My Mom May or May Not Have Been Married to Heath Ledger

Here's Michelle Williams, widow of Heath Ledger...

Here's my mom...

Maybe I'm Heath Ledger's love child...

Okay.
I was 5 years older than Heath...
But if time and space had warped in some sort of bizarre science fiction freak-fest, it could have happened!
I'm just saying!

Shamy: A History

As is the curse of motherhood, my mom had this terrible habit of calling my sister and I by the wrong name. My sister suffered the brunt of this, as my mom was very used to yelling at me. So naturally, she would start with the most likely suspect: "Shhhh-(and then she'd catch her mistake)-Amy!" Very rarely was her instinct to call out Amy's name first. Rarely did we hear, "A-Shana." So we started becoming a single entity: Shamy. Here is the history of Shamy.

It all began one Easter in 1977. Mom had a scheduled C-section later that week, but Amy didn't want to wait. So she became the best Easter present I ever got, though I didn't really think of it that way for years.

This is my first glimpse of what became my favorite punching bag. Those are my little pigtails in the foreground and Amy in the bassinet.

I was intrigued by this little being. What makes her tick? ...and more importantly, what makes her cry?

Very soon, I started realizing this little creature was honing in on my territory. Oh, sure. We look quite picture perfect in our Christmas finery, but don't be fooled. There was trouble brewing beneath it all. Can you see it in our faces? I was ready to leap into action at any moment, and Amy's wary face shows how alert she was for my attacks.

Sure, there WERE moments of kindness. See? There's actually photographic evidence that I shared every once in a while.

Most of the time, though, I was just bossing her around and trying to find ways of tricking her into doing something stupid or dangerous. See that malevolent sneer on my face and Amy's guileless look of innocence? That was pretty typical. I probably just told her the Easter eggs we were looking for in this picture would hatch and turn into flesh eating dinosaurs.

But you had to admit, she was SOOOOO cute! What big sister wouldn't be jealous of those piercing blue eyes and white blonde hair? And she was just so sweet, dang it! How could I compete?

It had to be through brute force. I must beat her into submission. This was at our Grandma and Grandpa Reed's house, probably just before I shoved her down this seemingly fun hill of dirt.

There's that plotting scowl again, and Amy's justifiably paranoid observation of me.

But we did have fun together. There was always somebody to dress up with, as seen here from the lens of our family friend, Patty Benker. We would play at Castle Rock at our cabin in Strawberry and come up with all sorts of crazy make believe scenarios. They usually involved me being a princess and Amy as some sort of servant girl. I think in this picture I'm a lovely southern belle and Amy is my slave. See? I even made her cast her glance downward when in my presence.

Rarely did we vacation anywhere other than Strawberry, but here is our trip to Disneyland while Dad attended the CDA convention in Anaheim, circa 1982.

We were forced to dress alike a lot. So poor Amy had to wear the same outfit for years on end: once in the little sister size and then again when she got my hand-me-downs. Between the beatings, I started taking pity on her.
Then there was this lapse of time, where there were very few pictures of the two of us together. That was about the time our parents were going through divorce. And soon after they both remarried, Amy moved in with my Dad while I stayed with my Mom.

And then this really weird thing started happening: We began to like each other. It was no longer my primary goal to find things about my little sister to hate. She was actually kind of cool. Not as cool as me with my supercool white shades as we snorkled in Puerto Vallerta, but she was working her way up the coolness ladder in my book by the time this picture was taken.

And when we would get together, we would crack up! It became my new goal in life to make her laugh. We would stay up late having gigglefests when we got together. Here we are in Florida, making fun of Hippies. This is the closest I ever came to getting stoned... toking on plain pieces of paper with the tips colored black, and my Mom taking this damning photographic evidence of our debauchery.

Thankfully, I stopped torturing her long enough to find in Amy one of my best friends. She is someone I no longer look upon with jealousy but with admiration. She is a tenacious, courageous, loving, compassionate, multi-talented, wise, and amazing woman. I love you dearly, Amy.

Happy Birthday!

