notes from Summer

A little update from the lazy blogger:

--Thom and I had our first appointment with my OBGYN last week, and she rocks. I'm so relieved to have someone I like to see me through the next seven months.

--Week 9 of the pregnancy and my nausea is long gone. I'm thrilled that I only have fatigue and headaches to contend with now.

--For those of you who don't know, Hamlet was fantastic. I feel very proud of what we did, and, in spite of my worries, all the parents seemed to enjoy it.

--I'm working on two short films and a play reading. Those are the last projects on the horizon, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do once I wrap them up. I have a couple months before I start showing, but the constant fatigue hasn't really been great for my productivity level.

--Thom and I took a test drive in the Toyota Highlander Highbrid. As much as I love our Mini, I don't think it's the most practical car for us now. The Highlander is the perfect hippie/yuppie highbrid as well, so it seems like a good match.

--I'm flying to Vegas tomorrow night. My mom and I will drive to Cedar City for the Utah Shakespearean Festival, where I'm sure we'll see a bunch of great theatre. It's been years since I've been there, so I'm excited for that and the mother-daughter road trip.

--Once we drive back to Vegas, I'll be attending Crystal's bridal shower. I will be thoroughly disappointed if there isn't a nacho cheese fountain. You hear that, Crystal? I want flowing cheese!

--Snakes on a Plane was all I expected and more: gratuitous sex and violence, cheesy dialogue, scary snakes... what more could you ask for in a movie? Samuel L. Jackson may not have been challenged by the role, but he sure looks like he's having fun.

--Oh yeah, did I mention I have to get on a plane tomorrow? What was I thinking?

my hero

Part of me feels guilty for not posting for two weeks, but another--saner--part of me that was hosting family while dealing with morning sickness and fatigue doesn't really care.

The family has all flown safely home (I hope...it sounded like a rough flight for the Doyles last night), and while I still have occasional bouts of nausea and require lots of naps, it's getting more manageable.

Thom has reacted to my queasy tummy by becoming the Official Provider. I've found my stomach stays settled if I have a little healthy, high-protein snack every couple hours. So, whenever we're away from home, in a situation where I can't easily control my dietary choices, Thom turns into the Twenty-First Century Hunter/Gatherer and forages for me.

Last weekend we went on a Whale Watch. I'm not sure what made me think I could handle a three hour boat ride--pregnancy hormones, a desire to please my family, general lunacy. I'm the girl who has never ridden a boat without feeling sick, and I thought it would be super-fun to ride out to the middle of the ocean to look at whales.

I decided to ignore the boat-induced queasiness, but thankfully Thom did not ignore my pregancy-induced queasiness. Before we boarded the giant catamaran he investigated what food they might have to offer. Turns out "hot dogs and maybe sandwiches" wasn't a satisfactory answer when thinking of his pregnant, vegetarian wife. So he found little booth nearby that made a veggie-hummus wrap, fulfilling his need to provide for me. It was very sweet, and I think that food got me through the first hour of the trip. The second hour was a very different story, and I've decided that if the Sesame Seed ever wants to take a boat trip, they'll have to do it with their daddy cause I'm done.

A couple nights ago we made trip up to Gloucester to visit some friends and their parents for dinner. Once again Thom did some investigating and found out that salmon and pork would be the centerpieces of the menu. Even though I could have been perfectly happy with side dishes (what I usually eat when dining with friends) Thom insisted we get some vegetarian protein to supplement the meal. So we brought some tofu along. Was that terribly rude? I don't care--it feels so wonderful to have my husband looking after me I'd risk making all kinds of social faux pas to keep him happy.

I knew pregnancy would change things, but I had no idea how much I'd enjoy being shown this kind of masculine, protective attention. It almost makes me feel delicate.

Almost.

Hamlet

If I wasn’t having a baby I’d probably be talking about Hamlet non-stop. As it is, it’s hard to think about anything besides the Sesame Seed. Here’s my attempt to write a non-baby-related post.

