Yeah that's funny.

Easter is fun…Easter with a kid is really fun.

My kid spent all day eating chocolate and cake. Turns out he loves chocolate. He liked searching for eggs, but really liked pointing to them in the yard and making us get them for him. The day was fun, the evening was interesting.

At 5 p.m. he was running laps in the back yard and manically laughing. 

By 6:00 pm he was making his father run in circles with his new push car while squealing with joy and screaming “GO!!!”.

By 7:00 pm he turned into Linda Blair. We all barely made it out alive. He was like a gremlin, who had been fed after midnight. It was insane.

Lesson learned.

This morning he woke up and ran around the house looking for more chocolate. Sorry kid, Easter happens once a year.

THANK YOU JESUS.

Mom: Oh, I wore my heels today.

Me: What heels?

Mom: You know…the ones I bought for your dad’s funeral…the sexy Jessica Simpson ones.

I’ve always hated milk. I’ve always liked Wise cheese puffs. I have always liked salad as long as it’s drenched in blue cheese dressing. I’ve also always subscribed to the “pizza can be considered healthy if you put broccoli on it” way of thinking.

Basically, I’ve never been a healthy eater. Since I was about 15 I’ve been making my own meals. My mom would do dinner some nights but usually it was whatever was ready on the go. Once I moved out of my parents house and into NYC that “eat on the go” mentality stuck. It didn’t help that I moved to the “your kitchen is too small to cook so you must buy bagels for breakfast from the corner bagel place, and pre-sliced fruit from the bodega for snack, and bad Mexican cooked by Chinese people for dinner” capitol of the world.

Moving to suburbia meant going to the grocery store and planning a meal in advance.

How? How do people do it? How does one say “Oh! On Tuesday I will want fish so I should by fish and have it ready”?

Eh, I can fake it till I make it with the best of them when it comes to my meals.

But now there is a kid.

A tiny kid who is eating bigger meals.

He needs healthy options that have been pre-determined for him. He needs me to plan and work it out for him. He needs me to make sure he hits that pyramid every day. He needs me to make him broccoli and not to just pick it off my slice of pizza.

Help.

Today I found myself eating lunch with my friends. I had planned on going out to eat so I didn’t pack anything to bring with me. When we got to the restaurant I looked down and realized I also didn’t pack anything for him.

Mother of the year.

I ordered him a hot dog and fries and sat embarrassed the entire lunch while my friends whipped out really great lunches for their little ones. I just know my kid will be the weird one in school who snorts kool aid and spits it on the wall to show the different colors he can make…all because he ingested those nitrates this afternoon at lunch.

Okay maybe not. BUT…

It’s times like this that I get blindsided. These are the small ways that your life changes when you have a baby. It’s not just “oh I can’t go to that meeting at 6…that’s when he has dinner” or “yeah, I think about poop a lot”. It’s “oh, my unhealthy eating habits only affected me. That’s not the case anymore”. He will do what I do…so I have to change it up.

BAH! Can’t it all be as easy as it was in “Baby Boom”? I mean…I do know how to make applesauce.

I am a voice over artist. I love voice overs because any random day I can be a racist alligator, a millennium mom,  a secret agent spy, or a sultry secretary…all without taking my hair down or wearing make up.

Today I was reminded once again why I love voice overs even more.

Last Friday, I got a call from an on-camera casting director asking if I was interested in being submitted to play a fun featured part on what I will call “funny very popular sitcom”. I, of course, said yes.

After some time I got a voicemail from them saying “We’ve decided to go with you! We will need some pictures and your sizes. Give us a call back so we can give you all the details”.

Excited but not super excited (I’ve learned over the years not to get excited until the contract is being signed…and then still humbly give yourself a hug and hope that little baby you just recorded airs), I called them back. This was a quick run down of the conversation-

Me: Hi it’s me!

Them: Happy Friday! Okay! So we need some candid pictures of you for wardrobe. You do comedy right? (they named the most popular comedy venue where I am indeed alumni..)

