Back Home

I’m sitting in LAX awaiting our flight back to our other home in London. We have taken over an entire row in the waiting area with our carry-ons. I am always amazed at how my boys travel with such ease. They could no more take the bus down Sunset Blvd two miles without getting lost, but they can fly across the world with neck pillows, gadgets, food and foreign money and know how to check in and where to place all their stuff.

There’s a somberness to the beginning of this holiday season with the horrific events in Connecticut. I look at my seven year old sitting across from me without a care in the world, and can only take a pause and recognize the blessing of his safety. The random act of violence is a heavier destruction because nothing is fair, and simply believing in the life that remains after that becomes the greatest challenge you face. I pray for the families and for strength to embody them.

My friend, Heather, and I discussed talking to our boys about the tragedy and finding appropriate words. We both felt that especially during a time when Hanukkah was bringing present after present and Christmas is on its way, the boys needed to be mindful of what also happens in our world and how to pray for others, not just ourselves. It’s a tall order for a kid to understand that there is life outside of his four walls and surely it’s our job to broaden their awareness. I’m not saying we need to frighten them and make them watch CNN to feel lucky, but equally what happened is real and they need to understand that when we ask them to be safe when they go out, what to do when strangers approach, whatever, there is a real reason for it.

Up up and away. The same prayer every time we fly. Husband awaits at our arrival and it’s crazy to think there’s a prayer to be said to get there. But there is and we board with an assumption of safety but with a prayer as well.

The arrival to our house is always incredibly weird. In my mind, nothing has changed but for the seasons. I am always exhausted when we open the front door as the night flight lingers in my body, and my longingness for getting under my duvet is set against my boys energy at rediscovering their lives here. They race to their rooms and scream around the house; they run down the lane to the neighbors to declare their arrival; they run and run and run. Meanwhile, I become obsessed with unpacking their clothes and getting some order before I collapse.

We all shower – Husband’s phobia about germs from the flight. Even though I spent ridiculous money on my blow dry that made me look like I had hair extensions, I wash my hair like everyone else. Bed feels like the Twilight Zone where once under, strange dreams occur and I awake mid afternoon not knowing which room I’m in, which country,

In my mind I think I know what is behind every cupboard in the house but when I open them, I am jolted back to the memory of clearing everything out for rentals. My office is filled with boxes rather than buddahs and the whole thing makes me a little uncomfortable. I want my house back and yet need to keep it somewhat empty for the chance of renting again. It’s like I can’t invest in the small things for the house here because we might have to clear it all out again, and so it forces me to detach, which I don’t like.

It’s raining here and people are a bit anxious because of the holidays. Getting settled in is always hard and the best bit of advice I have is to try and not judge anything or anyone for a while. Husband is trying to wrap up the year end with work which can be like watching a crazy man try and stay sane, and Lord knows Santa is on his way! I need my heart to stop racing so for now, I’m going to wrap some presents and make a bolognese…because everyone knows a bolognese can always save the day.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Doula Days

A few weeks ago, I had the good fortune of being an active birth doula again. The couple had a truly gorgeous little boy, born healthy and strong. Wearing the doula hat again felt wildly good. I trained in the UK years and years ago, and then retrained here in LA. It’s a strange one; having a baby in the UK is much more about birth plans and female intuition than it is about medical intervention and clinical analysis. Even in a hospital, unless there’s a significant problem, your midwife delivers your baby and you’ve met the entire nursing team a few times before the big day.

In LA, hospitals need to adhere to insurance company’s demands and birth plans lie on pieces of paper not seen by many. They poke and prod you more often and one must work hard to create a sacred environment not flooded with fluorescent lighting. I’ve never seen a birthing bath, for example, in a LA hospital, whereas in London they offer them in nearly every ward. You would think that doulas – birth partners responsible for guiding and protecting the mother’s emotional life – would be more popular to hippy dippy LA women as opposed to the great English reserved. But I have found this profession more widely known and accepted in the UK.

