Starting a Village

July 28, 2014 by Kate Felton in think

Enough is enough. I'm starting a village.

This is hard. The days are long and sometimes the nights are even longer. I often wonder how other people are doing it. I think the short answer is, they aren't. They are faking it, just like I am.

I'm done faking it. I'm inviting people into my messy kitchen, pointing out the junk drawer. I'm inviting them to join my village. Because, that is what is at the root of the isolation and the loneliness of modern parenting, we are all hiding our messy kitchen, our four year-old's paci, our bag of Doritos. Our shame is the barricade between us and our chances at community.

There are a handful of people in my life that are already in my village, the people who say yes when they can, the people who call on me for help, and I treasure them. They know all about my messy kitchen, and have invited me into theirs. But I seem to run across, on a daily basis, people who are too busy judging to help, or people who are too busy hiding to be helped.

Enough. I'll show you mine, if you show me yours. My house is never as clean as I want it to be. My clothes are all shoved into random drawers. There are always dishes in my sink. We currently have an old Star Wars bed sheet tossed over the TV because we told O it was "broken". I bought O and P a snack pack of Keebler cookies each at the grocery store the other day, just so I could drive the last fifteen minutes of my day in peace. I am often short tempered, usually when, in retrospect I realize, they needed my kindness and patience the most.

If you can live with all of that, then I am inviting you to join my village. Come be beautifully imperfect with me. Come try your best and enjoy the successes and failures that comes along with it. Come have dinner in my messy kitchen. Come share a bottle of wine on my back porch. Let's parent together. Let's share the load.

The only rules: help when you can, and remember everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about, so be kind.

Oh, and I might ask you to watch my kids for a few hours every now and then.

Now accepting applications.

Summer Sounds at the Hollywood Bowl

July 24, 2014 by Kate Felton in do

O: I want to go to the Huntington Bowl and hear the music.

This is late in coming, but if you have littles and are in the LA area you have six more chances to go. These world music concerts are fun, engaging for kids as young as two, and a great way to spend a summer day. They take place in a smaller space adjacent to the Bowl and are very thoughtfully done. This year we have heard Indian music and West African music.

You can usually get tickets at the box office the day of, so you can skip the online processing fee, and parking is free. Your ticket includes a craft related to the music and the performers, ushers, and art staff are all really friendly and happy to be there. We usually bring a picnic and eat on the grass by the box office when we are done.

Check here for more info: http://www.hollywoodbowl.com/summersounds

We have so much fun, I always forget to take pictures.

The Hollywood Bowl is a magical place. Its history sings and I just like being there. Summer is wrapping up. Let's soak in the city as much as we can. Let's stay up late and watch the stars. Let's eat fro-yo for dinner. Let's go to the Hollywood Bowl. Maybe I'll see you there next week for Latin Jazz.

Sam's Story

July 08, 2014 by Kate Felton in think

O: I don't like his dog slobber, but I love him anyway.

When I was 19, I did a very dumb thing. Actually, when I was 19, I did quite a few dumb things, but that is for another time and place. I was living in a guest house in LA, and I got a dog, not a tiny, fit-in-your-purse kind of dog, but a real, honest-to-goodness, archetypal dog. I got him from a breeder (see, I warned you, very very dumb). He was the last in the litter and I drove my beat-up old mustang all the way to Chatsworth "just to look," and came home with a brown-eyed, brown-nosed, very brown dog, with a white diamond on his chest and the cutest pink puppy belly ever. He puked on me on the ride home.

I was young and short-sighted, and getting a dog was really dumb. I had a busy, unreliable schedule. I really didn't know what I was getting myself into. Sam, Yahoo!, and I figured it out. I taught Sam to sit, fetch, and potty outside. Sam taught me responsibility, the importance of showing up, and what unconditional love could feel like. Because of Sam, I didn't go to the next bar. I needed to go home to walk him. Because of Sam, I didn't go on that last minute, ill-conceived trip to Vegas. Because of Sam, when my life began to feel out of control, when I was self-isolating and being self-destructive, I still had to get out of bed and go buy dog food, and sometimes, that made all the difference. Sam is, without a doubt, the best dumb thing I've ever done.

Somewhere along the way, I met Jim. We were working together and maintaining a strictly professional relationship. According to Jim, he first realized he was interested in me romantically when he caught himself wondering whether or not Sam would like him. At this point, Sam has been my and Jim's dog longer than he was just mine, but I still remind him, Sam was mine first. Jim thinks, cosmically, I got Sam for him, and he might be right.

