The SMD: Fudge-ing It

Four years and counting, Logan has tested out ways to demonstrate her person-hood. I think she was doing it before age two, but there's no way to know for sure. Her favorite method is to be another person all together, ironically enough. Long after the movie/t.v. show dujour is turned off, she responds with, "I'm not Logan, mama" or "who's Logan?", and then an indication as to who she is at that moment is uttered, followed by instructions on how to interact. It's adorable the first hundred times, don't get me wrong.

If you fail to address her adequately, she makes it a point to correct you and provides a dissertation on why you have to call her by her REAL name (all while in character). Not just personalities from stories she watches though, she does animals of her own creation too. Her latest is a dog named Fudge Lewis-Benson. First and last name. He's a typical dog, crawling on all fours, eating only with his mouth and he is unable to stand on his "hind legs" for very long or with any sort of balance. She commits to it, even when my patience is tested to limits unknown.

Last Thursday as I meandered around the ol' Kinder classroom helping kids with their work, Logan crawled around the free-time rug responding to questions and situations, as our favorite quadruped. The other classmates took it not unlike myself, sort of amused but a little confused (a slogan I need to put on a t-shirt for such occasions), so they began to insist that she's LOGAN, so they could get a realistic exchange from her.
Fudge grew increasingly aggravated that they wouldn't accept he was/is Fudge, not just pretending for the moment like they implied. She doesn't want to be placated, she wants full endorsement, as I know too well. She finally called everyone to attention and advised that she be referred to as FUDGE, and that it really upsets her to be called Logan. The teacher and students agreed to her demands, and Logan resumed crawling about, an air of triumphant justice about her. You have to admire the PR.

Imagination is one of the purest, most powerful abilities we have. Everything we want to do, be or have, in finest detail, ready to go wherever we take it. I'll be damned if I'll take it away from Fudge, even if it can be a crippling double-edged sword when "real" falls devastatingly short from the fantasy as an adult. As it stands, Logan is retreating to a place she feels is safe and effective when her own sensibilities might be trampled on. I'm sure we'd all enjoy that luxury if we could. I would SO decline to do any number of unjust tasks, simply because a rascally ferret named Bugonia Parsons-McMurdy was running the show.

You have to ask yourself what's important...that she be "normal" or that she feel she can handle things in her own way. I choose the latter. She's quite pleasant as a dog, quite mild-mannered, quite a mover and shaker in 1968, as Fudge tells it. Don't ask me where she got that year, but it has provided quite a few laughs. Maybe that's why she does it, to diffuse situations with laughter by way of performance art. I can think of a million other things that could be worse.

So I guess I'll be talking to animals for as long as she needs to need me to, as Logan's a sweet treat in her own right for concocting it all.

Let's Play a Love Game

Philosophically speaking, all you need is love, right? It's the most powerful, abiding, forgiving, all encompassing force we know. We start wars over it, fight for it or because of it, drag ourselves through hell for it, long for it, hate it, seek it, reflect on it, work it out, leave it behind, change with it, for it, and to keep it. We're elevated by it, crushed by it, humbled by it, terrified of it, have addictions to it (and all close facsimiles), have ideas about it, have feelings on it, are consumed by it, chase it, run from it, deny it, accept it, need it, and want it. It can move mountains, build bridges, cut all ties, bind all ties, and belongs to everyone in all it's variations. If you couldn't tell, I've been pondering the concept of "love" lately, with fascinating, thought provoking results. After all, love changes a lot from day to day, in every sense.

Every religion has a version o' what it means, how one "should" navigate it to successful end. Every person has their version or take on it (and they're all different), every living thing responds to it. There are a myriad of kinds/flavors/types. You can be "in love" with someone/thing, but that doesn't necessarily mean romantic love. Yet, when it IS romantic, you're required to be "in love" or it won't work. You can apparently fall "out of love" and no longer want someone/thing, but it's never as easy or accepted as "falling in love".

