The Wintern

I have really exciting news. But first, a confession.

There's no way to sugar-coat the fact that the life of a writer can be a difficult one. I like to make jokes about being rejected by every one under the sun, shamelessly self-promoting myself ad nauseum and how if my mom didn't read my blog, then no one would, but we all just know it's "Tears of a Clown" syndrome. I can laugh it off all I want, but it's only to save my dwindling sanity and faulty self-esteem. The truth is that the last few months I've had more "What am I doing and why am I doing it?" conversations with myself than ever before. The ugly shadow of doubt had become a regular presence in the corners of my mind. I began to question my motives, the way I was using my time, and whether I was doing nothing more than banging on a locked door. I couldn't shake the feeling that it was becoming harder and harder to catch a break.

Until I finally caught one.

Catching a break all kicked off as I was trolling Craig's List for houses a few weeks ago and wound up noticing a link for writing jobs at the very end of a long list of employment opportunities. I was intrigued and, despite the fact that I had never considered Craig's list for much of anything before, I found myself clicking on the link to see what I could see. There were only four jobs posted and only one that looked remotely appealing; An internship.

But here's the thing: I was immediately intimidated by the notion of an internship. Not because I'm such an awesome writer that I consider myself above an internship, but because I felt like I didn't fit the bill. I don't know about you guys, but when I think of the word "intern" I automatically think of a super smart and crazy energetic twenty-year-old, a la Rory Gilmore, who get internships at their boyfriend's father's newspaper, only to be told they suck as a writer, leading to an affluent, attractive girl's G-rated version of a nervous breakdown. That's an intern. Not a twenty-nine year old mother of two who drinks one hundred pots of coffee a day (mostly in vain) just to keep her eye lids at half-mast and makes obscure Gilmore Girl references.

Any other day I would have left it at that and gone about my business of using any means possible to distract myself from doing homework. Instead, I pushed my intern insecurities and fear of unavoidable murder as a result of answering a Craig's List ad (I watch Dateline, okay? I know what's up!) and applied. And amazingly, despite my utter lack of all things Rory Gilmore, I got it (and I didn't get shanked or turn into a walking Breaking Bad character, which is always a bonus).

I could stop this story right here and it would still be one of the coolest things that's ever happened to me. But in a rare twist of life imitating a Kate Hudson movie, it went uphill from here.

A quick question: What do you think of when you hear the word "intern"? Rory Gilmore references aside, I mostly think of a Hollywood stereotype version of someone running around making coffee and copies, getting very little experience in the actual field they're interning for and even less respect from everyone around them. In other words, in my mind the word "intern" is synonymous with the the phrase "Overworked, unpaid biotch" and I'm guessing my perception isn't too far off from everyone else's.

Fortunately, I'm happy to report that this particular internship is nothing like that.

The internship is with a brand-spankin' new online magazine called The ABQ Sun Post which, in a time where murders and rapes and various other scary events dominate your average news sources, will provide the world with positive news stories. That's right! Positive news! Remember that? Some very cruel (and very wrong) people may be quick to call it "fluff" news, but I beg to differ. Think of it this way: Your local news does a (terrifying) story about a bank robbery in which multiple people were shot an injured. During the shooting, a woman was using herself as a human shield to protect the children in the bank. We wouldn't write a story about the shooter (like most people would) we would write a story about the person who did the right thing at the right time. It isn't the obvious story, but it's the better story, the story that you have to dig a little deeper to find. It isn't as glamorous (aka bloody) as the other story, but it's much more meaningful. That's what we'll write about.

Hypothetical situations aside, this is what my internship boils down to: Two stories a week written and researched by yours truly with my name in the byline (AWESOME), the ability to work mostly from home (Super awesome), and a press pass (awesome, as long as I remember that it will probably NOT get me backstage at a Vampire Weekend concert in Denver, and will probably result in taking some pepper spray to the face. Which in case you're wondering, would totally be worth it). I will be writing about exceptional schools, programs and teachers around the city, as well as awesome kids who are making a difference in their community. It's going to rock. It's been a couple of weeks since I got this amazing opportunity and it still feels like a huge win for me.