With each birth I’ve been there for, the lessons run deeper and the benefits more clear. Being of service to a woman and her man requires me to leave my ego well at the door and be present for them without having any of my personal feelings getting in the way. I get yelled at and dismissed as much as I get squeezed and loved on. I represent so many different emotions in the room as the hours creep on and anxiety rises. The counting, the massaging, the pep talk, the information, the silence. In the end, the gift I get when I receive their look of complete trust from the rawest corners of their souls; the shared experience when the first cry is heard and we all cry out of love and relief and fatigue, that is what drives me to be a doula. That clarity of pure giving in the most vulnerable moment of a woman’s life – means everything to me.

I’ve tucked that day away into my memory bank and it reminds me of what is important and how many times my ego gets in the bloody way of things! A great lesson to hold onto especially with the Christmas season upon us and everyone seems a bit more emotional, no? Life is nuts right now for all of us, so let’s just enjoy the madness, together.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Silent Space

Space. Mental space, that is. I am in Vancouver having just shot another scene for Husband’s show. My ego more in tact this time as less lines gave me the freedom to just enjoy the acting. Crazy how memorizing lines is my obstacle now; back in the day, it was the easiest part.

My nanny convinced me to stay a few extra days, so I did. It must be telling when one’s nanny thinks it a really, really good idea for you to take some time away! I had to laugh, as the alternative was, well, to cry really. Yes…I need a break from the monotony of it all and breathe in other influences. Tuesday was turning into Friday, back to Monday and on it went. I was feeling a bit stuck, and this trip and the acting job definitely came at a significant time.

It never fails that there is a moment in the process of being supportive wife where I’ve had almost enough; enough time on my own with the kids, enough running our lives by myself without Husband living any of it with us. The good news is that he feels the same and we remain on the same page. It’s not a reflection on my role as mom, it’s more of an understanding of myself that giving everything all day, every day, will also require a refueling of some kind. Funny how Life gave me this trip just when frustration was the dominant force. Yoga, late dinners, late rising and space…space to think, disconnect, dream and not watch the clock was all part of the refueling.

I’ve had a few days with no agenda and it took me a while to get my head round it. I was trying to not just fill the time but to enjoy the space it gave me. Time and space – a new frontier. I don’t read enough and Lord knows I need glasses, so that too is a simple yet exciting activity to do with my time. I used to deal with quiet quite well, and now my life is so loud that the silence is unsettling. Alone in the flat most days, I spent a lot of this new found time looking out over the marina trying to think of absolutely nothing.

It was on the plane ride home that I realized that my mind was empty, clear, settled. And oh how the silence was sweet sounding.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Dinner Anyone?

I was asked by a friend how life was going with Husband away for so long. Was I going out? Did I have a social life outside of family and the boys? Were people not inviting me out because I was solo? Hmm. Unless I’m crazy – and I’m sure there’s an argument for that sometimes – I wasn’t ‘not’ being invited out, it’s just that people in LA don’t have parties the way they do in London. It’s shocking, actually, to think that I, we, have been invited to a handful of dinner parties since we arrived back and that’s over two years ago.

I’m excluding anything related to school because a) I’d be the most popular girl in LA with four schools and also four sets of fundraising antennae aware of me, and b) if I started to define my social life by school events I’d have to kill myself. I think the lack of dinner parties is why I pour the first glass earlier and earlier these days – and Lord help me with day light savings going as it’s dark by 5. My idea of relaxing into a social setting seems to take shape when the boys have finished their work and have eaten, and my headmistress duties are completed. We don’t have screens during the week so the next few hours involves chats, playing and some music. Most nights also, quite honestly, include loud running games where the glass gets filled one more time! I honestly don’t go out for dinner but once a week and that’s almost always with family or girlfriends. My glass of wine, as sad as this sounds, has become representational of my social life after hours…only it’s at home, with the kids and in my schlumpy clothes.

LA women say they don’t have dinner parties because keeping up with the Jones’ is one step too far for them – it’s too much of an ordeal to do it ‘right’. I retort that in London there are some that can cook so well they could open a catering business, and have, and others who can shop really well for food. No one ever cares, especially after the first glass, and most take it in turns to host. A friend of mine in LA started a grub-club (her name ironically is Jones), where four or five families rotate the house and have dinner, usually en familie, once a month on a Saturday night. It’s the only consistent dinner party I’ve heard of and I’m not even invited!