You can have "platonic" love, regarding another as a sister/brother/friend, but as soon as one of the involved parties develops anything MORE than that, it rarely carries over to both (by the nature of platonic love), but in reverse, can work.
The way a mother or father loves their child is of the purest sort (if you choose it to be), but when dealing with a significant other/lover that gave you that child, the patient, unconditional air can/often disappears, and gives way to a negative manipulation of semantics and small stuff-which in turn negatively effects the little bundle of joy-and how they themselves will know love.

Every artist is inspired by love, interpreting their version of what it is, at length and in depth, from the beginning of recorded history, the beginning of time, even. Art is often the most deferred-to expression of love (or any emotion), for presumably, it's universal incitement of visual, audio, tactile or cerebral, in an instant. But every piece is totally different in it's take on it all. Every politician has a stance on how to best demonstrate love to society (therefore leveling out society), but none can fully agree or comply to work together to show it when it's most crucial to do so. Which, is everyday.
We "love those shoes" or "love that recipe", placing such a powerful term on such trivial things, yet rarely say thanks for those commonplace things (gratitude being so integral a part of love and keeping the flow of it), so why use such a definite, infinite term for these details? Yet we do daily, without a moments pause.

True love exists and it never dies, at least even the most diversified of human beings can agree on that. When our-cherished-and at times taken for granted-specific "true love" happens to pass on/die/leave this plane of existence however, we grieve for them and that loss can shove us into the opposite of love-or indifference, hate equals passion, behind all venom and bile-even if temporarily. That arguably selfish ritual of grief can hinder other important love relationships in our lives, or even dissolve them if it gets taken too far. How does that honor their memory of what you and your love shared? It doesn't, but we feel we must.

Love is the most consistent motivator (even the other supposed true motivators money/sex are only by-products to attain love in some way ultimately, if you think about it), and truly the wisest mentor. Whether we yield it's teachings or not. Love is what we stem from, what our collective DNA is derived as a species. How wondrous, how mysterious, how vital, how exciting it is.

For months now, I've been privy to a wide spectrum of this mighty L word. Almost every shade I've ever known-and some brand new ones-have passed through my heart in flourishing intervals, leaving reformed understandings, the irrelevance of old wounds, and bright, shiny, hope behind. All of the above mentioned, is just the tip-toppiest-tip of the ice berg when it comes to the visceral IS of love. It's just thought put to words, not a feeling. I'll be damned if we don't try to verbalize and practical-ize such a broad element in our lives though, and won't ever stop, nor should we ever, perhaps. Perhaps we are just tirelessly curious to understand this behemoth of time, attention and focus, wanting to have a structure or a rule book so that our lives can be what we want, without the trial and error. Loves' true resonance, meaning and application is so jumbled and complicated. We all make it this way, not the other way around. We are all in LOVE with love for better or worse.

All the escalating musings I've heard about the "end of the world", the economic backlash, all the natural disasters that are interpreted as doom to those who deserve it, has only ever made me wonder where the Love is in those lives. If one looks around and doesn't feel compelled to be positive about it all-putting trust in the higher powers, the earth/universe, our fellow man-then one really ought not use the term "love" in relating to anything. That seems to be the resounding conclusion.

There are SO many quotes from a great many humans/entities that I use as a yardstick to my personal ever shifting application of love, but one in particular stands out in these times in my life, and in the world. It comes from a source that to name, might shift focus from the relevance of the message. So I leave you with it anonymously, to do what you will. But however/whomever/whatever you DO love...just let go. Get out of your own way, and keep letting it grow. Then maybe it won't be such a tumultuous volley back and forth, and we all win, in that case.

"...Love is not something you can do or something you can contrive. Love is something that you allow to have its movement through you and around you...This is not something you are aware of, for you have attached your vision to such a limited meaning of what Love is that you are caught in its unreality. You think Love is one body caring for another body...Love is not something that you do. In a state of Love, the one fact you are constantly and utterly aware of is that Love is something you are! And you cannot "are" something."

