By: Brandy Black

Sophia is learning about her family.  We have been reading a series of amazing books by Todd Par that are themed around all kinds of families.  The other day we were out at Starbucks and Sophia put her arms around Susan and said “I love you so much Mom” then she came over, hugged me and said “I love you so much mama” and then she looked up at the people around us waiting for the coffees and said “My family”.

She hasn’t learned to censor her words for fear of disapproval; she loves with pure abandon from a place that knows no judgment.  Sophia has since introduced us as her family a couple more times to strangers.  She is so full of love that people can do nothing but celebrate along with her.  It is an amazing thing to see.

By: Brandy Black

I love the days when I am thrown back in time to memories that I have always cherished.  I heard Sophia banging on the bathroom door shouting “Mom, OPEN the DOOR, MOM”.

“I need my time in the bathroom Sophia, go hang out with Mama” Susan pleaded from the other side.

Sophia ignored her and banged until a little piece of paper slid beneath the door and Sophia giggled, she slid it back and this continued as I washed the dishes and spiraled back in time.

My father and I were inseparable, whenever he was home, I wanted to be with him and when he would try to take 5 minutes of alone time, I, like Sophia would plead at the bathroom door. He would create games with me, songs, whistles, notes from beneath the door to occupy my attention while I waited.   I didn’t care what he was doing I just wanted to be around him.  I coveted our weekly breakfasts at McDonalds, I with my pancakes, he with his hash browns, talking about anything really.  Just my dad and me.

I couldn’t help but think that this might be a memory that Sophia will hold in her heart for years to come, something as simple as slipping a piece of paper between the door and the floor to her mom.

By: Brandy Black

I came home the other day with a receipt in hand, excited to share the news with Susan and Sophia that we have sponsored a child.

Susan- You did what? Where?

Me- Larchmont, 70% of the kids that are sponsored get a college education.

Susan- You got scammed

Brandy- No I didn’t, it’s only 70 cents a day to help save a child’s life!

She laughed at me, I went on to explain that it’s through Children’s International and they have been around for 30 years and that we would be getting a picture of the kid in the mail and a letter and we could even visit the child one day.  A week passed and no letter, no picture, no packet.  After another week went by I called, angry and ready to renounce my monthly payments.  The friendly gentleman on the phone assured me that the packet was on its way and that I had truly saved this child as he was in a destitute situation.  I felt better.  After a couple more days passed with no letter I was cleaning off our side table in our dining room and under a file of papers found the packet.  His name is Lenin and he’s from Ecuador and he is 5 years old.   He’s very handsome and looks curiously healthy- I guess I can’t really be mad at that although I was somewhat disappointed.

He sits on our fridge and now Sophia points up to him and says “Lenin, my sponsor brother”.  Despite Susan’s cynicism and mockery comparing me to “About Schmidt”, I eagerly await his first letter.  Susan does too.

.

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[photo credit: Flickr- Pink Sherbet Photography]

By: Brandy Black

Sophia’s birthday was last week and her party was on Valentine’s Day.  We had it at Amy’s Playground an indoor play area for kids.  I have been preparing for a month, just little things, toys here, centerpieces there, bracelets, rings, sunglasses, spiral straws, I couldn’t stop, every time I went to Target I would buy more.  I couldn’t go online without finding vintage valentines and miniature rubber ducks.  Susan finally put a moratorium on my toddler shopping sprees.  I had a blast doing it which is not normally how my party planning goes, I’m usually stressed out and making lists galore all the while sure that I’m forgetting something.  What can you screw up with a kid’s party?  I had no fear, only fun, and was convinced that I’m only having children’s parties from here on out.

I dropped off the centerpieces and toys on Friday so that unloading on party day would be a breeze while toting the toddler.  They opened the box and the first thing Amy saw was plastic rings and beaded necklaces.  She explained that those were choking hazards as my daughter and most of her guests were only 2.  My face went flush, I froze and I had that moment that I had played out many times when I was pregnant, that moment where you realize you have no idea what the hell you’re doing.  I felt as if Amy and her staff were looking at me thinking “How have you not killed your child?” I remembered the time my friends Leslie and Jared came over with their two toddlers and I had lit candles all over our house- she had to rapidly blow them out one by one.  What did I know? I wasn’t a mom!  Now, here I was standing there thinking, “What the hell do I know? and shit I’m a mom.” What’s worse is that I actually tried to explain my way out of it, “well they are for the inside of the mailbox centerpieces so the kids won’t be playing with them until the end”.  Amy assured me that there was a good chance that they would be playing with them throughout the party and it was simply not safe. Luckily I had shopped too much as always (much to Susan’s chagrin) and had back-up toys that fit the 2 year old criteria.

