Taking one for the team

As I was folding yet another load of laundry today, Josephine spotted a chocolate peanut butter cup that had been left behind from the night before. She brought it over to me and said, "Mom, what's this? I should eat it."

"Oh. No, Josephine, let's not eat that one, it's yucky."

Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was going to let her have it. Mostly because I didn't have the energy to rationalize and convince her otherwise. But as she kept asking me and started to unwrap it, I was still trying to explain it was a "yucky one and she wouldn't like it."

She had moved on to sniffing it and assuring me she understood, but she should try it anyway.

I gave in quickly and said, "Okay, go ahead. You can have it."

She took her first bite with a little hesitancy and stared right at me. So serious...like it was a science experiment. Her face went from slightly concerned to immediate joy and she said, "Mom. I loooove this."

I smiled and nodded and told her I was glad she liked it. She finished it in few bites as she danced around mismatched socks and stacks of pajamas. As she licked her fingers and started to walk away, she suddenly stopped, turned around and put her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes were very serious and her tone mimicked an adult teaching a lesson.

"Mom, I can eat the yucky ones for you and Daddy. If you find yucky ones, just tell me. I'll eat them."

I laughed harder than I intended to and I could tell she liked seeing me laugh and giggled along with me, but then she got very serious again and said, "You just tell me, okay? You find yucky ones, I eat them."

Oh, joy.

There was a Dancing in the Streets event in downtown Santa Cruz tonight. And, as always, it's a struggle to gather enough snacks, jackets and children to go anywhere. Ever. Sometimes I give up before I even start and end up missing all the things. But tonight, all the stars aligned.

And thank goodness they did.

There were kids doing ballet, adults tap dancing and even a magical Balinese woman who stared directly into my soul as she danced. Dancing has always brought joy to my life but tonight was a moment that's been building for years. Years of babies, lockdowns and emotions. The cumulative joy of the dancers, the bystanders and my little dancing girls practically lifted me off my feet.

I am so grateful for music and community. And Josephine's little booty shake.

Theater of the mind

Driving home yesterday, I was slightly annoyed by the commercial on the radio.  I wasn't actually listening to the content, but the man's voice was driving me crazy. Zoë and Josephine were uncharacteristically quiet in the back seat and suddenly Zoë piped up, "Mom!"

"Yes, Zoë."

"Did you just hear in that story? They said Josephine!!"

The voice had actually said "Joseph", but that's beside the point. I couldn't help but smile about her choice of words and the thought of an annoying ad being a story in her mind.

It also reminded me of an old advertising axiom my dad loved to remind everyone one of: radio is the theater of the mind. 

I suppose some advertisers still live by that.

Birds and the Bees

My little one is three years old and, of course, overflowing with questions. 

Today's big one: "Mom, I know you had a baby in your tummy, but HOW does the baby get in your tummy?"

"Well, Daddy helped put a baby in my tummy."

"Oh. But how did he put it in there?"

I will spare you the details, but I did my best to briefly and easily explain how it works. She seemed relatively interested and processed some of it, but then returned to jumping off my bed showing me how she could "land with no hands!".

Then she stopped and said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah...but how do you find the husband?"

Super valid. Definitely the hardest part of the equation. 

Heart. Melted.

At the end of today (living in 2020/21 as a baseline - something we can all agree is already a low bar), I struggled through witching-hour meltdowns, dinner time negotiations and never-ending dirty dishes.  

I made it to the finish line of bedtime and transitioned right into having a tame argument with my husband while I made "adult dinner".  All while listening to our youngest cry it out as she fell asleep. We've come accustomed to tuning it out.  (And, realistically, it never lasts longer than 4 minutes.)  But tonight, the four minutes felt especially long.  

As mothers do, I was watching butter melt to the perfect consistency to pan fry fish, explaining my frustration to my husband and "sink-defrosting" said fish-to-be-cooked.  All while in the background hearing my toddler start singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to the screaming baby.

And that's when it broke. My heart. 

My sweet, albeit <sometimes> annoying  three-year-old was being so sweet. So genuine. So helpful.

My girl. My heart. My love.

My Mom Would Be Proud

A dog can teach a human a lot of lessons.

For example:

Pick up after yourself. (Or your belongings will be chewed.)

Don't over stay your welcome at a party. (Or your most expensive belongings will be chewed.)

If you have expressive eyebrows and a cute face, forgiveness is easy.

We have a hose in our backyard I have now repaired three times because I haven't learned these important lessons. Ms. June loves the challenge of chewing through what is supposed to be an industrial, indestructible hose.

Today, after I turned the hose on and received an unexpected shower directly in my face, I begrudgingly went to the shed to gather tools to repair it once again.  As I tried to remove the plastic connector from the torn hose, I was impressed with how well I had installed it last time June was left home alone for too long.

No matter how hard I pulled and twisted, I couldn't get it out. I tried cutting little slits in the hose to make it loose so I might be able to pull easier. This seemed to work, but my fingers couldn't quite hold on to the cut pieces to tear them further down. 

