Wanna make God laugh? Make a plan!

I used to love planning. Outlining all of the tedious details to the very second was my equivalent of crack. And I was damn good at it.

Then, I became a mother. Suddenly, planning lost its pizzazz. Nothing ever seemed to go as I had desired. Was it me? Was it my kid? Was it Nickelodeon?

While this point became apparent to me with the birth of my eldest daughter, Emory, it became crystal clear with my youngest, Lauren.

Last year at this time, I was pregnant with little Miss L. I held a vision that it would be a picture-perfect gestational period just like her older sister. The universe had alternate arrangements.

Plan: Healthy, vibrant pregnancy. Reality: Two hospital stays, a car accident and kidney stones.

Plan: Conceive in January in order to deliver in October, my all-time favorite month. Reality: January conception … check! Delivery? September, six weeks early via emergency C-section.

Plan: Have my fabulous OB/GYN deliver my child. Reality: She was at a wedding … in India!

The day my water broke, it was Rosh Hashanah. Perfect. Only a Roman Catholic would go into labor on a High Holy Day at a Jewish hospital.

Since Lauren’s arrival, so many other things haven’t gone according to my illustrious wishes.

Plan: Leave the hospital with my child. Reality: She landed a two-week reservation in a NICU incubator.

Plan: Nurse for 6 months once she came home. Reality: Lauren wasn’t a boob gal. So dairy cow here pumped out 8 bottles a day for 24 weeks.

Plan: Bunk Lauren in our room and listen to her nightly cooing. Reality: Kicked her out after the first week because of her abhorrent grunting.

And so it went. Her first photo shoot? She scowled. Christmas morning toys? She ate wrapping paper. One simple morning at church for a little Mommy & Me bonding with Jesus? She farted so bad, I had to jump pews because of the smell, only to get into our new spot and have her throw up in my face.

CALGON!

Admittedly, I am recovering control freak. And I agree that planning does have its place. But, I see now how much more productive it is to be in the moment. I’ve learned to have “a rough idea” versus a “set-in-stone/this-is-how-it-will-be-dammit” plan of attack.

Because when you get that invested in an outcome, you’re dangling a big ole carrot in front of the universe. And sometimes, the Universe can be one hungry bunny!

Flippin’ out

Excuse my delay in being absent from MommyActs for several months.  I have good reason.  I am knee-deep into my second pregnancy.  Number 2 is due on 10/16/10.  We’re very excited, and to squelch the question before it comes, no, we don’t know the baby’s sex.  We want to be surprised. 

Actually, this pregnancy has been full of surprises from Day 1 – 24/7 nausea during first trimester, a 4-day hospital stay due to a kidney stone, and gestational diabetes (which I got during my first pregnancy, but is a bit harder to manage this go round).

Now, my latest surprise – this baby is feet first breech!  While my OB is confident my little guy/gal will turn in the next two weeks or so, I want to do everything I can to help push things along. 

I’m on a mission to flip.

So, I went online to look up at-home remedies for turning a breech baby.  Found a bazillion ideas.  Reviewed them all and selected a few to try.  Here’s a review of the last few days of my life:

• Attempted my first headstand in nearly 30 years.  Suffice it to say that this was a bit easier to do when I weighed 85 pounds in fifth grade.  Trying to get into position, I knocked three picture frames off the wall.  Finally landed it, but the blood came barreling into my head so fast, I nearly threw up.  Then, my two-year-old looked at me and said, “Mommy…’mato (short for tomato).”  Lovely.

 

• Water immersion is supposedly one of the best things for turning a baby.  It’s been 112 degrees the past few days, so swimming outdoors has not been an option.  So, how about a relaxing bath, right?  My question…why must bathtub manufacturers make the width of standard tubs so damn narrow?  I was practically in the fetal position as I slid into the water.  I leaned back, only to find out that even with a full tub of water, my belly was not even close to being submerged.  So, I turned onto one side.  Picture an obese mermaid with her necked cricked to one side!

 

• Decided to make things easier on myself.  Apparently, babies shy away from cold and gravitate toward light and sound.  So, I laid down on the couch with a bag of frozen peas underneath my ta-tas (where the baby’s head is now) and shined a flashlight on my hoo-ha to encourage a natural migration “down below.”  If that image isn’t enough to scare you, couple it with the fact that I was simultaneously salivating while watching “Mr. Shuester” on Glee. 

Who knows what I’ll try next.  Perhaps a simpler approach – like lying in the yoga “cat position” or simply doing clockwise belly massage.  That would be a smarter thing to do.  But, then again…smarter is overrated.  Much more fun to attempt the crazy!

