tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265195592011-10-10T01:52:17.200-07:00Stacy Bolt's stories of life, motherhood and electric blue spandex unitards.Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.comBlogger291100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-81717001485804870702011-01-10T11:01:00.001-08:002011-01-10T11:05:13.620-08:00

Author's Note: I struggled with whether or not to post this essay, because I have a child who might someday read this and a mother-in-law who will probably read it tonight (Hi Mary!). But the Ducks are playing in the BCS Championship tonight, and this is kind of like a love letter to the University of Oregon. So here it is. GO DUCKS!Higher EducationI come from a long line of eye-rollers. Rather

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-58269798235881999622010-08-05T12:27:00.000-07:002010-08-05T15:32:14.987-07:00

My friend Melissa died last week. A nicer way of saying it would be that she “passed away.” But I’ve always believed that passing away is what old people do. There’s an implication of inevitability, of appropriateness. My grandmother passed away. She was 95 and had great-great grandchildren. She decided she was done and so she went. Melissa was 42. She had a 7 year old daughter and a husband who

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-5299890066263643092009-12-20T10:52:00.000-08:002009-12-20T10:54:21.921-08:00

This is the essay I read on Live Wire December 19th. Thanks to everyone who came out!Depending on who you ask, Christmas is a Season of Giving, a Season of Magic, or even a Season of Eating. But if you ask me, Christmas is a season of just one thing: lying. From the virgin birth to flying reindeer, Christmas is all about telling it like it isn’t. We lie to ourselves about the money we spend. We

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-73081003686684430252009-09-14T11:21:00.000-07:002009-09-14T11:27:45.808-07:00

(I'm so sorry to have left this blog lying dormant for so long. There's been a lot going on, including getting ready for the Live Wire gig that happened on Saturday. Here's the piece I read. Let me know if you like it! --SB)If one were to use reality TV as a bellwether, one would have to assume that the dating scene in America right now is bleak. Tune in to an episode of Rock of Love, Dating in

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-18917679970861371602009-07-23T12:54:00.001-07:002009-07-23T13:04:12.788-07:00

OK, so it's been a while. In my defense, I have the bulletproof "my kid had brain surgery" excuse. So there.But now I'm back to blogging just in time to pimp the next installment of True Stories! Thursday July 30 at Mississippi Studios. We have Chelsea Cain, Courtenay Hameister, Scott Poole, Greg Robillard and yours truly, plus kickass musical guests Chris Robley and Thao Nguyen of Thao with the

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-10050372388944001162009-05-06T15:24:00.000-07:002009-05-06T15:28:36.941-07:00

Hey guess what? Bob Marley was totally right. Every little thing IS alright. The surgery went very well and The Pickle is doing great. The whole thing happened on April 17th and he came home on the 20th. He is now almost completely back to normal (if you consider singing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ 800 times a day normal). But man, did it ever suck for a while.I’m not going to go into every

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-48186693799964748132009-04-10T16:27:00.000-07:002009-04-10T16:32:17.667-07:00

Dear Pickle,It’s tempting when doing these little retrospectives to focus entirely on the things I did wrong over the course of the year. And then I think, “That’s wrong! I should focus on the good things I did.” And then I realize that thinking that thought was something I did wrong. And then I go make myself a gin and tonic and start all over again. Because sometimes, it really seems like

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-78035599463525289632009-02-02T10:43:00.000-08:002009-02-02T10:46:35.203-08:00

Dear Dora,You and I need to have a little talk before this thing gets out of hand. I don’t know who introduced you to my son, or why, but I think we can all agree that the damage has been done. Now it’s just a matter of containing it.I realize that I’m as much to blame for this situation as anyone. For the first 18 months of his life, he never watched television. And I was as smug and

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-64713589407951875222009-01-05T15:32:00.001-08:002009-01-05T15:36:26.981-08:00

[Well, new-ish anyway. This is the piece I read on Live Wire in December. It will probably air on OPB radio at the end of January, but here it is in text form. Hope you like it.]Perhaps the most important thing any of us can learn in high school is how to endure humiliation. It’s an important life skill and there’s certainly plenty of opportunities to experience it between your freshman and

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-87983234088228103352008-12-19T16:11:00.002-08:002008-12-19T16:14:55.355-08:00

