Captain's Amygdala Log

Day 3, Hour 12

My son had a tonsillectomy three days ago, and my husband went out of town, so it’s just been him and me, the medicine alarms going off every 3 hours to keep the pain at bay, and my daughter, totally healthy, bored, and stuck with us at home. She is, happily, in the new phase where she’s writing and leaving notes everywhere, sounding out letters enough to write coherent-ish notes, the written word having coalesced in her marvelous, expanding 6 year-old brain in the last six months.

These notes are so adorable, they’re SO phonetic-based, I am giggling all day long at these things. They remind me of when I saw Desperado when I was 11 and my mom bought the soundtrack and we listened to it in the car ad nauseum and I memorized the Cancion del Mariachi phonetically. 15 years later, when I performed it for the Mexican sous chef at the restaurant I worked at, thinking I actually knew the song, he laughed, and laughed, slinging the towel from his shoulder and waving it in the air in front of his face, to ostensibly wipe away his tears. No, noooo, he hooted.

Soy in hombre muy ombrado, que medusque normehol

…was how I had memorized it (total gibberish). It is actually:

Soy un hombre muy honrado
Que me gusta lo mejor

But he was smiling, because - come on - the phonetic-based memorization of a child is the apex of cute!!!! Prop stylists could never even begin to get the cuteness of kids’ writing as cute as it actually is. Case in point:

WUT OR YOU WOCHEN: Los Angelese 6 year-old German (?) for WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING? This note was slipped underneath my bedroom door to my son because she was not allowed to watch TV today due to egregiously bad bedtime behavior the night before. She took it like a champ, an entire 12 hour day cooped up in a house with no TV, but I did find these littered beneath the door. (For the record, the answer was: total garbage but I couldn’t manage what he was watching AND paint with her, cook them 3 meals and multiple snacks and then clean up after all those things, do laundry and dishes, take the dog out, also try to meet my looming copywriting deadline in between her “PUPET ZHOWZ” with little to no narrative thread, and attend a mid-day commercial fitting.)

She wrote a RULES NOTE for my friend who came to watch them so I could attend my fitting (at Universal Studios Costume House!).

"NO WATCHING TV AND NO OPENING THE DOOR” (for strangers, ostensibly). UBNEEN for OPENING. Helppppp, I CANNORRRRTTTT!!!!!

I’m astounded at how well Rowan has managed this surgery, because he is SUCH a wuss with pain (like me, so, no judgement there). But Day 3-5 is supposed to be where it gets seriously gnarly, so I’m withholding a full assessment til we get through the next few days. It’s bizarre to wake up 3 times in the middle of the night again to attend to him, fumbling around for my phone light just like when I was breastfeeding him 8 years ago. Only this time, I’m pouring Tylenol and Motrin into tiny plastic cups, holding it to his tiny mouth, encouraging his sleepy body to drink up and fall back asleep. Back then, I was genuinely excited when I would hear his little sounds in the middle of the night. I missed him so much when I was sleeping, I couldn’t wait to see his little bleary face at midnight, at 2, 3, 4 in the morning, hold his little hand while he chugged at my enormous tits (R.I.P.). Now, I wake him up, he sits up, a mewing zombie, slurps the meds, and lays right back down to sleep. Genius.

As usual, this is my way of trying to hold onto these feelings for a little longer. If I write it down, it will still exist, these miniature magic shows they put on for me every few hours of every day, the absolute constant parade of delights.

The wardrobe stylist today told me she doesn’t have any kids. Great! I exclaimed, thinking how nice it must be to not have every day be about other people, how much less cooking she has to do, or how enjoyable it must be to cook non-bland things, dishes beyond scrambled eggs and soup, how much more time she must have to herself.

But I really want them, even though I’m in my 40s. I’m still holding out hope, she said.

YES, I nodded along emphatically. That too, I hope that for her too. Because, the notes, you see, the notes that could be taped around her house. The privilege of getting to see a life, a brain, a heart unfold right in front of your very eyes, over years and years. I never want to stop marveling at it. It’s why I could truly have (adopt) 17 more children!!! But my husband says he’s TIRED!!!!!!!!! (I am, too.)

Next post, I’ll elaborate on how I almost furnished an entire house in 2 weeks from essentially nothing (though, okay, we are all still sleeping on mattresses on the floor, which honestly isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, and yet of course still far more preferable to, say, camping, ever again).

In the meantime, I IMPLORE you to listen to this audiobook. I started it on the long drive back to LA from Santa Fe, and only got halfway through despite listening to it the entire time. This voice actor is PHENOMENAL, he brings this character to life so vividly, he’s so good I sent him a DM extolling his voice virtues!!!!

And finally, here, a picture of baby Rowan in a beret. If I know you in person, next time I see you I’d love to imitate the Australian woman who approached us at the Rodin museum, screeching that she’d never seen a BAY-BEE in a BEER-ETT before. It’s all I think of whenever anyone mentions or wears a beret, and it’s been 8 years. V. lasting impression.