I’ll keep you posted how it goes. In the mean time, do me a favor and whisper four words as you go to sleep tonight – “Flip, Baby C, flip.”

Lost in Yonkers with unwrapped candy and ringing cell phones

There is nothing that I love more than live theatre – whether starring in a production or taking one in.  Unfortunately, due to motherhood, my time is limited to do either.  But, this past week, I got a “Mommy Night Out.”  I actually donned a cute outfit, applied REAL make-up and went to see my friend, Kelly, tear up the stage in a fantastic production of Lost in Yonkers at the Repertory East Playhouse (which by the way, only plays for 2 more weekends, for you LA folk, and is something NOT to miss).

Unfortunately, though, the experience wasn’t everything that it could have been because of fellow theatre patrons, who obviously need to be briefed on some common-sense “do’s and don’ts” when taking in a live show.  As an actor myself, this is something I’m passionate about.  And guess what?  Now you get to be enlightened.

Presenting Brooke’s tips of what to do when watching a play:

• Turn off your cell phone – I get that we live in the age of “constant communication.”  But, guess what?  The world is going to keep on movin’ and shakin’ while you’re out of pocket for 2-2.5 hours and you really will be able to catch up.  I promise.  So, turn off your cell phone.  You can always check it at intermission.  During my “night out at the theatre,” a woman sitting front row — literally spitting distance to the actors – gets a call in the middle of one of the most intense moments of the show.  If that wasn’t enough, she couldn’t find the damn thing to turn it off.  When she finally did, she then felt the need to exclaim … OUT LOUD … “I can’t believe my phone rang?”  We can’t either, lady!  And, I can’t believe you felt the need to let us know, too!

• Ta-ta to texting – Similar to #1, must you text during a play?  Or check your e-mail?  Those screens on your smartphones illuminate quite brightly.  And believe it or not, we can hear those buttons clicking away.  So can the actors (I speak from personal experience on that one). You can update your Facebook page or Tweet to the world later.

• Unwrap your candies before the show – It’s winter, and coughs linger.  That’s cool. But, how about unwrapping all of your lozenges before the show starts?  You may think that you are being very quiet, but you would be amazed at how much a one-inch square piece of paper makes when wrapped around a sticky piece of medicine.  C’mon people.

• Take a nap earlier in the day – If are prone to falling asleep in dark places, be it a movie theatre or a live playhouse, then take a nap during the day.  The lady directly next to me missed that memo, dozed off, fell to the left with her head hanging in my space and proceeded to snore.  I kid you not.  I did mention I was on the second row, right?  Again, you’re taking away from my theatre-going experience and giving one hell of an insult to the actors.  Simply leave at intermission if you are so bored.  THAT would be more courteous.

• And finally…SHUT UP!!!! – One of the things that makes live theatre so rewarding for an actor is the energy you get from an audience.  You know when they are with you, and when they are not.  We love laughter.  We love tears.  But, people … we don’t need vocal commentary.  The lady behind me felt the intense need to audibly express how cold she was every time the air conditioner came on.  Then, she did her best to lobby support from her fellow patrons around her … while the show was underway.  She even approached the theatre manager at intermission to rally for her cause (she lost, by the way).  Why she was cold, I have no idea.  Based on the size parka she was wearing, she must have flown in from Iceland for the show.  Do you best people and keep the commentary to yourself.

I know these all sound like common sense.  But, you would be surprised at how often these simple rules are violated.  Live theatre is nothing like going to the movies.  In a movie theatre, Julia Roberts and George Clooney can’t feel when someone is being rude like answering a phone or talking incessantly.  But, in a live production, it’s a whole different ballgame.  You have have real human beings up there, pouring their heart and soul into a performance to try and elicit some sort of emotion from you.  They are giving you a gift.  Granted, sometimes the gift is not that good.  But, it always deserves respect.

Thanks for listening.  Here’s hoping you help all of us actors and support a live theatre production in your town soon…sans cell phone!

All hail the pooper scooper

Something happened when I became a mother.  All those things that I could never imagine myself doing, I did.  I have tended to awful bouts of diaper rash.  I’ve suctioned out snot.  And, on the play front, I have sung the same song – no lie – 24 times straight to get my daughter to settle down for a nap.  But, last night, I earned new wings.

7:45 p.m. is Emory’s favorite time of day – bath time.  What’s not to love?  Splashing?  Good!  Toys?  Good.  Bubble bath?  Good!  So, with Em happy as a clam, I stepped into the other room to pick up toys, turn down her bed and pull out clean pajamas.