Culturally there is a difference. I see it in the micro analysis of my American family vs Husband’s British one. We eat in 9.2 minutes here, and my British family dines. My Los Angelino family has dinner as a means to an end and woofs it down whilst my Brits cook together and take time over the meal and wine and dessert and wine. It reminds me of Thanksgiving where I cook all day and then the meal is over in less than ten minutes. My LA family are amazing at Sunday dinners because for us, it involves at least 20 people. We can throw a big meal together often and the chaos is brilliant. But it’s not a dining experience, or really ever about the preparation of food. We eat together so that we can be together.

LA dinner is had early; a typical reservation is 7:30. A British dinner reservation is never earlier than 8pm. That half hour is meaningful. To me, one is about eating early because it’s healthier and you can do something afterwards or get to bed earlier; the other is about the dining part of dinner, it is your evening. Dinner parties are always the times when you get to know your friends a bit better, you have chats about what’s going on in your life and in the world and you get more insight into your friends’ male counterparts as well.

It doesn’t have to be presented perfectly, it doesn’t have to be an evening that defines you as a cook, designer, house-maker or shopper. It can just be dinner; food shared with friends that are happy to be in your home.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Life As We Know It

I sit here on the other side of fear. We went through a scare last week where initial results from some medical tests proved curious, then concerning then frightening. Everything is fine, more than okay, now. But for those few days we lived in a parallel universe. There was a proper debate on the NHS (National Health) in the UK and what a gift it is to be protected like that. Americans have no understanding of what that actually looks like, feels like; yes, your taxes are higher and yes it has tremendous flaws; but yes it provides outstanding care for emergencies, children and those afflicted with disease. Your first thought isn’t about whether or not you’re covered or is this going to financially cripple us; you get the best care offered in the Nation for free. So if one of us is seriously ill, do we move? These were strange and uncomfortable thoughts to be having.

When we got the call that we were in the clear, I wept. It was a crescendo of emotion that had been so carefully controlled and choreographed over the last few days that releasing it came slowly with every exhale. This past weekend was also my son’s birthday so Husband’s arrival wasn’t ever questioned, in fact the boys grabbed him into their lives and didn’t let go till they went to school that Monday. There was no time for anything other than various birthday celebrations for three days – typical of our family – and that was probably a saving grace for our heart strings. After Husband left for the airport, the weeping didn’t stop. And all of last week I was incredibly depressed. I have come to realize that my mood, what I was attuning myself to, was the reality of the other phone call, the one we didn’t get.

I can only just imagine what it must feel like to have one’s life stolen in a phone call. It’s not a death sentence by any stretch, but it’s a moment when a doctor tells you that the focus of your life now is going to be about chasing the demon cells inside you. My soul shifted last week, I felt the pain of the possibility, and that alone rocked my world. To have the other phone call…to those that did…I’m humbly suffering on their behalf.

This week I am on the other side of the drama, the trauma. If you called me, you’d never know that I have a rash on either hip as big as grapefruits housing my emotions as my body tries to slowly expel them. Life as we know it is simply just that; nothing stolen, nothing changed. I can once again focus on my son’s ridiculous obsession with Minecraft and let my biggest problem be how to steer him away from video games and candy and rootbeer. I am once again free. And the gratefulness I feel is crushingly real.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Outer Body Acting

When I was 18 I became part of the drama group at University. Many moons before then (I think I was 17), I started acting. I had decided that either I was going to become a professional tennis player or, if my serve failed me, I would be an actress. Two obviously wonderful professions that were totally plausible to an eighteen year old dreamer.

Well, I got cut from the University’s tennis team and for the next eight years, I pursued acting along with studying and partying and becoming a woman. I had marginal success along the way and if I were to be honest, I did more acting in classes than on the paid screen or stage. But, those classes and the University’s theater performances were brutal and they taught me the trade very well. Eventually I began to write the roles I wanted to play and the rest is the rest.

Until last weekend. Now, I have been in Husband’s movies and tv shows before, usually pregnant and having a bit of a laugh. Most of the time I act in them just to make my brother jealous – he’s a lawyer and a secret (very crappy) actor at heart! But this time, Husband offered me a role to play, a lawyer in fact, opposite the female lead. It was our world coming full circle; my years of supporting his career to now arrive at a place where he could hand me a descent role. I instantly said of course and didn’t give it much thought at all, until he called to tell me I had to be put on tape. Audition? Husband insisted it was just procedure. I threw on the best legal outfit I could muster from what seriously looked like a now hippy wardrobe, and set off to the casting office. Who the heck do I have to sleep with around here to get the part??