The SMD: Green Eyed Visitor

When multiple kids are requesting your attention, it's hard to pay mind to your own offspring sometimes. Every day of classroom time drives that one home, and upon a recent week long visit by friends from my home town in Wyoming, it was literally driven to our home. Logan being an only child, she struggles with time sharing-well, sharing in general, but we're constantly working on it-and above all, attention sharing. God love her, she puts the lousy in jealousy.


I waited an hour prior to the airport pick-up to even let her know of their forth coming visit. It's a shame she even knows the general time of year that major holidays and gift giving occasions occur, because it's the same scenario of, "How long 'til it's time? Mama! How long? THAT LONG!?!? But so...like...an hour...?" for DAYS/WEEKS on end until it really IS time. Upon hearing we would have a long time friend of mine and her three kiddos for a week (whom were some of her first friends), she was literally bouncing with excitement. After the obligatory "be a good hostess, best behavior and remember you're my number one" pep talk, she dashed off, curls flailing behind her, to draw them all a welcome picture. Hours, we've spent, discussing a playmate/pet/brother or sister for her. When she gets the chance to have one, it's always eagerly received, especially now that this particular bout will be on her turf. That always helps ease the pain, you'd think. Our jam packed agenda of (long awaited no less) Legoland, Disneyland, Chuck E. Cheese and then also beach and library to boot, didn't help her resolve, I'll grant her that. She was still enjoying herself, despite needing her own space and meltdowns to that effect. Then reality sets in.

By the third day, all the pent up "PAY ATTENTION TO ME ONLY!!!" came rushing out, and it was really upsetting for us both. It started when I fudged on the house rules a little. I let the other two girls slide off the side of the couch, flopping onto a pillow below, as they thought it was hilarious. Bending the rules on occasion is worth why we have them, I believe, and Logan knows I do it for her as the situation demands. None the less, she watched with a look of utter what-the-hell-mom-you-don't-let-me-do-that glaring on her face for a few minutes. She was also appreciative and kinda happy that the other two girls were giggling and having fun, though. She took a few turns herself, and then suggested it be my turn. She stood at my side and waited as I drew out the sliding off portion (for dramatic effect, naturally), then as soon as I made contact with the pillow, I guess it all geyser-ed out. She simultaneously laughed in a forced, high volume crazy person laugh, knocked off my hat and gouged at my eyes. She connected a pretty deep scratch right under my eye, and instinctively I pushed her off my face. I was so shocked at her behavior, I said on wavering breath, "LOGAN! I can't believe you just did that! On purpose! You really hurt my eye. Get in your room until you can apologize and be a nice girl!" I know she didn't even comprehend what she was doing/did, her automatic tears and embarrassment related that. She bellowed loudly and streaked to her room. The other two kiddos were as dumb founded as I was, wide eyed and mouths slack, looking back and forth between us and then at me, in amazement.


Logan may not be the most adjusted kid when it comes to "sibling rivalry", but she is good at listening to me when her emotions surprise her, thankfully. It took her all of a minute to come back out, fully repenting and apologetic for what she did. I took the opportunity to tell her-and the other two girls-that it's A-OK for me, her mom (an in essence their mom, as they have to share 2x over what Logan does) to have friends, to show affection and to spend time with other people. She's my number one, and she gets me (give or take) 89% of the time. There's no reason to be jealous, no reason to think I don't love her. I'm allowed, as she is, to have fun no matter how out of place it seems with others in the mix. The three listened, and really understood, I think. From then on out, I was more conscious of her feelings and attention meter, as she was of mine and theirs. Maybe she realized that she does have it good, only having to compete with others rarely, not daily. It was not for nothing, so it was worth it. Worth it, even as I cursed under my breath with every absent minded brush against the puffy red abrasion. Eye wounds are no joke, even if given by a kindergartner. Good to know.