The in-laws flew into Boston yesterday, my mom arrives this morning, and her friend and my dad fly in tomorrow. It’s a gaggle of people, and a major part of their agenda is to see Hamlet.

I love my mother’s enthusiasm for my career—I’m fairly certain she feels earth-shattering regret every time she misses one of my performances, whether it’s some silly staged-reading or me sneezing on camera. But that’s what moms are for, right? My dad’s very supportive too, but he doesn’t have the ovaries tugging on him like my mother. Thom’s parents also great about my career and made it out two years ago to see my first Boston play.

I know it’s not the only reason they’re here, but it does add a bit of pressure to know that the catalyst for their visit was my play. What if they hate it? What if they walk away thinking, “I flew 5,000 miles for that?” I know that’s a bit extreme, but I do have some anxiety around this performance. First of all, this production can really only barely be called Hamlet. We use some of the text, but that’s about the limit of our faithfulness to the play.

I really had no idea what I was walking into when I agreed to do this show. My friend Shawn, the director of Hal Harry Henry, asked me to be a part of a small workshop production of Hamlet some months ago. He said he had tweaked the text a bit—which I expected based on my last experience with him. I was willing to try something different with Shakespeare, especially if it meant playing Ophelia (a role I’m always disappointed to see portrayed as a weepy, wimpy, cuckoo waif). Shawn wouldn’t be directing this time, instead enlisting the help of a founding member of Shakespeare and Company, John Hadden. Sounded great.

Well, a week before rehearsals we didn’t have a script (which usually wouldn’t be a problem with Shakespeare—you can just count on learning certain lines—but not so for this production). Then a few days before we were to start working Shawn said his script had been thrown out and John was talking about something called Hamlet: A Dream Play. Here’s where I got nervous. What does that mean? Don’t dreams inherently mean low stakes? What audience is going to sit through someone else’s dream?

But I showed up to rehearsal with an open mind. I trusted Shawn and his faith in John, I knew—and loved—the rest of the cast, and I was willing to try something outside my comfort zone. The rehearsal process was rocky for me. It was exciting to see that we were doing things no one else does with Shakespeare (inserting our own text into the play, giving Hamlet’s lines to everyone besides Hamlet, completely disregarding plot or story), but a nagging part of me kept thinking, There’s a reason no one else does this with Shakespeare. Eventually, I just let that nagging part of me go and made up my mind to do the best damn Hamlet Dream Play I could do.

The result of our whirlwind rehearsal period is something I’m very proud of. It’s more experimental and challenging than anything I’ve ever done, and if you come to it with an open mind, I think you can see a really beautiful, unexpected piece of art. If you’re a more conventional theatre-goer, it might just drive you nuts.

Which brings me back to my guests. I know that my family loves me and they’re always going to be supportive of what I do. But I don’t know how they’ll feel about this play. Often I walk off stage and I don’t know how I feel about it. It’s still very challenging for me and so strange that I don’t know if what I’ve just done was any good or not.

I guess when it comes to my parents I’ll always be a little girl—waving at them from the stage, bursting with hope that they’ll be proud of me.

playing possum

I almost ran over an opossum tonight on my way home from rehearsal. I saw the glare of his eyeballs as I rounded the curve of the freeway on ramp, and I slowed for him to get off the road. He stood frozen, right in line with my car, so I swerved gently out of his way. From the passenger seat Crystal watched him as we passed and said, "That little bastard just fell down and played dead."

symptoms

If you notice the time code on this post you'll see that it's 7am on a Sunday. Why oh why am I awake at this ridiculous hour, you ask? Apparently, the baby thinks 7am is the perfect time to wake--regardless of what time I went to bed, or whether it's a weekend (where sleeping in is demanded by law, I believe), or if I have anything to do but stare at my computer while the rest of the world snoozes on. This is day number four of finding myself jumping-out-of-bed-wide-awake at, what is for me, an absurd hour. And here I was thinking pregnancy would be an excellent excuse to sleep in an enormous amount.

