Falling Into Fall.

It feels like we're falling a bit around here--from place to place, from friends to friends, with no home, from summer to fall. Our time spent with Caro and family in Pasadena has been wonderfully refreshing and at times overwhelmingly exhausting in the best of ways. It's not just us here in this Bungalow Heaven abode. Another family and mutual friends who also have a toddler and tons of transition are passing through too--they are transitioning back into L.A. from a stint spent in Oregon and we are transitioning out of L.A. to a cold a wintry Canadian wonderland after 10 toasty years spent pacific-side.

Five adults (one of the Papas is filming in Detriot for several weeks) and three toddlers makes for lots of crazy action--tears and tantrums, spills and screams, running and hopping and colliding and chaos--most of the time--from 6:30 a.m. until around 8:00ish at night. But it's lovely to be among friends and mamas and babies and love, lots of love. While one of the Papas cooks incredibly delectable and wholesome meals, we otherwise eat together, clean together and run after the wild wildebeests together. I've always yearned for the communal camaraderie of group living and it's more fun than I ever had imagined.

As for how we have been passing our time here, well, October passed like a spook in the night. We pumpkin patched and pumpkin carved, we tricked and we treated; we fell into fall. And, geesh, now it's November. With less than a month or so to go before the big move, my belly is progressing into the second trimester much quicker than I'd like it to. It is already time to go shopping for the ever beloved maternity pants. But wherever will I find a snowsuit in my size?

Sea Change.

A sea change indeed, my faithful friends and followers. The absence has been long and hard and rocky and winding and wily and well, really, really l o n g. It seems that I had hopes of returning with a post and many pictures sometime in late August or early September with recollections of our beach vacation in Emerald Isle, North Carolina, where we frolicked seaside with family and friends. But now, at this time in late October, those warm summer memories seem just that--distant tales of long ago. Since then, our seas have been a'changin.

I try to keep my blog as drama free as possible--I rather spare the minute details of non-baby drama to avoid seeming petty or even boring. But this tale will be told in a shortened yet still somewhat full version, if nothing else than to explain why I have been gone so darn long.

It all began days before we were set to leave for our three week vacation visiting friends and family on the east coast this past August--the first week on the same little island where we were married (our families vacation there together every summer) and the remaining two weeks jumping back and forth between grandparents' houses.

The Sunday before the Thursday we were to set sail, we received an abrupt and very unexpected 30 day notice from the landowner of Milagro Ranch to vacate our home. I will spare these details because I may break into a rant that never fizzles--but long story short...her separation from her husband forced her to sell, she couldn't find a buyer so she leased to people who wanted her out a.s.a.p. This all meant that she needed to find a place for her and her daughter to live until they found another home--and it seems that our cozy little guest house that we had just so stupidly sunk way too much money, time and labor into seemed like just the place.

Dean returned to Malibu from the vacation early to pack and move us into storage while Noah and I remained behind in North Carolina to stay with family while all of the details worked themselves out. In the meantime, Dean stayed with friends in Malibu and went back to work.

Now backtrack a little to before we left for vacation...around the same time we received the e-mail from the landowner, we received an e-mail from the recording school that Dean attended in London, Ontario more than 10 years ago. It was inquiring whether he knew of anyone possibly interested in taking a teaching position that had recently become available at the school. E-mails about salary, benefits, immigration, etc. bounced back and forth for weeks while the job opportunity became more and more of an appealing option for us.

Over the phone, from North Carolina to Los Angeles, Dean and I schemed and plotted and planned. What if? Dean officially expressed interest and after a phone interview with the school's Directors went incredibly well, we decided to accept their offer to fly the whole family to London for 10 days worth of Canadian fun--further interviews, guest lectures, meetings, negotiations, sight seeing, house hunting, and more. So, after spending all of September on separate coasts, Noah and I met Dean in Canada on October 1st.

Now backtrack a little again...to when Dean was living with friends in Malibu and working while Noah and I were grandparent house hopping for all of September. Just days before flying to meet Dean in Canada, a little dip stick in a Durham, North Carolina Target bathroom revealed that we were pregnant--again!

So here we were--exhausted, homeless and nauseously pregnant--in London, Ontario wondering if leaving a job with Beck in Malibu to teach in the snowy neighbor to the north was really what the Dr. ordered. The 10 days passed like a whirlwind as we met people, saw places and determined if this was to be the next stop on our map.