Speaking of scoring a win, you may be wondering where the term "wintern" comes from and the short answer is that, regretfully, I don't exactly know. The long answer is that it was originally coined by a ridiculously cool guy whose band may or may not be responsible for pepper-spraying my face in the near future. The problem is, I forget the exact context he used the word (he says a lot of clever things, sometimes it's hard to keep up. But I try not to hold his plethora of clever against him). So in this case, "wintern" either means "winter intern" or "winning an internship" but either way, I feel like it applies to me. So I'm giving credit where credit is due, because the only thing worse that being pepper-sprayed in the eyeballs would be plagiarizing someone I admire. Unless of course one of the meanings is an Abbey Prentice original in which case, I should be writing your songs, buddy! Totally kidding, only one of us could find words to rhyme with horchata and it sure as hell wasn't me, so I think we're both right where we should be.

Anyway.

The ABQ Sun Post launches March 18th and I sincerely hope everyone will support it. I can't remember the last time I was this excited about anything, which includes finding out that Walter White's house on Breaking Bad is directly across the street from my friend's house. This is huge. And I feel, deep down in my bones, that this is going to be a game-changer, the event that sets all other events in motion.

Finally. 

Confessions Of An Imperfect Mom

Hello, my name is Abbey and I am a perfectionist.

Being a perfectionist was never a problem before I had kids. Even though I could really drive myself crazy with it, I always regarded perfectionism as a good thing. It meant that I was striving to be the best and there's nothing wrong with that.

Until, of course, I had kids and realized that perfect is impossible. "Perfect" is a lie created by celebrity Mommy Bloggers and 30-minute sitcoms. In my life as a parent, there are moments of blissful perfection, but they come and go and I have no way to control them. What happens more often than not are spontaneous acts of two hilarious kids and their permanently exhausted parents, who are just trying to do the best they can do.

As an effort to let go of my pursuit of parental perfectionism and to show that no parent is perfect no matter how hard they try, the following are a small sample of anecdotes which accentuate my varying degrees of parenting imperfection. Why am I sharing? Because no one is perfect, no parent is perfect, and if we can all laugh together instead of putting on the perfection front, life would probably be a lot more fun. So here we go.

Confession #1: About a year ago I made the somewhat catastrophic mistake (the catastrophe only realized in hindsight, as they often are) of taking my then four-year-old and one-year-old into the pet store at the mall while trying to kill some time waiting for something else. When it came time to leave, Layla was perfectly fine and willing to leave without making a scene. Ben...not so much. Fast-forward to me, speed-walking a stroller containing a screaming, beet-faced baby with preschooler flung over my shoulder (all the better to get the hell out of there faster). Oh, but it gets better. Ben has the unfortunate habit of pronouncing "K" words like "T" words. So as I practically ran through a mall, dodging kiosks and other strollers, Ben was screaming "I want a kitty" at the top of his lungs, but it sounded a lot more like "I want a tittie!", causing several Hollister-clad teenaged boys to yell back "Don't we all?" as we raced past them. By that point I was simultaneously laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face and swearing to myself that I would show my son's naked baby pictures to every single girl who ever came to our house, for as long as I lived. That's right, my child was barely old enough to speak and I was plotting revenge. I can't imagine why Beyonce won Mother-of-the-year and not me.

Confession #2: One of my favorite kid-friendly ways of expressing anger or frustration (i.e. swearing without actually swearing) is to shake my head and go "Oh for the love of donuts!". Sounds innocent enough, but if my kids had any idea the words that my seemingly innocuous phase was replacing, their ears would probably bleed. And fall off. I suspect Layla is beginning to catch on because now she'll respond, "Wow Mom, you must love donuts. You talk about them all the time." My bad.

