viola davis

I read this wonderful profile of Viola Davis where she just gave it everything. She was so honest, discussing her poverty, talking about what she has gone through — she has a drive to share it all, an urge to be authentic and real publicly. It’s so inspiring and makes me want to be the same in every day life.

And then, I remember, oh yeah, I’m not an Oscar-winning actress with my own major network TV show.

The rules are different, capiche?

New Museum: Pipolotti Rist: Pixel Forest

On Christmas Eve, Mom, kids, and I spent the day at the New Museum. Husband had been assigned to work that day. I copied the idea from a neighbor’s instagram. I had never heard of the artist Pipolotti Rist, but the pictures I saw posted featured children frolicking among beautiful lights. My neighbor confirmed that the exhibit was child-friendly, in that it was an hour long, and warned there was some nudity that “wasn’t too bad, just a few nipples.” Ha ha.

The first part of the exhibit was a floor-to-ceiling three screen video of underwater footage, someone swimming underwater. We could watch the film on pillows, lying on top of soft carpet. Twins were mesmerized. The next exhibit contained vines of blinking lights that changed to the beat of the music. There was a cool exhibit featuring beds for all visitors to lie in and watch a screen on the ceiling featuring a film from the bottom of a pond. That may have been my favorite, despite the fact the kids were jumping bed to bed. It was so lovely, so theatrical…and there were so very many penises. Not just like flaccid penises, but erect penises with moss growing over them (when the kids asked, I said that was a plant. Sometimes, when cornered, I admitted, yes, indeed, those were penises). One of the films featured a woman jumping up and down, her boobs flopping up and down, steady as a metronome. Every time a nude would come on screen, my mom would squeal “oh no!” and we would usher the kids to the next exhibit. Wonder Twin Boy started shouting “I SEE A PENIS! I SEE PENISES!” What could I do? Sometimes, I’m like a sitter/Grandma, and instead of reprimanding him, I shouted back to him “OH MY GOD, I SEE A PENIS TOO!”

What the heck. It’s Christmas, I thought. This one is on the house.

I didn’t have to fully get uptight by the nudity because my mom took care of that, which made me giggle. We had lunch at Whole Foods and Husband ended up getting off work early. I have no idea what the art meant, though it was so wonderful to see.

It was a great day.

to baby, or not to baby. Asking for a friend.

Relax. It’s not a question for me, although I will admit Wonder Twin Boy recently announced “I’m ready for you to have a baby.” Ha!

A friend asked whether to baby, or not baby, that is the question. She’s married. She’s got a house, a job, all the proper fixin’s but for some reason, doesn’t know. And I have no idea what to tell her. I have a colleague about to give birth to twins and it’s bringing back memories that I haven’t thought of in years. I chatted with Mom all about all the flashbacks. I just remember feeling like I was snaking tiny arms through sleeves, over and over again, sun up, sun down. Mom remembers wanting to kill the NICU nurses for urging me to visit every day from our apartment an hour away when my body was still a wreck. There were terrible moments like when Wonder Twin Boy turned blue and I ran him to an ER late on a Saturday night. I remember weeping to my childhood best friend in LA about how hard it was, and I forget what she said, but she made me laugh so hard and quoted a dad of twins she knew who said it stinks now, but there will be double happiness.

Double happiness? Um, I wouldn’t go that far, although because we have graduated from the diaper and potty training stage, because the children in school and can speak/dance/sing and come up with the most marvelous jokes, it’s better. (Of course, they also punch the heck out of each other, so…yeah.) I don’t think having a kid makes you happier–however, if you had a chance to and couldn’t decide and change your mind, then you’re in for a long miserable haul. Regret, I have read from one of the innumerable happiness books I’ve read (but this one was written by a Russian psychiatrist so I’m more likely to believe it), can greatly determine your happiness.

Also, aside from the fact that parenting is a lot of work and can be very lonesome at times, that kid might be worth their salt simply because it’s another person to love in the world. That’s not a shabby reason to have a kid. Despite the fact that Husband and I find the children tortuous at times, I can tell that we love the kids because we are both so fiercely protective of them. We had a play date this weekend where the other child pushed down on Wonder Twin Boy in his privates area. I was like WRATH OF KHAN. Last year, a father we knew pushed First Son off a fairly high platform in the playground, we think, to protect his toddler but never got clarification. Husband is still furious about it.

Perhaps, I thought, if I shared those thoughts with my friend, she can decide.

She is still undecided.

(As an aside, this picture is of the Gerber baby of the year. I told a room full of caucasian, maybe-conservative co-workers, “You guys, I’m so excited, but Gerber just chose their first Asian baby of the year ever! About damn time!” and I was greeted by crickets. I knew that would happen, and I made the comment anyway. I told my friend A. about this, how I will sometimes make a joke or a comment that I really want to make, evening knowing it might alienate my audience.)


It’s the little things.

Wonder Twin Daughter: I can count in Spanish. Want to hear me?
Me: Sure.
WTD: Uno, dos, tres, waffle, cinco, seis!
Me: Did you say “waffle”?
WTD: I just counted in Spanish.
Me: I think you said “waffle” instead of “quatro.” That is the best thing I have heard all day.