I knew blogging was a bad idea.

Sometimes I obsess on things, really obsess on things, even random things, even in my sleep. This was the case the other night. Around 3 am, I half-awoke frustrated and unable to fully wake and unable to fully escape the dream that had been playing over and over in my head. The dream was not a story, it was an image of Zach Braff, that continually dissolved to an image of Brent, then back to Zach and back to Brent. CONTINUOUSLY. Driving me MAD in my sleep. And I kept commenting continuously. “Brent is way better looking than Zach Braff.” “Zach Braff looks like an koala with lip injections.” Zach Braff looks like lizard with lip injections.” ” Brent is way better looking than Zach Braff” “Zach Braff looks like a horse with lip injections.” “Zach Braff looks like a fish with lip injections.” And on and on. In my sleep, I was trying to find the perfect animal comparison to Zach Braff and every animal had lip injections. And until I found that animal, I was not going to be able to quit obssessing. I tried to wake up, but couldn’t. I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t. I kept, in my half sleep, trying to convince my subconscious that this was about the stupidest dream I could be dreaming. Around 5 am I fell into a deep sleep. The next morning I was exhausted. I spent a few minutes trying to figure out why Zach Braff’s face ruined my night. I have never watched Scrubs. I saw Garden State. But that’s it. I have never disliked him. I’m still not sure what animal, I think he resembles. I’m leaning towards a rhino. I’m not sure what I had against him that night. I haven’t thought about him much since. And I do really think Brent is cuter than Zach Braff. But of course, I’m biased! In my eyes, Brent is the most beautiful man on the planet. Oh yeah, I have gotten a kick out of finding animal resemblences in people since I was a kid. When I was in 4th grade, I wanted to be called mouse. Whatever.

To Nathanael
Sept 18, 2006

Today, I had a “bad mommy moment”. I lied to you. As you know, sugar can make me a bit irrational. After we got home from school, I was sitting in the van because Noey had fallen asleep when suddenly it came, the sugar crave. “Luckily”, I remembered there was a zip lock bag with three Twizzlers sitting on top of the refrigerator just waiting to be consumed. I had been watching them for a few days and figured since no one had asked for them, you and Noah, which ever they belonged to, had forgotten about them. So, I went into the house. Relieved to see they were still on the fridge, I grabbed them and tucked them up under my shirt. Nonchalantly, I went back to the van, where I devoured them as if they were the last waxy sugary licorice sticks, I love so much, on the planet. Satisfied, I went back to reading, “Waiting for Godot.” Wouldn’t you know, about ten minutes later, I hear you coming in distress, down the sidewalk around the corner of the house to the van.
“Mom, do you know where my Twizzlers are? They were on top of the refrigerator?”
“What Twizzlers?”
“They were on top of the refrigerator.”
“You had Twizzlers?”
I wanted to tell you the truth so badly, but inside I panicked. Your big brown eyes were already showing signs of stress and I was afraid that you would throw a tantrum. But most of all, I was deeply embarrassed by my lack of self control and now lie. I didn’t want to expose the sugar monster I was to you and I didn’t want to see the disappointment in your eyes.
“Yeah, they were on top of the refrigerator”, you urgently continued to press.
“I’m not sure. Didn’t the ice cream truck just go by?” I said trying to distract from the missing Twizzlers.
“Yes, Daddy said it wasn’t Sugar Saturday. Why do we have to have Sugar Saturday?”
Relieved you had forgotten the Twizzlers for a second I said quickly, “Why don’t we have a treat later?”
“Okay,” you say and head inside.
Later, when I came in, I went to Daddy’s office and told him what had happened. Of course, he was disappointed and told me it was best to confess my wrong to you. But first, I had to go to 7-eleven to purchase a peace offering, a fresh pack of Twizzlers.
You were sitting on the chair in the living room when I said I need to talk to you. I sat down on the ottoman facing you and said, “Mommy did a bad thing today.”
“What?” you said with a curious smile that was trying not to smile.
“You know when I said I didn’t know where you Twizzlers were? Well I did, and I ate them.”
Without hesitation and ever so earnestly you said, “That’s okay. I forgive you.”
I was moved by your quick willingness to forgive, when I had committed what I knew in your eyes to be a heinous crime, and my eyes began to tear. I pulled out the pack of Twizzlers from 7-eleven and said, “I got these for you to share with your brother.”
Through tears you replied, “That’s okay. You can have them.”
“No sweetie, I got them for you.”
“How much did they cost?” you asked, upset because I was upset.
“About fifty cents.”
“I will give you fifty cents.”
“No sweetie. Mommy was wrong and I want you to have them.”
You smiled a genuine smile of delight and pulled one off and handed it to me. I cannot find the words to express how proud I was of your character at that moment.

When I am breaking down a scene for an acting class or an audition, I look for the characters motivation. What is causing them to speak and behave as they do? Well right now, I’m totally clueless as to my motivation for starting a blog. A friend of mine said blogging sometimes felt like a job. What!!! A job!!! Noooo!!! I, like everyone else I know, am pressed for time as it is. Right now, I should be tucked in my bed getting my beauty rest, so I don’t have to lay on the couch for ten minutes with cold green tea bags over my eyes trying to get rid of puffiness while my boys snicker and point at me like I have booger the size of a raisin dangling out of my nose. My motivation must be love, I guess. Love for my husband and my boys. If that love gets me writing down stories from their lives, then that’s all I need, no one has too ever read it. But if that was my only motivation wouldn’t I just keep a journal? So it must be a love from my family and friends. I say “from” instead of “for” because I am blessed to be loved by so many people who might care to know about what happened while I waited 10 minutes to get a sample of penne pasta with mushroom sauce at Trader Joes. And then maybe there’s a wee wee bit of self love too, because sometimes, not often, but occasionally, I have a fleeting thought of, “Hey, I am kind of cool even if it’s an awkward cool and I can, on rare occasions, be witty!” For those who have heard me criticize blogging…well…I put my foot in my mouth.