Confession #3: Because I stay home with the kids all day and essentially have to be the bad guy 95% of the time, I feel somewhat entitled to pawn off things like telling the kids bad news ("It's raining, so we can't go to the State Fair today" and the like) on Josh. Yes, I play my "Uh...I don't know, ask your dad when he gets home" card from time-to-time. And I feel really bad about it...Sometimes.

Confession #4: When the kids are playing together in their room, I occasionally yell "Hey! I heard that!" from somewhere else in the house when in actuality, I heard nothing at all. I'm hoping if they think I have super-human hearing powers they'll behave better. Or they just think I'm crazy.

Confession #5: Yogurt-covered raisins are not candy, but don't tell my kids that. Broccoli also doesn't make you fly if you eat it for the first twenty years of your life, but don't tell me kids that either. It's not lying, it's genuine concern for their health and well-being. At least, that's what I tell myself as I quietly save up for their future therapy.

Confession #6: Layla is a talker. She talks, talks, talks, talks all day and occasionally in her sleep at night. Six out of seven days, I find her hilarious and entertaining and am proud of her vocabulary and ability to articulate herself as well as she does. On the seventh day I give her a dollar to stop talking for ten minutes. Because really, even God got a break on the seventh day.

Confession #7: The other day Ben walked into the kitchen and asked me what I was eating. I said carrots. They were actually Cheetos. I maintain that I just care about their health and the event in question had nothing to do with the fact that I'm almost thirty years old and I still don't share well with others.

Confession #8: Speaking of Cheetos, when I was pregnant with Ben I had such vicious Cheetos cravings that I was in a constant state of orange-stained fingers and had a terrifying, reoccurring dream about giving birth to a giant diaper-clad Cheeto. Oh, and I always told Layla they were carrots too.

Confession #9: Layla has always been my good sleeper. Ben, not so much. He's getting better, but I still have to sit with him in his room at night until he falls asleep. I used to sit on his bed and hold his hand, but now I just sit on the ground in the middle of the room (progress!). I don't talk, or sing, or touch, I just sit there. And now I live in constant fear of how this will play out later in his life. I'm pretty sure that telling his future wife "I'm sorry, honey, but my mom has to come in here and stare at us for twenty minutes or I just can't manage to fall asleep" will not go over well.

Confession #10: Last week, a little boy at Layla's school smiled at her and I was amazed at my level of rage and quantity of  "I want to kill that kid" thoughts that rose up within me. Ben, on the other hand, flirts with everyone from little babies to the eighty-seven year old receptionist at his Preschool. I don't think twice about it. Why? Do I already have double standards when it comes to my kids? I think I need to buy more Tums.

Confession #11: I have actually uttered the phrase "Don't make me turn this car around". Worse, I meant it.

Confession #12: I have a frequent and insistent daydream. I'm lying on the couch reading a book. That's it. I'm not daydreaming about winning the lottery or the drummer from Vampire Weekend. Just lying on a couch, in a quiet room, reading a book because honestly, that scenario is less likely to happen than winning the lottery and having the drummer from Vampire Weekend present me with the check. And I will confess that some days, I'm not entirely okay with that fact.

Confession #13: As infants, both of my children spit-up in my mouth. Yes, both. You would think that I learned the whole "don't hold a baby up in the air right over your face mere moments after they ate pureed beets " thing with Layla, but I didn't.

Confession #14: Layla acts exactly like me. She talks like me, she stands like me, she has a snarky attitude like me. 90% of the time she spends in time-out is for doing something that I probably would have done too. Ben is sweet and jolly and gets away with murder because he reminds me so much of Josh. This is gonna get interesting...

What can I say? Every day I try to laugh off my imperfections as a parent and to remind myself that perfection doesn't really exist. I try to save my crazy OCD level of  perfectionism for things I can control, like what I write, how well I do in school, and the frequency and volume I employ when yelling at the TV. I can't control, and don't want to control, people, especially my kids. As long as they don't suffer from the fact that Josh and I are really just making this up as we go, then I think everyone wins in the end.

And if nothing else, imperfect stories are much more entertaining.