The town was just okay; the people were super. What really sold us was all of the quality of life bonuses. At the end of our stay, we took the job.

Let me explain why. Dean has worked 12 hours a day 6-7 days a week for 10 years--that's right a decade--with a week, or maybe two, or this year the most ever maybe three weeks, of vacation hidden somewhere there in between. Before Noah it was hard, since Noah it is impossibly exhausting and plain and simply an unacceptable pace to keep with a growing family. Sure he's worked with and for the best of the best in the music industry, and the money is okay--but it's just that, okay. It's not living well in Los Angeles, or Malibu for that matter, on one salary, well. It's not, own a house, travel several times a year, send your kid to private school because the public ones are not an option, hire a nanny because Dad is never home and a second kid is coming kind of well.

This new job? The salary is great, the bonuses are even better...but the hours, they are still hard to swallow. Dad will be home for dinner for the first time in a decade--every night. Dean will work 9:00-5:00--WAIT--what's THAT?! Add on to that: 5 weeks of paid vacation, incredible public and private healthcare coverage with no out-of-our-pocket cost (I have already spoken with the midwife who will deliver our next baby at home in the water), affordable housing and coverage of all relocation and immigration/visa costs. How could we say no?!

After we signed on the dotted line, we returned to Los Angeles on October 10th homeless while we wait for immigration to clear and Dean to finish pending projects with Beck. We stayed with friends in Malibu for one week and are now staying with yet more friends (three families in one house--that's another post all together) in Pasadena...we just call it our cozy little commune. We will remain here until November the 13th when we will then move yet again back to our old neighborhood in Los Angeles with yet more friends. We will be house-sitting while they are in Japan.

If all goes well with immigration--and we should know by mid-November--we will move to London, Onatrio, Canada on December 1st. We are currently looking for a place to call home there for when we, and our stuff, arrives.

In the meantime it's a crazy, whirly twirly topsy turvy kind of purgatory that we are existing in. I am still absorbing it--especially the part about moving to a really cold place. There will be snow there when we arrive--lots and lots of it. How will a Los Angeles loving family from Southern California with no winter clothes and another baby on the way ever cope? That story has yet to be written.

"Yuv Ooo" And Other Heart Melts.

So my dear friends, have no fear, the mysterious visitor was not so mysterious. Just a sweet friend with a trigger happy bookmark toolbar--best case scenario for this concerned mama who can now venture on to other happenings. Relief.

On to other news--Noah uttered his first "I love you" today which sounded a whole lot more like "yuv oooooo". I turned immediately to mushy gooey putty and would have found a real life unicorn dressed in a clown's costume if that's what he had asked for at that very moment. Even as he belted it out over and over again throughout the day it never lost its effect--I swooned each and every time.

Aside from love-speak, things are a little wacky about the household. We are preparing to leave for a 3 week voyage back east to visit with friends and family on a Thursday night redeye--just two nights from tonight and the packing hasn't even begun. The redeye booking was an attempt to take advantage of both a non-stop, thus shorter, flight, as well as, nighttime hours--we are crossing our fingers that the darkness will keep our wee tot sleeping the duration of the flight. If not, we're screwed. How do you explain the strange circumstances that render you relatively chair bound for hours on end to a 1.5 year old? You don't. You just buckle up and hope for the best.

I am not quite sure when I will post again. The first of the three weeks will be spent at the beach and the other two between the homes of parents and grandparents. I will do my best to post as soon as possible--hopefully not long after the Atlantic sun has browned our skin and the east coast tide has warmed our bones.

We need the rest and relaxation. It's been a thrilling and also exhausting last few months and it seems that recent developments on several fronts might be throwing more curve balls our way. But more on that later. For now we shall sign off with a few pictures from our morning on the ranch and hopefully will return within a week or so with news and photographic delights from the right coast (right as in directionally right, that is--not right as in the opposite of wrong--just in case any east coasters were getting big-headed...)

Dear Mysterious Visitor.

Dear Frequent Visitor from Apex, NC,

I notice that you really love my blog and was hoping that you might drop a line or two so that I know who you are!

You can say "hi" by sending over an e-mail to jonisurettenelson@gmail.com or commenting quickly on any post!

Thank you so much for helping me to ensure that my blog is kept friendly and safe.