RE: "Dildo" the CaterpillarYes. Okay? Yes. I named his toy caterpillar Dildo. Why? Because it looks like a freaking dildo, that's why. And besides, he was a baby. I don’t know if you know this, but babies can be really, really boring. So yes, I started calling his toy caterpillar Dildo. It was funny. It made my husband laugh. It helped alleviate some of the monotony of my day. Did I forsee him

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-10236668699428535922008-11-25T15:32:00.000-08:002008-11-25T15:35:42.419-08:00

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “I wonder what Stacy is thankful for this year.” Admit it. You are. And because I’m nothing if not devoted to your happiness, I’m going to tell you that I’m thankful for many, many things this year. Many. Like the fact that most of my family still speaks to me after my last post. And that I’ll be drinking my first Red Carpet of the season in less than

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-88053069340890423392008-11-20T12:43:00.000-08:002008-11-20T13:51:07.042-08:00

Ah, Thanksgiving. It’s a holiday that conjures images of crackling fires, lovingly prepared meals and Kennedyesque games of touch football on the lawn. Unless you grew up in my family, where nothing said Thanksgiving like a pus-colored Jell-O salad known as “Green Death.”Chunky, mayonnaise-based, and wiggling as if it possessed its own nervous system, Green Death looked and tasted like a chilled

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-55705346237439194852008-11-05T15:13:00.000-08:002008-11-05T15:25:30.721-08:00

When I first met The Pickle, he was three hours old and had a pacifier in his mouth. The nurses had given it to him automatically, and when I saw it, one corner of my brain was thinking, “Oh crap. Do I want him to have a pacifier? Isn’t that supposed to be bad for his teeth or something?” Of course, the rest of my brain was screaming, “Holy shit! This might be my son!” So I didn’t really dwell

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-2087489013842339302008-11-03T13:38:00.000-08:002008-11-03T13:40:43.290-08:00

The time: 3 amThe place: His room, which I entered after hearing much pathetic whimpering over the monitor. Him: Hi. Me: Hi, buddy. What’s the matter? Him: Babbo. (This is his word for pacifier, several of which are scattered on the floor by his crib) Me: You lost your babbos, huh? Him: Yeah. Me: You want me to get them for you? Him: Yeah. Me: (after returning the

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-60646380906428472972008-09-11T19:10:00.000-07:002008-09-11T19:19:34.018-07:00

I think we can all agree that I suck at this blogging thing. Regular posting? Not so much. Not these days, anyway. But I do want to thank everyone for reading and commenting--especially Marian and WackyMommy for your kind words, gentle prodding and a shout-out on WM's blog. I love when things like that come from total strangers. It makes me feel like less of a lazy loser. Which reminds me, you're

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-76352615278344908402008-06-18T12:57:00.000-07:002008-06-18T13:07:02.564-07:00

Choosing to adopt and sticking with it despite some shockingly bad setbacks is the best thing I’ve ever done. In fact, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing because everything we went through led us to the most amazing kid in the whole wide world — the one who was meant to be with us. That said, “everything we went through” was significant and includes trying for just over

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-63173763277850256182008-05-04T08:49:00.000-07:002008-05-04T08:53:20.712-07:00

Pickle said his first real word the other day. Was it Mama? Daddy? Kitty? Gin and tonic? Or any of the other hundreds of words I've been trying to get him to say? No. It was Baba Booey. This is what I get for encouraging Dave to spend more time with him.

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-31168319747708041612008-04-28T09:54:00.001-07:002008-04-28T09:56:06.534-07:00

Bad news: I've started to view showering as a waste of my time.Good news: I have an essay in the May issue of Portland Monthly magazine titled "Age of Innocence." Check it out if you get a chance.

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-73134233053616519942008-03-16T08:40:00.000-07:002008-03-16T08:44:24.229-07:00

Dear Pickle,Congratulations! You’ve survived an entire year with me as your mother. I’m not a big believer in miracles, but I think the fact that there’s only been one trip to the emergency room, one call to poison control and zero appearances on the local news is as close to miraculous as we’re going to get.You’re not going to remember anything from this year, so let me give you a quick recap of

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-90037315724226409182008-03-12T18:05:00.000-07:002008-03-12T18:08:05.141-07:00

First, the bad news. Pickle pointed at a wine glass the other day and said, "Mama."The good news: I'll be appearing on Live Wire's 4th Anniversary show this Saturday at the Aladdin Theater. Doors open at 7, show starts at 8. I'll be the one in the back row getting good and drunk before I go on. Hope to see you there!