It never dawned on me, that hot day in Chatsworth, that I was getting my children's first dog. Of course, a little research on the lifespan of a chocolate lab and a little math would have lead me to that possibility, but like I said before, shortsighted. I remember the night we brought O home from the hospital. I was so worried about how my gentle giant would react to this new tiny person in our home. He sniffed her and licked her and she was instantly his, part of our pack. That first night he whimpered anxiously whenever she cried, and ran from her crib to our feet and back again. Now, he sleeps at the foot of P's toddler bed when she is restless at bedtime. He puts up with their clumsy hugs, eye pokes, and ear pulls. He endures the noise and the chaos of our small home, full of small people. In return, we give him as much love as we can muster and all of the food that gets dropped on the floor.

And now he is 12, geriatric for a dog of his size. He doesn't jump on the bed anymore and I think his hearing is going, or perhaps just becoming more selective. He'll still chase a tennis ball until his paws are bloody and the other day, out of nowhere, he jumped straight up on to a three foot wall from a standing position. Some days, he still looks like a puppy. Some days, the reality of losing him hits me like a punch in the gut. Sam and I have been together for a long time.

Sometimes, by being sensible, we talk ourselves out of some of life's biggest joys. Sam is my reminder to do dumb things, to take big risks. You never know how they'll play out, and sometimes, they are so very worth it.

The Littlest Campers: Tips and Tricks

July 02, 2014 by Kate Felton in do

General tips for camping with kids

1. Don't camp alone. Part of the beauty of these trips is how many adult hands there are to pass a baby off to, and how many adult eyes there are to watch out for the roving dust cloud of older kids. Find out how many of your friends are potential good campers, even if they've never camped before, and drag them along. Promise beer. Promise marshmallows. Promise anything, but don't camp alone.

2. Don't over do the packing. You need less than you think, especially if you camp in a group.

3. Leave the workbooks, tablets, and toys. Bring books, buckets, and glue. Nothing entertains a pack of wild beasts like gluing leaves on paper. I can't explain it, but I know it's true.

4. Dirt Tent! The kids will want nothing more than to go in and out and in and out of your pristine sleeping tent. They will want to play with the zipper and jump on your air mattress. Bring a dirt tent. Scour garage sales or maybe retire your old tent. Set up the dirt tent as the place they can play, keep their shoes on, not worry about bugs getting in. DIRT TENT.

5. Release the schedule. Stop looking at your watch. They aren't going to nap. They might pass out at 4:00pm in a mud puddle while looking for worms. They aren't going to go to bed on time. They might eat seventy marshmallows and fall asleep around the campfire in the middle of the second verse of Hey Jude. Don't worry, they'll still be up at 6:00am.

Camping While Pregnant

I have not yet attempted the CWP, but I have a brave and wonderful friend who joined us on a camping trip when she was a full eight months pregnant with her second son. Other than some hilarity over breakfast as she re-enacted attempting to get up off of her air mattress that had sprung a leak in the middle of the night, leaving her trapped and flailing, the trip was without incident and enjoyed by all.

Tips for CWP

- Make sure you get a campsite close to the bathroom.

Camping with a Newborn

If you are practicing any version of attachment parenting (breastfeeding, baby wearing, and co-sleeping), camping with a newborn is no big thing.

Not a newborn in that ergo, but seriously, ERGO!

Tips for Camping with a Newborn

- Breastfeeding, babywearing, and co-sleeping

-If you have room and access to one, a pack-and-play can come in very handy. Put it under a tree with cool leaves and you might even get a quiet minute to set up the tent.

Pro-tip: Put the pack-and-play and any other crucial distract-the-kids style items in the car last. That way they are the first things you pull out. It is no fun trying to unpack and set up camp with bored kids underfoot.

Camping with a Crawler

I'm not sure I have a ton of insight to offer here. Our first time out was with a crawler and it was rough. She didn't want to be in the baby carrier. She wasn't a fan of the pack-and-play. She just wanted down, into the dirt, on her hands and knees. I'm a big fan of dirty, but it started to be a safety concern. This might be the one stage I would wait out.

Tips for Camping with a Crawler

-Definitely bring that pack-and-play. Beg, borrow, or steal that pack-and-play. But then don't be surprised when the little stinker wants nothing to do with it.

