"We have to dress up, and the entire cast and crew will be there."

As promised yesterday, I'm back for an unprecedented two days in a row of posting.

Last night thanks to an insider friend blah blah blah, Jacob and I got to go see the premiere of Netflix's new season of Arrested Development.

We've done some semi-glamorous things in Hollywood in our years here. Back when Jacob worked for Jerry Bruckheimer we constantly found ourselves at CSI wrap parties where I still managed to enjoy the buffet despite constantly making a fool of myself because I didn't recognize any of the cast.

We got to go to cast and crew screenings of this piece of cinematic genius

and this feat of fantasy

More recently with Jacob's new company we were invited to the premiere of this

 

where I caught sight of all kinds of teen starlets, but unfortunately Emma and Jeremy didn't make the trip across the Atlantic consequently missing all the dry ice fountains at the Roosevelt after party.

...I think you get the picture...

Enter last night where we get the chance to go see the premiere of one of my all time favorite shows. If you made it to the post quickly enough yesterday you know we got to see two episodes of the new season. I  had to update the post to edit out that info because, immediately after I clicked Publish, Jacob forwarded me this email:



Bet you didn't realize how "enterprising" the R Log was...

Anyhow it was awesome. Though my pics weren't. Here's a blurry picture of the cast.



That's Jessica Walter in the pink. Pretty much as close I got to her, sorry Jessie.

And another picture of...an ostrich.
 


We got to see Patton Oswalt (If you have ANY geek tendencies at all and 8 free minutes you should do yourself a favor and watch this clip.) and lots of other nifty people.

I loved the episodes. Jacob says he was a little disappointed - which I suppose I should tell you so you don't get your hopes way way up - I however hardly remember if I liked them because I was too busy maintaining the stupidest grin on my face.

May 26. 

Feast of St. Phillip Neri, patron saint of joy and humorists, 

and 

ADvent (forgive me) of Season 4.

We await you.

Nursery Rhymes, Nuptials, and Never Nudes

I'm sitting in my office now. I probably should be tallying grades or doing something productive because Oh! Productivity! I need you to be mine this week. But no. I'm becoming strangely nostalgic about teaching and so I turn to ye old blog.

My last day to teach is Wednesday. And then little October Baby has me taking a break from the working world for the foreseeable future. I haven't felt a twinge of emotion about my four years of LMU ending until today.

The end of the semester marks the time when my students come in and recite poetry.

This delights me so much I can hardly talk about it. They come in like little poems themselves, tense and nervous, wiping sweaty palms on pant legs. They start in on their fourteen-liners and stutter and falter through the first couple stanzas until they can see the end at which point they start going a little faster and fall more easily into the cadence of the poem. Then they finish. And they smile. And off they go feeling proud. I feel like I've given them something. Something very real.

I will however NOT be feeling nostalgic on Wednesday when I'm grading. Grading is miserable. Period.

We've been busy bees as of late. I've been mostly coming out of pregnancy nausea but dealing with lots of end of semester details which leaves me dead tired. So Jacob is still doing all the housework, and we're watching too much Diego and Super Why.

We traveled to Texas the weekend before last for my little brother's biggest of big days. The wedding was everything that is lovely. 

I watched my brother marry the most beautiful of brides under a giant oak tree, and I couldn't have been happier. Commence photo dumb:

He's 6'5" and she's obviously no shortie. They make SUCH a striking couple.

Be jealous that your nieces won't get that hair.

My little sister reading like a boss.

My almost 93 year old grandmother cutting a rug with my father.

In other and also very good news. My little man has FINALLY become a hugger which has been perhaps my favorite milestone yet.

Encouraging the groom on his big day.

Now to wrap up, I could tell you how a piece of firewood fell over on Jake's foot yesterday and ROYALLY mangled his poor little toddler toe. Or I could tell you how he had a major blow out at my non-parent-friend's dinner party the other night with nary a diaper in sight. OR I could give a slew of other stories that would immortalize my recent less-than-impressive-parenting, and they would all be so at home on this blog.

But I won't. 

Instead I'll tell you to sit tight and pray that I update you tomorrow because guess where I'll be tonight?

I will be at the premier of this show at the Chinese Theater and sitting next to Michael Cera. 

