Coco's Blog is Now on Substack as Coco's Echo!

Every writer talks about the importance of voice so Coco is using bi-weekylish newsletters to hone it in. Join her as she discovers new writing techniques, works with a creative muse, and tests chapter ideas for her unfinished memoir.

Whether it’s labeled a blog or a newsletter, the focus of Coco’s Echo is to not just test what ideas are the stronger reverberation, but what resonates deepest with her surrounding community.

Dream Client Rebrand: Atheism

Dostoevsky once wrote: “If God did not exist, everything would be permitted”; and that, for existentialism, is the starting point. Everything is indeed permitted if God does not exist, and man is in consequence forlorn, for he cannot find anything to depend upon either within or outside himself. He discovers forthwith, that he is without excuse.” ― Jean Paul Sartre, Existentialism is a Humanism

Hello! I am an Atheist.

Whew, that made me feel dizzy. Before I continue I feel the need for two disclaimers:

Disclaimer #1: The goal …

The following is an extremely brief recount of my personal journey from being a part of a religion to not being a part of one anymore. In this leap of anti-faith I have landed where thousands of others have also wandered, except there is no church or community to welcome us. I hope that in discussing this topic I do not offend, I instead provide a different perspective on what Atheism means to me, and how much positivity it’s brought into my life. My goal is to be more open about it, so that others might feel the same urge to spread some joy over a topic that has been so shrouded in darkness.

Disclaimer #2: Is this discussion appropriate for your professional website!?

As a photographer and writer I hope that my pursuit of art is an authentic one. A safe space to publicly reflect on the nature of the world in which I create that art has not been made obvious to me, so I will start here. I’ve been given the third degree at dinners and at social gatherings (which we can’t have now anyways), so really there’s nowhere better place than here and time than now. The mountain of lukewarm, “blah-g” content out there has company enough, I want to introduce something else. I’d like you to meet the weirdo on the fringe who is waiting to be brought into the circle. Simply put, if you came here for a blog about Lightroom presets and how to get your subjects to laugh on cue, you’re going to get more than you bargained for today!

Back to it, shall we?

Hi, me again, your friendly Atheist. It sounds like a dirty word, and I even put the word friendly before it! I mean it makes sense, check out the company it keeps on thesaurus.com & in Merriam-Webster:

• agnostic (technically not accurate)

• skeptic (I’m way past skepticism)

• infidel (wow, ok)

• free-thinker (sweet, a positive one!)

• Pagan (what the actual?)

• Non-believer (negative energy much?)

• Misbeliever (ok, now I prefer non-believer)

• Giaour (don’t even get me started on this ancient slur)

So where are all the positive attributes to being an Atheist? There aren’t many I can find online. It’s just a soup of Richard Dawkins videos with terrible comments about him being satan, and some terribly designed memes about science. Our godless “community” can’t hold a Wiccan candle to the all-powerful Christianity that has taken over celebrity culture, pop star acceptance speeches, every sport ever, the top job in the USA, and yes, even every corner of the mom-fluencer market on social media.

In my hopes to bring a more positive light to this oft-described “dark art,” I need to figure out why I personally feel ashamed in talking about it without guilt. And with that trigger word, cue next topic:

It’s more than likely I struggle with labelling myself as an Atheist because I was raised Catholic from birth through high school. I don’t just mean church on Sundays, I mean, prayers 5+ times a day (plus sometimes when a siren wails), from Kindergarten until 12th grade. I’ve acted as both Mother Mary and Mary Magdalene, and yes that is also a metaphor. I’ve once donned a fake beard and carried the cross as Jesus in an Easter play. I’ve been through four of the seven rites (Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation and Reconciliation) and spent many hours reading the Bible and watching Sunday school cartoons.

In 1990, when I was at the start of my religious education at the way-too-tender-for-this-shit age of four, over 85% of the population identified as Christian. 2019’s study is now closer to 65%. There are two takeaways here for me. 1) Being a part of a religious society (Christianity, Catholicism, etc.) is still the majority, however, 2) it is declining.