After they said goodbye, and we reflected on an enjoyable but tiring week, I asked Logan if she missed the brood we had just bonded with. "No." she said pointedly and firmly. I knew that was a lie, as she tries to be brave and ignore messy emotion at all costs, this one. Then later that night as we cleaned-up before bed time, she said as authentically and casually as I've ever heard her say anything, "I miss Dom and Kenzie and Kaitlyn." as she picked up her stuffed animals and collected crayons. I'm proud of her for admitting it, and for letting herself be realistic about those fun little thorns in her side. I miss them too, but can't say I do of the green-eyed monster that left with them. But I do know, that if he never made a cameo, I wouldn't be doing my job too well. So I'll deal, and do my best to look at her most often, if not all the time.

Drama Nerds Dressed Up

While watching from your couch, eating pizza and volleying comparative commentary via text to your mom, awards shows are fun. The glimpses of favorite personalities, the predictions, the glamorous crescendos of an industry that touches us, should be as much of an escape as the films they recognize. The two titans of industry cred collide each year, back to back. You have the unfettered, quirky Film Independent Spirit Awards, which air the night before the no-expense-spared Oscars.

The latter has 56 years of tradition over the Spirits, and you can tell by the nods to history-centric movies they tend to honor (deservedly but predictably, that is). I myself tend towards the Spirits in the arena of importance, not just for the sake of being "anti-establishment", or because they're the self-effacing underdog by the nature of guerrilla film making (both are good reasons but are sort of disappearing), but rather for the slightly more realistic view of what it all really is. A bunch of nut-ball creative types mingling, musing and high five-ing over good work, regardless of money involved on either end.

Back in the day the studios owned the actors (let alone the technical peeps) and the award shows were the only chance to see candid celebrity stuff. Now-a-days the lines are so blurred, it seems all too self-revelatory for many-if the blogs reflect accurate stance on the matter-but we still talk about it for days, still tune in.

The Oscars are the old-money cotillion, the Spirit Awards the impromptu drama club mixer. Both are worth spectating for their respective slant.

The Spirit Awards this year (incongruously "brought to you by Acura"), honored quite a few of the exact same films that Oscar did, which has been sort of puzzling. How exactly can we honor "indie" films while they're getting stroked by the money-worshiping establishment (boosting ticket sales/hype) and in fact said movies had million plus budgets, again? But they find a way, in providing an uncensored platform for exceptional strides in film, and it's a good ride, usually. This year seemed a smidge subdued due to the frosty, windy weather us Californians aren't used to but have endured lately, and the ceremony is held in a tent, so I can understand. There were some candid gems none the less: Paul Rudd grabbing a handful of Eva Mendes' boob while announcing nominees to a room of impartial drunken clamoring (and then Rosario Dawson returning the grope for the announcement of the winner to more impartial clamoring), Best Documentary winner Exit Through the Gift Shop acceptance speech (believing in dreams is always a prevalent, welcome message), and of course Joel McHale's awkward, endearing, ownership of his gig as host.


It took the evolution of IFC for most to be aware of this event outside the biz (myself included), it's not on a major network channel, not budgeted with excess zeros but that's the whole idea. I still maintain that it should be Pay-Per-View (around $20 with your own IFC/Spirit Awards t-shirt as gift-with purchase), a portion of the proceeds going to a promising indie film up-and-comer or production team or writer. I SO would pay for that, and many purists/enthusiasts would too, for it makes you a practical, legitimate part of the show (puts the 'I' in indie if you care to venture there) and keeps it corporate affiliation free. It was another year for melding the two ever oppositional forces behind movies-To Art or To Bank-closer than ever, and I have good leads on some otherwise under-exposed work worth checking out, so it served it's most redeeming purpose.


