It is easy to think you’re fancy when you live in a house with an ocean view. Every once in a while, glass of wine in hand and Pacific Coast sunset in view I can feel like hot stuff. Then I remember. That one time. Oh, and that time too. Dang it.

I am reminded that it is a good thing we aren’t the individual stories from our past but a furtive collection of their sum. I don’t come from much. I still don’t have much (besides that ocean view). For years I tried to accumulate in an attempt to fill the void you have in your heart when you don’t come from much. That didn’t work.

 I spent some summers of my youth hanging out at my grandma’s mobile home park. I thought it was awesome for a while, then I was kind of embarrassed by it. You can guess about what age I began to be embarrassed.

One summer, I was about 13, I met a boy there. Dear goodness this story just gets better. So he was the nephew of the couple that managed the mobile home park. I remember their names were Connie and Rick. I think they were later fired for embezzlement. Rick was on disability and Connie drove a golf cart very authoritatively around the park looking for code violations. She also had a nose that looked decidedly like a bird beak. Anyway, their wayward nephew came to spend some time with them because his mother was at wits end and needed a break. Well hello Fate, nice to meet you.

We were the only two kids in the park that summer. It was hot, over a hundred degrees every day. I would sleep in, listen to 80’s music on my Sony walkman and lay out by the pool. In the evenings, my Grammy and I would pay gin rummy and eat ice cream sundaes. When the wayward nephew showed up, I found reasons to hang out by the clubhouse. I would linger by the used romance books available for check out, watch the old men play pool and sneak popsicles from the common refrigerator. All hoping he would see me. Silly girl.

So the boy and I started hanging out. We would watch MTV and listen to music. Paula Abdul was a favorite, specifically “Rush, Rush”. Oh yeah, the video with Keanu Reeves was a real teen girl swoon inducer. One night, when we were both supposed to be back at our respective trailers (stay classy Jenn), we kissed. He was a little older than I and even at 13 I had a sense he was a bad idea. He kissed me for a moment and then moved his lips quickly to my neck. What happened next has either been shut out because of post traumatic stress or selective memory reduction, either way, thinking about it now keeps me humble.

By the light of the deep summer moon, the smell of a freshly chlorinated pool and sporting my favorite rolled up jean shorts, I received my first and only hickey. Oh. My. Gawd.

When the vampire session concluded, I ran back to my grandma’s and looked in the mirror. I was shocked and a little upset at wayward nephew boy. I didn’t bargain for a physical reminder of my teenage curiosity, but there it was, all red and angry on my neck. It might have been the first time I felt real shame. I knew that I shouldn’t have been alone with this boy and now I had proof that my intuition was right. Grammy was going to freak out (or as I would have explained it then, “totally spaz”).

The boy left a few days later and thanks to my fashionable sleeveless mock turtleneck I was able to hide the evidence from everyone but Connie and her beak. She sniffed out the trouble and pulled me aside to say that even she knew her nephew wasn’t a good idea for me.

Looking back on that 20 year old memory, I can’t help but think I’ve come a long way. Yet, I am sure I am often just a few bad decisions away from those vulnerable, childlike moments where giving in seems better than walking away. Maybe I’ve learned better than to make decisions that leave trails of physical evidence but I can’t say that some of my decisions haven’t left red, angry marks on my soul.

Whether 13 or 33, all I can hope for is a little grace from a big God. I am pretty sure that just like that turtleneck did all those years ago, God’s grace covers my bad decisions and gives me time to heal. I just have to put it on and be patient.

Look, I don’t mean to alarm you but apparently Bush era education policies have finally made their savage way to the world of children’s programming. It was announced today that after 26 years on the air, Reading Rainbow will be canceled this summer. In case you are staring at your computer wondering what in the world the pregnant lady is talking about, here this is for you:

So, back in the day when I would spend lazy summers vacillating between Barbie Beauty Salon imaginary play and the wide world of the boob tube, Reading Rainbow was a staple. In fact, for those of you who think of Lavar Burton as “Jordy” or whatever, I say…”take a look its’ in a book, Reading Rainbow.”

Because NPR can tie anything to politics, in their segment this morning about the cancellation of Reading Rainbow they mentioned that Bush education policies switched the reading focus to “learning to read” not “getting kids excited about reading.” Ugh. I guess to love something you have to know how to do it or whatever.  Geez.  So, long story short, shows about “loving reading” are simply a luxury we can’t afford as a society and we are all going to have to watch Super Why until we fall over dead. Yeah!

 In its’ two decade run, Reading Rainbow earned two dozen Emmy’s and taught a lot of kids about how cool books can be. I was one of those kids, I bet you were too.