Warmest Regards,
Mama Joni

All In A Good Day's Play: The Camera Has Returned Edition.

The Rocking Moose.

Underwood Farms.

Nicholas Canyon County Beach.


Playtime With Papa.

Lil' Ranchers Round Up at The Leonis Adobe.

The First Haircut.

Nicholas Canyon County Beach.

To view more photos from our old restored friend, click here.

All In A Good Day's Play: Going Ape-y At The Zoo Edition.

We're back in business and it just so happened that the first photos taken with our restored shuttered friend was at the L.A. Zoo yesterday.

While Noah enjoyed the animals, he liked the playground water fountain that had been put out of commission and covered with a piece of metal--which made drumming on it tons of fun--and the mister that cooled off the hot valley afternoon a whole lot more.

Enjoy and happy, happy weekend.

I've Missed You, My Dear Shuttered Friend.

Ah, the sweet sensation of anticipation. Our repaired camera has been delivered by Fed Ex and is sitting at the gate about a half mile down the drive. Since the sun has set and this ranch girl doesn't traverse into the wild after the stars have risen, I will have to wait yet another excruciating hour for Dean to come home until I hold her in my paws.

Tomorrow is the Zoo and Friday, the beach and Saturday, a pool BBQ and Sunday, a visit from friends and Monday, produce picking at the farm and Tuesday, the Leonis Adobe and Wednesday, the park and Thursday, a pool playdate and Friday, back to the beach and Saturday, next Saturday, maybe it will finally get a rest. While I cannot believe that our calendar is booked for nine days straight with no lull, I am even more impressed at the incredible photographic opportunities that await. Not to mention food photography for Feeding Little Foodies.

The month of struggling to drill moments into my fading, failing memory is now over. I can simply click a button and allow the shutter and lens to work their magic.

This is the last picture-less post. Ever. I hope.

Rape Is Never Funny . . .

. . . except when Antoine Dodson is involved. There are not many things that get me rolling on the floor past midnight after a long day of beach playdates and dinner guests. But when Dean came home from work tonight to show me what he had been filling his work hours watching, I couldn't help but want to share it with all of you. It's possible that I am desperately behind (I usually am)--maybe many of you have already seen it. If you haven't you're in for a real treat. If you have, surely it can tickle another laugh out of you, no?

Meet, Antoine Dodson--the best. brother. ever. Enjoy.

Giving It Another Go.

So the initial shock of the tarantula sighting has dulled and faded. Since then, there have been no other critters larger than a quarter spotted for over a week now. This is progress, folks.

We have decided to give Milagro Ranch another go.

You see, our morning romp in the valley last week viewing dark, dreary and drab pre-fabs was depressing to say the least. These over priced shoe boxes left much to be desired--the first was a tiny guest house sans stove (what? a family of foodies with no roasting, broiling, or baking capabilities--si par impossible!) and the second was carpeted, small, dark and downright depressing. Even if there were such things as apartments--or affordable housing--in Malibu, I still don't think we'd take the apartment leap. Unless we were able to find the exquisite 1920's French Normandy-esque chateau that we had in the city, we just can't bring ourselves to inhabit an apartment building--even if in Malibu--ever. Which brings us to our current debacle--our wild and wily existence in an eclectic guest house on a 20 acre horse ranch.

It's beautiful--it's so breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful and recharging and inspiring and natural and Noah is over the moon for the place. It's a crazy little ranch--it's so very different than anywhere that we have ever lived before. It's creaky and cranky and expensive and really inconvenient (for example, we have to have special propane deliveries every other month because there are no gas lines run this far out and not to mention the incredibly winding, narrow and vulture-lined roads to get down the mountain to semi-civilization). And while half of the time those are all of the reasons that we were ready to throw in the beach towel last week, the other half of the time it's all part of its charm, its splendor, its appeal, its unmistakable character.

Reminding myself--ourselves--that it's an adventure, helps. Reminding ourselves that it's temporary, helps. Standing beneath the pepper trees as the late afternoon sun trickles through the wispy leaves in tiny drops on Noah's hand as he feeds the horses, helps. Bunny watching from the hammock with my morning coffee, helps. Watching our vegetable and herb garden (even if through galvanized steel meshing) finally take root and begin to flourish and anticipating its harvest, helps. Listening to Noah mimic the songs of the quail and road runner in his sleep, helps. Spending each and every day as we please on the sandy shores of the Pacific watching dolphins and seals frolic and play, helps.