Then last nights Oscars, moved at a slightly forced, jaunty, trot with the youthful hosts and whirlwind-y fusion of "old" and "new" Hollywood. There has always been that element of old/new, so it's not that innovative, the Academy is so far rooted in tradition it fails to see the irony in it's attempts to be fresh every year. There's never going to be a "hip" rendition of orchestral swells and fancy designer formal wear once the red carpet has been trod upon. Ain't gonna happen, and no matter who they try to please, it won't please everyone so they need to stick to allowing winners-however obscure to the general public-their time to accept their props. My mom pointed that out, in one of the many texts of fury while we watched, and I agree. Is that not the whole point?


I appreciated most Mila Kunis, Cate Blanchett, Jenifer Lawrence and Gwyneth Paltrow (her look for the night not her rampant pretense) on the fashion front, they nailed the vibe without disappearing within the gowns. The tribute segment DID leave out Corey Haim and a few others unfairly, Anne Hathaway DID need to take it down a few notches with the, "See? I'm the lovable girl-next-door!" cutesy antics. James Franco WAS just plain over it about ten minutes in, but who can blame him? Homeboy is busy with academic ambitions, refreshingly. He's one of the most consistent "youngsters" around acting wise, let him be who he is and continue to produce noteworthy work. Next year go back to utilizing the "older" icons if it's that big of a deal.

I'll admit, I did tear-up at the finale. The adorable children's choir rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was magical, proving that even as critical observations sprang forth from around the globe, so did a feeling that at the very center, hasn't ever really eluded Oscars/ watchers and all that entails: dreams came true and cultural history was made on this night, and that's worthy of acknowledgement and praise. Yeah it's a little long winded and not as pressing as other current events, but it always strikes a chord of aspirational gratitude and reminds us for a few hours that we're allowed to get lost in vivid colors, twirl about in the fanfare, and enjoy. Living vicariously or not.



I have a slew of movies/documentaries/careers to watch-don't I always-and a slew of opinions on what I have seen and heard, and I'm glad I witnessed it all. I was proud of those that won, relieved for the collective drudgery to be at an end until next year. I have a feeling the two awards shows will forever be tweaking the format and we will forever have our say. And somewhere along the line, for a few moments of a classic movie ballad, the theatre geek in us all will buy into it and sing along, unafraid of any backlash. That's the REAL reason to watch.

Dynamic Duo

I've been into the entertainment industry since I was old enough to watch things and remember them, so it's been about 24 years of observation, research and revelry. I had my first subscription to Entertainment Weekly at age eight, if that gives you an idea. My primary focus has always been movies, outside of love and fear, they are the great unifier. A visual medium of story telling that can reach anyone in their living room to provide safe escape when you most need it/want it is a beautiful thing. For that reason, I'm a walking catalog of actors, directors, and producers (composers and key-grips, even) keeping a vigilant eye on up and comers and those that break from the pack of (ENDLESS) remakes and dumbed-down rom-coms. It's my main hobby, if not an occupational investment in one of my great passions. If you are interested in something, learn everything you can, becoming an "expert" like those that are regarded as such on a grander pay scale. My fellow nerds know what I'm saying.

I've had hands on experience in making these 120 minute vacations, I know of what I type. I had a stint in development (re-writes to a would-be script), assisted in casting and story boarding. I was an extra for a year (and can be seen in the moving scenery of about 60 odd projects), had a featured few seconds of "B-ball kissing girl" glory in the indie horror movie Katie Bird, saw production in action and absorbed life on set for a good chunk of time. It was fascinating and infuriating. I'm a tough nut to crack when it comes to endorsement, most projects tend to rule themselves out in the first few minutes, simply by following footsteps to perpetuate money making instead of art expressing.