But, after about 3 minutes, it got really quiet.  Then, a whimper.  Puzzled, I walked back into the bathroom only to see my little nudie cutie standing straight up in the bathtub, which she knows is a “no no.”

“Emory, you sit right back down in that tub,” I commanded.  Normally, that’s all it takes.  But, not this time.  Plus, she had such a weird look on her face.  “Sit down, missy.”  Nothing.  Finally, I walked over to literally bend her little legs and make her sit.  Her beautiful hazel eyes beckoned me to save her from something awful.  But, what?  What could be so bad?

And, then I saw them … four little biscuit turds floating in the water.

Yep, she pooped in the tub.  I remember when my niece did this to my mother a few years back and I just rolled on the floor laughing. Well, yeah … it’s easy to laugh when it’s not happening to you.

Now, my challenge … Emory was clutching me for dear life.  No way on Earth was she going to sit back down in that tub until it was poop-free.  Can you blame her?  Second, with her grabbing on to me, I couldn’t leave to get the kitty litter scooper.  And then it hit me … I am going to have to retrieve these things BY HAND.

I felt my gag reflex coming on … something I picked up from my sister-in-law, Annie.  “C’mon, Brooke.  Cowboy up, babe!”

So, I took a deep breath and plunged my hand into the water.  I grabbed the first poop pebble and tossed it into the toilet.  Ick!  Did the same for #2 and #3.  Ick, ick!  Then, I went back for #4 and it was gone.  It was literally lost in a sea of bubbles.  So, with daughter clutching my left arm, I leaned into the tub and dunked my entire right arm into the tub.  With suds now reaching my armpits, I found the sucker, grabbed it and aimed for the commode.  Finally, with all turds now in the toilet, I flushed and sent them off to meet the Tidy Bowl Man.

Needless to say, bathtime ended promptly.  As I am drying Emory off, Tom traipses upstairs and says, “Need any help?”  Really, Tom?  Really?

But, I didn’t go there.  Instead, I simply said, “Yes, honey … could you take over?”  He took Emory and whisked her away to clean PJs, a delightful story and soothing lullaby.

I, on the other hand, opted for a LOOOOOOOOOOOOONG hand washing, followed by a date with a can of Comet!

Give me my damn wings!

Felt Up in Walmart

I’ve been a working actress in LA for 10 years.  And, I have yet to do a love scene on camera.  I’m not opposed to it; the opportunity has just never presented itself.  I used to think that it would be very awkward … doing the scene with so many crew people looking on.  But, thanks to my daughter, that fear has been conquered … Emory felt me up in Walmart.

Yesterday, we ventured out to the mother of all discount stores to do final New Year’s Eve meal shopping (‘cuz the days of going out on NYE are SO over).  All throughout the trip, Emory was being very needy, reaching up for me and whining. I kept pushing her little arms down, giving her kisses and continuing on with my shopping.

Then, I reached the produce department.

It was packed for some odd reason.  Everyone on the hunt for the perfect potato, including me.  All that was left was a huge 10 pound bag of Russets.  So, I squeezed myself in between three people and reached up to grab this massive bag of taters off the shelf.

As I am trying to maneuver this bag above people’s heads, I feel two little hands hit both my breasts.  I look down and Emory is palming my ta-tas.  Better yet, she then started squeezing them … as if she had scored two rolls of Charmin!  I guess she had a flashback to that lovely six-month period from June-December 2008 when I was her dairy cow.  Em, I hate to tell you, sweetheart, but those udders dried up a LONG time ago.

After I recovered from my shock, I burst into hysterical laughter.  Seriously, who gets felt up by their own kid?  In public?  At a Walmart?

I gently released her grip from my mammary glands, gave her a kiss and headed for the check-out lane.  Don’t know if anyone saw it happen, probably so, which makes it that more hilarious.

So, I guess in 2010, I have nothing to fear with a love scene that takes me to second base!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Blue balls, anyone?

I’m years away from the sex talk, but here’s a funny precursor.  My daughter loves balls.  Blue balls.  No, she hasn’t been traumatized by seeing my husband in his birthday suit.  I’m talking about a set of good old-fashioned plastic balls.

Two weeks ago, Emory’s Maw Maw bought her an inflatable castle filled with multi-colored plastic balls.  She spends hours in her fortress, tossing balls in and out.  But recently, we picked up on a trend. She only throws the blue balls.  No purple. No yellow.  No pink. Just big fat blue balls.

Blue balls have become her favorite playmate.  When it’s time for lunch, she parades into the kitchen, blue balls in hand.  They sit on her food tray next to her juice and a bowl of mac & cheese.  Time to go to the park?  The blue balls are in tow and join her in the sandbox.  The best – the balls travel to the doctor.  Try explaining that to a pediatrician with a straight face – “Yeah, Doc…she’s obsessed with blue balls.”