So I used my teeth. 

As I started pulling and biting at the hose, I realized there was a thin strip of see-through yellow rubber running the length of the hose and it seemed to be easier to tear than the rest. I caught myself feeling excited about this discovery and started to bite and tug harder, concentrating on the yellow strip.

Then I realized I was pretty much my dog. 

And I had a new appreciation and even acceptance for what she does to entertain herself while I'm gone.

34 Reasons The Last 365 Days Were Pretty Great

When I started this post on 11/1/13, I had intentions of making a list of 34 reasons. Cause, ya know, that's clever.  I was turning 34. But after 6 months, I would like to retitle this post:

14 Reasons The Last 365 Days Were Pretty Great

1. I actually started making a quilt.  Something I've been meaning to do for way too long.
2. Discovered what this whole CrossFit craze is.  
3. My brother and I got another pup.
4. At Christmas, we thought it was a good idea to adopt a new dog, foster a puppy and foster a kitten for a few days.
5. Ms. Rita Grindle and I spent 8 hours in a bar in NYC.  On purpose.
6. I spent another week in Monteagle, TN transcribing love letters from the turn of the century.
7. I took time to rest. Finally.
8. For the first time in 27 years, all my dad's children were in one room.
9. Turns out the pups don't like each other.  But I got to meet Cesar Milan.
10. I met a boy.  A really cute boy.
11. I did a real pull up. This is a big deal, people.
12. I flew in a super small plane.
13. I expanded my business.
14. I officiated a wedding. 

Happy Birthday to me.

Kitchen floors are good for crying.

Today I cried over an iron skillet.

I was supposed to make stuffing for Thanksgiving Dinner and realized part way into preparation my iron skillet was missing.  Odd, since I only use it at Thanksgiving.  I searched everywhere - even the hall closet, just in case. No luck.

Before I knew it, I was on the kitchen floor...crying.

Not over iron, people. It was merely the last straw, apparently.  This isn't the time or place for details on the tears.  But I can tell you the moment that brought the smile.

I had already put in my first batch of biscuits and as I watched them closely, knowing they wouldn't be as good as my mom's, I cried even more. When they reached the perfect golden brown, I pulled them out and proceeded to douse one with butter and take a bite over the sink as the butter dripped down my fingers (per tradition).

Oh. My. Goodness.
I did it.

I really did it.

Thirty two years and they FINALLY tasted just like my mom's.

Typo

Earlier today, I put a new event in my phone calendar and didn't pay much attention. I'm meant to pick up my brother at the Grammy's Foundation on Friday.

When I double checked my calendar tonight to prepare for the next couple days, I noticed I had "Granny's" scheduled for Friday.

As I read the word Granny...I froze for a second and had to re-rack my brain.  I actually believed for a moment that my granny (who passed away years ago) was in my schedule.  In a few seconds; I saw her house, her hair and a delicious Little Debbie waiting at her bedside.

So appropriate.  She'd be proud of my Friday, of my month, of my brother's year.  But she'd also remind both of us to mind our manners and to not forget where we came from.

It may never get old...

Hung out with my bro tonight while they were shooting a new music video.  Always fun to be on a shoot and be thankful that I'm not in production.  I admit that I AM a crazy event manager type, but film production is just so much hurry up and wait, load in, load out, pack in, pack out.  Ugh.

After the final loud out, we headed to an event for drinks and live music (ahem, some secret Strokes show) and just as the dance floor was getting crowded, the DJ played a Foster The People song.  It's exciting to hear it, it just is.  And feels like it always will be.

Power and Love

Was wandering around a mall today and walked by a store playing a familiar song.

I leaned in slightly to make sure I was hearing right and then smiled...it indeed was the song I thought.

The two guys behind the counter gave me a confused look and I smiled and said, "That's my brother's band....was just making sure I heard it right."

"Get out of here! That's your brother?!"

"Yeah. It's crazy to hear it here." [in Australia]

"Right on. I love this band! Power and love to you and your bro. Tell him to keep making great music."

A year in review

Every year for Christmas, my brother and I (ahem, I) make a photo calendar for my parents.  I just take all the random photos of me and my bro from the current year and let iPhoto do the rest. 

Turns out it's a great present for me too!  It's such a cool way to review my year and remind myself of all the awesome things we did in a year.  I suppose it's the equivalent of everyone's new favorite past time of compiling all their Facebook statuses from the year.  Only prettier.

Can't give the whole calendar away, but man those Pontius kids like them some Hipstamatic.

A girl loves flowers

I came back to my hotel tonight in between work and what would be a delicious, thai food Thanksgiving dinner.  As I opened my door, every light in my hotel room was on.  Odd.

I was slightly concerned at first, thought someone was in my room.  But as I assessed the room, I realized I had these on my desk.

Flowers are always an amazing surprise.  Always.  But even better this time was the surprise of who they were from.  I assumed they might be from my office -- sort of a sorry you're working on Thanksgiving bouquet -- but when I opened the card it read: Happy Thanksgiving, sis!