The Soundtrack To My 2011

Since around the beginning of December, all of the hipsters have been abuzz with their "best of" lists, especially the ones comprised of the albums and singles of 2011. I love reading through them, mostly because as a self-proclaimed music snob it reaffirms my belief that everyone who works in the music industry is secretly twelve years old (two words: Justin Beiber). Anyway, I figure if they can write a "best of" music list, so can I, but hopefully with a bit of a twist.

For me, 2011 was a year of really high highs and really low lows. Music is my safety blanket and always makes me feel better, or lets me know when it's okay to wallow a little (I strongly believe both things are of equal importance). My list is a bit of a cheater list because not everything I loved this year came out in 2011, but what's the point of having your own blog if you can't bend the rules a little?! So instead, my personal "best of" list is a top ten list of all of the songs I loved in 2011 whether they came out this year or not. Take that, Rolling Stone Magazine!

#1: The Healer: Florence and The Machine "Rabbit Heart (Raise It up)"
If you've had a conversation with me about music anytime over the last two years, it's likely I've cornered you and talked your ear off about Florence and The Machine. I absolutely love Florence's voice and writing style and feel like she figured out a way to set herself apart from all of the other female singers (good or bad) that have come out the last couple of years. But my Florence turning point came right after my dad passed away. Driving home from the funeral, I listened to this song over and over. It was so ridiculously fitting to how I felt in that (horrible) moment of my life that I truly felt like the song was written for me and she was reaching out to me personally (cheesy I know, but true). It was one of those rare "okay to wallow" moments that always wind up making you feel a little better.

#2: The Kid's Choice: Fitz And The Tantrums "Don't Gotta Work It Out". I don't know what it is about this song, but Layla and Ben could be in the worst mood ever and this song would make them laugh and dance. We were all instantly hooked and chances are good that if I made you a mix in 2011, this song was on it. (And just a side note, it takes a really good song to almost ignore the fact that the lead singer is a cheese ball in a pink suit...you know, almost...)

#3: The Popular Girl: Adelle "Rumor Has It". Okay, so I didn't go with the obvious Adele choice ("Rolling In The Deep") but nonetheless, Adele is loved by practically everyone I know from Beiber fans to heavy metal enthusiasts. I don't know how she does it, but she really did manage to get to everyone this year. "Rumor Has It" is my personal favorite off of her 2011 album and reminds me of driving to school at 6 AM for my 7 AM math final and not even feeling mad about it. In other words, Adele is a miracle worker.

#4 The Deep Thinkers: Mumford And Sons "The Cave". Josh and I have had countless conversations about how much we love these guys. It's hard to combine self-loathing and unbridled hopefulness on the same album, much less the same song, but they manage to do it and most importantly, to do it brilliantly. These guys are a ray of sunshine in an increasingly dismal music industry and if you don't already have this album, you're seriously missing out. Also, it's nice to see someone finally making the banjo cool.

#5 The One The Magazines And I Can Agree On: Wilco "Whole Love". I've liked Wilco for a long time and then we watched a documentary about them a few months ago that made me officially fall in love. In a time when it seems like everyone is pumping out generic music to make a quick dollar, the fact that there are still bands around that care about the quality of their music and the people who listen to it is amazingly refreshing. And on a completely different note, if you have a minute to waste on Youtube (you know you do!) check out Wilco's lead singer Jeff Tweedy randomly showing up on the Chicago news and doing the weather. It's priceless.

#6: Music's Finest Collaboration: She and Him "In The Sun". 2011 was, without a doubt, the year of Zooey Deschanel. She was in "New Girl" and about sixteen different movies, ads, commercials and so many other things that it felt like no matter where you looked, she was in your face. And somehow, I'm not sick of her in the slightest. In fact, if anything, the Zooey D. saturation of 2011 made her even more adorable. Also, every promotional She and Him performance I watched this year made me realize that M. Ward (aka Him in She and Him) is just too cool for words.