The dissent of people like me choosing to leave a religion is done in a whisper if a sound is even uttered at all. The only discussion with my family happened almost 20 years later when I asked my dad if he had any regrets in life (we don’t love small talk at our table) and he said, “I regret you didn’t stay the course with your religion.” For context, my dad has always loved and supported all of his kids’ paths in life. But the very fact that the person I am closest to in my life was thinking silently about my religious choice for over a decade, proves to me how religion remains such a closely guarded topic.

“You are -- your life, and nothing else.” ― Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit

My journey “out” is ironic when studying in hindsight. The very schools that gave me detention if we didn’t sing hymns loud enough, also hired teachers that exposed existential authors like Sartre. That rabbit-hole led me to pursue more teachers and ask more questions. I found writers like Kerouac who wrote unlike anyone else I had studied before. He said things like, “I saw that my life was a vast glowing empty page and I could do anything I wanted,” (Dharma Bums). It was the complete opposite of how a good Catholic was supposed to live, and I knew deep down I couldn’t be the only girl in the world who clutched On The Road to my heart like a floatation device.

Add on top my buddhist ancestry and the questions started to pile on - none of which my parents or priests could answer to my satisfaction. I should note I have glazed over a segment of my life where I rebelliously pursued Wicca (that joke above was no joke) but after spending all my allowance on spell books I realized I was still praying to something out there that was supposed to take care of my problems for me. I had traded hymns, confessions, and white gloves for Veruca Salt, potions and eyeliner.

While I continued to chip away at these questions the heaviness of the unknown actually started to melt away. Having myself at the “wheel” instead of “Jesus” gave me a control in my late teens that had only belonged to my parents and God before. Movies like I heart Huckabees and Waking Life paired with books like The God Delusion and The Stranger, eventually cracked the floodgates open.

I had a new bible and it wasn’t one book, it was every book. I devoured literature and movies like it was no one’s business and eventually decided I wanted a career in it. My life turned on. Instead of being scared of death and my “sins,” I reveled in the beauty of the life I had. Up until then I was spending all my free time returning the favor for this “gift” of life in places that favored empty ritual over actions. When you stop living with the cloud over your teenage head that no one died for you, well, wave goodbye to the guilt. I began to respect and revel in the world, and in the now, there was simply no time for a distant and unknowable salvation.

My appreciation for life made me feel more in control than ever. It wasn’t a dark and scary “what does it all mean?!” moment, it was an excited exclamation that “it doesn’t really matter, and therefore life is precious, rare, and unlikely to return,” or even more shocking, “it ends.” Live the life you’ve always wanted. How amazing are you to be here, now, in this moment?

Mary Oliver famously asks, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do, with your one wild and precious life?” and I’ve found so much joy in my attempts to answer her.

Between the ages of 12-18 I went through this transformation and it also aligned with some of the hardest years of my life. Proof in my case that religion didn’t need to save me from a hard upbringing, in fact, the severing of it gave me hope again. But, it was better than hope, because I wasn’t idle, waiting for my future to be created. In the absence of an all-seeing eye that controlled my path, you step into the shoes as destiny-maker, and what 18 year old wouldn’t love to be that?

In summary, This is just the beginning.

Freedom from religious persecution is a real and dangerous topic. I understand the weight, the historical reasons why we must protect and let patrons of faith practice without judgement. However, I also want to create space for myself and others like me. Where are our societies and after-school meetups? Would my daughter’s future school accept an “atheists club?” Would there be a safe place for us in a town hall meeting, or dare I say, at the federal level? If my dreams can come true of a minority woman as vice-president, are my dreams of an Atheist one far off?

I’ve been told that writing about being an Atheist is not a great idea because I might be rejecting future friendships of anyone belonging to a faith. Who knows, in my ramblings I may have lost getting close to some people, but some of my closest friends come from different religions, so that’s not really the issue I am concerned about. That question only railroads the purpose of my writing about Atheism in the first place. I am here exposing myself to this sensitive topic and baring all, because I am curious what are our rights? If I did not want to say the religious part of the national anthem, could I be denied citizenship? And what of acceptance? Could I comfortably bring up the separation of church and state at a family dinner the way that many bring a prayer into a family circle without asking?