As I pulled in, I realized how insanely nervous I was; that somehow I was walking the walk and now I had to actually talk the talk on camera, with a very famous casting director, ready to judge. I hung in there long enough to not pass out and if truth be told, I’m glad Husband put me through the exercise as there were serious cobwebs to get through in order to perform well.

I got the part…yeah yeah…and the calls started coming in. Here is your work permit info, your car info, what are your measurements, your food likes and dislikes, when shall we book your hair, how long do you want to stay…on and on it went. IF ever I felt at the center of the universe, it was in that moment; I was invincible, important, just look at how many people are bothering over me; a ridiculous amount of attention was being spent on my needs. Kids-shmids, who needs ’em. And then I was sent the breakdown of the week’s call sheets and held my breath. In all of my temporary bravado, I was secretly praying that I wasn’t filming during the first or even second day of little one’s new school. How could I leave that one to the nanny? I’ve never had to make that choice. How lucky, for chrissake, I’ve never had to make that choice.

My scene wasn’t being filmed till the following week, long after the first day of school; the third in fact. Leaving during his transition, and my eldest son’s brand new high school journey, and without any rhythm for our crazy new schedule, I felt crazy myself. On paper I would never do this; I would assume the overwhelming schedule would seize my inner acting goddess and squish her. But this was real life, happening right now, and if I didn’t take the opportunity, the path of so much resistance would end up stifling me, instead of inspiring me.

I found myself walking in the shoes of that young woman so many years ago; waiting for her permit at the airport, climbing into the production car with her name on it; sitting in the trailer awaiting hair and make-up; and, ultimately, acting in the scene with Husband directing. It was an outer-body experience, literally, days spent with my feet on the ground but my head spinning round. I was pretending to be me, the other me, which was so weird. At the final sound of ‘Cut’, after looking at Husband and getting the golden nod of approval, I had more adrenaline rushing through me then when I went sky diving. It was a high worth missing the third day of second grade for, for sure.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Day One

I feel a huge sense of relief today…an accomplishment. I managed to get four boys to four schools, and collect them again, from four different locations, without a single glitch. If ever there was a day that would give me total satisfaction in the organizational department, it was today. For today was the first real day of the school season for me; the first day that all four spent the whole day in school, and summer is definitely over.

At first, after drop off, I had that funny feeling not knowing quite what to do with myself. I suddenly had so much time to do everything I needed. I worked out, went food shopping, got all remaining supplies for school and started writing a travel review, all before 10:00 in the morning. I peaked so early that when I arrived home with the bags I was so exhausted, I felt an urge to go back to bed. But I didn’t. I would have tried, but I couldn’t stop noticing that the dog was still scratching herself, something I observed for enough days in a row that I would be a bad pet owner not to take action.

Off to the vet. Fleas it was. And apparently she needed two vaccines that will stop her from getting any respiratory problems or common viruses in this area. I swear, the saw me coming. The guilt of the flea infestation….they could tell me she had to have her teeth cleaned and her ass wiped and I would have handed over the credit card. I did pay for a thorough flea bath, oil, oral and topical flea medication and felt very confidant about ridding the house, and her, of the black buggers. While she was at the vet I cleaned and vacuumed the entire house, used flea powder on everything she could have possibly sat on, until the entire place smelled like the inside of a car after the carwash.

When I went back to collect Scarlet, the vet casually asked me if I had any other pets in the house? Uhhh, yea, our cat, Ziggy. Oh, he said with enough of judgement I knew something was wrong. Apparently once one animal has fleas, all animals living together will have it. It made me itch. I must bring the cat in asap and exorcise the demons off him as well. That would be an easy solution but for the fact that I currently have no idea where Ziggy is and I’m lucky if I find him before sundown.