I also thought that whole "eating for two" thing would kick in right away, but I have a more moderate appetite than ever. We went to Dom's in the North End last night, which serves some insanely delicious food, and at the end of it all--surrounded by plates of chocolate mousse and cannoli--I turned down dessert! Do you understand what I'm saying? I was raised by a woman who believes dessert is not only a necessity but our God Given Right. I was brought up in a home where peach cobbler, ice cream, cookies, or cake were regularly on the post-dinner menu; and if they were not readily available, the ingredients to make them were just a cupboard away. And here I had the opportunity to eat a decadent, delicious, guilt-free sweet, and I just didn't feel like it.

I don't know about this baby. At the rate we're going, Sesame Seed could be some early-rising, dessert-hating freak. What's next, no cartoons? Not a big fan of playing?

I just don't understand kids these days.

This will be me in a few months...

Maybe I'm insane for saying anything so early, but my pregnancy test came back positive yesterday!

(And no, I don't look like this yet; Jenn and I took this picture at a maternity store using a fake "bump" the day I decided to start trying for kids. What a goofy grin I have on.)

The whole event was not as I imagined it...

First, I was not expecting this to be the month. I don't have any horrible pregnancy symptoms yet, and I kept telling myself it was going to take a while and not to get my hopes up.

So I took the test (do you know how hard it is to aim your pee at a stick and not get it all over your hand? ew.) and killed two minutes before I read it. Hands washed, teeth brushed, Get Fuzzy calendar read... guess I should look at the test. As soon as I spotted that faint little plus sign I freaked out and tossed it onto the counter like it was a poisonous spider. I immediately picked it up and looked again, and proceeded to toss it away. When I could finally hold the damn test, I asked Thom to read it for me.

"What does this say? Is that a plus? Is this for real? I have to talk to Crystal."

Thom barely got a, "It looks like a plus sign to me," out before I started flinging clothes on. I dressed faster than ever before and ran--RAN--to Crystal and Kevin's place. Luckily they were up and one ring on the bell brought the buzzer singing back to me. Before I was even through the threshold, I shoved my pee stick in the poor girl's face and screeched, "What does this say?!"
We determined that the sign was just too faint to reliably start sharing the news (which was my whole intent: get positive evidence and immediately start telling people).

So, back home, where I asked Thom to come to the drugstore with me to pick up a second test. In the fifteen minutes it took to walk to the store, buy the test, return home, and squeeze out my last drops of pee, I contemplated the idea of motherhood.

I didn't have any brilliant flashes, if that's what you're waiting for. I had just spent an insane amount of energy focused on one stupid little plus sign--my brain wasn't exactly in a philosophical mode.

When the test came out positive--"I see a plus, that's definitely a plus!"--we were ecstatic. And confused. And stunned.

"I don't feel pregnant. Shouldn't I feel pregnant?"

"What did you expect? A big belly?"

"No I just don't feel like a mom."

"Well, you've got nine months to work on it."

In spite of some reservation about telling people too soon, I decided this was just too good to wait. We made a round of calls and I tried to feel more pregnant. I felt like a fraud as I was sharing the news, a little voice in the back of my head saying, "You shouldn't be acting all pregnant. What if the test is wrong? Then what will people think?"

Rationally I know that most women must go through some version of this. Unless you have horrible morning sickness or a blood test from a doctor, it's hard to believe you're actually creating life right this minute. It's too huge. It's the biggest thing I've ever tried to do and way beyond my capacity to comprehend.

Still, I'm getting more and more used to the idea. I looked up my progress and the embryo is the size of a sesame seed right now. It's become Our Little Sesame Seed.

The anxiety has already begun--protective maternal instincts and fear that something will go wrong--but I'm trying to not let that rule me. Right now I just want to channel all the love I can muster into this little growing life, and that seems like just what My Little Sesame Seed needs.

weekend, interrupted

I was going to give a long description of my Fourth of July weekend, but this has been a hectic week and I want to enjoy my Sunday. So here's an abridged version with pictures:


Here are the Doyles in front of Ma Doyle's childhood home in Oak Park Chicago. We've flown up (along with Crystal, not pictured) for a family reunion. Chicago is fantastic--I wish I had more than a morning to explore it.