I would like to think that if we can be more comfortable writing these sort of thoughts down in places that might get others involved, the tide could turn for the positive. We could choose from a list synonyms that represent more accurately our excitement and joy for life. I am sick of being a heathen. But finally, I am at a loss for words, any suggestions?

Writing a Memoir: What I've learned so far...

“None of us can ever know the value of our lives, or how our separate and silent scribbling may add to the amenity of the world, if only by how radically it changes us, one and by one.”

― Mary Karr, The Art of Memoir

I hesitate to advertise to the world that I am writing a memoir, because in a way I have been telling people since I was 11. It feels like I’ve been perpetually scrambling for loose paper in the middle of the night to write down chapter ideas and my list of book titles outweighs any to-do list I’ve ever written. Between iPhone notes, lost cocktail napkins, and the 100 journals that litter my bedroom floor there is no organization to the process of this dream of mine.

Last spring, I was rounding out a fourth year at a job I loved. Somewhere deep inside I knew that I was too comfortable again. I was executing photoshoots like clockwork as if I were on cruise control, and my imagination was on pause. I decided to save up money to give myself a writer’s retreat of my own. I left my comfy job and Ian and I rented a cabin near Mt. Hood in Oregon. I had nothing on my agenda for the next two months but a blank canvas, some pens, and a charged laptop.

Within two weeks of moving to Oregon, Ian and I found out we were expecting our first baby. Very quickly, reality slapped the romantic ideas of whiskey glasses and typewriters out of my head. Instead I had two months of morning sickness and a brand new kind of deadline. I couldn’t diddle the days away in a forest talking to deer. If I wanted to make use of my time both in Oregon and before I became a mother, I needed some structure.

The tools that I used in the weeks to come were crucial to getting down a basic timeline of the book I wanted to write. Whiskey I discovered, was not even necessary, and today I have a solid outline for the beginning of what I hope to be a manuscript in the coming years.

Tool 1) The Internet // Research Phase

A couple chapters take place at the apartment where I lived in Toronto between 2010 - 2013. Luckily I have a ton of photos from those years that I can study. Certain furniture, pieces of art and even the clothes we wore, helped trigger memories I may have otherwise forgotten about.

The internet. Duh right? Well guess what you’re researching if you’re writing a memoir? Yourself. And no, I don’t expect a Wikipedia page to unfurl for most of us. This is more about cementing dates and getting your timeline correct. Have you ever found yourself on a roll with writing and then you suddenly freeze because you forget how old you are exactly? Or what important things happened that year? I wrote every year of my life in a grid with my age, grade, what I studied in school, and filled in little notes that seemed to feel important: Teachers, where we lived, what books and movies I loved. Anytime I reach a block on what year a certain memory was, I pull out this grid to help me place the moment in time.

Other than just looking at dates in history, your photos, whether on social media or not, can also be incredible windows into your past. We take so many and forget about them. I started organizing images by placing them in the same grid.

Don’t forget: Keep a scratch pad handy to catch any surprise flows when you’re looking at dates or photos. They’re almost guaranteed to evoke some words.

Tool 2) Book // Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

Writer Anne Lamott gives us instructions on writing and life in her book Bird by Bird. When she was little, her older brother was struggling to write a paper on birds the night before it was due. While he struggled, their father said to him, “Bird by bird buddy. Just take it bird by bird.” 

Basically, the best time to start is now. Forget all the years you should have started writing, or how much longer it will take you to write. Get words in front of words and soon enough the stumble becomes a rhythm.

Lamott effectively emphasizes this notion again here: “E.L. Doctorow once said that 'Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard.”

TLDR: Want to write? Start now, get it on the page. Don’t judge just drive. It will take you somewhere.

Tool 3) Book // The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr

The Art of Memoir was a huge help in clarifying what I was putting on the page. Figuring out how to scale back is so important for memoir writers because we have a lifetime of memories up for grabs. Plus, our ego is constantly saying, “Yes! That’s great, write about that! And that! And that too! Let’s keep it all in!” Which if we did write everything our book would be a million pages long with no audience. How do we know what stories are worth the reader’s time?

