HOWDY! It's nearing midnight, day of surgery. I was floored by the number of people who've been reading my blog lately -- and the number of people who care about me. You'd think I'd grasp that, but clearly I need many years of therapy to understand that I have a really great community.

This is probably the most important thing in cancer treatment: finding your village.

I've been writing. A lot. Well, not as much as I should [she says with deprecation],  but enough to make me think I might actually finish this memoir by October. It's been quite a journey, and I've learned a lot. I've changed ... in a narrative arc kind of way ... so I thought I'd share my story with the world, or at least with a handful of beautiful people who like to read my words. Thanks for being one of those people!

I'm also weaning off some meds and trying to switch to some tinctures and stuff, and it's making funny things happen to my focus. (Ha ha, what focus?)

Things that are currently distracting me from work are: the state of my house.

The house is a perpetual character in my life, and its troubles informed both my childhood and my 40s. 

Today, I just want space. 

Quiet space.

A space that I can cozy up to and write without seeing dustbunnies or boxes or piles of paperwork or backlogs of items I should be doing instead of writing.

At this moment I'm typing outside, in an adirondack chair that needs a good pressure wash and sealing wax ("and other fancy stuff" - who gets this reference??!). It's okay for a cool summer day, but this winter will be fierce. Will I be editing the memoir from my bed? 

Or will I have something like this:

Employed? Consider joining my Patreon. It would mean the world to me. Don't let the arts die. If you've been meaning to join, just do it! Now you can pledge in your own country's currency. Also, I just posted a preview of me singing on the new Dawn Landes single, and that would not have been possible without Patreon members.

Today I’m releasing a video I’m quite proud of: THIRTY musical saws playing my orchestral arrangement of “Happy Birthday to You”...  in a minor key. I recorded it on my dad’s Death Day, and I’m releasing it on my mom’s birthday (which is just a few weeks before her Death Day).

Now is the part where you ask: Brigid, ARE YOU OKAY?? 

Why, thank you for your concern! I am. I think. Adulting is hard.

Last month I glanced at the kitchen calendar and noticed my 7-year-old had scrawled “Grandude’s Death Day” on one of the boxes. It made me smile, which was nice on a day I certainly didn’t need reminding of.  

And so, rather than weep on that one-year-anniversary, I demanded time alone, sat with my musical saws and decided to conquer something I’d wanted to for over twenty years: record track after track, overlaying sounds and pitches, using my 20”, 26”, and 30” saws to see exactly what an orchestra of thirty musical saws would sound like.

Why musical saw and why thirty? My dad was the first to show me the saw, around the time I started playing the cello in elementary school. When I eventually read Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, a paragraph jumped out at me, something that most readers likely just glided past: 

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpImnRaYbD0

The main characters had gone to the dungeon of Hogwarts to a ghost’s 500th Death Day party. It was apparently a weird and spooky event, as you’d imagine a crowd full of ghosts would be.

It was also the first pop culture reference I’d seen to the musical saw, and I swore one day I’d make a video like the one I’m releasing today. 

This was 1998, before Harry Potter had been licensed, before the films, etc. I hoped that maybe I’d be able to record 30 musical saws for the movie someday, if ever one was made. (Imposter Syndrome struck hard: I know now that I absolutely could have found a way to get to Warner Brothers and create a musical saw orchestra for the film, if I’d been more confident!)

I hope y’all enjoy the video and find it charming, useful, maybe a little tearful, but not flippant. My mom’s 2nd Death Day is several weeks away, but I’m releasing this on her birthday instead.

Recorded on my dad’s Death Day; released on my mom’s birthday. My birthday is at the end of July (just like JK Rowling’s), and I acknowledge that this a weird way of dealing with grief. It took me trying to celebrate my first birthday without my parents to realize that birthdays are not a celebration of the day you are born; they are a celebration of the day you meet your parents. 

As I’m not particularly looking forward to a birthday without my parents, let’s do this year in a minor key. 

***

The Making Of!

How did I do it?