The vet didn’t like this answer and once again, the guilt of being a potential bad animal owner began to torment. I must must find my cat and prove our loving connection, and my ultimate control over this mysterious creature. I spent the rest of the bloody day, my first day of term time where I’m supposed to get that list done, trying to find my enigmatic cat. It wasn’t until the kids came home and started making a lot of Hamm noise that he appeared in the garden. Slowly, slowly I crept up to him using my youngest son as bait in front of me, and grabbed that kitty hard. I put him in a travel box and off to the vet we went.

Two shots, 3 pills, oils and a flea bath later, he was ready for collection. Trouble was, they were supposed to call me with that reminder and didn’t. I was at dinner basking in my glory of remembering everything that day – all kids happily tucked up in bed, homework done, sports practices done, lessons done, everything and everyone accounted for…go me!…when the call came through on my phone. It was 9:30pm and the late night closing crew at the vet wanted to know why I hadn’t picked up my sad, dejected kitty, and that they would now have to kennel him till the morning; the Badge of Dishonor will be waiting for me at reception.

That huge sense of accomplishment I felt by 8:00 am had now slipped into the bottom of my Pinot Noir glass not allowing me to sip it down. Day one: at least everyone bathed.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Summer Slips Away

I have spent every day of this summer with my boys. We are back from London, having also gone to Vancouver to visit their dad and see his incredible world up there during production. I’ve arrived home realizing that the only reason this whole life-style works and ends in happiness, is because I love what I do. There are no medals of honor for this job, and certainly no pay checks. Your clients don’t often say thank you and you can go to sleep and then wake up again, exhausted. Some days you have to scream to be heard and other days its the silence that’s deafening. After a long day’s work at this job, no one usually praises you and you never get a bonus.

It’s not easy defining myself as a mother first. It negates a lot of other qualities and jobs I am also capable of. But I strongly believe I cannot have everything, at the same time, in the same moment. Even today, as I sit here trying to learn my lines for a very small part in Husband’s show, I am brought back to the days of when I was a full time actress putting everything on the line to get the gig. It is hard at times to reconcile that I no longer attend fully those desires that defined me in my twenties and thirties, an actress, a screenwriter; that somewhere along the way of supporting Husband and raising these boys I put everything else third and fourth on the list, and then sixth and seventh. Did I let myself down? Can I stand up to a feminist and argue that I haven’t let the sisterhood down?

I couldn’t have let myself down too much if I am this content. If you’re lucky enough to not have to work, then it’s a clear choice to stay at home with the kids. Clear, but not necessarily easy, and conscious, not a haphazard decision that happens to you. Once I realized this, I was empowered by the choice.

School starts this week. I had a mini freak out session when I saw the pile of paperwork and past due dates from each of the four schools. I love summer. I love not having to deal with homework, schedules, routines and driving. I swear, I would travel the world and be immersed in constant summer mode if I could figure out a way to educate them. I get the same panicky feeling they do come September when the shift happens and the rules dominate our lives. I feel like one of my boys, emotional about the change and not ready for the work.

My role as sole parent is also very different when it’s during term time, and Husband laughs at the anxiety I already have created for myself long before the early mornings begin. I absolutely hate going to bed early because of school the next day. My anxiety is real, as it is for each of my boys. I suppose I am scared of how Fall is going to be without Husband here to help; how my job description will treble when anything extracurricular in my life will consist of pads, practice and papers due, instead of passports, parties and Paris. I allow myself to dream a little longer during those elongated summer evenings in London, be a bit freer with my spirit and my desires and give more time to my other defining roles. The boys keep their lives simpler and at ease with each day. We are all feeling aware of the cocoon that wrapped around us all summer slowly fade away, and none of us is truly ready to let go.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

My Friend, London

I went for a walk this morning with an old friend. She asked how LA was, were we settled and happy. I found myself feeling instantly defensive; not about LA, but about London and our identities here. I have discovered that after several weeks of being back, of all the best friends I have here – and I am blessed – it is my dear friend, London, I miss almost the most.

Yesterday I was able to drop my kids with their cousin and walk around, emersing myself in the London street vibe. It’s all Go Britain right now with the Olympics and it’s crazy fabulous. Big Ben has never been quite this impressive and the BBC coverage of the city makes it look as romantic and stunning as it truly is. Flags from every country parade the streets and the dedication London has made to the games has made tourists out of all of us. But for me, my affection runs deeper than crowd cheer; it’s in my soul, this town, and it is tireless in its ability to wake all life force inside of me and inspire.