Too many ramblings can flood your message. Where did your theme go, and why are you telling this story? It might be a great anecdote at the dinner table, but it may have no place in Chapter 3. Revision is where the magic happens. For all my film nerds, we know there is no best director award without a killer editor.

Karr reminds me, memoirs are about themes less than chronological happenings. The people who are reading your story want to know about the emotive propelling of your life. Unless you’re a famous war hero, or well known public figure that’s already being documented in history books, a step by step recounting of your life is basically, boring.

Mary Karr threw away over 1200 pages of her last memoir.  “I revise and revise and revise,” she writes, “Any editor of mine will tell you how crappy my early drafts are. Revisions are about clarifying and evoking feelings in the reader in the same way they were once evoked in me.”

TLDR: Re-read and revise often and get friendly with your delete key.

Tool 4) GTFO // Seriously, do something else writing related that isn’t about your memoir.

Find the time to get a gig or volunteering where writing is needed. Whether it’s in a similar vein to what you want to write or not, it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s a part-time job writing - the deadlines will instill practice. Maybe you’re helping tutor kids in English - a second shot at your failed academic dreams (OK just me?). Maybe it’s one of those open mic poetry slam things - you need to get used to putting yourself out there if you want to write authentic work.

Maybe it’s not even writing related at all, and your brain needs a break. If you have an inkling that something is calling you outside of the bubble between your laptop and your eyes, answer it.

Tool 5) Social Media // Even if you hate it.

Social media isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so you might as well start befriending it.

Get over how you feel about bloggers or social media. It’s a free and useful practice for writers. Blog, post to your Facebook/ Instagram / IG stories. Tik Tok your thing? Go nuts. Find a creative outlet on a social platform that has even the smallest audience. This is a test for how you handle putting yourself out there.

I am in constant doubt that what I write here on this blog or even in an Instagram caption will have any resonance. I worry about what I might look like to my friends and family. Then I remind myself I’m trying to write a memoir. Ha! This is kid shit. This is the test kitchen and the lab. Throw things, words, ideas, concepts, poems and art at the wall - see what sticks. What draws a reaction with your friends and family? What caused a comment, good or bad? Relish in the experiment, and leave your judgement at the door.

Tool 6) Read S’MORE // …And not just memoirs. 

Best friend to a writer’s desk? A writer’s library. My friend Marie’s beautiful kitchen nook in Malmö.

After reading 5 bestselling memoirs in a row, I started to panic. How the hell was I going to match Karr’s brilliant voice? Was my chapter about adolescence starting to sound like David Eggers? Do I need more poetry a la Sherman Alexie? I have learned so much from reading from some of the greats, but take a pause after 1 or 2 in a row. Your voice needs room to grow too and I find that most of my ideas bloom after reading genres not related to memoir at all. I especially love diving into fantasy and historical fictions, where I can take notes on how to best enrapture an audience using drama and suspense.

Tool 7) Vision board your space // …within reason.

Little collages around my house help spark new thoughts.

Post little reminders around your house or apartment that help kick you in the butt. I have a little poster that says “What are you waiting for?” and I like to make collages for my screensaver to help give me a good boost. You may not want 100 post-its all around your house yelling at you to get to work, but the idea is to remind you once in awhile that you are a writer and you can fucking do this.

My “vision board space” includes having clean work space that I can cozily dive into when the mood strikes. For me this means a large desk free of clutter, a charged laptop, a vase of fresh flowers, family photos stuck around the wall, and a blank notepad.

In summary

The ideas on napkins can only take you so far. Like a fine artist starting a business, your creative ideas need concrete places to land. Beside me right now isn’t a glass of whiskey, but the tiniest and most powerful tool to get me writing at all, my daughter.

Hyperion! Why we gave an ancient word new meaning…

Hyperion everywhere.

Have you ever felt that rush…

The few seconds when a loud concert hall darkens, comes to a hush, and the audience roars as the band arrives on stage?

Waking up in a new city in another country and not knowing where your day will take you?

Hiking up the last crescent of the mountain, knowing your eyes are about to be rewarded?

Walking into your favorite restaurant on an empty stomach? Walking into a brand new restaurant you’ve always wanted to try?

During a first kiss? Or maybe during what you think might be your last?

