Tag Archives: Jackson

I also wanted to grow up and be a Playboy Bunny

  By Eden M. Kennedy | October 29, 2012 - 1:13 pm |
14 Comments

Sunday morning I was lollygagging in bed with a small but persistent headache and occasional nose bleed, probably due to the fact that I wasn’t quite ready to enjoy normal dinner-with-friends wine drinking quite so close to the finale of my very important head cold. It occurred to me that nose bleeds can be symptomatic of all sorts of fun, including (1) change of seasons/dry weather, (2) brain hemorrhage, (3) getting punched in the face, or (4) over-blowing due to frantic amounts of congestion. But these days I’m also having hourly hot flashes and I haven’t had my period for a couple of months, and so for a moment I was actually addled enough to think, Is that a menopause thing? You start bleeding out of your nose? My mother never warned me about anything like that. We had a warm but shame-based relationship, though, so who knows? My organs could be migrating all over the place but I wouldn’t recognize the symptoms were because there wasn’t a Modess pamphlet about placental nose bleeds for my mom to leave on my bed.

Anyway. Sunday morning I’m lying in bed trying to will myself into the shower, wondering whether I’d be better off with two Advil or a Heineken, when Jackson comes flying in with his blanket over him like a cape. I love my son with all my heart, but not so much when he’s JUMPing UP and DOWN on the BED and then trying to suffocate me. With his love. And his blanket.

I managed to elbow him off me in the most passive, loving, sick-lady way possible, which he adores. We have the world’s laziest wrestling matches. We’ll be lying there watching TV and slowly trying to push each other onto the floor. So there I was with my headache and my bloody nose (and a very attractive dry cough that makes me sound like Lauren Bacall) trying to stiff-arm 100 pounds of boy, who then reared up with his blanket all dramatically and said, “DAMMINT, PAMELA!” and then covered my head like he was actually trying to suffocate me.

I was trapped under the blanket trying fruitlessly to elbow him in the groin in a way that wouldn’t ruin his life, so all he could hear was my muffled, “Oh my God, who is Pamela?”

“I don’t know!” he giggled, trying to sit on my head, “She’s your alter ego! And she’s blonde! . . . And she has a DRINKING PROBLEM!”

I managed to push him off, where he collapsed into a pile of his own hilarity, and I thought, Things are so much more well-defined for Pamela. I’m graying and have a cold-medicine dependency, but she gets to be blonde and call two bottles of champagne a good start.

But also, what in hell does he know to throw around the phrase “drinking problem”? Is he secretly watching Celebrity Rehab? Did I watch Lost Weekend when I was pregnant and Ray Milland crossed the placenta? It’s a shock to hear grown-up phrases come out of your child’s mouth like they know what they’re saying. I mean, kids pick stuff up all over the place, and I know Jackson’s fascinated with what it means to be an adult. When I was his age I was sitting in my bedroom memorizing Cheech and Chong routines and pretending to be Liza Minnelli in Cabaret and my parents didn’t have a clue.

Not dead yet

  By Eden M. Kennedy | October 26, 2012 - 11:40 am | , ,
10 Comments

My god, I’ve been sick. I’m so healthy most of the time! I must save up my allotment of not-so-hot feeling days and then have them all at once, once a year, when my immune system’s feeling just a little too smug. I could see it coming, days ahead, it was like a slow-rolling tsunami. I had plenty of time to cancel appointments and pack, tell my boss things weren’t looking good. It hit in the middle of the night, and all my hatches were battened except the one where I had to take Jackson to school the next morning.

There I was hunkered down over the espresso machine, making our usual morning coffees, a double cappuccino for me and a 12-ounce travel mug of milk with a shot of espresso for Jackson. (What, he likes coffee. I put half a packet of stevia in his because otherwise he’d demand four lumps of sugar, which = no.) We got in the car.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel very good.”

“You don’t look very good.”

“Thanks, honey.”

I was hanging on pretty well, as well as you can hang on when you feel like absolute death. I really shouldn’t have had that sip of coffee, though. Nausea was not a welcome companion on our journey. Neither was Jackson’s morning playlist of Eminem’s greatest hits, even played at elevator-music level.

BITCH, I’M GONNA KILL YOU!

“Mom, are you okay?”

“I don’t feel very good.”

Jackson put his hand on my arm as we drove. He’s such a nice kid.

