Two weeks ago, my husband removed the television from the living room wall. He then placed it in our closet. It has remained there since. So yes, since that time, we have not had a functioning T.V. in our home.

Now, I would like to tell you that we did this for some deep philosophical purpose – you know, in support of some profound spiritual, insightful, Waldorf-inspired conviction…but that would be a lie.

And you KNOW I never lie.

Yes, I totally do.

But not about this, because I’d totally get caught. If I uttered the words “I removed the television from my house because I want my kids to knit and weave and make felt gnomes all day,” you all would know I was full of shit, because I’ve openly admitted my need for the electronic babysitter.

Plus, you know I am way too lazy for that wool felting thing.

So I’ll tell ya the truth. The truth is we removed the television because our son had the focus of, well, hmmm. How can I explain this?

Picture a river otter on methamphetamine. Now ask it to do algebra.

Yes, yes that’s it.

I may be exaggerating. Maybe. Very thin maybe.

And as I watched our little river otter dart around the world in maniacal inattention, I kept getting the feeling that the television was messing with him. Mac had the same feeling. It was a gut feeling.

We kept throwing around the T.V.-ejection idea, but we always came back to our own laziness. I mean, what about those movies we like to watch once every 6 months, or that vegetating time (which I keep saying I’m going to do but never actually accomplish)? What about 30 Rock? What ABOUT THE OFFICE people THE OFFICE? Don’t fuck with Dwight.

And Rocket LOVED that box. Loved it. Watched it every chance he got. Occasionally threw fits when we made him turn it off.

But as it often happens in my house, one day Mac got serious and just did it. He got his tools out. He took the sucker off the wall. He did it without word or warning.

To tell you the truth, I panicked a little. I mean, what the hell am I going to do with these kids when I need to cook? When I need a break? How I am going to plug them in for a few minutes?

Oh WOW, that sounded awful.

But I figured we’d give it a shot for the summer, to see how it goes.

And let me tell you how it’s gone: I may never have a television in my house again.

I am floored by the changes in my family. I cannot explain the depth of my amazement at what I’ve witnessed.

My son is a new person. He is calmer, more centered, more patient. He is a different child.

As I write this, he and Ava are playing Barbies in the other room. They have been doing so for the last hour. With pretty much no fighting.

I couldn’t make this up.

A couple days ago Rocket woke up at 5am. The whole house was asleep. I hadn’t fallen asleep until 2am, so it was OUT OF THE QUESTION that I would get up with him. My heart sank when I remembered I couldn’t tell him to watch T.V. quietly until I woke up. I told him “Rocket, check it out. I need to sleep. Everybody’s asleep. You need to tiptoe into the living room and play quietly until I wake up.” He said “Okay.” I thought “there is no way in hell this is ever going to work.”

I figured I’d get 10 minutes before he started launching himself off the couch onto something large and squeaky, waking up Georgia and therefore me.

Two hours later, at 7am, I awoke to Rocket holding Georgia by the hand, walking into my room saying “You want to see mama? You want ‘gook’ (nursing)?”

I was aghast. I asked him what he had been doing. He said “playing with my army men.” I almost fell over.

Holy mother of god that never would have happened people EVER EVER EVER.

Here are the other things that have blown my mind:

My kids fight less. They get so bored they actually play with each other.

They get so bored they actually play with their toys.

Ava reads the younger kids stories.

We spend time rolling around on the floor doing absolutely nothing because there’s nothing better to do. Last night we spent an hour on my bed (the 3 kids and I) taking turns making Georgia laugh by putting a book on our head and making it fall.

I thought they would harass and harangue me CONSTANTLY to be entertained. And they did, for the first day or two. And then they got over it. I haven’t heard a single complaint about the T.V. being gone, and I only hear “I’m bored” like once a day. The truth is, I am shocked. I had no idea it would be like this. I really thought the kids would flip out.

The energy in this house is 100% changed. I don’t know why. It just has. It’s like everybody has just been taken down a notch, and everybody’s calmer and more easy-going.

WE HANG OUT WITH EACH OTHER.

Yes, the house is a new level of messy. Toys are freaking everywhere.