That said, I'll watch anything to the end and give it a fair shake. I can glean goodness from even the lackluster-est. I might want to choke my own self out based on the supposed acting, but the lighting design or costume design or soundtrack could rock, so enjoy that aspect. And when ALL of it fails to hit home, just bust out some Mystery Science Theatre 3000 commentary, and have my own personalized entertainment. I try to be an impartial observer, not just a film snob that references "classics" for comparison. Those folks tend to come off as the authority on your personal taste based on what was, something that's not only impossible, but offensive at times. I'll listen to a few critics in particular-we tend to agree, and I can call them when I hear of them usually-but for the most part, I'll give it a whirl and decide for myself. I encourage you all to do the same. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite-ahem-I have good leads for you.

Critics, audiences (or anyone else that doesn't get it), be damned, the following writer/directors are the Yin and Yang of groundbreaking cinematic adventure currently, weather they realize themselves, or get recognized as such. If you long for style, smart and sleek over the usual fare, and haven't absorbed these fellas work, let this aid in your quest for the almighty mind-altering, interesting film.

Christopher Nolan, ain't new to critical acclaim, or audience acceptance, deservedly so. He swiftly, gracefully paints masterpieces of tone, texture and triumph, in vibrant shades of seedy human conflict, occasionally and subtly gesturing at humor and culture to accent the dramatic portraiture unfolding before you. I've seen everything from the most intimate (his engrossing student film Following), to his most blockbuster-y (the Batman franchise, that he's done more artistic justice to than any preceding director), and regardless of funding or hype sustained (he deserves both), he arcs hefty plot line, jerks tears and pulls the occasional, genuine laugh while he amazes you visually, in a grounded, realistic, intelligent way. Memento, Insomniac, The Prestige. They all reek with envelope-pushing vision, and man it smells good. He challenges the norm out of his passion for a good story, totally at ease on the leading edge. It's a tricky place to be. The Academy snubbed him in the Best Director category this year, but I doubt he minds. Awards never live up to the real prize, a legacy of excellent film.

If Nolan paints larger than life pictures, Edgar Wright then, raps bright, flashy, staccato jams of buffoonery, bad-assery, and camaraderie, with a gasp-for-airs-worth of naked emotion or common place story line-but those few seconds are so sudden and genuine, you're moved-and grooving with it all is inevitable. Even the most modern movie go-er can relate to his work, in all their ADD (or ADHD if you care) fickleness. Wright acknowledges that and does it one better, as it seems to be the stem of so many pandering studio tricks, ones he pokes playfully at. I fell in love with Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz instantly. Then subsequently saw the brilliant episodic Spaced, and knew then that he really is a comedic genius, not a two-off gem that Hollywood borrowed from England. He fuses pop culture past and present so quickly and deftly into his own brand of hilarity, all you can do is keep up giddily. It's a word. Scott Pilgrim vs The World just graced my DVD player (yes, I'm tardy to the party again), and even though Simon Pegg was abscent in this chunk of fantastic, none of Edgars' signature edge was. He has yet to reach the household name status Nolan has touched on, but he is every bit as deserving. His comedy is inspired.

The two might be opposites in "genre" (so far), but they willfully bend any conventional categorizing, fusing them all together at times. Both know that you have to start with good writing and work your way out. Both are nerds themselves, they have specifics in mind and won't compromise their ideas. Whatever the feeling evoked, both oversee execution (in dialogue and visuals) so precise, you have to watch their films twice/rewind repeatedly to catch every bit of nuance. They both ask you to take their hand and sprint alongside them, as opposed to the throngs of so many others that grab your hand gruffly only to trot or stumble, because they're too lost in their own bull-honkey to cross the finish line to completion.

Our culture on the whole tends to love a good explosion, Black Eyed Peas song bumping in the background, the main character flashing charisma and one-liner flair, and that's all good too, as I said before. Ultimately though, that kind of redundant movie experience leaves you as quickly as it comes along, so what's the point, really? If we are to celebrate the industry as it encourages us to, let's do it in honor of those slinging integrity and innovation for your hard earned buck, I say.