YOU DON’T
WANNA FUCK WITH SHADY
(why?)
CAUSE SHADY
WILL FUCKING KILL YOU

And in my head I’m all, “Help me, God, help me Oprah, help me Tom Cruise, use your witchcraft on me.” Except quietly and without punctuation. Helpmegodhelpmeoprah. Tomcruiseuseyourwitchcraft. Prayforusnowandatthehourofourdeath.

It was just comically awful: me feeling like a shit pancake, my son cheerfully programming his playlist of problematic white genius hip hop mayhem, my dog quietly farting in the back seat.

Naturally, I wasn’t done. I had to drag my animate carcass to CVS because Alka Seltzer Cold Medicine is the only thing that works, they don’t even have to pay me to say that, I will spread the word for free. Buy that shit. When the nice cashier says, “How are you today!” just croak, “I’m so sick” at her and she will give you your change with horrified fingers, it’s been proven in laboratory experiments time and again. I’m not even sure what that means.

I guess I must have made it home, and then I woke up and it was 2:00 p.m. And now it’s Friday, I think? How are you?

Yes, I was too sick to use a glass.

Fortunately, before all this went down I managed to put up another post at Babble, this one being a review of the latest J.K. Rowling book written in the form of Harry Potter fan fiction. I’m not sure what I’m going to do for an encore, I’m only halfway finished with Gone Girl, but maybe the cast of Twilight will have some opinions on it.

Catching Up with the Kennedys

  By Eden M. Kennedy | May 17, 2012 - 12:48 pm | ,
15 Comments

Last night I finished reading Let’s Pretend This Never Happened out loud to Jackson at bedtime. We’d had to skip over some parts, like the backyard gravedigging and zombies chapter (spoiler alert), because even I didn’t want that to be the last thing on my mind before going to sleep. Our favorite chapters centered on Posey the cat and Barnaby Jones the pug. Jackson was often breathless from laughter, and I take partial responsibility for him failing his language test because I’d kept him up reading past 10:00 o’clock the night before.

When we had read everything and there was nothing left to read I went and read the acknowledgments page, too, because Jenny thanked “Alice and Eden” on it and I wanted to show off a little. Oh, boy, was Jackson impressed. He looked at me in shock, then he jabbed his finger into my chest, repeatedly (or, as he says, repeatively), and said, “That’s you!” I told him how Alice and I’d had breakfast and dinner with Jenny in New Orleans last year when she was spending half her time in her hotel room writing this book, and that Alice had reached out to Jenny a lot more than I had since then, and I wasn’t sure what exactly I’d done to deserve a thanks, but that I’ll take it, even if I am the less-reaching-out part of the Alice-and-Eden unit, because when a New York Times best-selling author thanks you in her New York Times best-selling book for doing God knows what, it still feels pretty fantastic.

Then I held up a beat-up copy of David Sedaris’s Naked that I’d snagged from the donations pile at the library for a buck. “I thought we could read some of the stories in here for our next bedtime book. He’s funny.”

“I don’t know.” Dubious face.

“What’s the problem, then?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, “I just think women are funnier than men.”

And then I fell over and died. I’d say MISSION ACCOMPLISHED but getting him to believe that women are funnier than men was never the mission; the mission has been more of a general “raise a boy who appreciates women and men for their talents equally, without an overlay of sexist expectations.” So I may have done a little cultural over-correction by wiring DVDs of 30 Rock and Parks and Recreation into his brain on repeat while he sleeps. Should I put a testosterone patch on his forehead? I hope this doesn’t mean we have to watch more Adam Sandler movies.

I’m tricky like that

  By Eden M. Kennedy | April 10, 2012 - 8:41 am | ,
84 Comments

This post is sponsored by Chronicle Books. I like books, and people who read are the kind of people I want to know.

I’ve taken somewhat of a break from posting because I was tired of having opinions on the Internet. There are millions of other people telling you what they think on an hourly basis, and I suddenly felt pretty stupid trying to pretend that my opinions had any more value than anyone else’s. I certainly wasn’t enjoying trying to be heard above the din; I all but abandoned my gig at Babble and last Friday I finally worked up the nerve to quit The Stir. I just wanted to work, go to yoga, sit in the sun, and check my e-mail once a day. So for three weeks, that’s what I did. It was heaven.

The rest of my recovery program was given over to trying to organize our new house (read: wandering around Bed Bath & Beyond with an armful of skirt hangers) and reading books. I read The Hunger Games (not much character development but quite a page-turner); Just My Type (a brisk, anecdotal history of typography); I finished the Mindy Kaling book (which read like a chatty, friendly, and sometimes point-free series of blog posts); I started and then abandoned the first Nancy Drew book (but I mean to check it out again later because it was AWESOME); I read and then became very afraid of The Secret (which may be another post down the road, if I can assure myself that it won’t give me nightmares); and I’ve just started listening to The Glass Castle in my car, which is so absorbing that makes me miss freeway exits.