Yes, there’s a lot more talking and singing and noise and playing, all the time. And it gets annoying.

And yes, this may be the best thing we’ve ever done.

An old friend of mine was an physician, trained in traditional Western medicine. Through a series of interesting circumstances, he ended up studying acupuncture in China. He now practices acupuncture and Western medicine, but leans toward acupuncture. When I asked him how he was converted to the practice of acupuncture (as he stuck needles in my ear), especially after all that training in the West, he responded, “I don’t believe in this shit, it just works.”

Yep. Pretty much.

I don’t believe in not having a T.V. But for us, it just works.

Don’t get me wrong. We aren’t some Zen rainbows and flowers and patchouli family all the sudden, but we’re damn better than we were before. And I like what I see…

doing nothing, soon to be wrestling. they do this a lot.

DUDE, WAH? This really happened

Playing BARBIES. This has never occurred before.

1. On Tuesday, I participated in a school event for my daughter which involved me dressing up in 1840s garb and pretending I’m a beaver trapper. Yes, a beaver trapper.
2. When I told my husband about these responsibilities, he responded with a smirk, “I can help. I’ve been trying to ‘trap beaver’ my whole life.” Niiiiiiice.
3. Our class runneth over. Speaking of class, I’m still throwing baseballs at bluejays, naked. The bird has now become my nemesis. I’m like what’s his face in that one movie. Was that helpful? You know, the gopher guy. Caddyshack! Bill Murray in Caddyshack. This week I will be taking the suggestions you all offered to see if I can eliminate the bastard. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you posted.
4. On Friday my lower back decided it would explode or something. Whatever it did, I was in some of the most crippling pain I’ve felt in years, which is how long it’s been since the last time my lower back exploded. It pinched some nerve (sciatica?) that runs down my left leg and another one that runs across my left hip. PEOPLE I WANTED TO DIE. I’m still in a lot of pain but it’s not like before. Dude I should totally tell you the story of the first time my sciatica flared up like this. It was like 14 years ago, and I’ll give you a hint of how it went down: I woke up on the floor of some house with people I didn’t know and I couldn’t walk. So I just laid there and waited for my best friend who was supposed to be there but wasn’t. The weirdest part was that this house was such a party crash pad, nobody even noticed (or cared) that there was some chick fully awake lying immobile on her back in the middle of the dining room floor. Good times.
5. I probably shouldn’t tell stories like that on the internet. Oh well.
6. And of course, this is the weekend we planned to go to Santa Cruz for a blues festival/beach trip. So Friday afternoon I went to the chiropractor, got a massage, iced the hell out of it, did stretches and hoped for the best. It didn’t go very well. I think my family had fun but I was pretty miserable the whole time.
7. I was going to have my husband go without me but I feared he may let my kids drown in the ocean. He has a small focus problem. You know, like he can’t do it.
8. The good news is we spent today at this little beach town called Capitola and it was by far the most exquisite weather I’ve ever seen there. Sunny, warm, clear. Northern California, you have my heart. Even though I was lying immobile on my back getting a raccoon sunburn, I was struck by the beauty of it all.
9. By the way, what the hell is a “push present?” I don’t know what it is but I know I hate it. The name alone makes me slightly ill. Waaaay too cute.
10. You know what is not too cute, though it might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life?

This. All three kids got in bed together and Ava made Georgia’s wrinkle-nose grin, and Rocket pretended he was asleep.

Worth it.

Every week, while darting around the streets of my life, I think to myself “next week, it’s gonna be calmer.”

Next week, it’s gonna be easier.

Next week, I won’t have so much to do.

I will rest. I will have a little time. I will be less frantic. I’ll breathe.

Next week.

And yes, you guessed it. “Next week” never comes. But like an insane person thinking circumstances will change even though no circumstance has changed, I continue to rely on my hope for “next week.”

I wake. I prepare. I cook. I homeschool. I shower. I drive. I work. I study. I call. I call back. I deposit. I buy. I race. I listen. I study. I write. I chase.  I do so much more.

I crawl into bed.

I sleep, or I do not sleep.

And then, I do it again.