The party was a hit, Sophia had a blast, no one choked, Amy’s Playground was beautiful, the staff was on it and took care of every last detail and I would absolutely have a party there again and again and again and finally not one toy was touched from the centerpieces until the end when the angel children politely asked if they could take some rubber ducks home with them.  Better safe than sorry

This was the best money ever spent, the staff took care of everything from beginning to end- they even loaded our car up with all the presents and decorations at the end of the party.

By: Brandy Black

Susan ran the half-marathon this weekend and Sophia and I went out to cheer her on at the 9 mile water station.  While we waited to see mom run around the corner, we watched all the beaten down runners pass us.  When they heard Sophia yell “Good Job Guys, Yay Runners!” (I was coaxing her along) they all began to pick up their pace and their faces lit up.  We were the only ones out there apart from the marathon volunteers and even though we were there for Susan, it seemed to make the difference for everyone.  I was so emotional as I stood helpless on the sidelines -I had only my encouraging words.  Susan came running around the corner to see Sophia holding her “We love you mom” sign and there was a sweet moment of surprise even though she was expecting us.  We hugged and kissed her and off she went to finish the race.

Soph and I jumped in the car to make it to the finish line.  As I was driving to the Pasadena Rose Bowl I began welling up thinking about the marathon Susan and I did 8 years ago.  It was life changing.  When I committed to running it alongside Susan, I had never run more than 3 miles, I had no concept of what 26.2 miles meant to me physically or mentally.  Susan had been planning it.  She’s a personal trainer, it made sense for her, and I being her girlfriend at the time thought “sure I’ll tag along”.  We got a beginner’s marathon guide and followed it religiously.  As we conquered big milestones –8, 10, 12 miles –I found my outlook on life beginning to change – just little things to start,  but I began to feel more empowered and in control.  As the runs got longer and the marathon closer, I realized Susan and I were transforming.  At the time, we lived in a tiny studio apartment in West Hollywood and when we did our runs we would visualize what we wanted for our lives: the dream condo, the wedding, the kids, the eventual house.  We spent hours running and planning out how our lives would turn out together; we had nothing better to do other than search for the candies that we had strategically pre-placed in bushes of various houses while we drove the mileage before the big runs.  More than anything those runs were a bonding experience for us. We learned a lot about each other.

When Marathon day finally came, we were as ready as we could be.  Our longest run had been 18 miles and we felt prepared. The first 19 miles were a breeze; I was slapping hands of spectators on the sidelines and gulping down Gatorade and glazed donuts at every pit stop. At mile 20 Susan fell from grace and begin to drag her way through. At 22 I hit my wall and the last 4.2 miles were the longest 45 minutes of our lives.  We could barely breathe let alone talk.  My eyes were so blurry that I couldn’t see the Wiltern theatre standing right in front of us.

Me: Where are we?

Susan: We’re 3 miles away babe.

Me: I can’t do it.

Susan: Remember the visualizations; let’s talk about our condo.

Me: No, don’t talk about that right now, I can’t do it.

Susan: Ok I want you to picture the finish line, we’re raising our arms and crossing and all of our friends are watching.

Me: No, I can’t do it.

Susan: Ok, I’m here, we’re doing it together.

We ran silently weeping, silently cursing, silently together.  I ached in every muscle and shivered from dehydration.  We hobbled along for what seemed like eternity.

Me: ARE WE THERE YET?

Susan: Yes baby, can’t you hear the people screaming?

Me: No, where’s the finish line?

Susan: Right ahead of us, see the balloons?

Me: No! where?  TELL ME THE TRUTH!

Susan: It’s right there baby.

Me: I can’t see it.

Susan: We’re ten feet away, we’re there baby, we’re there, we’re here, we’re under, you’re ok.

I slowed to a stop, someone wrapped Mylar around me and I crumbled to the ground.  We were broken and I could never have made those last 4.2 miles without Susan by my side.  We had conquered the biggest physical challenge of our lives, together.

A few months later we bought our dream condo and got married.  The walls that I had built around myself had crashed to the ground.  I had no boundaries, my world became limitless and I realized that I was capable of anything.  I had changed because of that marathon.  Since then I have always vowed that if I ever felt “stuck” I would prescribe myself a marathon.