The other part of my reading-recovery was spent cuddled up with Jackson every night at bedtime. Jackson reads plenty for school, but I’ve always hoped he’d do a little more recreational reading without us turning off the TV and forcing him to. Here’s one of the ways I’ve tricked him into it.

The Worst-Case Scenario Ultimate Adventure Novels are Chronicle’s new series for kids. It’s like playing a video game in story mode: you get to choose how you get to the end. Chronicle Books is not the first to come up with this idea (I think Italo Calvino took a shot at it, and those Dictionary of the Khazars books that came in Male and Female editions), but it’s still a good idea in a nicely-designed package. Jackson immediately snagged the Amazon one and told me he thought I’d like to read Mars. (Here’s a trailer for the Mars book.) If you’d like to win all three books for yourself, leave a comment below telling me what your favorite book was when you were a kid and I’ll use Random.org to choose a winner.

UPDATE: The winner is Steph (who loves Roald Dahl). Thanks, Steph, and everyone who shared their favorite books.

We’re having some fun

  By Eden M. Kennedy | February 10, 2012 - 7:58 am | ,
12 Comments

I appreciate the fact that no one’s called me out for not posting ever day like I said I would. It turns out that committing to daily writing, keeping your editors happy, working a straight job, getting a condo into escrow, and looking for a new place to live all at the same time is kind of a drain on mental resources. The good news is, I’ve managed to keep all of those other balls in the air, if not this one. The bad news is, the emotional roller coaster that is packing up all your shit and finding a new place to put it is not one I feel good about sharing online. One minute I’m swept away with excitement and possibilities! And the next I have abandoned all hope and am picturing myself living under a porch with a sleeping bag and a flashlight. Jack is the one keeping us all together emotionally, physically, and spiritually at the moment. Jackson’s job has been to stay home sick all week, complain about homework, and be exceedingly huggable. Here’s a photo he took of his nurse the other day:

Actually, maybe Peewee is the one keeping me together spiritually at the moment. His expression here conveys more about patience, humility, and acceptance than I could ever put into words.

In other posting news, here’s a link to the latest Popcorn Whisperer, where the cast of Twilight continues to discuss recent plot developments in season two of Downton Abbey. Special guests this week include Robert Downey, Jr. (in the same photo as last week because I can’t remember where I put all the Iron Man action figures) and the Incredible Hulk, who I love because you’d think he’d just be screaming all the time, but he’s actually very thoughtful.

Gossip

  By Eden M. Kennedy | February 6, 2012 - 2:52 pm |
10 Comments

On the way down to Oxnard to pick up Jackson from a sleepover Sunday morning I was going back and forth between Patton Oswalt’s Finest Hour and Aziz Ansari’s Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening, and by the time I got to Jackson’s friend’s house I had tears running down my cheeks from laughing. So when Jackson got into the car I was all, You have to listen to this! It’s so funny!

I often forget that Jackson’s not 30 years old, and then I’m lunging for the power button to turn off something that I only that second realized is completely inappropriate for someone who’s actually 10. Fortunately, we were only about four blocks away from his friend’s house (i.e., before he heard anything that would change his life for the worse) when Jackson paused my iPod and said, “Mom, I saw Britney Spears yesterday.”

Me, of course, I was thinking, Sure, you saw somebody who looked just like Britney Spears, ha ha, put Aziz back on. So I said, “Oh, really? Hm.”

But he insisted. “Mom, I’m not kidding. I saw Britney Spears. She brought her kids to the trampoline place.” And then I remembered that we live in Southern California, and that Britney probably lives somewhere in the Valley and has two little boys who would totally want to spend their Saturday afternoon at a place filled with trampolines. I pictured Britney chugging a Big Gulp, kicking off her Uggs, and jumping right in until somebody got a black eye or hit their chin and bit off the tip of their tongue.

I wasn’t sure what else to say. It’s not every day Jackson sees a celebrity so I thought it would be polite to be interested.

“What was she wearing?”

“Some green bathrobe thing.”

“Uh, hmm. A bathrobe? Did she jump on the trampolines?”

“No, all the parents were standing around her. She had four bodyguards. I know they were bodyguards because they had those curly wire things coming out of their ears.”

I knew that was the end of the conversation because then he put Aziz back on and we didn’t talk the rest of the way home.