Not quite sure what all of this means.  Probably nothing. Then again, one month ago at a restaurant, Emory grabbed our waiter’s crotch.

Hmm…perhaps the sex talk is coming sooner than later!

The Disneyland Debacle

Public parking…$14.  Disneyland ticket…$72.  Watching your toddler have an enormous, kicking and screaming meltdown in front of the Magic Kingdom…priceless!

What is it with first-time parents and the need to try all sorts of activities/outings WAY before your little one is ready? I don’t know what I was smoking last week, but I really thought a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth would be so much fun for my 16-month-old daughter, Emory.

Really, Brooke? Really?

And so begins the Disneyland Debacle:

• The 70-minute car ride, where darling daughter was supposed to nap the entire way.  She opted for 18 minutes. She obviously missed the memo.

• The 35-minute wait to get into the parking lot with a very hungry little girl wailing in the backseat.

• Tossing chicken nuggets and broccoli spears into her snack tray while trying to purchase admission tickets.

• Dashing to Fantasyland to find a restaurant and order some milk…only to have it come out frozen.

• Inhaling lunch and scurrying to the nearest bathroom only to be greeted by the oh-so-joyous aroma of an explosive diaper and running out of wipes.

• Finally making it to King Arthur’s Carousel, only to have Emory pitch a fit because the operator wouldn’t let her ride side-saddle.

• Doing laps throughout Fantasyland desperately in search of a ride with a 5-minute or less wait (found two).

• Ditching Fantasyland and wheeling over to ToonTown to meet Minnie Mouse, only to be denied by Nazi Disney employee.

• Purchasing custom mouse ears, only to have Emory rip them off her head and dislodge one ear from the cap.

I could go on, but you catch my drift.  Complete disaster.   So, what DID Emory want to do?  Walk, walk and walk some more!  I turned to my mother, who just shook her head and uttered, “Let it go.”  Defeated, I conceded.  No Dumbo’s Flying Circus.  No Peter Pan.  No Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.   Just 52 laps around a circular fountain at the rear end of the park.  At lap 53, I raised the white flag.  This Disneyland trip was officially over.

So, we screamed because we got put back into a stroller.  We wailed as we power-walked to the main entrance.  We whimpered on the tram ride to the parking garage.  Then, by the magical powers of neck pillow and the soothing sounds of a humming automobile, my little princess drifted off to Neverland during the entire 60-mile trip back home.

Ahhhhh….good times. I can’t WAIT to do Disneyland again with Emory.  I’m thinking a college graduation trip would be perfect!

Mommy’s New “F” word

No, it doesn’t rhyme with “duck.”  It’s not even close to “diggin.”  It’s actually an uppity-sounding, three-syllable utterance.  Ready?  FLATULENCE.

Yeah, you heard right.  The fancy way of saying “farting.”  Now, I’m not one for potty humor. But, this is something that truly perplexes me.  Before I begin, a bit of back story.

I was the girl growing up who NEVER tooted in public.  If I had to do that God-forsaken act, I would run far away into a field, amidst the trees and then let a tiny one eek out.  Even into my first year of marriage, my husband had never heard me pass gas.  I’m Southern.  It just wasn’t done.  It’s the law.

And then…I got pregnant.

Suddenly, perpetual flatulence descended upon me.  The books all said it was normal.  Hubby and I laughed it off, and then chuckled ‘til we cried when it became an hourly occurrence in the last few weeks before the baby arrived.

But, then I gave birth.  So, the flatulence should have left, right?  WRONG.  My daughter is now 16 months old and I can’t remember a “flatulence-free” day.  Let me paint a picture of some of the more memorable occurrences:

• Going downstairs carrying a load of laundry.  I tooted the entire flight of 20 stairs…a good 10 seconds straight.
• Reaching for a package of curtains from the top shelf at a linens store…right as the sales assistant walks by.  I left…sans curtains.
• Accepting communion at Sunday Mass.  Yep, right at the throne of our Lord Jesus Christ.
• And the most mortifying, consoling my husband after he returned from putting our cat, Lucy, to sleep.  (But, that one DID lighten a very difficult moment).

I have NO idea when they are coming.  It’s not something I can sense.  They just appear…like a pimple on prom night.  I will say that they are odorless bursts of air.  But, that doesn’t comfort me.  There’s still THE SOUND.  It’s like slowly letting the air out of the bladder of a basketball.