Cheers to both respective super heroes of film rescuing us from certain boredom, defying the villainy of forgettable crap. I eagerly await the next epic battle, from both.

The Fleecing of the Fleeced

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The SMD: Light At Last

Us mamas work in reiteration like Van Gogh in toxic, edible paints. It's necessary for our craft but, boy howdy, is it monotonous. I've gone months with the same phrase of discipline on replay like a solo Mantra for Dummies seminar that I can't leave. "Clean your mess" and "Treat others with love and respect" aren't just life lessons and skills to hone, but daily, grating audio backdrops. You doubt they hear you, care or the longest shot, that they are retaining any knowledge you're dropping all over them. How sweet it is when you catch them connecting the dots in thought and/or practice.

Many firsts have happened this year for the Loganator and myself. First year of school (battling germs and influences of others), first time being a steady volunteer (love it for the kiddos, hate the politics), first time remaining in a place that we have no real support system (and succeeding at all with flying colors, if I might subtly toot me ol' horn). When the "firsts" occur, "indefinatelys" are sure to follow, and all the dogged coaching along the way. We trudge, soldier, and keep keepin' on.


I've recently become part of a twosome (refer to The SMD: My Own Betrayer for any backlog on how rare it is that I am legitimately), something that single children are none-too pleased about, especially if the single child has a single mama as her only touchstone. And vice versa.

It's been quite the awkward roller coaster at times...Logan's idea of men is slightly skewed and limited. From her dad not being in the picture to her Grand dad and uncles being around two to three times a year with minimal interaction in between, she tends to struggle with the masculine and where they fit, I've been both for her all her life.


We made our annual trek to Wyoming for the holidays this year (let me sum it up: COLD, family elation/drama, friend elation/drama, wonderful gifts, hellatious travel), and around the fourth or fifth day, my dad mentioned to me that Logan had been a lot cooler to him this trip. I queried for details, and he said in his gruff, comforting, blue-collar-stoic growl "just in general".


You don't have to be Freud to figure that one, but it warmed the very crevices of my heart to hear. Lo and behold, the living, breathing standard to which us ladies hold up all potential dudes to (with all the heart rending results) is giving me props on how my daughter (by-product of a major previous potential dude and I), relates to him. I know that consistently having a male individual around that's joyously plays with her, backs me up discipline wise and shows us love and affection openly has helped her realize all the broken record talks about trust and navigating relationships with men in her life, aren't just words. How awesome for her, and all three of us together. Well, four if you count dad. Seems wrong not to.

The other big one has been the petition for a pet. Logan is hell bent on getting a little white mouse or a chameleon, or a kitten or the holy grail: a puppy. Homegirl can't even put her dishes in the kitchen or clean up her Moon Sand (damn the Moon Sand!) without a good ten minute prodding. I intimated long ago that in order to have a pet, she needs to get her poop in a group and start showing-not telling-how she is responsible enough to take on another living creature and be it's soul benefactor. Before bed last week, she had a revelation (all her best ones come at that particular time, where mine are in the shower). "Mama...I think I'm going to be good. I'm going to help out and even make friends with Randy more." Randy is the plus-sized odd duck in class, one that Logan is hesitant to needlessly include in anything, so I know she's really thought about this if she's mentioning him. I responded that I'm proud of her decision, hope she'll see it through.


The next day she came home with a teal star (meaning she was awesome in class), and an ear-to-ear grin that came from not just the years of pep-talks on responsibility/good leadership finally making sense, but the fact that she was the captain in command of it all. It was one of the best moments at the bus stop to date. No pet yet, but she's getting there.


It's starting to feel like I'll be at Logan's graduation ceremony by the end of 2011, how fast it goes. Enjoying the journey is paramount. I know that this tunnel to decent, thriving adulthood we're sculpting together is dark, dreary and claustrophobic at times. Then that dawn breaks, and we can see our work ahead ain't so bad after all.