I am NOT raising Satan's spawn... I am NOT raising the next Ted Bundy... I am just raising an underachiever

I think my kids are turning out pretty good. They are fairly respectful to adults, they show compassion to people less fortunate than they, they haven't killed any little furry animals for fun... But every once in a while, I feel entirely inadequate and that my children are doomed because I have irreparably screwed them up. If I dole out the wrong punishment are they going to turn into serial killers right before my eyes? How did Mama John Wayne Gacy and Mama Ted Bundy feel when their kids brought home sucky report cards? Did they look into their little boys' eyes and know that F in math was going to spiral into future butchery?

I'm being WAAAAAAAY melodramatic, but this week has seemed so ruinous (parenting-wise) and a conversation with Hayden today has me scratching my head and fearing for my son's soul. How do I parent this child? I do NOT understand what makes him tick. His motivators are the antithesis of mine.

It all began with his progress report that he tried not to show us this week. Despite last semester's grades of mostly A's and B's, he has now decided his favorite letter is "F." As in, "What the F, Hayden?" And apparently this is a new thing... Looking at his daily grades, he seems to have excelled until the month of March, which I guess was the month that he decided his career as an academic was at an end.

When Wayne met with his math teacher, I think the teacher was surprised with how much structure was implemented in our home: Hayden has to show us his assignments as soon as he walks in the door, he sits at a specific place at the kitchen table until he is finished, he has to show us his work when he is finished, there is no X-box during the work week, and we don't even have T.V. so his distractions are minimal. I think all of the teacher's assumptions about Hayden's parents were shattered by this conversation. I think he envisioned a single mom, curlers in her hair, using her welfare check to buy tall-forties and cigarettes at the local liquor store. "Hayden! Quit scribbling over there while Momma's tryin' to nurse this hangover!" "But mother, I must do my homework or I will get an F in math." "Math, Schmath! All you's need to know is how much sales tax the government's gonna tack on to my carton of Marlboros!"

And then it became all too clear to us and the teacher that it wasn't the environment that was the problem, it was this child's will that was impeding him. When Hayden has the will to work hard, he does so with all his might. When he does not wish to work, there are no carrots to dangle that are nearly enticing enough, and no punishments that can be handed down that will be nearly threatening enough. He just wants what he wants when he wants it. He is Instant-Gratification-Boy.

So the hammer came down. All the weekend privileges of video games were suspended. Visits with friends were severely limited. And then this conversation today came up...

"Mommy and Daddy, I don't think these punishments are going to work."

"But Hayden, we have given you incentives, too... and they don't work either. When you don't do the things you are supposed to do, you end up with consequences. The major consequence of this is that you will have to work extra hard to bring your grades up. And if you choose not to do so, the consequence may be repeating a class or a grade and then you will have to do this same work that you are trying so hard to avoid... all over again."

"I know, but rewards won't work, and neither will punishments."

"Then what will work?"

"I don't know. Somebody just needs to make me do it."

*Insert screeching vinyl record noise here*

What was that, Hayden? Somebody needs to make you do it? Somebody needs to compel you to choose the right? That sounds a little like Satan to me. Do you choose to give up your agency and your ability to make choices for yourself... just to make it easier on you because self-discipline is hard?

Ummmm. No. That is not an option. Hayden, governing yourself is difficult. It is one of our lifelong pursuits as human beings. But nobody is going to do it for you. I mean, if you continue down a path to pursue this extremely rigid way of life, I'm sure the military or prison could offer you such a life, but it is my hope as a mother that you will have more options than that. I wish for you to understand that the natural consequences for underachieving are simple: You lose options. You lose the ability to choose, because some of your original choices will be closed off to you.

How does one convey this to an 11 year old with the attention span of a flea and the self-discipline of a monkey? I don't know!!! Somehow as a child, I had this inherent fear of feeling bad for not meeting my responsibilities and this inherent reward for completing them. It felt great when I achieved something and terrible when I failed. That was it! There was no magic formula to get me to do my school work... It was very simple! How do I instill this into a child who doesn't give a rat's ass if he's failed, and thinks Legos are more exciting than the intrinsic value of accomplishment?

I know Hayden is far from the next Ted Bundy. I KNOW this! But sometimes I am completely at a loss to know why Heavenly Father has entrusted me with this strong-willed young man and baffled as to how He thinks I am going to pull this one off. How can I properly instruct this foreign personality? I just don't know yet. I only hope something clicks between us within the next 7 or 8 years I have Hayden in my home.

My Vision of the Future

11:00 am at the medical center information desk...

Hi. I'm here to see a doctor.

Okay. You'll need to go to window 24 to pick up form 863-B and be sure to specify what your symptoms are, past medical history, and your tax bracket.

---
11:27 am at window 24

Excuse me, could you tell me where form 863-B is located? The guy at the information desk told me to pick it up at window 24.

Well, they used to be here at 24, but now you'll have to go online, download the form (we're "Going Green," you know), print it off, get a notarized signature and then turn it in at window 19.

First, how is that any greener if I have to print the form on paper? and Second, do you have a notary on site, or do I have to procure the services of a notary elsewhere prior to being assigned a doctor?

As for the snide comment about the environment, your grievance will be noted and you will be placed on the No-Fly list for being an ecoterrorist. And the notary is in the building just past the outside entrance on your left. You just go in the door marked 1423-R, walk down the hall, turn left at the end, make a quick right past the copy machine, and look for the notary window marked 18-J. But I think they're closed for lunch, so you'll have to come back at 2:00.

But it's 11:30 now... Do they really take three hour lunches?

That's part of the work furlough program. If the government gives them a 3 hour lunch, they're not considered full time employees, and they don't have to pay for their health benefits.

---

2:01 pm at the notary marked 18-J

Hi. I need to get this form notarized.

That'll be $15.oo.

--

2:45pm At window 19

Okay. Here is my notarized form 863-B, and now can I please be assigned a doctor?

Well, you can... But you're not supposed to turn it in at window 19. Nope. You need to take this to the line corresponding to your medical specialty. Oncology is line 12, OB/GYN is line 8, Cardiology is line 14, Gastroenterology is line 6, Radiology is line 12...

Wait a minute! You said Oncology was in line 12.

Well of course I did. At odd hours, Oncology is in line 12. Even hours, line 12 is radiology.

But what if I get in line at, say 2:50 (which would be radiology) and then 10 minutes passes and I'm now at the front of the oncology line.

Hahahahahaha! Silly! You would never get through the line in 10 minutes! It will take you at least an hour. So, when you get to the front of the line at 4:00, you'll still be in radiology.

---

4:59pm at line 12

Hi. Is this currently radiology or oncology?

You still have one minute of radiology time in the line.

I need to turn in this notarized form, and would like to be assigned a doctor to get a mammogram.

Well, that would be perfect if you had stepped in line a few minutes earlier, but now it's 5:00 and we are closing. You can try again tomorrow. And since you had this notarized today, you can skip that step and just come straight into the radiology line. But since it was notarized on a different day, you will have to pay a $20 surcharge.

But in my tax bracket, I'm not supposed to have to pay any surcharges.

No. That was before the president decided unilaterally to add surcharges to every form that is filled out. We're trying to "Go Green," so we're deterring waste by adding these surcharges.

But the guy at window 24 said I had to fill this out! How can you charge me for something that I have to fill out to get a doctor?

I'm sorry. That's just how it works. We have to pay for this free health care somehow! And since you've kept me 5 minutes past closing time, you will also be billed for my overtime. You'll just pay that when you file your taxes. It'll be on line 7c of the D67 form.

So, I don't get to have a mammogram today?

No. And to be honest, we don't even have the budget for it this month... Um, errrr, seven months. So once you get assigned you doctor, you'll just have to wait for us to mail form 32-J. That will be like a pass to be assigned a medical district that the doctor is working in for that month. Just look for the green form with the big, bold letters 32-J in the window. You should be expecting that sometime before Christmas.

But it's February! And I found a lump in my breast!

Well, then you should have gone to oncology. Thank you. Come again.

On Being "Normal"

Wayne has always told me he is glad I am not a "normal" girl. By that I think he means my interests extend beyond the latest hair, fashion, and makeup trends; he has always praised me for not getting lost in soap operas and shows like "The Bachelor." I guess he somehow got the misguided notion that normalcy does not coexist with good fashion sense and fairy tale romance.

But I know a lot of really cool women who are really in to these types of shows and they are pretty dang normal. So who's to judge? Maybe I'm missing out?

I was on Facebook around the time "The Bachelor" premiered this season, and there was one of my dental school friends posting on his page that his wife was forcing him to watch as payback for making her watch "Mythbusters" with him the night previous. So, to pass the time more enjoyably, he and his buddies were posting a play by play on his wall, complete with color commentary a la Dudeness. And it was freakin' hilarious. I thought, "No WAY it could be this cheesy! ...Really? They are actually playing 'On the Wings of Love' by Billy Ocean?!? ...And the guy is striking a Top Gun pose on his motorcycle? What am I missing out on?"

So I tuned in. And I did so at great expense, because while I would have much to chat about with my girlfriends who were regular viewers, I had lost the respect of the man I married. You should have heard his absolutely HORRIFIED reaction when he found out: "NOOOOOO! I can't believe you're watching that crap! How could you betray me like this? My image of you is shattered!" Shana, what would Jack Bauer say?"

Wayne should know better than to use tactics like this on me. I'm a Scorpio with a Taurus moon sign... hence, I'm stubborn like a bull and like to pop you with my stinger. So I totally dug in my heels... and watched every single episode to spite him.

But he was right. Shhhh. Don't tell him. Can I make that typeset any smaller?

Oh, my gosh! That was such a load of CA-RAP!!! How desperate do you have to be to subject yourself to such humiliation and become one of these women vying for the affection of one (albeit superstudly looking) dude? I mean, I get that you have recently acquired a marvelous set of silicone ta-tas and need to find the perfect venue to wear low cut dresses to show them off... But COME ON, girls!!! The guy is sucking face with every girl on the show? Doesn't the prospect of communicable diseases cross your mind every time he macks on you? Aren't you afraid of lip V.D.?

And why, if you end up being the girl that almost wins his heart, but loses to the other skank with no self respect, would you go on a reunion show and listen to the show's host say things like, "So, your heart got totally stomped on that day. How did that make you feel?" "Uuuum. LIKE TOTAL CRAP, YOU JERK! What do you think?" "Gee , why don't we watch the clip that made you feel like jumping out of your hotel window." "Sure, Buddy. That would be awesome. But don't mind me while the clip is playing and you are panning on my face while the audience watches for my pained reaction... I'm just going to ingest this bottle of pills. Please don't try to pump my stomach."

Or even better, if you end up being THE girl--the one who has won the heart of Superstud--you have to watch the entire season of him explaining how he adores all these other women, and then watch him make out with them... Over and over and over again. If that doesn't put you directly into marital counseling, then I don't know what will.

So I guess I'm not normal after all. I HATE this crap. Give me a terrorist threat and Jack Bauer's penchant for ridding the world of Nu-cu-lar weapons any day. 'Cause watching that herd of stupid women almost made me want to blow some stuff up, myself.

L.A. -ti-FRICKIN-da!

I HATE L.A.!!!

Not just a little bit... I really, REALLY, REALLY hate it! I mean, it's nice enough to visit if you have lots of money to spend on fine dining and fancy hotels. There is a lot of art and culture to see if you have the time or inclination, and the beaches and weather are superb. But if you want to get to any of those places, chances are you will be stuck in traffic at some point in the journey. And once you get there, you will probably have to pay $12 to park. And then if you decide to make another stop, it'll be more traffic and more parking fees. And while you're stuck in traffic, you will probably get honked at... or shall I say HOOOOOOOOOONKED at, because let's face it, the only way to successfully express yourself in a moving vehicle in L.A. is to really lay on the horn to make sure your frustrations are entirely understood. Flipping the bird is a frequently encountered local greeting on the road, too. It's practically like waving hello around here.

