguided folks when it came to discussing her path to sainthood?  Can you imagine?  Anyhow, this morning at my daughters’ school, they recited her “Anyway” poem:

People are often unreasonable, illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank, people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you’ve got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis, it is between you and your God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

On this journey I call ‘parenthood’ (What do you call it?  Insanity?  Stupidity?  What the f*** was I thinking?), I so appreciate those like Mother Teresa who took the time to write down words of inspiration and guidance that we can shove into our children’s faces at those moments when we are utterly bereft of wisdom.  I’m not one of those moms who send their children off to school, instructing them to “make good choices”.  I’m more practical and specific: “Did you put deodorant on?  Is that shirt clean?”  I trust that somehow I’ve shown them what judicious decisions look and feel like, but then I hear this poem and I’m filled with some doubt.  The husband and I are raising them but we’re not done yet.  They’re not done yet.  So in this great big village where Goldie, Bun Bun, and Miss T are growing up, I’m grateful for Eleanor Roosevelt: “You must do the thing you think you cannot do”; Mahatma Ghandi: “We must be the change we wish to see in the world”; St. Matthew: “Don’t hide your light under a bushel” (totally paraphrasing); Winston Churchill: “Continuous effort, not strength or intelligence, is the key to unlocking our potential”; Julia Child: “The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook”; and Dr. Seuss: “You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.  You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.  So be sure when you step, step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act”.  There are plenty of others and I thank them all.  In the heat of a motherhood moment, it’s difficult to stop and have a thought, let alone a deep one.

On an entirely different subject, we saw “The Book of Mormon” Saturday night.  Now there’s a touring company that probably won’t spend a lot of time in the flyover states.  Irreverent doesn’t even begin to describe this musical.  I laughed my ass off.  Crazy and inappropriate is right up my alley.  Oh, and those guys from “South Park” have a point to make, too.

Did anyone watch Serena Williams beat that other woman Sunday in the U.S. Open final?  Her name is Victoria Azarenka and she squeals/moans every time she hits the ball.  It’s a riot, until it’s not.  Watch.

The NFL officially started last Wednesday, but yesterday felt more like the real thing.  My Jets beat Buffalo handily as Mark Sanchez finally remembered how to throw a touchdown pass, and we’re in second place for the weekend in our football pool.  If Oakland wins tonight, we’ll share first place and split the prize money.  Were it not blazing hot here, I’d be totally happy.

The photo I’ve included today is one I took last year when Shelby turned around from her lookout at the window in our office.  I thought she looked like Mother Teresa so I took a picture.  If nothing else, Shelby is very wise.