Me: Yes. Um…I have been kinda out of the loop for a little bit (internal monologue - DO NOT SAY THAT YOU HAVE A BABY. DO NOT TELL THEM YOU HAVE BEEN AWAY FROM COMEDY BECAUSE YOUR DAD DIED AND YOU HAD A BABY. DO NOT TELL THEM THAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR GRAD SCHOOL, TOOK A HIATUS FOR WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SEMESTER AND THEN YOUR LIFE KINDA FELL APART AND ONLY RECENTLY HAVE YOU STARTED TO FEEL LIKE YOU COULD GET BACK INTO IT. DO NOT NAME DROP TO SHOW THAT YOU ARE INDEED FUNNY. NAME DROPPING IS LAME. SHUT. UP.) I uh have been around though. I started doing it in like 2001 (STOP. TALKING.).

Them: Oh..okay. Anyways! So we just need your sizes and a photo of your face and a body shot. What is your size?

Me: Um. (inner monologue: DO NOT TELL THEM YOU JUST HAD A BABY. YOU SHOULD TELL THEM THAT YOU ARE LOSING WEIGHT EVERY DAY! TELL THEM THAT YOU LOOK GOOD AND PEOPLE KEEP SAYING YOU ARE SKINNY. BE PROUD OF YOUR BODY. DO NOT TELL THEM THAT YOU JUST DISCOVERED BACK FAT. DO NOT…I REPEAT DO NOT…TELL THEM THAT YOU SOMETIMES CAN SEE THE LITTLE BABY SHELF IN THE DRESSING ROOM MIRRORS WHEN YOU TRY ON TEENAGER DRESSES. DO NOT TELL THEM THAT THEY SHOULD NOT PUT YOU IN TEENAGER DRESSES CAUSE YOU LOOK STUPID IN THEM. SHUT. UP.)    I’m I guess a medium and a size 10…maybe an 8. Well 10…I guess.

Silence.

Them: Huh. OKAY! WELL…UH…..It’s between you and another girl….so get those photos to us! I mean there are several girls in the running so we will see and we will be in touch! Thank you so much~

I hung up the phone and knew that what had just happened was that she had just cast someone who was too “fat” for the role and now had to go back to the drawing board. 

I later got an email saying “Sorry, they went with someone else.” And that was all.

This whole exchange makes me sick. I like to think that the woman who created the “funny and very popular sitcom” that I would have possibly been on would be sick over it too. I would like to think that people would get mad when they hear this…and they do because they love me…but we all know that’s how it is in entertainment and no one can do anything about it. We all just respond with a sickly sweet “Thank you for thinking of me! Next time!”.  It’s infuriating.

After I received the email I got really sad about the whole exchange. I felt gross and untalented. I wanted to call her and say “Look I’m really freaking funny. I can give you numbers of other really freaking funny people who will back me up on this”. Or to say “Look, I just had a baby. Cut me some slack. You won’t be disapointed. I’ll wear spanx.”

But why? I honestly don’t care if that lady ever knows how funny I am or how skinny I have become over the past couple months. I know how to blackout a scene, I can throw down on stage with the best of them, and I can “yes and” your ass until it’s as wide as mine. I know this, and I know that I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been. I’m losing weight cause I am running and eating healthy. I like who I am and who I think I’m becoming.

Tonight as I was doing my very best vocal character work while introducing my son to his new bath toys. I realized I may not be in some sitcom checking off another dream to be lived. Instead, I am a mom, a really really talented mom. I was ashamed to admit that to the casting director for fear that she would take the part away…I think that’s the worst part of it all. I was scared to admit that I was a mom.

But I am a mom. I have hips that are a little bigger, a pant size that is a little bigger, a resume that is a little smaller (only a little), but also a life that is so so so much bigger.

I hope whomever got the part after all of that is really excited to film tomorrow and knocks it out of the park and that just like in the movie “Soap Dish” she becomes a key character on the show and wins an Emmy. Cause I figure that’s what would have happened to me…am I right? I did have this daydream and I am not ashamed to admit it.

Too bad I’m too fat for T.V. but thank God there is always radio…

This is Eddie.

Eddie is my son’s best buddy and has recently gone missing. We aren’t sure if he has run away, is lost, or was left somewhere. We have called the toy police but they said they can’t help us until after the holidays due to the lack of presence on the force (we have no police man toys). I told my son I would post on my blog so that everyone we know would take a moment to familiarize themselves with Eddie and his horrible hair in the off chance they run into him and can make sure he is returned to his rightful home.

Personally, I think he took off. The kid has always had a devilish look about him. Never really could trust him. And what’s with the frog?