Origin Story

It was 2017 and my dear friend Linda was coming to visit me in SoCal. It was her third time flying down to San Diego’s coast from Toronto, so we decided a weekend in LA would be the best jaunt this time around. There was a show at the LA Philharmonic that included free drinks on the garden rooftop. Any excuse to dress up and high brow around town! Plus there was a yurt in someone’s backyard via Airbnb that was calling our names. I wonder if any neighbors happened to peek over their fence only to see two girls putting on cocktail dresses outside on a deck raised above Silver Lake, sharing a locker sized mirror. I wonder if between big gulps of cheap white and discussing the possibility of alien life, we knew we were about to invent a word.

Hyperion Avenue

Linda and I met a handful of years ago, while working for Collective Arts Brewing. Her love for travel, conspiracy theories, music, and art always made for wild ivy-like conversations that branched from Canadian/ US politics one second, to our forever battle we endure when it comes to dying our hair “blonde.”

We were in the cab on the way to the Phil when one of my favorite conversations happened. It wasn’t our deepest by any stretch, but it would have a lasting effect on how we’d communicate thereafter. Maybe it was the mind-bending Gehry-designed building, the epic classical concert, or the roof views of one of our favorite cities, that punctuated the conversation, but this was a moment we wouldn’t forget:

“Do you ever get little jolts of excitement before certain moments that kind of take your breath away?”

“Yes! Wait, like the excitement before a really good meal, or before an epic trip across the country?”

“Exactly! Like, it’s not really the action coming up that matters, but the elation of anticipation just knocks you off your feet.... I feel like there isn’t a word for that.”

“Right. Excited is too overused. Elated seems …. inflated.”

“Yeah, there is no appropriate word. I can’t think of any.”

We were silent while the taxi turned onto Hyperion Avenue. We looked up.

“Hyperion?”

Later that same evening the hyperion continued with an epic taco truck meal.

But why?

Yes, this journal entry is about how we made up a word. Or rather, gave a very ancient word new meaning. Hyperion is already named in the dictionary. But imagine our meta-hyperion when we find out why it’s there in the first place. It’s both the tallest tree in the world and one of the 12 greek god children of Gaia.

Over the course of the next year, I would try to explain this new idea to a handful of friends and family. Sometimes just sliding in a little “Oooh, hyperion,” before taking the first sip of a delicious beer. Most laugh and more than a few lovingly joke that I’m ridiculous. After all, what’s the point of any of this? On more than one occasion I have heard friends use it (perhaps sarcastically) in conversation without my prompts. For a writer, that shit gets you going.

In a way, I’ve reverse-bucket-listed something I never thought I wanted to accomplish. Whether this goes anywhere or not, Linda and I know we came up with a word that we use often and we like to say among friends. 

Send your imagination in hyper-drive > why can’t we invent words or give them new meaning?

Forget the why - Why not?

When we are children, our lives are filled with group projects. Invent a country! Spend a day in the life of any career of your choice! Make your own newspaper! These creative endeavors taught us organization and dedication, but most importantly these little projects teach us how to think outside the box. Put something on paper that hasn’t been put there before. We’re adults now and we don’t get to play in this world unless we assign ourselves these tasks.

So consider this our continuing-ed project. We invented a word and we damn well think we deserve an A on it. What’s your next group project going to be?

Hot dude hugging a kitty? HYPERION

Hyperion

hī-ˈpir-ē-ən

Verb and/or Interjection

An emotional state of extreme excitement which usually precedes an event that the subject is “looking forward to.”

I am trying this new Michelin star restaurant tonight and I am so hyperion right now.

I don’t want to come off too hyperion on the first date.

“First day in London!” “#hyperionforyou”

Synonyms:

Excited

Elated

Wow

Stellar

Antonyms:

Indifferent

Whatever

Dull

Blah

When you combine autumn with hiking, it’s the ultimate hyperion.

Other definitions:

Hyperion

A titan, father of Helios (sun)

Of Hyperion we are told that he was the first to understand, by diligent attention and observation, the movement of both the sun and the moon and the other stars, and the seasons as well, in that they are caused by these bodies, and to make these facts known to others; and that for this reason he was called the father of these bodies, since he had begotten, so to speak, the speculation about them and their nature.