This section of Oak Park boasts a number of homes designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I take lots of pics, but this is my favorite.


We gorge ourselves at Peterens Ice Cream Shop. I swear it is the best ice cream I've ever had. They have to drag me away.

We drive to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin where the reunion is being held. An old family friend hosts a BBQ at her lake house. We jump into the beautiful water while little kids light fireworks on the shore. We have officially gone back in time.



Thom spends the night struggling with a stomach ache. After 12 hours and no relief I take him to the hospital to have it checked out.



Turns out his appendix doesn't feel like hanging around anymore. They do surgery to let it out and run free.


My husband can't even recover without multi-tasking. Here, he has his temp and blood pressure taken while kicking our ass at cards--1 hour after his appendectomy.

The hospital releases him the next day, and we actually get to attend one family event. Woo hoo! The next morning, Tuesday 4th, I get Thom onto a plane home where he is now recovering quite nicely.

roller coaster

I'm starting to feel that vice of anxiety that comes from anticipating a very busy time ahead. Within a week's time I will have wrapped If Not Now (a film I'm working on), flown to the midwest for a family reunion, returned to Boston hours before my first Hamlet rehearsal, welcomed Hamlet director and house-guest, John Hadden, and his dog, Leo, to my home, and faced yet another period OR the dawning excitement of motherhood. In an ideal world the house will be cleaned, lines will be learned, and I will somehow magically transform into an ideal vessel for human life by Friday.

check. check. and check.

I'm trying not to get my hopes up about getting pregnant, but of course it's looming very large in my mind. After Thom and I decided to start trying I went through a two week span where I just knew I was pregnant. I felt different somehow; I was aware of my body in a way I hadn't ever been. I had an urge to eat healthy and no desire to drink. I felt tired and experienced what seemed like implantation bleeding--right on schedule. Finally, I spent a morning feeling nauseous and dry heaving for no explicable reason (I was the happiest I've ever been staring into the face of the porcelain gods).

And the next morning my hopes were crushed when I got up to pee and discovered an unwelcome monthly visitor. I don't know if I experienced an early miscarriage (which happens in about 40% of pregnancies) or if my "pregnancy symptoms" were all psychosomatic. Either way I was devastated. I felt robbed and cheated. And I knew it was my own fault for letting myself getting carried away with the idea that I was pregnant before there was any real evidence.

So as I face the week ahead I suppose it's good that I have something to distract me from phantom symptoms and minus lines on pregnancy tests. I'm a little sad that I feel the need to set up emotional barriers to protect myself from disappointment, but I know that it's the only way to retain my sanity in what could otherwise be a heartbreaking process.

I keep thinking how magical it would have been for us to get pregnant on our first try. I just have to accept that it's going to be magical however it happens.

primary colors

The hippies were out in full force this Saturday at Cambridge Riverfest. Thom and I wandered around the food stands and arts and crafts booths for a couple hours, getting toasty under the clear skies and bright sun. The best find of the day was the photography of Patrick Zephyr, a very sweet man with an amazing eye. Thom bought a few prints for his office:





















































The pixelated quality of the computer screen and the small size really don't do them justice.

It was wonderful to be able to walk just a few paces from our house and share in the great art, music, and food of our community.

I really love Cambridge; more and more I'm coming to think of it as a place I belong rather than just the place that I live.

my cats: a photographic movement in three parts

The Cat Relaxing














The Cat Observed














The Cat Trampled

secrets revealed

We've spoken to the parents and the siblings. We've told the best friends. The next logical conclusion when you have a life-changing whopper bit of news is to tell the Internet, right? So here goes:

Thom and I are trying to have a baby.