Butterfly in the sky, I can go twice as high
Take a look, it’s in a book – Reading Rainbow.

I can go anywhere!
Friends to know and ways to grow – Reading Rainbow.

I can be anything!
Take a look, it’s in a book – Reading Rainbow.

Reading Rainbow, Reading Rainbow, Reading Rainbow, Reading Rainbow!

As I was driving to work on this momentous day (ha ha ha) I was thinking about what I want for my birthday. Or more accurately, what I want for this 32nd year of my life. Needless to say there are a lot of things that I want to see happen this year – get out of debt, loose ten pounds, run another race, etc. However, my mind kept going back to one thing: my brother.

A few months ago I wrote about how my mom and dad met and how he died very unexpectedly when I was two years old. What I didn’t mention was that I am not the only child he left behind. I have an older half brother and half sister. My sister has been a part of my life since I can remember – she has always been there for me and even though we only share one parent (dad), she is wholly my sister. My brother is a different story, I remember bits and pieces of him up until I was around 4 or 5 and then he just disappeared. I arranged to see him about 5 years ago and it was a brief dinner, uncomfortable and over quickly.

My brother was not in a good place when our father died. Wayne Jr. was his father’s namesake and was knowingly disappointing his dad prior to his death. Needless to say, the bad behavior only increased after our father passed. My brother was 19, an addict and directionless. He resented my mother for reasons I don’t fully comprehend and little Jenn was just another reminder that his father had moved on with life after his divorce to Wayne Jr’s mother.

Fast forward to last night. I received a call from my sister and she explained that our brother had run away to Belize and abandoned his wife. He was in a crazy drunken state, escaped from rehab and on a very destructive course. My sister called to tell me she was basically disowning him and couldn’t take his behavior any longer. Wayne Jr. is smart, wicked smart. He is a physician’s assistant, a medical school graduate but a residency drop out. However, in South America, he has enough schooling to be considered a full fledged doctor. So he escaped there to write his own prescriptions and pretend that he is the medical professional he wishes to be. He escaped there to be someone different than he is here.

My brother is one of only two links to my biological father. I have no other connections to this side of my family. I have longed for years to know more about my father’s family but sadly, no one related to my father (other than my siblings) is still alive. I have fantasized about sitting down with my brother and asking him to tell me stories about our father. I would give anything to have a meaningful conversation with the man who so resembles my father and had more many more years with him than I. Yet, that is truly a fantasy because Wayne Jr is a shell of man and his memories are probably very jaded by now.

This morning on my drive I realized Belize is the perfect place for Wayne, it is removed, it is different. It is the perfect place for him to hit bottom and find Jesus. I know that sounds cliche but let me explain. As many of my church going friends know, Saul met Jesus on the road to Damascus and was forever changed. Saul was busy persecuting and killing Christians, until he met Jesus. It was at that time that he became known as Paul and he eventually was the catalyst for the spread of Christianity. You can’t really meet Jesus and not be changed, Paul being the best example of this. I believe that God is still meeting people “on the road to Damascus” and he is still changing them entirely. He changed me and he can change my brother. No matter how hopeless Wayne Jr’s situation is, God is hopeful.

I decided that this year I will pray every day for my brother, for a missionary or believer in Belize to meet Wayne and offer him something no drug could ever promise: hope. I know there is someone in Belize that God will put in Wayne’s path – God never stops offering a chance, not until every opportunity has been exhausted. Maybe a missionary will stumble into the clinic where Wayne is working and he will see with new eyes.

Join me, will you, in praying for Wayne to find what his heart really needs. Pray for that person who will deliver the message of love and hope to him, that they will be blessed beyond measure. I want to celebrate on my 33rd birthday the gift of a brother reborn in this life.

Sweet

I was wearing a really great dress. My hair turned out perfect and I had on my best shoes, the ones so dainty and sparkly that my feet look like little presents. We walked in and I scanned the crowd, no one familiar. I had my incredibly handsome husband by my side, his new tuxedo fitted to perfection. I had already decided we were the best dressed couple there. However, with all the money in this room, it was unlikely that we were really the best dressed, just the most current. In this county, money seems hopelessly lost on the old and tasteless. Deep inside, even though I felt like I looked good, I was insecure that I didn’t know anyone and thinking maybe someone could see in my eyes that I felt out of place in this opulent ballroom, tucked in one of the most beautiful resorts in the country. I honestly felt more aligned with the wait staff than our dinner guests, mostly because in the fiscal pyramid, I am.