 From a musical standpoint, I switched the melody from a major key to a minor key. People tend to associate sad things with minor keys and happy things with major keys. I typically play "Happy Birthday" in Ab major on my favorite Stanley 26”, so I switched to Ab minor (G#minor if you are a transcription-geek like I am) flattening the Fs and most of the Cs. That’s why the song itself sounds mournful rather than joyous. 

From a video/audio standpoint: 

There’s not really a way to record THIRTY split-screens easily, but the ACapella app has 9-part and 6-part screens templates. Basically I made four separate Acapella videos, each set to the same metronome tempo. 9+9+6+6=30. Yes!

1. I recorded the melody once, then put on headphones, switched saws and played along to my first recording while recording a second video. The Acapella app makes split-screens a LOT easier, but it does require you to do a perfect take; no mistakes, no “punching in” or auto-tuning. Here’s a link to a Tutorial on How to Use the Acapella app.

2. I arranged 3-5 melody parts (each slightly different depending on the saw) and layered track after track. There are 6 videos playing some version of the melody, but in various octaves on different saws.

3. Next, I created a new 9-part split-screen entirely composed of some alto lines. 

4. Repeat for tenor harmonies, with 9 videos, since the tenor parts are typically the most interesting to me.

5. Repeat for bass harmonies, only six videos of these, and most played on my 30” baritone saw.

6. I added some reverb and mixed the audio -- I wanted the melody line a little louder, and for the bass & tenor parts to come at you from both sides (which only really matters if you’re listening with swanky swanky headphones, but, hey, I am a music geek!).

7. I downloaded each video to my phone, then to my laptop, where I used iMovie (hoping to earn enough Patreon money to justify purchasing a better software program soon, hint hint!) to put the pieces together.

8. The trickiest bit was lining up the sound wave files from each video, but i did that by stretching out the media files and making sure the wave forms matched, then listening obsessively just to make sure.

9. I used the “picture in picture” function on iMovie to make the 30 videos go together. I’ll make a youtube tutorial on that someday because it’s too complex and boring to go into that now. It involves exporting the mixed video four times and layering it. 

10. I added some title cards! That part was mostly easy, though would have been much faster in Adobe or FinalCut. (I had to create some transparent PNG files in Google Docs to layover the final video in order to get the titles in the right part of the screen. The title cards that come with iMovie weren’t cutting it for me.)

I’m now just THRILLED to release it, and I’m even more thrilled to release it on my mom’s birthday. She was born in summer, and she died in summer. My dad was born ten days after the winter solstice and died before the summer solstice. There is so much magic in dates, even when we’re not looking for them and even when we don’t believe in them.

*The reason I’m proud of this video is NOT because of the musical prowess it took to arrange and perform; I’m proud that I finally recorded it. You see, I was taught by the music and business world that I should play dumb, and I’m tired of that. I’ve got skills, y’all, and I’ve wanted to arrange a thirty-part musical saw orchestra for YEARS. 

My mom snuggling me!

This is my baby brother, George. (He died in 2017.)

Hiiiii. So if you are a patron, you already read the juicy details about my surgery, but I figured I'd updated the masses here. (Just kidding; you aren't "the masses." Become a Patron! That's just a throwback to my high school history teacher who threw around those terms casually and ironically so he could point out injustices to our bubbled classroom experiences. And these are the things I think about at 2:30am during a pandemic that is only getting worse where I am.) I'm on the mend. I still have a shoulder sling and my arm still hurts like hell, and I still can't play the guitar or accordion but i can play left-handed piano and sleep sometimes. No saw for a while though. I am thankful to be ambidextrous, and I've actually been doing some pretty cool left-handed drawings on the iPad. I'll share a coloring page I created for you sometime...  

Now for the rest of my pre-dawn ramblings!

Today I woke up on my own, at a reasonable hour, without anyone fussing at me or needing breakfast immediately or a butt-wiping or rushing to the bus stop. It was beautiful!

Yes, Angus sleeps with me still, and the morning was full of sweet snuggles. We were going to move him to his room on his 4th birthday, but that was in the middle of the pneumonia, when I was counting his breaths with a stopwatch pretty much all night. He’s recovered, but I’m unwilling to move him to his own bedroom. The pneumonia scare along with the COVID-19 situation makes me actually want to bring Graham back to our bed too and just revert to: Family SuperBed!