You just need to ask any family member, friend, colleague, or local grocery store clerk to know how difficult it is for me to keep a secret. When I have any kind of significant news I cannot be trusted to hold my tongue. Now, I've been holding onto this bit of information for, oh, 20 days 18 hours and 25 minutes (since Jenn and I took that walk on the beach in California and I realized-WHAM!-there is no reason to wait), so it feels really good to get it out.

Once I made the decision, I wanted to start, like, that minute which was excruciating since Thom was in Boston and I figured the chance of getting pregnant from 5,000 miles away was kinda slim. I knew he would be excited; he's always said he's ready for kids when I am. And I wanted to tell him so badly, but that's definitely the kind of conversation that needs to be punctuated with a kiss, not the click of a long-distance phone call.

For the next three days Jenn and I filled the hours with an unbelievable amount of conversation about babies. It was essentially ridiculously giddy girl-time interspersed with torturously secretive conversations with my husband. Finally, three days (and visits to 6 maternity stores) later I was on my way home. Of course I flew in the weekend we were hosting a friend from out of town, so we went directly from baggage claim to the T station where Ben was waiting, with no appropriately private interval.

Once home I played the perfect hostess and tossed Ben's bags into his room, muttering something about making himself comfortable, and dragged Thom to our bedroom. There, I let him know I had come to an important decision and I presented him with a gift: Pickles and Ice Cream: A Father's Guide to Pregnancy. He got the cutest, slightly confused look on his face until I spelled it out for him: "I'm ready to have babies!" Upon which he smiled a ginormous goofy grin and said, "Really!?"

So that’s our news, Internet. I expect you to be happy for us when our own little Apple or Pilot Inspektor comes into the world.

outsourcing

Two bits of intarwub goodness for you:

First, my amazing, handsome, extraordinary husband has started a blog of his own. I'm sure it'll be much more coherent and enlightening than this one.

Second, these nerds have way too much time on their hands.

Enjoy.

california dreamin' pt. 2

After the wedding, Thom flew home and I flew to L.A. to visit Jennifer, my long-time best friend. She lives there with her husband, Seth, and both are pursuing acting careers.

We spent the first night looking through old high school photos and as we dug deeper, we noticed a particular trend in the way we posed ourselves in almost every picture. Jennifer will now demonstrate our patented stance:


















The next day, Tuesday 23rd, Jenn and I headed to Venice beach for some shopping and time in the sun. We walked from Venice to Santa Monica beach and back, talking and reminiscing. During that walk, we came to major life decisions, ended world hunger, and became one with the universe (as girls often do when given enough sand and shopping).

We also made time for lunch and silly pink drinks.














On Wednesday, we took a road trip up to Solvang, just outside Santa Barbara in wine country (where Sideways was filmed). Jenn got us an evening in her in-laws' time-share in this beautiful little Danish town. The buildings were all designed in a rustic, Scandinavian style and looked like this:


















The first order of business, of course, was to go wine-tasting. We drove up to Los Olivos, where the Main Street is lined with tasting rooms. It was fun to see the different personalities of the wine-makers and how that was reflected in the design of their stores and labels. Tinsley was one of our favorites, simply because it sounded like an English boarding school. Another was Concilience for their snarky attitude.


















We drove back to Solvang in time to catch the farmer's market, where we bought cheese and bread to munch on, then we went window shopping around all the cute little Danish stores. My grandmother would have been happy to see such a plethora of restaurants offering aebleskiver, a staple from my Swedish upbringing. They're tiny spherical pancakes made in special cast iron pans. I don't have much daily connection to my ancestry, so it was nice to be in a place full of Scandinaviann history and appreciation.

We rounded out the long day with a great dinner of Italian food and the season finale of Lost. Man, can you believe that stuff with Desmond?!

The next morning, we had a leisurely breakfast and walked over to the Santa Inez mission. It's a beautiful old church established by Franciscan priests in the 18th century. Damaged by earthquakes, much of the building was destroyed, yet a number of original arches still stood. In the back they had... I'm not even sure what you would call it... a memorial? stations of the cross? It was a beautiful garden, but a little excessively morbid. Check the red paint on the nails:


















Finally we walked back to Solvang and packed up. Along the way we passed the Solvang Bakery, famous for its hand-painted line of Danish Monarchs.