Peace out

  By Eden M. Kennedy | January 27, 2012 - 1:00 pm | ,
3 Comments

Videos of people waiting and trying to be still because they think I’m just trying to take their picture delight me for some reason.

If that didn’t do it for you, maybe my latest thing over at The Stir will suit your mood. My best actor and actress Oscar predictions are informed by nothing but whimsy and hubris, as will surprise no one. Have a wonderful weekend wherever you end up standing, sitting, or lying down, on camera or off.

Growth is painful

  By Eden M. Kennedy | January 24, 2012 - 2:44 pm | ,
32 Comments

Yeah, I cut my hair again. (Did you really think I wouldn’t?) I may have to finally admit that long hair is for those who have long-hair lifestyles and long-hair self images. People who are able to ignore the pain and frustration of hair blowing into their face/eyes; who are not irritated as fuck when their hair gets tangled in their bag strap or zipped into a dress. These are the blessed, for whom being romantic and windswept looks natural, instead of laughable.

Unfortunately, my son is in the thick of his need for me to look “like other moms,” for which this hair cut does not qualify. The only other short-hair mom at his school moved back to the Netherlands (so now I’m the tallest mom, too! The obviousness of my sticking-outedness is mythological in scope. Grrr, Mrs. Kennedy SMASH!). Last night, after I came home from work and he saw what I’d done to myself, he stopped just short of begging me to wear a hat. But this is a child who also thinks I should drive a Mustang, wear knee-high boots, and take him to Disneyland for a week. I don’t really understand how any of that will help me blend in.

(Video made using Everyday.)

Got MLK

  By Eden M. Kennedy | January 16, 2012 - 5:27 pm | , ,
4 Comments

In honor of Martin Luther King Day (or, if you depend on Twitter for your research, Martian Luther King Day, or maybe Martin Lutheran King Day), I woke Jackson up and told him he had the day off school to think about peace and forgiveness and racism. Which is timely, because he told me they’re going to read Huck Finn in class next year. According to an older kid at Jackson’s school, they use the original version, not the “sanitized” one. As a purist, I am sort of glad about that? I dig that they’re sticking with the version Twain wrote in all its post-antebellum glory, and I completely trust his teachers’ ability to guide a mixed-race classroom through the subtleties, ironies, and vagaries of the text. (I think Twain’s pretty blunt, actually. Plus there’s plenty of action.) But part of me thinks the themes are too big to grasp at that age. They’re gearing up with Tom Sawyer right now, and frankly, Jackson seems more prepared than I was at ten to examine his conscience and inherited beliefs. Huck didn’t have much appeal for me at that age; once Becky Thatcher fell out of the picture I think it felt too much like a boys-only story. It wasn’t until I wandered into a post-grad course on Melville and Twain and read all of his travel writings that I got fully back on board the Twain train. (I will also recommend Melville’s Typee if you’re interested in avoiding Moby Dick. It’s full of ships and exotic lady savages and longing for simplicity and all that unironic 19th-century stuff.) In the end, he’ll read it now and if he’s lucky he’ll read it again as an adult and it will be a whole new book for him.

(Thanks to a suggestion that Jackson read Origami Yoda and Darth Paper, we made some origami cranes and put them in their origami nests. It’s a post-racial way to honor MLK, as we judged these cranes not by the color of their paper, but by our ability to fold them without making them all wrinkly and sad.)

In conclusion

  By Eden M. Kennedy | January 11, 2012 - 10:06 am |
7 Comments

Unfortunately, it looks like a meteorite did not hit our house. As my husband unsportingly pointed out, the bird’s nest above Jackson’s window can account for the streak of dirt below his window pretty convincingly. And the rock I found is not even a little bit magnetic. And now I’m faced with the knowledge that I’m more likely to throw my lot in with a colorful theory than continue to investigate until the cold hand of reality pushes me into the unheated swimming pool of fact. I’m pretty much my own cargo cult.

Fortunately, Jack’s competing theory that someone in the unit below ours was jumping on the bed and their head cracked into their ceiling so hard that it moved five-plus pounds of gaming systems is almost crazier than my meteorite gambit. However, after a little more discussion, we realized that the electrical panel for the entire building is underneath Jackson’s window, and that maybe a fuse or a circuit blew. And now you are really tired of this discussion, so we’ll let it end there.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes! It was a good one, but coming as it did so hard on the heels of my post-holiday letdown, I seem to be in a bit of a funk now. It might be cured by a long walk, or some plaintive Medieval choral music, or funny cat videos, or more hugs. I guess I’ll try all of those things and see what happens.