I might have cried a little.

Smiling Faces & Flailing Arms

I was huffing and puffing through swim practice tonight trying to focus on ANYTHING other than my arms.  They seemed to be made of lead this evening.

During each breath, looking at the sideline of the pool, I remembered a trick I've used before to make it through a set.  I imagine people in my life running back and forth on the deck screaming and waving me forward -- just like high school swim meets.  My father, my coach, my brother, my friends.  It's fun to go through the list of people in my life and imagine their smiling faces and their flailing arms.  I even throw in perfect strangers, new crushes and unlikely characters.

Now, you can call me a total cheese-ball,  but I feel like this strategy could work for many difficult situations in life.  Imagining people you care about on the sideline, cheering you on...supporting you.

Right?
Cheese-ball indeed.

Barefoot and...dirty.

In my recent dinner trend of cheese & crackers, hummus, some random veggie and a bottle of wine...I seem to have forgotten how much I like to cook and to entertain.  Tonight, as I was getting ready for my guests of honor, I realized I had flour all over my shorts.

Aha!  Apron.  Duh.

I grabbed one my mom recently made out of old fabric from my grandmother's trunk and the pocket from one of her old aprons.

Dancing around the kitchen with glee proceeded.

It took 7 years.

There seems to always be a car accident somewhere in LA at any given moment. I suppose it's a numbers game...with that many cars, more opportunities for accidents.

Today I was one of them.
On the 405 Freeway, in the fast lane.

I was the last car hit in a 4 car pile-up. And quickly learned that sometimes, being fourth is a good thing.

There are many details about the accident, including the driver at fault who fled from his vehicle.
On foot.
Across FOUR lanes of traffic.

But the moment that made me smile?
Once I realized what had happened, I reached for my phone. It was an automatic reaction and I wasn't sure what number I was dialing. 911? Nope.

My mom.

I was suddenly 12 again and knew I needed to let her know I was OK. And possibly I wanted to hear her say that I was OK.

The 30-year-old me helped lead my fingers toward 9-1-1, but she was most definitely the next person I called.

Commitment.

There are two types of people in this world:
1. Those who commit to a costume when it's suggested for a party.
2. And those who don't.

Both types are nice people. Both are sometimes funny. Both are typically well-mannered. Both clean behind their ears. But those number 1 types...well, there's a teeny place in my heart for you and you can stay there forever.

Big fat thanks (and infinity high fives) to my brother, Ms. Rita and Captain Denis.
We're awesome.
Arrgh.

Tennessee does it right.

I'm sort of anti food photos. Ya know, when people post pictures of a meal they've cooked or some amazing dish at a restaurant. It's just weird to me.

And today, I'm anti this particular food photo posting by a family member because it's making my mouth water and leaving me pining for home.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce you to:

The very famous pulled pork BBQ sandwich.
Carefully smoked (for hours upon hours) by the one and only, Harriet Pontius. (my mama)
And smothered with homemade coleslaw and top-secret recipe Hell Jess hot sauce.

Everything about this sandwich is spectacular and represents the southern roots I'm so proud of:

• Messy meals that drip onto your plate and beg you to lick your fingers.
• Passed down secret recipes: It's called Hell Jess, because my grandfather used to sit down at the table, sandwich ready to be devoured and would say to my grandmother (Jessie), "Hell, Jess where's the hot sauce?"
• Food that doesn't have a nutrition label
• and Family
  

Cup to the Cake

There are most definitely times you need to transport just one cupcake. And today was one of those days. My brother was trying to decide what delicious item from our Memorial Day spread to bring to a blind date.
Cupcake.
Duh.

Once the decision was made, I might have gotten a little too excited about the possibility of putting my solo-cupcake-transporter into use. It felt so good to say, "Ooooo, you need to carry that cupcake don't you?! Well I, my friend, have just what you need. Ta da!"

It's the small things, people. The small things.

Here's to dreams coming true.

My brother signed on the dotted line today.
Record deal.
Sony/Columbia.

Wow. Wow. Wow.

I joined the band out a bar to celebrate and spent entirely too much on beer in plastic cups and girlie shots, but ended up with a lucky dollar bill.

There was a guy at the bar making fun of the Washington Apple shots I had just paid $9 each for. He told me he was going to offer to pay for my tab, but after I ordered those, he'd changed his mind. I explained that they were very important apple shots. They were in honor of my brother signing a record deal and a reminder to stay grounded. My grandmother was Granny Smith and we were going to put a knee on the ground (literally) and cheers to $9 LA shots and always remembering where you came from.

He paused and pulled a dollar out of his pocket.
"This will be better. Instead of me paying, you should take this dollar for luck. For you, for your brother, for the band. And next time you meet someone who needs a little luck, you should pass it on."

I don't think he realized how excited I was about this idea. He mentioned I'd probably keep it for a week and then would need a pack of gum and just get rid of it. Quite the opposite actually.

I can't wait to pass it on.