I was particularly thrilled to see the early reigns of Harold Bluetooth, Sweyn Forkbeard, and Erik the Lame (unfortunately not pictured here).














We spent the afternoon in Santa Barbara, checking out cute boutiques. Jenn and I both bought a pair of jeans from the Blue Bee Company. That store has a brilliant business model: sell only women's jeans, hire only hot men. There is nothing like a cute boy telling you your "ass looks good in those" to make you drop a wad of cash on a pair of jeans.

That evening, we were back in L.A. and even managed to spend some time with Seth. The poor guy worked the whole week we were out gallivanting around, but he's such a sweetie he didn't complain. Jenn's new step-sister, Dawnya, came over with her boyfriend Chris after dinner. It was great to see her since Dawnya and I had been friends in Jr. High (it is a small freaking world).

I was on a plane home the next day, pockets lighter, belly heavier, smile big and bright.

california dreamin' pt. 1

I've had two nightmares in less than twenty-four hours. The first about a man breaking into my home while I was standing right there on my porch. The second about a fundamentalist church dressing me up as Dolly Parton, making me sing, and disabling my car (and escape). What the hell?

I'm usually good at interpreting dreams, but I just don't know. I'm being violated? Forced to do something I don't want? The Religious Right is after me (and upset I'm not blonde)?!

Bluh. I hate that post-nightmare feeling.

Moving on to more comforting things, I've been away so long because I took a weeks vacation in California. It was absolutely wonderful! Let's do a pictorial review...

Thom and I flew to San Francisco for Ryan and Melissa's wedding on Thursday 18th. Melissa is a great friend of mine from the British American Drama Academy, which we attended our junior year of college. She met Ryan in the Peace Corps in Jamaica, and they're both really beautiful human beings.














There were a slew of pre-wedding activities... a welcome barbecue, mani/pedis for the girls, wedding rehearsal, and the rehearsal dinner. The actual wedding was in Sonoma Valley, so Thom took advantage of all the vineyards while I was off doing girly things. We clean up okay, don't we?














I stayed in Melissa's room the night before the ceremony to keep her company, and the next morning she had her bridesmaids (all six of us) over to get preened and pampered.

The day before there had been some worry that the outdoor ceremony would have to be moved indoors because of rain. The morning was cloudy and not looking good, but by noon, the skies had cleared and Melissa had her perfect sunny day. Here are the bridesmaids during the ceremony; Mel did a good job picking out the dresses don't you think?














The ceremony was really beautiful--it was presided over by an Irish former-Catholic priest (he's married now, so I have no idea what that makes him) with a great sense of humor and appreciation for ritual. I read a Walt Whitman poem and the officiant had the wedding party and parents bless the rings. I'll admit, I teared up a bit.

The reception was fantastic. Great music (standards and Jamaican), fantastic food, beautiful table settings and decor, and lots of great moments.














At the end of the evening everyone stood in a circle and sang a traditional Jamaican song (lyrics were provided for those of us who weren't in the Peace Corps) and bid the couple farewell. A few members of the wedding party were to accompany them in the limo back to the hotel, but everyone else had rides, so it just ended up being Thom and I.

The afterparty went on for hours--from a dance club, to a dive bar, to Denny's. I was barely human the next morning at the gift-opening/brunch, so I'll leave you with this:

time to build an ark?

So it's been raining for like a week straight. That's cool, it means lots of green when the sun finally does come out. But it's kind of a drag to be stuck indoors for so long. To while away the hours I've been perusing my new favorite site: Improv Everywhere

It's a group of New Yorkers that pull massive, well-intentioned pranks on the local populous. Check out their Best Buy and No Pants missions for a sample of some extraordinary work.

Now, how do we get a Boston chapter started?