Standing with Sophia in my arms, I watched Susan race to the finish on her own and conquer yet another challenge.  I knew what that meant to her and I couldn’t have been more proud.

By: Brandy Black

So now that my daughter has taken to only tank tops and dresses she is now also insisting on dressing herself in the morning. She is coming up with the oddest combinations: pink and brown flower dress paired with a lovely green and pink ice cream cone-printed tank top with pink pants.  It’s oddly a cute combination in a Selma Blair kind of way but certainly not attire that I would take her out of the house in. I didn’t think anything of it until we were about to go out.

“Angel, maybe we should take the tank top off and just put a coat over the dress.”

“Nooooooooo Mama NOoooooooo”

I began to cringe. Why do I care?  I always thought it was ridiculous that moms would enforce their fashion style on their kids, but now here I am trying to convince my 2 year old to dress the way I want her to.  I find myself wanting to explain to the barista at the coffee shop why Sophia looks miss-matched today.  I’m going to practice shutting my mouth and letting her be the vibrant person that she is becoming. I may even learn some tips from her along the way.  What do I know about fashion anyway?

By: Brandy Black

My daughter has taken to only wearing tank tops.  Every morning I try to slip a T-shirt or god forbid a long sleeve past her and she screams “Tank Top Mama, NEED the tank top, WANT the tank top!”  I can’t figure it out, but even through our rainy trip to San Francisco, she insisted on being dressed for the summer.  So I’m doing laundry like crazy and searching the stores for summer dresses and tops.  I have even tried buying very thin comfy shirts, which I prefer because I too run hot, but Sophia won’t have it.  I just know in a month when we are fully stocked for her new style and the sun is starting to peek out again, she’s going to want mittens and scarves.  Oh the plight of a toddler-bearing mama.

By: Brandy Black

The other night I watched Rosie O’Donnell’s documentary a “A Family is a Family is a Family” and it was just what I’ve been waiting for.  If you didn’t get to see this on HBO, find it, search it on your DVR, it’s truly beautiful and very much needed.  I launched The Next Family in hopes to generate media, products, resources etc. like this movie.  If more programming like this existed, it would be my own personal dream come true.

Thank you Rosie!  I want to interview her, what do you think the chances are?  Anyone know her?

By: Brandy Black

Really?  My amazing, beautiful, smart, sweet child has CHANGED!  A few minutes out of each day, she becomes a TERROR.  What has happened to her? Everything is lovely, we’re laughing, having a tea party and she’ll walk up with a big smile and grab my cheek and pinch as hard as her little fingers can.

OUCH!

She will follow up with a frantic scratching and pinching.  Susan and I now have matching marks on our faces.  It hurts, for one, but worse –we can’t figure out how to make it stop.  We’ve tried ignoring, explaining, holding hands down, fake crying, all of it, and she still does it.

Is this just a phase that we have to ride out?  Is there a cure-all for this stage?  Is there a good book? Feel free to share your knowledge.  We need it and soon or my next blog photo will be Susan, Bailey (our dog) and me wrapped in bandages.

By: Brandy Black

There has been a debate in our house since Sophia was born. Do we…should we…have another child? We have been back and forth for 22 months and still have come to no real conclusion. It’s a tough decision and everyone always wants to “weigh in” as one of my favorite bloggers put so well in My one and only.
Today, we thought we’d give our daughter a chance to give her input. I asked
“Sophia do you want a brother or a sister?”
“A brother”
“What should we name him?”
Pause
“Pen”
My eyes welled with uncontrollable tears.

Let me explain…when I was all of 23, partying and with no good intentions of having children, I had a dream. It was powerful and I couldn’t shake it. In this dream I bore a son and I asked him what his name was and he said “Pen” and I said “P-E-N?” and he said “no, P-E-N-N”. That was it. I had told Susan this story when I was pregnant with Sophia, before we knew the sex. I said if it’s a boy we should name him Penn. She declined emphatically. I told her the story behind it and she didn’t really care. I guess I didn’t care either.
And now Sophia at random chooses this name, what could this mean?

Later this afternoon, after we laughed and cried at the irony of it all, I was shopping with Sophia. My boobs started killing me, it became unbearable and reminded me of “let down” when you’re breastfeeding. For those of you that don’t know what this term means… when your baby begins to nurse, hormones are released that cause your milk to flow. This is called the “let-down reflex”. So here I am in the dressing room with Sophia and my boobs throb, I look down and sure enough I’m lactating!

What a day. My boobs kill, my mind is frazzled and my heart is torn.