-Over-pack on kid's clothes. If there is water, they will find it. Dirty is one thing, but getting to the end of the day with nothing dry to put on for bedtime is another.

Camping with a Toddler

Here is where it starts to get really fun. The dirt! The bugs! The snacks! The disgusting intersection of all three! I don't think I've ever seen anyone more joyful than a filthy free-range toddler. Toddlers make good campers, if you let them.

Tips for Camping with a Toddler

- Bring extra shoes. If there is a puddle they are going to jump in it and life is no fun with wet shoes.

-Pack for colder weather than you expect. Cold munchkins don't sleep well.

-All day pajamas is a good look when camping.

Camping with a Preschooler

Camping with someone who sees the whole world as magical is pretty special. This last trip, we would walk on the adjacent hiking trails and O would tell us stories about gnomes and fairies. It is the perfect age to take them to a new place that can challenge their expectations and immerse them more fully in the natural world.

Tips for Camping with a Preschooler

- Snacks. Things that are easy to throw into their mouths as they run by. It can be tricky to get them to eat otherwise.

-Glow sticks are a fun, easy way to make sure the kids stay visible at night.

-Camping is a great time to try to get a picky eater to try new food. They are so far outside of their normal day-to-day, you might be surprised by what they'll try.

-Say yes. As often as possible, as much as you can stand, even when you want to say no, say yes. You're camping.

Camping with a Big Kid

I don't have any personal experience to offer, only observations. In general, I have watched the older kids in our camping group rise above what I would expect based on their ages. I have watched them look after the smaller kids, taking time and effort to make sure they were safe. I have watched them be helpful without being asked, when it comes to setting-up camp or cleaning up after meals. Perhaps the freedom they are permitted instills a sense of responsibility, or maybe they are just so happy to be outside. Maybe, they were all just good campers.

Camping is Forever

July 01, 2014 by Kate Felton in go

O: I need my own tent, my own tent where all my friends can sleep with me.

My dad took me camping. I couldn't tell you if he took me twice or a thousand times, but he took me camping. I rode my bike around the campground with my purple unicorn whistle around my neck. I ate s'mores and hotdogs, slept in a tent, and went days without a shower. I carried my own bag, even if it was only from the car to the tent. I learned that there are two kinds of people in the world: good campers and bad campers. I learned that I wanted to be a good camper.

That's me on the left, good camper in training.

Good campers go with the flow. They know how to have a good time regardless of the circumstances. They always have a pocket knife and bottle opener, and they always know where they are. Good campers follow the campsite rule everywhere they go, always leave the campsite/friend's home/restaurant table/partner/friend/lover better than you found them. They rarely brush their hair, but they always brush their teeth. They share their supplies and food as willingly as they share stories and jokes around the campfire. They know how to pack light, but they always manage to have exactly what they need. Good campers have easy laughs and cool toys. My dad is a good camper.

In our post-marriage, pre-kid life, Jim and I camped. We registered and received a tent as a wedding gift. We didn't camp enough, though. It was always "that thing we should do the next time we have time to," and we never managed to have time to.

We have camped three times with the girls. The first time was unbearable. No one slept. We were dirty and miserable. I brought a car full of things we didn't need, but still couldn't manage to make myself coffee in the morning. If it wasn't for the peer pressure of a beloved group of friends, we might never have camped again.

The second time was better. I packed lighter and smarter. We agreed beforehand to throw the schedule and rules out the window. It was a land of no naps, unlimited snacks, and a run-until-you-pass-out bedtime strategy. It was late fall, cold and damp, and as we snuggled deep in our sleeping bags, I heard O giggle in her sleep, dreaming of s'mores and dragon flies.

Now, this is a kid who knows how to camp

This last time was spectacular. The campground had recently had a fire and the charred trees were surrounded by the fresh green of new life that always seems to follow destruction. It was awe-inspiring and a great chance to talk about the cycles we find in nature all around us. O is old enough now that she just was absorbed into the roving dust cloud of children that bounced happily from campsite to campsite, being chased out of tents, and climbing trees. P hopped from lap to lap, happily hosted by the different adults in our party, eating overripe peaches with her sticky, dirty hands. We can't wait to go again, to walk at sunset and look for lizards, to wiggle our toes in the sand, to throw dirt clods in a gully, to watch sleepy children climb onto their parents laps by fire light, fighting to keep their eyes open for just one more minute.