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-4410716516675670802008-03-03T13:04:00.000-08:002008-03-03T13:09:44.664-08:00

The March issue of Portland Monthly features an essay I wrote about The Pickle's adoption. Check it out if you have a chance!

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-25553665680294671412008-02-14T14:34:00.000-08:002008-02-14T14:48:52.118-08:00

“Welcome to parenthood.”That’s what my mom said after I told her about The Pickle’s emergency room adventure the other night after the SnotVomit made a triumphant and rather terrifying return. Dave heard him making strange noises over the monitor around 11:00 and went in to find him on his back with his mouth and nose filled with barf and not breathing. Once Dave got his airway clear, The Pickle

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-65293055450258830392008-02-12T09:06:00.000-08:002008-02-12T09:07:42.388-08:00

Last week, to borrow a phrase from my husband, can suck a ball.It started late Tuesday night with The Pickle experiencing what the on-call nurse called “a confluence of viruses.” Basically, he was at the end of one virus (the respiratory type) and the beginning of another (the intestinal type). This caused him to expel in large quantities a horrifying substance we like to call SnotVomit™. Fun! By

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-252916136691974022008-02-06T14:15:00.000-08:002008-02-06T14:45:23.739-08:00

If you're in Portland, be sure to check out the fifth installment of the True Stories reading series at Mississippi Studios this Sunday the 10th at 7:30. The writers include myself, Chelsea Cain, Scott Poole, Marc Acito, Jim Brunberg and Courtenay Hameister, plus some special guests. Get your tickets at ticketweb.com or the Mississippi Studios box office.

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-90359608757663637772008-02-06T14:12:00.000-08:002008-02-06T14:44:36.829-08:00

There used to be a hotel in Portland called The Mallory. It was a great old place with gaudy chandeliers and overstuffed chintz chairs in the lobby — authentically old school, not a touch of irony. The hotel bar was called The Driftwood Room. It was closet-sized and inky-dark, with one long built-in banquette hugging the curves of the far wall. On any given day you could always find half a dozen

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-6291904388389480072008-02-01T10:01:00.000-08:002008-02-01T15:14:00.187-08:00

There are only so many things you can prepare for in motherhood. Mostly, it’s an academic exercise. Reading the books will give you a general understanding of what’s going to happen: There will be crying, and spitting up and poop. Oh yes, there will be poop. But until it’s actually happening, you can’t know what it’s like. Take sleep deprivation, for instance. You cannot understand how hard this

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-25310163738218501622008-01-21T15:05:00.000-08:002008-01-21T21:35:26.487-08:00

RE: "The Pickle"Just for the sake of clarification, we did NOT intend to call him The Pickle. It just kind of happened. I don’t even remember which one of us started doing it first. But it was cute. And he was a BABY for god’s sake. All babies have silly nicknames, right? But then the babysitter started calling him that. And then his grandmother. And all of our friends. We really should have done

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-66618755617378497322008-01-11T14:50:00.001-08:002008-01-21T21:37:22.004-08:00

Why do diaper companies put licensed cartoon characters on their products? Huggies has Disney characters. Pampers has Sesame Street. Luvs has Blues Clues. I worked in advertising for more than 15 years, so to a certain extent I can understand the thinking that went into this. I understand that companies need to compete for mind share, to extend the brand experience in as many directions as

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26519559.post-79682705791948935062008-01-09T09:40:00.000-08:002008-01-21T21:37:51.197-08:00

Ask any woman who’s approaching her due date and she’ll probably tell you that nine months of pregnancy is tantamount to cruel and unusual punishment. But as I’ve recently discovered, there’s a benefit to gestating for the better part of a year. You need that time to prepare for the seismic shift your life is about to undergo. Every day, a mother-to-be has her growing belly and zig-zagging

Stacy Bolthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09513999310878901133noreply@blogger.com6