I’m writing here partly because my own quarantine journal has suffered. I’ve been having Graham write a daily entry, and the archivist in me loves the idea of everyone having a journal. I’ve just not quite been mentally available to write my own, however, so this blog must do for now.

We are hanging in there. I’m desperate for community, but also relishing the time with my family. I’m confused about testing, and I’m wondering if we’ve already had the virus. Angus, of course, was not tested, though he had every symptom. I’ve lived on high-anxiety for years, so I’m not taking any more deep breaths or Xanax than usual. But life is getting scary, wouldn’t you agree?

Random thing that helps my income: click on one of the ads that pops up? I don’t control the ads, but I actually get paid per click and I get paid a lot more for an ad click than I do for a Spotify stream, so that’s a free and easy thing you can do to support an indie artist :) 

We’ve had real conversations about who gets the children (it’s in our will, but then I worry about people contesting and such) if worst-case scenario happens. We are on lockdown. I might take the kids on a bike ride and let them play in their backyard, but we haven’t even played with our neighbors since the first week of March (Angus’s fever first appeared the evening of March 8). I’m leading a neighborhood book club for the kids on Zoom, so that’s fun, but mostly I’m trying to enjoy every day. Life can shift on a dime.

Weird thing: I’m so glad my parents are already dead.

They would not have been so good at obeying the lockdown orders. Also, I don’t know how we could have managed chemo, Hospice, appointments, etc. They would have had to just suffer at home to an early end anyway. So right now, my thoughts are with everyone out there who is caregiving for ill parents — illnesses that have nothing to do with COVID-19, but which nonetheless make life difficult. I imagine your days and nights are even more anxiety-ridden and stressful than mine ever were. And remember my dad was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer the same week he admitted my mom to Hospice care. I’ve been through some crap.

So today’s ramblings are just about love, and loving each other, and caregiving, and heroes (Hospice workers; all medical workers; all firefighters; oh, just so many people!!), and family and the love.

Also, I made a fun video for my Patreon community a few days ago, and now I bring it to you. Thanks again to my beautiful Patreon community — that is a LOT of you reading now, and please know that you are my lifeline, my income, and my inspiration.

ENJOY MY BLOG? OR MY MUSIC? PLEASE JOIN MY PATREON!

2020! We made it. I hope everyone had a safe and happy New Year. I flew back from 12 days Texas on the 31st. My sweet boys were amazing travelers (screen-time help; no mommy-smugness there), and David's Platinum status meant we got upgraded on the last leg of the flight to ... Delta Comfort whoo-hoo!

Today I want to share an essay I wrote. Salon.com published it last week, so the "Read More" link goes to them ... grab a tissue and happy reading. If you enjoy my blog, join me on my Patreon community, where I create and share exclusive content :)

Our family's "Dark Waters" story: How my son's first film role and my father's cancer are connected

While my son, 6, worked on his first feature film, I learned a surprising fact about my dad, who had sinus cancer

I am generally not a retail-therapy kind of person. I hate "things." I hate clutter. I love to purge. I buy my clothes off ebay or get hand-me-downs because I hate to shop.

A few weeks before my dad died, however, when it became strikingly clear to me that he would not last the summer, I ran out to Williams-Sonoma and paid $128 for a Le Creuset omelet pan (it was 40% off!).

You see,  I had thrown out all of my non-stick pans in a rage because my dad had spent years working with hazardous waste. Even his doctors noted the connection between his rare sinus cancer and his work history with pesticides, asbestos and ...TEFLON ... "can not be ignored." I remember in the early 90s when he drove back and forth to a Dupont plant in West Virginia to help them properly dispose of teflon-related waste. I wondered why, in 2019, when we all know about carcinogens, apparently just shrug it off and enjoy the ease of the non-stick.


And so I bought this Le Creuset pan, like a proper yuppie, but silently fumed at my inability to fry an egg with it.

But folks! I have recently discovered the secret to frying gorgeous eggs in my enameled cast-iron pan. It just requires more patience (not more butter/oil).