Often, like yesterday for example, I’m driving home from work at 4pm and I’m delighted that tonight I finally – for the first time in god knows how long – get to go home and chill (well, “chill”, as much as you can with a neurotic toddler bolting around). Sit. Eat. REST. Maybe read. Do nothing. Definitely do nothing. And my husband calls and says “Tonight I gotta cut that beef (he’s a butcher at his dad’s ranch, in addition to an ironworker), and Rocket has a baseball game at 6pm, and Ava has one at 7pm. Sorry.”

And I do it again.

Next week.

Next week I’ll have less to do.

Nope, I won’t. There will be the same things to do. And the same person to do them.

I’m not pitying myself. I dig my life. It wouldn’t break my heart if I were handed some very large sum of money and could therefore work less, but I don’t want my life to suddenly become less busy, because that would mean less family, less mothering, less joy. It wouldn’t destroy me to learn that somebody died and left me a butler, and a driver, and a cook. But hey.

I’m not THAT insane.

What stings a little sometimes is the stuff left undone. Like that book I’ve been writing. I’m on page 40. I’ll never get off page 40.

I have something to say in that book, but I don’t have time to say it.

And those books on my nightstand. I want to read them.

And the blog posts in my head that will take a little time and focus. I’d like to write them.

And that call to my friend I’ve been meaning to make.

And that theory I’d like to read about that idea I had about that Melville story I read. A year ago.

But alas, this is it. This is the life. This is the life for us women (and some men, I’m sure) who work for a living and have kids and attempt to do right by them, and ourselves.

This is the life for awhile, at least.

Until next week comes for real.

And I miss this one terribly, because it was the time when my kids were little and my life was insane.

Ladies, I’m just so tired.

Do you ever get that sometimes? That tired that’s more than tired, more than sleepy, more than weak. That tired that washes over you like a 100-foot wave, pounding you into the depths until you just collapse. The mind, the emotions, the legs. All of it. Down.

Thank God next week it’ll be easier.

1. Quick. Somebody tell me what sort of developmental nightmare happens at 21-22 months. Georgia WILL NOT sleep. Well, she will, but only in 2-hour increments and after about an HOUR of rocking, soothing, patting, fucking ET CETERA. She had a sinus infection earlier this week; I am praying to God almighty that that’s the problem.
2. Speaking of problems, I got an ear infection. WHATTHEFUCK? Those only happen to kids. Uncool, almighty God.
3. In other news, ear infections really reallyreally hurt and I now believe my kids are bad-asses, having endured so many with so much less complaining than their mother exhibited.
4. I hate leaf-blowers. We’ve been over this so I won’t repeat myself. But I hate them.
5. I hate leaf-blowers, but I love my friends. I have amazing friends. I like having friends. There was a time when I had none, on account of being a self-centered drunk who couldn’t call people back, show up, or be nice.
6. There is a bird (some sort of jay I think) who sits in a tree in our backyard, and occasionally the telephone pole behind it (yes, our yard is as stunning as you’re probably envisioning) AND CHIRPS AND SING ALL FUCKING…NIGHT. Did you catch that? NIGHT. The damn thing makes the most insane, ear-piercing racket — during the night. What sort of crackhead bird tweets and sings at night? He does it in the day, too. But for obvious reasons, it’s the night thing that kills me. So you know what I do? I throw baseballs at it. While naked.
7. Allow me to explain. I sleep naked. OOOOOOO, kinky. No, just comfortable. I’ve always slept without clothes. Like forever. So I’m lying there in bed and I hear this bird “song” (if it’s a song, it’s death metal played loudly, backwards, and with scratches) and it’s so loud people – SO LOUD – I can’t sleep. And it’s like 1am and the whole house is asleep, so I go outside. I don’t put clothes on because who does that? Too much work. Plus I figure it’s dark outside and if some weirdo wants to peek through my fence all night on the off chance somebody might walk by naked, well, he/she deserves a little glimpse. That’s some devotion. Anyway the first time this jay and I had a little midnight encounter I tried rushing the tree and yelling at it to scare him away, but it didn’t even phase the bastard. So I look around. At my feet I observe a bucket of baseballs. Ah ha! I pick one up and I chuck it at the tree. Fucker flew off immediately. Since that worked so well, I’ve been doing it nightly for like 5 days. I’m so good at it now I can throw the baseball, have it go through the tree and hit the telephone pole behind it, so it falls back into our yard (as opposed to our neighbor’s yard, where they were ending up before).
8. I couldn’t make this shit up.
9. You know, honestly, I’m not sure I have anything left to say after telling that whole story. I think we’ll just leave it at that, as an explanation of how my week has been.