Anyways, if you see Eddie you tell him I’m looking for him. He’s got a lot of explaining to do.

Being an actor I could say that the sound of applause from a crowd is one of my favorite noises.

Basically, nothing beats a theater filled with people silently waiting to react to the scene they are watching…except when they react and the place becomes electric. Magic.

Or so I thought.

As I finished my amazing R&B rendition of “twinkle twinkle little star” (in the key of baby face). I opened my eyes (when I sing lullaby’s I close my eyes) to see my kid sitting in my lap smiling at me and clapping his hands.

It was the both the quietest applause I have ever heard and yet knocked me down like I was the winner of (insert musical competition show here).

Watch out kid. Now that I know you think some performances are worthy of applause I’m gonna get out my old song book.

Wait till he hears my version of “Big Spender”.

So today my dad should be 60. I imagine he would have gotten a kick out of being able to finally say he was an old fart.

Sunday night I was running to the grocery store to get ingredients for some white chicken chili (it was cold and we needed some spicy chili in our house). I left Caton with the little guy to feed him dinner and get him in his bath. As I got into the car and turned the keys I heard the end of what sounded like a commercial break and then immediately heard the familiar sound of steel drums. “Margaritaville” was playing on the radio.

When you are in Florida you may hear that little tune all the time, but during the fall in NJ…not so much. So I turned it up and smiled as I drove..I didn’t sing a long I just listened. In a weird way, I felt like he was with me in the passenger seat listening with me and I loved every second of that song.

I’ll never get over losing him, but boy was I lucky that 60 years ago he came into this world.

Happy Birthday you old fart.

My kid and I are in a fight. He is in a bad mood and keeps yelling at me and I keep smelling butternut squash from lunch on his breath.

I seriously think that this afternoon has forever changed the way I feel about that smell. It used to smell like fall and velvety yummy time. Now it smells of frustration and snot bubbles.

Thanks kid. Thanks a lot.

(Even though we are in a fight I still love you very much)

So I have secretly decided that I would like to train for the Disney half marathon in February.

Why secretly? 

I’m scared.

I was supposed to do this before. I had gotten into the NY half marathon two years ago. I also was supposed to go on a week long Disney vacation with friends. The night before we flew out to the magic kingdom I got a call that would change everything. My father was dying and had less than a couple days to live.

My husband and I flew down to Florida the next morning with our friends. They went to Disney, we went to say goodbye to my dad. It sucked. When something like that happens you tend to take it out on someone…I took it out on the mouse.

Not to long after my father passed away I found out that I was expecting my son…and decided to put running dreams at bay for awhile. Being pregnant did not mesh with distance training…It was a time to sit on the couch eat as many whoppers as I could and to watch “For Keeps” on repeat.

Almost a year and a baby later it turns out there is a half marathon that occurs on my birthday weekend at Disney.

My inner narcissist is screaming “THIS IS FOR YOU! What are the chances!?!! This is your chance to gain peace with that freaking mouse and to finally run that race”.

My inner child is screaming “Don’t. It’s too hard. You might cry through the whole race.”

Screw it.

I’m gonna register.

This is the deal that one of the restaurants down the street offers.

You can get burritos, tacos, salad, and drink…whatever you heart desires. For only twenty dollars…for FOUR people.

My husband and I are such pigs that we order this at least once a month and when we call we pretend that we have a full house of children who would also like to eat this food with us. 

Really, it’s just the two of us. Now that we are living in suburbia with a baby we’ve got to get our kicks any way we can. So our kicks come in the form of tricking the mexican joint down the street to get a lot of food. Then we gorge our faces out while we watch some show that I love and he hates…but secretly loves. 

I digress.

This is how our scam goes:

“Hi thank you for calling Mexican land. How can I help you?”

(Weak voice filled with shame) “Hi…uh…I’d like to order for delivery from your Jackson menu…”

“Great. What can I get for you?”

“Ummm…I want a chicken burrito. My husband would like a chicken burrito….umm..my kids would like a chicken burrito each and a side of rice and beans.” (nervous giggle)

“Okay great! It will be there in ten minutes (not really but I wish it would)”

“Okay!! GREAT!! HA. OKAY!” High five to Caton as we giggle because they haven’t figured us out yet.

These people do not care why I order four burritos or how many people actually eat them…in fact it’s probably cheaper to order two burritos.

I’m going for a run.