It turns out that low heat is the secret. I don't love the speed, but I'm starting to treat it like the ceremony of steeping tea. It's a temporal task, not immediately satisfying, but splendid to watch the oil or butter (or both!) heat up slowly, await it prey, and sizzle the eggs/grilled cheese/brussels sprouts just perfectly.

Maybe it's time to slow everything down in my life. And it's definitely time to throw away all the calphalon in the house. There's been enough cancer here.

**
UPCOMING public shows: 
July 19 (TONIGHT) at Prohibition Distillery in Louisville, Kentucky - opener at 8:30p, then my band around 9:30! $5 cover and  NEW VENUE in town! wowie zowie. (click that you're "interested" on Facebook and magically that'll help other people know about it!
August 1 at Belladrum Festival in Inverness-shire Scotland, United Kingdom 
****
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I LOVE YOU.

This blog has suffered because I've had life going on -- something I understand never goes away (well, until it goes away permanently). Living in the present hasn't been the best advice, somehow, because the present wasn't wonderful. Also, there's something odd about purposefully trying to savor the moment or make a memory because it then leaves that memory always slightly tainted, akin to the old psychology Hawthorne Effect, but about memories instead. Still, I have tried to embrace the positive. It just doesn't really change feelings in the way I was promised. I'm glad I snuggled my mommy until her last breath, but those moments were still absolutely awful.

Telluride was a nice escape, a chance to delve into a different part of my brain -- less emotional, and more intellectual. It was a chance to sit around with brilliant creatives, and each either had a fascinating story to tell or had such confidence that they believed their story to be important, thus making it so. That sounded wrong -- each story was important, but I suffer from Imposter Syndrome, thus often keeping quiet because I assume everyone already knows whatever it is I've discovered.

Anyway, I do wish I had the confidence of a white man, but so does every woman I know.

The Original Thinkers festival/conference/magic was a beautiful weekend, not just in setting but in camaraderie. There were films, performances, talks, lunch meetings, cocktail hours, ping-pong parties, gondola rides, brunches, random conversations on 8-seater plans that made me swoon with the possibilities. It was the most diverse lineup I've ever attended, and it's obvious that the curators worked intentionally to not have white male panels. The women made the conference, taking the stage with power and PowerPoint to share stories of not just the underprivileged, but the completely disempowered -- people living in wartorn countries, campsites in Africa, downtrodden but not downhearted.

I particularly enjoyed meeting Jane Ferguson, Yael Lavie, and Roopa Gogineni (whose new film is playing in LA today if you are around the area), who are brilliant minds going into dangerous places to tell the stories of real people.


Also, HUGE kudos to the festival organizers, who absolutely nailed it. I've been to many a conference/festival, and this one was incredibly well-planned and executed -- from everything to swag bags to event times and, of course, event quality. Thank you for including me. It was a huge honor!

And now some random photos of the weekend:

I think I might be breaking up with yoga. We have had a long separation now. Yoga had been really good for me -- it got me in shape, and it controlled my irritability and anger issues for approximately 36 hours. It also involved 2 hours of my day, organizing a babysitter, an extra shower, and doubled the amount of laundry. I stopped going when I no longer had a babysitter working on trade (a babysitter + yoga tuition quickly creates a $35-50 yoga class, and, quite frankly, Xanax is cheaper).

I first started doing yoga with regularity because I was offered a role in a national touring Broadway show. (I never told you all that, did I? It was at a strange point in my life, and I was going to replace someone who wasn't sure if she was ready to quit ... my mom was starting chemo and didn't have a long life expectancy.) After remembering how badly I had sweat my way through the movement audition, I realized that if I were to dance 8 shows a week, I needed to get back in shape. It wasn't about being skinny. I don't care about that; I just want my trousers to fit and to not be out of breath at the top of the stairs. So I signed up for one of those 30 days for $30 things, and I went every single day, figuring it would be Broadway-boot camp.

I obviously didn't end up doing the tour, or you would have seen many glamorous posts from Iowa to Ireland -- but I did get in shape and enjoy it most of the time.

I went back to yoga last week for the first time in over six months. My body loved it -- the sweat and the stretches. Oh, was I sore for days.