I am learning to be a good camper, to revel in the quiet and to take each moment as it comes, to balance preparation with practicality. I want to lead by example by following the campsite rule, leaving the world behind me better than when I entered it, improved or at least not damaged by my presence there. I want them to remember, when they are grown, being dirty, exhausted, and happy, sleeping deeply with sounds of close-by crickets and far-away coyotes outside the tent. I want them to be good campers, like their grandpa.

Check in tomorrow for my Top Ten Tips for Camping with Toddlers.

A Museum, a Park, a Beach, Repeat

June 04, 2014 by Kate Felton in do

O: Momma, are we starting the day, or ending the day, or in the middle of the day?

I love summer, or at least I used to, when I was a kid. As I trudged into adulthood it has started to mean less and less. Sure, it is warmer and it is light later into the evening, but gone is that free feeling of having nothing to do, nowhere to be. I no longer live in my swimsuit, my hair in an eternal matted pony tail.

But here we are, at the beginning of O's second summer off from pre-school, and somehow, that tingly summer feeling is returning. This week I rolled down a hill, swam in the ocean, and ate ice cream for dinner. Our bathing suits are living on the line outside and haven't been fully dry all week. In a few days, we are going camping. We will return home, exhausted and that first post-camping bath will leave a dirt ring around the tub as satisfying as the trip itself. Summer is a time to be dirty, to roll in the sand, to eat cherries until your fingertips are stained red, to lay in the dirt on your belly and look for bugs, to lay in the grass on your back and watch the clouds. I'm ready. I suppose, if O and P want to join in, they are invited too.

This summer, my recipe is this: a museum, a park, a beach, repeat. Every week, we are going to attempt those three things. That should leave plenty of time for cloud gazing, getting dirty, and cherry eating too.

Mother's Day: a photo essay

May 10, 2014 by Kate Felton in think

P: Mooma, Mamoo, Mama.

Once you become a mother, you become the keeper of memories. You are suddenly responsible for the collecting, compiling, and storing of all of the firsts: teeth, steps, words. You store them away jealously, guarding these details that mark the passing of time. You study them and file them, like there might be a pop quiz at any moment.

One of the most important parts of being the archivist of your children’s childhood is the photographic documentation of their every waking moment, and frankly a fair number of their sleeping moments too. I started to notice, when scrolling through the countless digital images, that something, or rather someone, was missing. I had become such a diligent archivist, that I had managed to eliminate myself. It was then that I started making an attempt to pass the camera to Jim.

I realized that I couldn’t be alone, so I started to make a real effort when I had my camera with me, to watch, when I was around the other mothers in my life, woman that I admire and respect, and if I could, to snap a picture for them. While I started out just snapping pictures for them, I ended up finding so much joy, beauty, and strength.

Being the keeper of the memories is not an easy job. Some of those memories are heavy and hard to hold. We are all someone’s child, and even if it isn't a mother who holds your memories, tomorrow is a good day to say thank you.

And to those of you have taken on your own archival duties, remember to pass the camera off, to make yourself a part of the record, because your children deserve to see your joy, your beauty, and your strength.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Tech Week Magic

May 05, 2014 by Kate Felton in think

O: Momma, you promise you will come and kiss me softly when you get home and I am asleep? But very softly so you don't wake me up, ok?

K: I promise.

I'm going to brag. I survived last week. Not only did I survive last week, but Jim, O, P and Sam survived last week. The house remained livable. Everyone ate. Most of us slept, occasionally. Success!

Tech week is always hard. It is the final push before the audience joins us and becomes part of the process. It is where all of the technical elements come together and costumes and lights and sound and some semblance of acting collide. It is hard. It is usually a lot of late nights. It is often painful. It is always magic.

There was a lot of magic this week: the talented tech crew and designers who had one only week and made everything in this complicated show work, the professional staff at the playhouse who are bravely pushing boundaries and getting butts in the seats, the phenomenal team of actors with whom I am privileged to share the stage, the fantastic babysitters who lovingly watched my girls while I worked, my incredible preschool community who would sign O out after school when I was running late, the neighbor who popped over to sit with P while she slept so I didn't have to wake her in the middle of her nap, the unbelievably supportive theatre family who filled the house during our previews and opening, the grandparents who pulled an all-nighter so Jim could be there for our first show, and Jim, who has always been there, and always will be there, encouraging me to push past my own beliefs of what I'm capable of, and who (maybe more impressive) did bedtime duty, alone, for the past two months.