Small talk with a stranger visiting our table led to a realization that a person sitting as his table was someone I had gone to school with years before. Someone who had been the most popular boy – wealthy, good looking and mostly cruel. Growing up in this area, I was different. We didn’t have the money or the privilege of our fellow residents, just good fortune. It didn’t help that I had a HORRIBLE maiden name – one that would always cause a snicker or a jeer. This last name was the bane of my junior high existence. 

This boy, the one I have just been told is only a few tables away, was the king of taunting. He alone could reduce me to tears and make me feel like I was a total nerd and outcast. As I took this strangers hand, by his insistence this lovely reunion occur, I was mortified. I couldn’t believe that after 15 years I would see him again, would I be reduced the 12 year old with a ugly perm and no sense of self?

As he turned around, time stopped. It was a moment I will never forget. It wasn’t that he looked bad, he doesn’t. It is just that time has been friendlier to the girl with the bad hair and silly last name, than the privileged boy with the sharp tongue. In a flash, his eyes registered who I was and time, all those years, condensed into minutes as I stood in front of him. He was pleasant, he had a lovely pregnant wife and she quickly made the moment less awkward. I told him my new last name and we both laughed a little about my old one.

A few moments later as I walked away with my head held high, thinking if the whole night was for that tiny moment, it was worth it. There is nothing quite as satisfying as shocking someone by being more than they expected.

 *UPDATE* Follow this link, and at about 1min in, you will see a dark haired girl and a tall boy walk past the cameras….guess who?

Sucked In

I am a reader. In high school, I could put away about 50 books a year. I read everything from John Grisham to Danielle Steele. I would read to escape, not from a horrible life but from the reality of being a teenager in a small town.  I plowed through books, sometimes never really reading the fine print, just absorbing the basic story and then moving on to the next title. However, there was one author I savored, Ann Rice. I love me some vampire drama. Which makes no sense because I am a total chicken who can’t stand scary movies and avoid dark places like I avoid decaf coffee (seriously what is the point?). I just loved the intricacy and totality of Ann’s storytelling. She pulled me into a world I couldn’t comprehend and for the duration of the novel, I called it home.

As I got to college, I had less time for pleasure reading, plus I realized most of my reading had turned to that of the romance nature. It wasn’t that I thought romance novels were bad for me but I realized they were skewing my expectations on dating. I probably was not going to have my clothes torn off in a fit of passion, whilst riding a gondola in turn of the century Venice. Nor was I likely to find myself sold into marriage in the 1800′s to a man that seemed gruff but turned out to be the most sensitive lover for which a woman could ask. So, I mainly put aside fiction reading and turned to humor and biographies.

In conversation a few months back with a friend (Hi Zoe!) I was told about the Twighlight series.  I put off the purchase until today. I knew that I would love the books and my social life would suffer because of it, as I called off girls’ night for night with the “undead”. So, as I begin this new series, I apologize ahead of time if my writing slacks off but just blame it on me being sucked in.

Kids grow up fast. Too fast. In the middle of a sleepless night with a crying baby, it is easy to think that the phase will never pass. However, in truth, it is just a moment in time that your children are young. I did a list like the one below with Isaac at the about the same age and I recently re-read it. I almost can’t remember Isaac at that age, which makes me feel very melancholy. These are precious times and I don’t want to forget any of it. Joshua has been growing and changing at an alarming speed lately. He has taken up talking on a full time basis and his wild personality is center stage in our house. He fits so perfectly into our lives, I just can’t remember what it was like without him.

 Dearest Joshua,

• You love to put on and take off your shoes. You constantly grab a pair of shoes and run to my lap, sit down and say “shoes”.

• Your affinity for your brother is hilarious. He is the first person you ask for the in morning and the last person you play with at night. When he is sleeping and you are not, we literally have to barricade the door so you don’t wake him up.

• You are happiest when we are on an adventure. You will be in the midst of throwing a fit and all I have to do is say “Do you want to go bye-bye?” and you instantly stop crying and head for the door.

• You have recently taken to growling. Not sure what it is all about but maybe Halloween is the culprit. You will growl at Isaac, then start laughing and chase him down the hall. Your ability to take down a 41 pound 4 year old is shocking. You are quite the scrapper.

• You call food “num nums.” I am not sure where you got this but now everyone in the house says “I want num nums” when they are hungry.

• When you are really tired, you try to put yourself to bed. You start in the kitchen, somehow lugging out the milk and trying to put it in your bottle. You then say, “night night Mommy!”

• You love the water. When we head to the beach you instantly start yelling “Wa wa wa wa!” You will hurl yourself face first into any body of water – which worries me sick. I am hoping you will take up swimming soon, for your own safety.

• You have an affinity for fruit that is unparalleled. You call strawberries, “strawbabies” and it makes me laugh every time. One time I seriously thought you had overdosed on bananas.  You didn’t poop for a week.