But I forgot how much I really dislike group events. The vinyasas were great; the"turn to your neighbor and give them a high five" had me wanting to run out of that room because I had come for alone time. The "get up off your mat and introduce yourself to the people around you and create community" was utterly anxiety-inducing in the worst way. As I introduced myself to the person next to me -- who promptly said, "We went to high school together." I knew exactly who she was, as she had been the straight-up coolest girl in high school. I was shocked she even knew who I was, and I babbled nonsense and sounded like a maniac with my small talk before collapsing into child's pose.

The instructors would say, that's what yoga is about. Doing hard things. Being part of something bigger than yourself. etc etc

Here's what I realized: that's not what I want to get out of yoga. I want the meditation and the exercise, but I don't want the philosophy.

I do hard things every single day. I have always done hard things. I mean, I have owned my own business (AS AN ARTIST) for almost 20 years without a trust fund or family money. Art is all about being part of things bigger than yourself -- I bring entertainment and original art (aka my NAKE SOUL) to the stage sometimes in front of millions of people listening live on the radio. I am a social anxiety-ridden introvert, but I can absolutely suck it up and play the role of extrovert when I have to. I don't need to learn how to do that, as I have done that my entire career. I can network, schmooze, small talk with the best of them.

But on a Monday morning when I am seeking out sweat and stretch? No. Thank. You.

The time I carve out for yoga? I need solitude and ease and not challenging myself. Because I challenge myself enough by being my own demanding boss and solo parenting two small children and taking care of my sick mother and stressing myself out all the time. I can do hard things. I don't need anyone reminding me of that. All I need is peace, quiet, and no one grabbing my nipples. I want that solitary wood floor that my yoga friends post on Instagram.

I'm tortured because I do enjoy the yoga classes. This morning I was prepped to go to a class, but instead, maybe I'll go home, put in earplugs and roll through some sun salutations in my basement.

I mean, it's not you, yoga, it's clearly me. Everyone else loves you. I understand the reasoning behind the creating community. It's just not for me right now ... I prefer community at the coffeeshop or the music show. Or can we have a "Yoga for Introverts" class where no one is expected to even make eye contact?

And that's me, with my unpopular opinion that I had to get off my chest, so now I can move about my day and week and career a little lighter. Writing -- writing is my yoga! Hello, community.

UPCOMING SHOWS:

Monday, 5/28 in LOUISVILLE: with Steve Cooley at TYLER PARK. 4:00pm.
Wednesday, 5/30 in LOUISVILLE: Kentucky Homefront at Adath Jeshurun. 6:30pm (just the backing band -- I'm not singing)
Friday, 6/1 in LEXINGTON: Seton Country Fair. Brigid Kaelin BAND. 6p-7:30p
Sunday, 6/10 in LOUISVILLE: Lakeside Swim Club. Brigid Kaelin BAND. 6:30-8:30p. (for members and their guests)
Thursday, 6/14 in LOUISVILLE: Slugger Field. Brigid Kaelin BAND. 5:30-6:30p

My sweet little privileged boys playing in the show!

Every woman I know is on fire lately. Whether that means finally seeking out therapy or finally calling out nonsense and bad behavior when you see it, it means a change is not just a'coming; it is a'here. And I LOVE IT. It's empowering and it's a weight off my shoulders I never realized was there.

When my second-born was revealed to have a penis, I was incredibly relieved. I knew, right then, that his life would be significantly better than if he'd been born with a vagina. I knew that I'd have an easier job as a parent, not having to explain every nuance of dressing, catcalling, expressing yourself, being careful, being smart in class, but not raising your hand all the time -- all those things that women have dealt with and all the burdens we have shouldered. In that same moment of relief, I also felt massive responsibility to try to make these fortunate middle-class white males I would raise to try to understand just a fraction of what women go through on a day to day basis.