(Fine. That last part is a lie, but the rest is true. True. TRUE! Don't hate me too much, Bluth fans.)

Sicky McSickerson

I've really enjoyed all your sweet comments on my last post. We're truly stoked about this pregnancy. Or let's say we're truly stoked about this baby because so far the pregnancy has been pretty miserable for the parents involved.

I didn't manage to start this blog until my nausea cleared in my last pregnancy, so aren't you in for a treat that for the next four weeks you get to here me complain all the time? Good thing I'll probably only blog about three times...

You see I'm VERY bad at pregnancy for the first 16 weeks or so. I sleep poorly, I'm utterly exhausted, I'm mildly sick 80% of the time and completely incapacitated about 20% of the time, mostly in the evenings when my sweet husband gets home to a trashed house, a half-diapered toddler, and spoiling food in the fridge. I live on the couch. I dry heave, I throw up, I cry a lot.

This pregnancy is mildly better than the last but the added toddler trumps that fact. (But who am I kidding, Jake has basically been adopted by Diego and a little kinkachoo.)

This is his "Diego time?" face with strawberries on it.

Sigh. Still reading? Well it gets better. But it gets worse first.

I did discover something interesting about myself though when I was on the phone with a friend discussing the horrors of early pregnancy. She was talking about how annoying it is when you hear of that person who has absolutely no morning sickness whatsoever, and I realized I have no bad feelings toward those moms-to-be at all.

 I thought this was SO remarkable. When I hear of someone who is having an easy time of it I'm GLAD for them. When my friends get pregnant, I pray that they will avoid the holy hell that the first 3 (4? 5?) months can be. So there I was on the phone feeling completely magnanimous about my lack of hard feelings...when I realized...there was a catch. I have all the grace in the world for someone who is nausea-free until they attribute it to one of their lifestyle habits and then I start raging inside.

I'm not talking about the mom who's been sick with previous pregnancies and found something that helped her. No. She's my hero.

I'm talking about the Lucky Lucy who never had any issues whatsoever and thinks it's because she's vegan or has a really strong constitution or has never touched alcohol. The woman who believes she somehow nipped it in the bud with her general awesomeness. The woman who has the gumption to offer this wisdom when you've just spilled your guts (literally?) about your own struggle with the big 1st T.

But seriously? How am I supposed to respond?

"Vegan? What a great idea! I'll try that as soon as I can eat anything besides turkey meatballs and gummy bears."

"...Yes...It's not so surprising how sick I've been, because I'm, well, sickly in general."

"You know you're right. This does feel strangely similar to all those nights of binge drinking in college."

Sensitive much, Kate? Simmer down.

Ok. Ok. Let's try to get a little positive.

I have learned some things. Some good things. None of them are groundbreaking, but all of them are hard lessons for people like me to learn.

Cut yourself some slack. Go to the store and buy some frozen dinners and canned soup. Practice feeling indifferent to piles of laundry, dishes, and ungraded papers. And if you're me and you're kind of obnoxiously concerned about conservation, get over yourself and buy some ziplocks and paper towels for crying out loud. 

Don't feel guilty. Not exercising? Don't feel guilty. Not getting all those folate-rich greens and throwing up your prenatals? Don't feel guilty. All you can think about is beer? Have some and don't feel guilty.

Let yourself be helped. Whether that help is a friend who offers to bring dinner or watch your kid. Whether that help is in the way of extra phone dates with a friend or a sister because you need to be distracted away from how gross your stomach feels and your floor looks. Whether that help is Neftlix to carry you and/or your little person through the harder times.

If you find something that works for you, go with it. Try every zaney ginger tincture, epsom salt bath, and magnesium oil massage. There's comfort in pursuit of your magic cure, I promise. Try any diet change you can stomach. Eat a box of saltines. (Or if you're me today: a mountain of whipped cream and strawberries.)

And finally. This is the hardest one for me. Say thank you to your husband for picking up all the slack. Let him know how grateful you are. You might be surprised at how far appreciation goes. And let him love you even when you feel awful about yourself. When he tells you you're beautiful even if he's wrong and the mirror knows it, don't contradict him. Just let him be right. Just let him be right this once.