I love you so much Joshua, I can’t wait to see the man you will become but in the meantime, I love the little boy that you are.

I realized the other day that I have really high expectations for life. I really do expect to win the lottery or “be discovered.” For what you ask? No clue really, I just believe that someone is going to come up to me and say, “You are so interesting and the whole world must know immediately.” Might be the same reason why for the entirely of my teen years I was convinced that if Keanu Reeves could just meet me, he would love me. Yup, that’s why I’m in therapy people. I am not sure where these delusions of grandeur come from but I think it might have something to do with a few childhood moments. Let me explain…

Somewhere between the ages of birth and seven, people noticed that I didn’t take bad pictures. In fact, pull out a camera and I was likely to put on my best smile. I might even strike a pose or maybe you want me to do this with my hands or laugh like this?

Like an actor slipping into character one vertebrae at a time, my camera persona fell over me like a familiar old jacket. It was nothing I was taught, I just loved the feeling of being captured in a moment. As though the camera could hold time still and I could languish in the attention for an eternity. As time went on and awkward teenage years ensued, I would loose that love but for the duration of this part of the story I was always camera ready.

Obviously people encouraged my ham-like nature, which in turn fed the compliment hungry beast. All of this picture taking/pose striking led to obvious questions about what one might do with this skill that I possessed. After hours of discussion and an ill advised but thankfully short deliberation about pageant entry, my mom and I decided that I would try to get a gig as a child model.

My mom proceeded to take pictures of me in different situations and sent them off to several talent agencies in San Francisco. After a considerable wait period, we got answers from two of them. The first was a huge agency in the City that represented some pretty big child stars. The agency asked that I come in for an interview. I vaguely remember the waiting room to be a bit like the set of Ugly Betty, lots of pictures on the wall of beautiful people and glass doors. There was also lots of pastel because after all, this was the 80’s and who didn’t love the Miami Vice look?

For weeks my mom and I had rehearsed my “audition” and I finally had it down. I would be reciting the lines from a popular L’Oreal commercial, only we had changed it up a bit. For those of you that remember the 80’s, the commercials we chose were done by Andy McDowell and she always started them with the line “You know what really chips me off?” Then she would explain how whatever chipped her off wasn’t her nail polish because L’Oreal nail polish doesn’t what? Chip. That’s right.

We had added a little humor to the lines and I felt comfortable enough to say them aloud in front of strangers. “You know what really chips me off? When I go to Paris and my luggage goes to Rome!” Oh the hilarity! What 8 year old hasn’t experienced that unpleasantry?

When they called my name and I walked down the hall all by my lonesome, I began to feel nervous. Just because I could manage not to look like a freak in front of a camera didn’t necessarily translate into solo interviews with strangers whereby I recite a ludicrous commercial and wait for approval. However, as I sat down in front of the four adult strangers something strange began to happen. I shook hands with all of them, and began to recite my commercial. After my first line, they laughed…in a good way. I was dizzy with the glow of approval, they thought I was funny! When I finished they asked that I repeat the commercial again, only this time with a southern accent. I’ll be frank, I was 8 and I am sure my version of southern was no where close to spot on, however if they were going to laugh again, I was willing to do anything. I’d speak martian or gibberish or Valley Girl for that matter. Come to think of it, I think Valley Girl was involved.

They pretty much offered me the job on the spot. My mom was shocked at the process and told me in the car that she could hear them laughing from the waiting room. She implored me to tell her what exactly I had been doing in there. I told her what happened and I distinctly remember her reaction was something of shock. She hadn’t taught me that part, the part where I make stuff up on the fly. Her little ham was growing up!

To make a long story short, I didn’t go with the big agency because they wanted too much of my time and I wasn’t ready to drop out of school and hire a full time tutor. There were Barbies to play with and kids to prank call, I didn’t have time for “homework on the set.”  However, the agency we did go with paid me $80 an hour for the work I did, which was mostly print work for Macy’s and brand name toy companies like Mattel.

According to an inflation calculator, $80 in 1985 has the same buying power as $163 dollars today. Considering I just took a job making somewhere in the $30 an hour range, is it really that surprising that I am disappointed?

These days I have settled for less money in the workplace but also I have moved to the other side of the camera and now relish in taking pictures of others. I look back on my years doing modeling work as an important part of my life. It made me learn to be comfortable in an interview and at ease with a crowd. Unfortunately, it appears that my 15 minutes of fame may be over and I was too young to enjoy it. Like a meringue on a foggy day, I peaked early.

Twice now our family has had professional shots done and both times the photographer asked if our son Isaac would ever consider modeling because, you guessed it, he takes great pictures…