My #metoo anger comes out in frustration sometimes. My 5-year-old will behave like a typical impatient 5-year-old and interrupt me. When I'm feeling ragey, I'll respond, "NEVER INTERRUPT A WOMAN." I know that "never interrupt" would be good enough, but I add those two words because I feel some need to over-correct thousands of years of systemic sexism. My sweet boy is told not to refer to game pieces as "guys" or animals at the zoo as "him," because I want him to learn that "male" is not the default. I also want him to be a strong leader, but to recognize his own privilege -- and that he must offer helping hands to those not beginning life on a pedestal. When his friends in his preschool get upset that I make all the monkeys jumping on the bed GIRLS ("she fell off and bumped her head"), I feel a little smile of "now you know what it's like!" before obviously remembering that the 3-year-olds are not, in fact, the enemy.

But their parents are! Even if it's me.

Today I ask you to interrupt a man -- or at the very least call them out. Speak up for us. I've seen too many men out there going on and on about things they clearly don't understand, assuming that our powers are balanced from the get-go. They are not. If you're an artist on a bill with almost entirely men, SAY SOMETHING. Promoters seem to think that if they throw a few women on a festival line-up that they are being woke and making sure there is representation. That's not good enough! Don't make us compete with each other for a few token spots, while a bunch of white guys get to play the same three chords with the same beards and same flannel shirts and have the arts scene be okay with that. Don't make us sound ungrateful when we *are* the token woman: SAY SOMETHING. Don't sit back and agree with me on Facebook without doing anything about it: SAY SOMETHING.

And of course -- same goes for race. I'm not perfect, but I'm trying to get better. Know better, do better. If you didn't know before, now you do. It's okay to improve yourself. That's what we're all out to do, right?

 Good morning from Heine Brothers! No babysitter/nanny/co-parent today, so I'm doing the best I can with what I've got. Anyone out there want to trade babysitting for piano lessons? Or guitar lessons? Or background music at your Christmas party? We had an quasi au pair for a while, but it didn't work out because our schedules never quite meshed. A professional au pair is a bit out of our reach, but someday ... someday.

I do have these visions of hitting the road with my babies and bringing along a nanny -- someone who is up for adventures at the drop of a credit card and who keeps a valid passport at all times. Maybe someone who wants to be an artist herself, but who could use the boost of free rent and flexible hours. I know, I know, I could ask at nearby universities, but I'm sort of hoping this situation comes about organically, much like it did for me when I was a live-in part-time nanny for a magical family in NYC. We were perfect for each other, and I was even able to maintain a full-time job at CBS News simultaneously.

In the mean time, I desperately need to find some sort of structure and routine to my wacky self-employed career, so I can properly balance it with parenting and coordinating babysitters. I'm very good at making lists, but I'm not so great at implementation these days.

Yesterday, however, I started a weekly video series in order to hold myself accountable to playing music for the public (all I do are private parties lately because THEY PAY WELL!):


Also, there is this -- have openings Friday October 6, Friday October 13, Sat. Oct 21 -- looking specifically for Shelbyville, Lexington, Berea, Bowling Green, so if you've ever wanted to host a concert in your home, please read this:












Currently reading: A Distant View of Everything by Alexander McCall Smith
Currently watching: Reign, Season 3.
Current mood: melancholy, like this song (but also, of course feeling heartbroken over the state of the world and donating to the Red Cross and ACLU because I'm not sure what else I can do):

We were both so so so excited on election day at 9am.

What a depressing week last week was. I'm still in denial. Followed by massive amounts of guilt knowing that I'll probably be fine -- as long as I don't flaunt the Jewish background thing, and maybe I should pull my kid out of the Jewish preschool because Anti-Semites are going to run the government ... hmmm ... okay, maybe I legitimately am worried for my family...

Anyway, the guilt comes from knowing that my family isn't outwardly too different, but plenty of others I know are and -- yikes, what year are we living in? How is this seriously our current challenge? Also, the ice caps are melting and what if a tidal wave attacks my oceanfront Louisville property in five years? Do I start buying an extra canned good at every grocery trip and insulating the attic with creamed corn?

I also keep thinking how can there possibly be a place for my career now? I'm a musician, not a revolutionary.

But also, don't people need art more than ever these days?

And is there room for, shall we call it, "distracting" art? Lighthearted songs to make you smile and take you away from the terrifying world? Or are those the artists who should give up and forget it because we should be focused on revolutionary songwriting? Are those types of songs more dangerous than ever because we should not distract ourselves and ignore what it happening?