Like any good friendship, there’s a give and take. If I can give London enough of my time, then in return I take from it creative stimulation, motivation, illumination. I reinvented myself in my twenties here and established myself as an adult in London. It means something more to me than merely a place I live; a country we may or may not return to full time. London will always be a significant other for me which is why I probably get a bit tetchy when people assume we are gone for good.

The past month we haven’t really stopped. Parkside to beachside to countryside and back again, the boys have managed to see most of their mates and have personal and group experiences that they look forward to when we talk about coming here. Playing football at Ham lands (the local field), taking the bus to the newsagent to buy candy, around the world ping pong with a tribe of local friends, fish and chips on the green, eating at Wagamama, cannonball at Sophie’s, Suffolk, Witterings, the list goes on. Every activity emotes a positive memory for them and helps shape their lives here. That’s why we need to come, regardless of it not always making sense, because these memories will build their English sensibilities – something I’m dedicated to.

It’s fitting that tonight, our last night, is the closing ceremonies of the London Olympics. We are having a huge crew here from family to close friends, and it’s gonna get loud! Husband thinks I’m a bit mad to have people over the night before we go. When am I going to pack, he enquires. At the very last minute, I reply, as I want to be here in my mind as long as possible. The moment the bags come out, the transition starts and I’m not ready. I don’t enjoy being so far away from here, don’t often know where to place my emotions for those dear to me, for my home. For now, I’ll put on my trainers and head to Richmond Park for one more run with the deer, losing my head in the ferns and evergreens. It’s the only way I know how to leave…

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Rain Rain Go Away

When the English complain about the weather, you know it must be awful, as they can deal with much more than most. Well, we’ve been here for nearly a week and I’m here to say the weather is seriously dreadful. So desperate, in fact, that lastminutedotcom has had more hits from the UK than ever in its history. I sit here while it’s raining, still, and damp, and cold and quite miserable.

However…it is forever nice to be here. Through the mist and grey and cloud I find myself slowly morphing into my other self. I’ve gone to the shops, bought my daily newspapers, taken out my favourite coffee maker and bought flowers. There was a moment in the market when I thought, shall I buy the potted basil? Will we be here long enough to enjoy it in the window? Yes, four and a half weeks is long enough for planting all kinds of roots again.

The boys seem to move into their English lives effortlessly. Aside from jet lagged hours of operation, they fit in with their friends, home and way of life here without missing a beat. I thought it a good idea to get the ball rolling by signing up three of my boys for a one week day camp whilst their brother went to Ibiza with a friend, lucky bugger. We arrived at camp the first morning after dragging them all out of bed, and two of my three decided not to get out of the car. It was pouring, and they were tired, so I let them have a choice. All moms know that if you give them a choice, they will choose exactly what you don’t want them to do. My eldest, however, said he would go for a few days (well done, thanks so much for allowing me to spend money on you, right??) so we ventured to find the sign up stand.

As the rain kept coming, I asked the camp counselors what the kids were going to do, given the weather. They told me with great enthusiasm that if it rains down in buckets they’ll move inside and play lots of fun games. Cut to: I collect my son several hours later, and at this point the rain is literally coming down sideways. They tell me I can find him on the field, playing rounders. On the field??? Isn’t this ‘bucketing down’ rain??? I see my son covered in mud and rain, alongside about 100 other kids equally soaking wet, playing rounders – version of softball – and thinking nothing of it. My new tennis shoes are now covered in dirty water as I stand waiting for him to notice my bright pink brolley. I have been in LA too long, I think to myself, to have assumed for one moment that camp would be moved inside. It would have to hail down with lightening to be considered ‘buckets’. In LA, well, they would have simply cancelled camp.

See you for the bbq, they say when we leave. BBQ…now that will be a sight with sideways rain. We drive into town where I drop him with a famous friend’s SAS security team for a sleep over. Literally. They are first taking him to the Cadbury factory for a private tour. Little do they know my son hates chocolate. To make matters even for the others, I let them go down our lane to the newsagent to get candy and to Greggs for their favourite, seriously disgusting, sandwiches. £2.50 buys me a days happiness for all.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment