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!

When It Rains, It Pours (and sometimes it pours out of places it oughtn't)

I feel badly for my sister-in-law, who wrote a gut-wrenching expose about the "Cough Syrup Incident of '09" on her blog. In it, she describes the frustrations that go along with trying to convince toddlers to partake of nasty medicines to help them feel better, but having to convince their heightened gustatory senses that if they just muscle past that first HORRID taste, everything will be A-Okay. It sucks.

I'm writing this post in an effort to commiserate with her as I describe the wretched "Diarrhea Incident of '96." If you are squeamish about bodily functions, turn back now... Do not pass Go... Run for the hills... You are advised not to proceed. But, if laughing at someone's abject misery, despite the mention of excrement at multiple moments throughout the telling of the story, join me in my humiliation and feel free to laugh at my expense.


It all goes back to the days of Nathan as a toddler.

He was a cute little guy, but certainly had strong opinions about things. When he was feeling crappy, he was particularly stubborn. When he was about one and a half years old, we were working as assistant managers at Midway Estates, and he had caught a particularly virulent flu bug that winter--the symptoms of which involved non-stop liquid poop that would shoot violently out of his bum with hurricane force. Did I mention, it would not stop? Not for anything in the world. I tried the B.R.A.T diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast) to try to plug him up. I tried to keep him from moving, because if he was jostled at all, "SPLOOSH!" out shot the next detonation. Over the course of the afternoon and into the evening, he had systematically exploded his intestinal contents on every stitch of clothing he owned, every piece of clothing I owned, every piece of bedding, every towel, gone through an entire case of diapers, had a butt as red as a baboon's, and was in dire need of fluids. And did I mention, he didn't want to drink any fluids because he was stubborn and cranky. A frantic call to the pediatrician that night assured me that if I couldn't get so many cc's of clear liquids into my son by morning, he was destined for the E.R.

So all night long, I kept him out on the couch (with what really amounted to a tarp underneath him), and woke him up every 15 minutes to give him droppers-full of water. He hated me, but I knew it was for his own good. I stayed up with him the entire night, and in between hydrating the poor kid, I did laundry ALL NIGHT LONG. From sundown to sunrise, I just kept those machines full... and since I had the key to the laundry room, I was able to do upwards of 8 loads at a time.

By the time the sun came up, I had filled my entire living room floor with a Matterhorn-sized heap of clean laundry, and I had successfully gotten enough fluids into my poor dehydrated son to stave off the dreaded hospital visit. An ounce here, an ounce there, and Nathan was miraculously chipper and agreeable. He had apparently forgiven me for disturbing his sleep. That morning, his little head perked up from the waterproof bedding on the couch, he flashed his winning smile, and climbed down from his perch... right over to the pile of warm, inviting laundry, where he toddled right to the very peak of clean, fresh linens... where his bowels unleashed their final paroxysm on top of the ENTIRE heap in one, final, projectile explosion...

...And I cried. I cried huge, raking sobs. I buried my face in the floor and could not stop for an indeterminate amount of time. Pleading prayers for God's tender mercies poured from my soul. And then I looked at my bewildered little boy, with foul-smelling excrement oozing down his thighs, diaper rash burning beneath his Pampers... And then I wiped away my tears, put on the bravest face I could muster, and started all over again.

So, here's to you, Diana... and to all the mothers out there who can share your misery in one way or another. We feel your pain. I hope Avery feels better soon!

As the Summer Fades

So now that my tan is fading (can you really call it a tan if it started out as a crispy fried red burn and then faded to something with some vague semblance of tan lines?), I figure I should wade through all the pictures I been accumulating on my camera card over the summer. Here's what we've been up to lately...

There have been lots of parties...
This is what all the kids are wearing these days...
At least that's what Nathan tells me.

Hayden helped vanquish the "Swine Flu" pig-shaped pinata.

At Wayne's cousin Hayley's wedding.

And reunions...
An impromptu 19 year cheerleader reunion in Manhattan Beach.

Dad came down to the annual UCLA Pedo Alumni Day.
After battling parallel universe Ruby's Diners, we finally met up with Amy, Jeff and Caleb for a fun dinner in Orange County.

And sendoffs...
My baby brother Scott shipped out to Iraq for his first tour in the Marines.
We miss you!

Family Love Fests...
The boys at a resident picnic in Mar Vista park. They couldn't contain the love!

Bergers are in the HOUSE!


Maiko and Scott Brower (showing his good side),
and my Sisters Remy and Amy, plus a sulking Caleb.

Jeanette and Jan... Always making me see double.

My beautiful niece Ellie at Hayley's wedding.


And Family brawls...
A fictitious, but very plausible explanation for Brower's mangled face
(which he scraped up the night before by missing a step.)

Work...

It has been Hayden's duty to do the dishes every night this summer.
This is how he stays motivated.

How I spend most of my days, whether the weather is nice or not.

Play...
The pool in Santa Rosa...I took about 60 pictures,
and believe it or not THIS is the most normal looking one!

Scofield lake. That's Wayne on the right. Hee hee hee!

Baseball on the beach in Malibu.

Speed wobbles in Huntington Beach with Caleb and Jeff.

Relaxation...
Chillaxin' in Manhattan.



And being ridiculously good looking.




Summer 2009 was a great one!
Now go back to school, kids!!!

How to Have the Perfect Weekend

Wake your kids up at 4:00 in the morning by flashing a camera in their faces.









Escape L.A. traffic and enjoy the sunrise in the Mojave Desert.Exert your influence as a parent by allowing your children to rock out to questionable music.



After the 12 hour car ride, release all of your pent up energy by seeing how many cousins it would take to trample Uncle Chad.

Enjoy the estrogen while you can. Read lots of books and sing songs with little girls who enjoy princesses and who don't make sound effects at the dinner table... Unless you have just discovered that burping at the dinner table is considered funny and then do it 6000 times (Avery... I'm looking in your direction, though I noticed you are not in this picture.)

Be sure you are looking fabulous at all times. Maybe a kind and wonderful auntie could paint your nails. Be sure you show them to everyone in your nearby vicinity any time they look your direction.
Caravan up to a gorgeous, semi-private lake 7500 feet above sea level during perfect weather conditions and let the children loose on the great outdoors.

Dig in perfectly soft sandy shores and make sand castles... But if you're Hayden, and your neighboring sand castle is going to be built by Uncle Chad, you must first arm yourself with an arsenal of dirt balls to protect your beachfront property.

Head to the water and enjoy some tubing and smack talk.

Make sure your tube is not "too round..." Just ask Diana.
Find someone to hold on to and HIT IT!
Make sure your tongue is working properly, as this is key to your success on the water.
Enjoy the view.

Gloat.
Gloat some more and laugh a lot.

Relax with some great friends who happen to be related to you.
Hang on tight to cute babies dressed up in flotation devices that look like oversized cocoons.

Soak in a nice warm tub, because you are dirty and sore from one of the best weekends EVER!
As you head out the door, force the children to take one last picture and make them pretend to be enjoying it. You can accomplish this by encouraging them to say, "POOPIES!"

Don't forget the other fun events not pictured:

• Tell silly stories and play games around the camp fire. Roast marshmallows while injecting the phrase "That's what she said!" as many times as is humanly possible into polite conversation.
• Make a really embarrassing attempt at playing badminton. Blame it on your defective racket when you can't hit the birdie over the net.
• Freak out all unsuspecting parents in the house by playing a video of a temper tantrum while checking out facebook in the other room.
• Listen to hymns blasting over the loudspeakers of the "Hobby Lobby" on a Saturday night.
  
• Eat jello salad!

Thanks for the frickin' AWESOME weekend, Diana and Andy!!!!