So my solution to this problem has been to take the bus to and from work. There are many things that make this sound appealing: I can let somebody else deal with the stress of driving in traffic. It picks me up a block away from my house. I don't have to pay for parking. For UCLA employees it is only 25 cents to ride. It's the "green" thing to do. And, I can read or study while I bide my time. But the caveat here is this: BUSES LIKE TO CRASH INTO OTHER CARS WHEN I AM IN THEM! I have been in three bus accidents in the year and a half that I have been here. I have never been hurt, but Holy Freaking Crap! THREE TIMES?!?

This morning's crash was particularly delightful, as we collided with a brilliant driver trying to shave a minute off her commute by running the red light to get onto the freeway and turning right into our path.

Bus-1: Stupid commuter-0.
Time saved trying to beat the light: Negative 3+ hours.

Thankfully, a little old man who was riding the bus with me was kind enough to check on the commuter's well being, as she was visibly in shock and quite embarrassed... Oh, wait. I got that wrong. That's what it looked like he was going to do as he shuffled over to her window and rapped on the glass. Instead, though, he just gave her his best mad-dog stare and shouted, "YOU STUPID BLANKITY-BLANK-BLANK-BLANK!" And then his wife beat him up with her purse shouting profanities at him and trying to usher him away. Can you feel the love this city has to offer? ...Where even the geriatrics are compelled to physically and verbally assault their fellow man? It's like a freaking Hallmark card every day!

But that wasn't even the best part. To add insult to injury, as I was herded safely off the bus onto the sidewalk, I began walking to try and get to the next stop in order to continue my journey to work. I got about 50 feet away from the accident when another commuter, obviously annoyed by the traffic that our little situation had created, sped past us, fanning an enormous spray of puddle water from my head to my feet. It soaked through three layers of clothing and gave me the delightful aroma of "Au de Gutter" all day. The only thing that could have made it the perfect trifecta of Monday-ness is if a bird had pooped on my head (and I imagine if the bird hailed from L.A., he would probably drop his load... and then flip me the bird as he headed South for the winter!)

Needless to say, I am counting down the days when I can leave Los Angeles in my rearview mirror. The only problem is: I'll probably get stuck in traffic on the way out and it'll take me six hours to drive the 25 miles to get out of this wretched place.

Excuses! Excuses!

Oh, how I wish I had an amazing excuse as to why I have not been posting. I can't just say it's all Facebook's fault. I've used that excuse before. I wish I could say any or all of the following to lend validity to my blogging suckiness:

1. I've been sunbathing in Aruba for the past couple of months and have soooooo many pictures to upload, I just don't know where to begin.
2. Sorry. This press junket for my latest Oscar nominated movie has just sucked the life out of me. Between the premiers and the fittings for the Red Carpet, I just haven't had time these days.
   
3. I haven't been able to blog because I have been spending so much time exercising, feeding the homeless, adopting Hatian refugees, and cleaning my house. I don't know what's gotten into me these days, but if I keep it up, I may be nominated for sainthood. Did I mention that Brad and Angelina were so impressed, they gave me one of their kids? It was getting to be too much for them, but they thought I could handle it.

No. Not me. Here's the state of things since December 2009 in the real world:

1. Nathan's tonsils no longer exist.
2. Wayne's mom is waiting in Salt Lake to go on her mission to New Zealand.
3. My dad and I are working out the details for me to start work in the Santa Rosa practice this August.
4. Hayden is one of the finalists for a singing competition that I didn't even know he had entered, but may win a scholarship if he proceeds.
5. Tuba practice still sounds a little like a dying cow, violin practice similar to a dying cat.
6. It's 80 degrees in February in Santa Monica.
7. My brother Scott is going to Afghanistan.
8. My other brother Scott resurfaced on Facebook.
   
9. Wayne celebrated the Saints' win in the Superbowl. He has loved them since he was a kid and they generally have sucked for most of that time. It was a thing of beauty to watch them redeem themselves in their first Superbowl ever.
   
10. I spent way too much time on Facebook and Hulu.
11. Oodles of my time is being spent as a wonderful role model for my children...
    

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So that's it. Just imagine how bad at blogging I will be when I finally get that Sainthood. You'll be luck to hear from me bi-annually. Till then, I'll try to be a little better.