#7 The Cover Boys: Vampire Weekend "Everywhere" (Fleetwood Mac cover). I have a confession to make. I morph into a fire-breathing-music-snob every time someone does a cover. I feel like this is mostly justified because it's just not natural for Beyonce to cover Kings of Leon, but it happened (seriously, google it) and the fact remains that most covers are the cringe-worthy red-headed-stepchildren of the original song. Maybe it's because Vampire Weekend is one of my favorite bands, rendering me completely biased, or because I was having a Fleetwood Mac kind of year, but I love this cover. Ezra (I can practically hear Josh in my head saying "Don't say 'the lead singer' like you don't know their names!")'s voice is perfect for the song and the boys know how to rock. 

 #8 The One I liked, But Never Fully Understood Until 2011: Fleetwood Mac "Landslide". I love Fleetwood Mac and I have always thought this was a pretty fantastic song, but something in my head clicked this year and this song finally made perfect sense to me. I suspect it's because I'm getting old, but I'll try to leave it open to interpretation.

#9 The Guilty Pleasure: Cee Lo Green "Forget You". I know, I know, but this song is so unbelievably catchy that I defy you not to shake your booty when it comes on. Just finding the video (which is also awesome) guarantees this song will be stuck in my head for at least a week. I don't watch The Voice and I don't even like Cee Lo very much generally (with the exception of a few Gnarles Barkley songs) but I couldn't bring myself to change the station whenever this song came on the radio.

 
#10: The Summarizer: The Head and The Heart "Lost In My Mind". I obviously didn't write this song and therefore can't say with total certainty what it's about, but to me it feels like a lesson in trudging through the lowest lows and sailing through the highest highs all while trying your best not to lose sight of hope. Which in a nutshell, perfectly sums up my 2011.

Happy New Year Friends...The best is yet to come...

Twenty Seven Year Awkward Phase

If you've ever realized that the car parked next to you isn't empty as you originally presumed, but in fact full of people that have just spent the last three and a half minutes watching you do the robot to a John Mayer song, then you know exactly what it's like to be me.  

If you've ever watched Paul Rudd in "I Love You, Man" (or pretty much another Paul Rudd movie) and cringed at his total all-encompassing awkwardness, how he can't seem to squeak out a coherent sentence much less play it cool, then you can relate to a day in my life.

I'm so embarrassingly awkward. I have a hard time talking to people I don't know well and find myself either completely tongue-tied or talking endlessly about nothing. The awkward thing I'm the most famous for is what Josh refers to as my "fade to black".  As in, I'm talking and I realize that: a) I have no idea what I'm talking about, b) that I have been talking entirely too long or c) that the person I'm talking to has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, so I just sort of mumble something incoherent and stop talking. Just in case you're wondering, this trick never works. People always say "What?" or "I didn't catch that last part" and it takes all of my willpower as an adult not to point over their shoulder and say "What is that?" and run away when they turn to look.

Unfortunately, I'm also physically awkward, which I've always blamed on being tall. I've spent a lifetime not really knowing what to do with my arms and legs and if there's something to trip over, I'll be the first one to do it (even if I'm just tripping over my own feet). Usually, this is where my physical awkwardness and social awkwardness decide to combine forces and I'll say something extra awkward and goofy (like "Whoa, who put my feet there?") to cover up the fact that I tripped. And no, that never works either.

It's a universal truth that everyone in the world goes through an awkward stage.  It's also a universal truth that you eventually get over it. But while everyone else seems to have grown out of their awkward stage, me (and Paul Rudd apparently, although I've watched interviews and real-life Paul Rudd is one of the coolest, non-awkward people ever. Jerk.) are stuck in limbo.. Doesn't being an adult automatically make you less awkward? I'm not a skinny thirteen year old with glasses and braces anymore, so why do I still feel like I am? When will it end?!

I wish I was cool and graceful like whatever the female equivalent of Ryan Gosling would be (Olivia Wilde? Emily Blunt?). In the meantime, I'm the person you can always count on for cringe-worthy moments that probably make you glad that you're not me. And if you're a fan of people who do the robot to John Mayer or the running man to Vampire Weekend, then I will never disappoint.