This is a good thing. It's a great thing. It's a character building, make hair grow on your teeth kind of thing. It's a make your marriage stronger while learning all of the nitty gritty, raw, unedited facets of nature while your wee tot experiences life naked and barefoot beneath citrus trees kind of place. It's the kind of place we call home.

So, really. Really? Were we really going to let rattlesnakes, rats, scorpions, centipedes, mice and tarantulas drive us away from ol' purple haze ranch? We don't scare that easily.

But, then, ask me about it all again tomorrow.

Second Thoughts: Milagro Ranch, You're So Mean.

(At the Long Beach Aquarium with my mommy group)

Life looks peachy, right? Time spent away from home has been peachy. Noah and I have been making tons of new mama and baby friends in our new hood thanks to the mommy group that I started here called the "Malibu Mamas". Since I last wrote, we have been flipping our fins at swim lessons, tank-gazing at the Aquarium of the Pacific and produce picking and farm animal petting at a local family pick-your-own. With Daddy, we have been attending storytime on the Bluffs and two weekend concerts (one was apparently with an all-star in the family indie music scene--I didn't know that there was a "family indie music scene"--go figure).

But at home, well, home is another story all together. Our efforts at varmint proofing our garden have been in vain. It turns out that it was squirrels, not rabbits, decimating every speck of green above our $100 worth of organic dirt (and free horse manure). We've spent well over $500 now on this garden bed from hell and well, while we are not ones to give in and give up easily, we're ready to throw in the shovel. The garden, you see, is very telling of our time here on Milagro Ranch here so far. We've sunk dollars and time into making it a home but nature just won't allow us to settle in. Despite our sage smudging ceremony, performed by Chieftain Dean on Saturday, we found a tarantula upon waking Sunday morning. Luckily, the cats got to it before it found its way to us as vulnerable and easy prey in our slumber.

Perhaps Dean and I had far too romantic notions about living remotely, rurally, down a dirt road in a desert canyon, with rattlesnakes, scorpions, rats, centipedes and now our newest dear friend, tarantula, to fight over territory with. Aside from the creepy critters, everything has been and continues to be a chore. From driving the garbage and recycling down the mile long dirt road to keeping the brick patio surrounded by dirt swept clean to washing clothes in outdoor machines to rat and bug roofing to waiting for the septic to be fixed to sleeping with the lights on to ensuring the pipes that empty all of our used water (except for the toilet, of course) out onto the property are kept clear of weeds and animals to to to . . . it all sounds petty, I know. But this is only the half of it. When it's all piled up on the dark purple carpet thrown in there with our recent kitchen ant infestation, it just amounts to being too much for this mama and family to handle. We spend much of our time working, working to keep things status quo here at the Ranch at the sacrifice of real, enjoyable, relaxing moments together as a family. Really, Dean works 60 hours a week every single week--is cleaning rat poop from the brick ledge and walking the dead rat that we trapped under the car the prior night out to the field to dump its lifeless body really worth it?

We are asking ourselves that very question. Today, tonight, now. We are seriously throwing around the idea of moving. Yes, I know it's crazy. But what's more crazy? Waking up with a tarantula at your toes or admitting to yourself that the suburbs aren't so bad after all. Seriously, I, who would never even look twice at an apartment complex without losing my lunch is currently finding the convenience and safety of a gated complex with a pool and fitness center a droolingly appealing option. I know, I know--the desperation is so thick you can cut it with a knife.

We have been humbled by Milagro Ranch--we are no longer the city snobs we once were. And we were before Noah, I admit it. But we have a year or less before Beck finishes working on his latest album and Dean is able to move on. And then we can move on--away from L.A. after 10 years and hopefully north--into the comfortable embrace of a cozy craftsman in green, clean, Portland. What to do until then is the question that will keep me up tonight--that and my incurable phobia of all things that move in the night.

We have two appointments tomorrow to look at places just over the hill from here--the valley, yes, the valley. We'll still be only 16 miles from Malibu--the beach--the bugs--but 100 leaps closer to keeping our sanity. Who knows, maybe we'll tour some drab, mini-blinded, generic box and go running back to the ranch faster than a vulture can sniff out roadkill.