I have often wrestled with the whatisthepoint question of my career, but in light of the election results (and a postpartum fog and heading into the early sunsets and dark, cold days) I have even more mindwasps.

Am I being too hard on myself?

Can someone convince Bob Dylan to finally speak out? To tell artists what it was like to be the revolutionary performer in revolutionary times? Did he even know he was doing it? Was it a career-advancing accident that he had protest songs? Were they even intended as protest songs or were they interpreted that way because of the times he was writing in? How long did it take for them to spread in a world 50 years before Twitter?

In the mean time, I'm trying to finish up a record, and I'm really not sure why it feels so pressing.

 I think my 4-year-old has the right idea:

Four years ago today I had the Wee Boy in a beautiful Birthing Centre in Edinburgh, Scotland, and can I tell you the honest answer to the question? Yes, I absolutely believe it has been four years! I have enjoyed the last two and a half immensely, but wow are those first 18 months tough. I was just writing in my journal about how much I adore Graham, and I decided to share it with the world because, people, he is the best kid.

No, he still doesn't sleep. That has been the thing about him that causes the most stress. If not-sleeping would guarantee that my Newest Boy would be exactly the same as Graham then I would happily never have him sleep through the night. Because Graham is just so good.

Ode to Graham today? Yes. No holds barred, here, either.




I keep most of my parenting triumphs to myself because I feel guilty about them. I have watched friends with similarly-aged children have a year full of "threenager" behavior: tantrums, illogical arguments, huge emotions, mood swings and general hard emotional times. Today I can say that, though this is all completely normal, I have not seen such behavior in Graham. He has thrown a tantrum, but it has never lasted more than 45 seconds. Seriously. It is bizarre, abnormal and completely wonderful.

He's a thousand times more emotionally intelligent than I am -- something I credit more to David's genes than my parenting. Honestly, none of the credit should go to my parenting. I don't do anything or know anything differently than my friends do. I just got crazy lucky with a child who takes deep breaths and talks about his feelings. It blows my mind daily, and I never take it for granted. While I'm in the kitchen throwing a spoon in frustration, Graham will come in and give me a hug and tell me, "I'm so sorry you're feeling sad. Will a snuggle make you feel better?" And I melt, people, I melt. 

People think I solo parent a lot. I'm pretty sure it's Graham doing the parenting.

Anyway ... his year as a 3-year-old has been amazing. He is a master on that scooter. You've seen him racing down the sidewalks in his unicorn helmet, seemingly without a parent (I'm just behind him a few driveways, trying to keep up), but always stopping at long driveways and alleys and streets to wait for me, me never having to remind him.

He goes off the diving boards and swims to the side by himself.

Venonat

He's a surprisingly good little artist. Lately he's taken to drawing Pokemon (or is it Pokemons?) freehand, and they are really good! Even for a 4-year-old.

He loves working crosswords -- either a kid crossword book or just writing in the letters that my mom tells him to in the newspaper puzzle.

He can even read! Seriously. I mean, it's not David Copperfield (thanks for that visual, Erin), but he can read the BOB books and sounds out words in other books all the time. I've caught him reading to his little brother, and I thought I would explode from warm fuzzies right then and there.

Ugh, I know. I'm so annoying. I'm just so stinkin' proud of that sweet little boy, who always holds the door open for me and who loves so deeply and occasionally actually cries adorable little tears of joy. I am so excited to see what magic age 4 brings.

The Wee Boy is so surprised!

I've been quiet on the blog, but I've had four zillion things flying around in my head. Mostly because I've been withholding a big secret from you for many months now: David and I are having another baby. Like, soon. Like, in a month or two.

Partly, I didn't share the news because I wanted to make sure all was well. Then, I didn't really show until around 6 months along. And I've just been holding on to the secret because it seemed anti-climactic at that point. BUT...

The biggest reason for not sharing this exciting (and, yes, it was on purpose) news is because I work in an incredibly sexist industry. A longer essay is in the works, but know that I also learned this lesson last time:

The music business is not interested in pregnant women unless you are massively famous. Otherwise, promoters, bands, even fellow musicians you've known for years just assume you won't want to or won't be able to gig.