I’m certain this is related to giving birth.  Things have shifted, stretched, you name it.  But, if memory serves, my daughter did not come out that particular hole.  I’m hoping it will cease in time.  Meanwhile, it’s just another wild and wacky part of my life.

So, you must be thinking, “Why on Earth is she posting this blog?”  A couple of reasons.

#1 — I am a comedic actress who is dedicated to finding the humor in my life (and this takes the cake right now).

#2 – I hope to make YOU laugh and brighten your day (you deserve it).

#3 – I want to find other moms who can relate.  We must bond (and giggle) about this affliction.

Are you plagued with the “F” word?  Let’s hear it!

Trapped INSIDE my car wearing Santa earrings

As an actress in L.A. for 10 years, I have gone on hundreds of auditions.  While the auditions themselves have been interesting, TRAVELING TO the audition has always been non-eventful…until today.

Left home and zipped down the freeway to West L.A. headed to a Sprint audition. Beautiful day. No traffic.  Even knocked out a conference call on the way into town.  Arrived at the audition early.  Sat in my car to finish the conference call.  Then, it was time to go in…or so I would have hoped.

I pushed the button to unlock the car.  Nothing.  Tried two more times. Nada.  Fine, I’ll unlock the door manually.  As I open the door, my car alarm starts blaring at levels destined to break the sound barrier.  Scared the crud out of me.  Quickly shut the door — still inside the car (mind you) — and the alarm won’t turn off.  I reached for my remote entry key and frantically pushed the alarm button to silence the obnoxious sound.  Broken.  The alarm blared for 3 minutes straight, then stopped.  Okay, that was weird. But, everything should be okay.

Oh, no!

Tried to get out of the car again, same thing.  Three minutes later, I tried tried turning on the car.  Won’t turn over, but the alarm does…that horrific sound resonating through the air.  The day laborers waiting across the street glare at me  very suspiciously.  A group of HOT guys come out of a nearby office building, chuckle at me and shake their heads.   What’s so funny?  Haven’t they ever seen a woman literally trapped INSIDE her car outside of a Kung Fu school wearing Christmas attire.

Yeah, you heard right!  It was a commercial audition for a Sprint holiday spot.  Had to come in my best green/red sweater.  Not only did I don one heavy mother of a sweater, Santa Claus earrings dangled from my ears.  Yes, I truly looked like your Aunt Gertrude from some po-dunk town in Anywhere, U.S.A.

On top of that…it’s about 100 degrees in my car.

So, a) I am trapped inside a honking vehicle outside of a Kung Fu school; b) the people around me see a wacky broad decked out like Mrs. Claus sitting inside the car, dripping with sweat and screaming into a cell phone; c) my husband is trying to get me to tinker with a fuse box (as if I even know what I am doing); and d) I for sure am going to miss this audition (a national commercial, mind you).

Did I fail to mention that shortly afterward, the Parking Meter Nazi showed up and I had to scream at this cop through my window that I couldn’t get out of my car because of the alarm?  Why I wasn’t arrested for possible grand auto theft, I haven’t a clue.  I think my Santa earrings saved me.

Praise God for AAA, which showed up 45 minutes later.  Ali — my fabulous tow truck guy — was able to fix the problem on the spot.  Sure enough…a loose thing-a-ma-jig.  Alarm stopped.  I exited the car and blinked frantically as mascara melted into my eyes.  I looke like Tammy Faye Baker, circa 1985.

Happy ending…I was able to grab a quick lunch and make the final window of auditions for the spot.  Thanks to my agents, Kim and Joan, for helping me to laugh through this.  Big kudos to my husband for driving across town to try and save the day, with our 15-month-old daughter in tow.  And HAIL TO ALI at AAA for silencing the damn alarm.

I have one word that needs to happen after all of this…CALLBACK!

Hello world!

Being an actress can be quite amusing at times.  Couple that with being a mother of a 14-month-old, and oh, the comedy just flows.

Hi, I’m Brooke Baumer.  Welcome to MommyActs.  I’m creating this blog to chronicle my hilarious adventures as a new mom to my beautiful daughter, Emory.  Oh, and yeah, the stories will hopefully weave their way into another one-woman show or series of Webisodes.  “Create your own magic.”  The new four buzz words here in LaLa land.

Technically, I have no idea what I am doing.  I’m one of those gals who still PREFERS carry a daytimer so I can WRITE things down vs. storing them into a phone, Blackberry, whatever.  So, the look and feel of this blog will evolve over time as I learn my social media chops.  But, one thing is for sure (at least I hope)…to make you laugh.  We all need a bit of laughter in a world that is much too serious.

More to come. Thanks for reading. And if you enjoy, tell a friend!

Cheers,

Brooke