Can we all please take a moment to notice how much I do not look like a woman who throws baseballs at birds while naked, at least in the following photograph?

You see, I pull it off well. At least I think I do. I do, don’t I?

Nevermind, don’t answer. It’s probably best.

How cute is it that Rocket’s looking up at his daddy? Adore.

This week, may all squawking Jays be eradicated from your life through a weird bird-destroying disease.

Or baseballs.

xo

Well, now. That’s not a sentence you hear every day. Even Jessica herself might be a little surprised to read that one.

Or, perhaps even more alarming, she might not.

Anyhoo, the other day on the trusty cardio machine I was reading my trusty trash magazines and I saw a picture of Jessica during her baby shower. [Um, how much did she rake in for letting People Magazine cover that one?] And as I saw her I thought to myself “WOW. She’s gained some WEIGHT.”

And then I read that she served deep-fried Twinkies at her shower, which triggered in my trusty little brain a vague recalling of some chatter a few months back about how she said on Jay Leno that she was craving some ghastly brownie creation involving cookie dough and Oreos.

And all the sudden, I kinda started to like her.

I mean she’s not up there with like, say, Jane Austen or my grandma, but she’s further up than most famous pop singers.

Sure, I have never actually listened to a song she’s sung. (She does make music, right?)

And I don’t think I’ve ever actually watched a movie she’s made (there was that one with the car and water and super short shorts…that I never fully watched…Duke something?).

And she doesn’t strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed.

And I have a feeling we may have slightly different approaches to life (considering she sold her baby shower to People Magazine).

And I wouldn’t really suggest my daughters aspire to be like her, per se.

HOWEVER, despite all this, she’s my new hero – say, for the week – because she’s somebody in Hollywood who finally acted like a fucking human during pregnancy by eating too much and getting fat. Like the rest of us.

FINALLY.

Finally somebody who doesn’t look like they’ve placed a small basketball in their Gucci dress and called it a baby, with perfectly toned arms/legs/ass/head (can a head be toned?)…happily announcing “I’m due any day!”

While we all watch, gagging from our living rooms at the sight of such horridness (I mean SHIT, ANGELINA, EAT)…sitting there 8 months pregnant and wondering how the hell we’re gonna get off the couch, since we just ate like everything and pretty much can’t move even when we haven’t just eaten. Everything.

Finally. A chick in Hollywood who gets fat like a normal person.

Oh yeah. Yeah yeah yeah I know. Health. Yes. Of course. Not every woman gets fat.

True.

But most of us do.

Fact.

Or at least, we feel fat. And we gain more than we wanted. And we don’t do Pilates and yoga and ride bikes and swim and eat quinoa and roasted eggplant til the day we deliver.

Most of us eat shit and get fat and hope to God that the whole breastfeeding-burns-calories theory holds water.

And so, I commend you, Jessica Simpson, for representing the poor choices women make during that special time. And for discussing it on national television. And in People Magazine. Even if you did get millions for it.

Of course, now I hear you’ve already sold your post-baby weight-loss journey to some weight-loss company, which means we have suddenly somehow already lost touch with one another, which is kind of sad.

We had some good times, you and I.

It was good while it lasted.

But no matter how thin you get, no matter how many 5Ks you run 4 months after your baby’s born, no matter how soon you divorce your latest flavor, and no matter how BAD your next entertainment endeavor is… I’ll always remember you as The Actual Hollywood Human Female who ate horrible things during pregnancy, got fat, and admitted it.

Like the rest of us.

So cheers to my new hero.

Gooooooo Jessica!

Did I really just write a blog post about Jessica Simpson being my hero? Somebody help me.