Interview with Morphing Into Mama
You know that person that writes things that you read and it just gets you because it’s so true for you or someone close to you and so you want to get mad at them because they made you feel something – probably something you didn’t want to feel or think about – but you can’t really because whatever it is that they wrote was true? And then when you think about it for a while you realize that the stuff that person wrote wasn’t aimed at you anyway, but was just an expression of whatever is going on for them? And once you realize that, you think, ‘Wow, Morphing Into Mama is really quite awesome!’ and ‘I’d like to buy her a balloon and send her a greeting call from Elmo!’ and ‘Why can’t my butt look that cute in my capri-length chinos?’
April 29, 2005
Why do you blog?
After Tod-lar was born, I started attending “Mommy Groups” to interact with adults, and I hated them – the adults, I mean. I felt like such an outsider around them. I’m usually an outsider in group situations anyway, but this was the first time, as an adult, that it actually distressed me. Because I was the only one who couldn’t gush about how “in love” she was with her new baby, I thought there was something wrong with me. I felt horrible. Even as Tod-lar got older, I’d still meet women who were completely sleep-deprived and yet claimed to be completely happy and content. I knew I couldn’t be the only woman in the entire fucking world who had difficulty transitioning into motherhood. So when a friend of mine told me about blogs, I decided to start one to see if there were other women out there who had experiences similar to mine. Turns out there are.
What do you talk about?
The kids, my husband, parenting, school. And ranting. I do a lot of ranting.
What don’t you talk about? Why?
Politics. I feel it’s an area I can simply never know enough about because I’ll never have enough information from enough reputable sources (enough already). There are no facts – just bias everywhere you turn. That’s not to say I don’t have political opinions. I just always end up questioning whether my opinions are based on correct information or not.
Worst/best experience regarding something you wrote in your blog or put out on the net?
Worst? Gee. Hmmm. Nothing comes to mind . . . nope. Except there was that one post that caused quite a to-do. Yeah . . . that pretty much sucked.
Ironically, that worst experience is also my best experience. I learned a lot about myself, blogging, and people and their opinions. What exactly I learned about these issues I won’t tell. At least not until the wounds have fully healed.
Favorite/worst thing about living where you live?
Favorite thing – the weather.
Worst thing – the high cost. And we’re just a wee too close to Plastic Land (aka Los Angeles).
Do you contribute/write for any other blogs?
If you were president of the US:
I don’t even know where to begin.
What actor would play you in the movie of your life?
Hmmmm. Kevin Spacey? I mean, it’d have to be a man right? It’s not like we’re going to have a female president anytime soon, right?
What do you do to stay sane and healthy?
I take my kids on long brisk walks. I also drink the occasional martini. I’m convinced both are necessary for sanity and good health.
Camel – and, yes, I know it’s not really a colorful color. But I love a rich camel juxtaposed against a deep black. In fact, I wear a lot of camel and black. My blog photo is a rare shot of me wearing an actual color.
Yellowtail sashimi. I never, ever get sick of it (or from it).
When you were 10, what did you want to do when you grew up?
Dance, sing, paint, write, find a cure for cancer, and be President of the United States. All at once.
What do you hate?
People who think they “know” me based on how I dress, where I live, or what I write on my blog. I like to think, for people in general, that what lies behind these one dimensional aspects is a more complex and rich personality.
What do you love?
Besides my family? Tomolives. I really, really love Tomolives (specifically, three) in my martini.
What do you want to tell other bloggers, if anything?
Write on, bruthas and sistahs.
Astounding facts about you:
I don’t have any astounding facts, but I have some boring/embarrassing ones for you:
I like to sing at the top of my lungs when I’m alone in the car.
I’m a good dancer (say other people, not just me), but I CANNOT do any type of choreographed dance – which is why I will never, ever attend an aerobics class.
I find colors to be beautiful, emotional, and baffling, which is why I’m usually in camel and black.
During my senior year of high school, I was constantly harassed and taunted by a group of Latina girls for “acting white” – which is rather silly since in addition to being half Hispanic, I am also half white.
I’m really good at mimicking voices. In particular, I do a really good Cartman (South Park), Lois (Family Guy), and Chong (then again, who doesn’t do a good Chong?).
A few months after I arrived in LA, I went to see one of Woody Allen’s worst films, “Deconstructing Harry,” and then shot a national promo for it after the film was over. I lied to the camera and said, “I’d take all my friends!” They actually used it.
A couple of years later, I met Woody at a restaurant. I’ll never forget his look of absolute horror as I rudely and drunkenly reached for his arm.
You are very vocal about your beliefs about parenting. Do you find that bites you in the ass often?
No. Most of my friends don’t even know I have a blog. In fact, I’ve kept my blog relatively secret from most people I know, including family, because I want to have the freedom to express my views without fearing I may hurt someone’s feelings. It is interesting, though, how people you don’t even know can get their feelings hurt after reading a post.
Are you Windows or Mac? Why?
Windows. Macs are so expensive. If I was an artist, I’d definitely own a Mac, but all I do is internet, email, and wordprocessing, so Windows is sufficient.
How would your husband describe you? How about your kid(s)?
After all the usual happy horseshit, Husband would probably talk about how I nearly always order the same thing at a restaurant. If we’re at a Mexican restaurant, I order chicken enchiladas verdes. If we’re at an Italian restaurant, I order carbonara. If we’re having sushi, I order yellowtail. Whenever I do decide to order something different, I have Husband choose it for me. I’m always afraid of ordering the wrong thing and then not enjoying my meal.
My kids would probably describe me as loud, silly, and sometimes stern. And they’d probably complain about my singing. Because I sing. A lot.
Do you cook?
Yes. I like cooking, and I’m actually good at it, if I do say so myself. Husband, however, didn’t think so when we first married. At that time, everything I baked or roasted turned to charcoal. I remember handing Husband a plate of stuffed bell peppers I’d cooked for dinner that were pretty much 100% black. “I swear I’m a good cook! It must be the oven,” I said to him. Without looking at me he said, “Uh-huh,” and then proceeded to eat the whole plate, being the good husband that he is. A month later we discovered that the oven door was actually melting because it was always operating at 500 degrees. Turns out someone (cough, cough, Husband) had ripped the thermostat out of our electric oven because he thought it was just a “loose wire.” We still get a good laugh out of that.
Sadly, I have to admit that I’m the type of cook who requires a recipe. Husband, on the other hand, has never used a recipe, and he’s a fabulous cook.
What are you working on right now?
My parenting skills. And my masters in psychology.
Your own favorite post? And/or your favorite post of someone else?
My own personal favorite post is My Vagina’s Monologue.
I can’t really think of a favorite post of someone else’s off the top of my head, but my blogroll is full of smart, funny blogs that I really enjoy.
What will you being doing next year?
Providing therapy to children. Scary, ain’t it?
Tell me a secret?
I’m not nearly as smart or wise or self-aware as I like to think I am.
What do you wish I had asked you that I didn’t?
“Tell me about your mother.”