— Diodorus Siculus (5.67.1)

Hyperion is a coast redwood (Sequoia sempervirens) in California that was measured at 115.85 m (380.1 ft), which ranks it as the world's tallest known living tree.[1]

Might as well end this with a moonset. Hear the loons? Hyperion, baby.

Movies for the Pregnant Film Geek

Grieving the loss of options in pregnancy-related movies. Yet, Jessica Brown Findlay in This Beautiful Fantastic delivers some unexpected maternal feels for me.

I’M A FILM Nerd…

I always have been and I hope I always will be. One time a film professor opened a class by describing the movie theater experience as the superior way to watch a film. He spoke in slow, simple sentences and he may as well have been describing erotica.

The smell of freshly vacuumed carpet and buttered popcorn envelopes you. The cushioned seat that welcomes you home for the next two hours. The excitement escalates when the dim of the lights signal to everyone it’s about to start. The flicker of the projector. The thrill of the sound-system blaring on suddenly. Everyone is in it together, with no pause button, no interruptions allowed.

I had a big dumb grin and half-closed eyes the whole time he was speaking. I went to go see a movie immediately after that class.

Nothing has changed much today, well, except the fact that I am 21 weeks pregnant and feeling a whole lot of, well, everything. I’ll catch feelings from any previews out right now. Try me, I’ve cried during all of them. I’m looking at you Jojo Rabbit. 

On the other side of things, my extra-credit earning hormones are also in overdrive when it comes to seeing movies about parenthood that I can’t identify with what.so.ever. I got so irritated during the last 20 minutes of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, I turned it off. I get what they were trying to accomplish by showing “all the shades of pregnancy grey,” but multi-storyline rom-coms are hard to pull off. Plus I didn’t see a shred of me in any character.

(Exception: She almost exclusively talks about parenting and child birth, but I can watch Ali Wong’s stand up all day long)

I started looking at other preg-flicks and realized there weren’t any other moms on screen I was identifying with. Even my favorite as a kid, Father of the Bride II was now hard to watch (but maybe that’s just because Diane Keaton 9 months pregnant was messing with my head). Honestly though, I’m just not the kind of woman who looks down at her growing belly and sees God for the first time. My birth plan is whatever safest exit route that will do the least amount of damage. Don’t write me off yet, I am in awe, but where are the movies about the soon-to-be mom who sees her pregnancy in a foreboding mushroom trip? The one where she goes on one last road trip across the country alone before the baby comes? The one where she writes an existential volume of poetry about the whole thing? Nope. Just moms shopping for nursery shit, fighting with their husbands, and planning baby showers.

I know the answer to my issue is pretty obvious, stop watching movies about pregnancy. And maybe go see a psychiatrist.

Alas, my roller-coaster ride of the maternal film hunt has led me here. To a list of movies that excite me for the next chapter of my life that doesn’t have Pottery Barn Kids as the main sponsor. If you identify with any of these sentiments above I hope you find some gems in here too.

Watchlist for expecting parents who don’t need a reminder of how crazy labor is, or how much kids cry:

Movies about gardening

Dare to be Wild is the true story of Mary Reynolds, an Irish pioneer in the gardening world.

It checks all the boxes. Budding life. Season and cycles. Good looking women and men falling in love around gorgeous gardens, around the world. When a little monologue happens about the beauty of budding life, the impermanence of life, and the joys of creating a better world, I think how cool it is I get to participate in being a greenhouse myself.

This Beautiful Fantastic - Watch Downton Abbey’s Sybil play a reluctant gardener. Andrew Scott steals the show as usual.

Dare to be Wild - I had no idea who Mary Reynolds was until now, and I’m so glad I do. Plus, Tom Hughes.

A Little Chaos - For a loftier, all-engrossing period piece about the garden designer’s of Versailles. 

Movies about kickass teenagers

The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys is early work from Emile Hirsch and Kieran Culkin and it’s good.

Forget movies about the overwhelming duty of childbirth, a changing body, and impossible newborns. Watching movies about pre-teens makes me excited for the day I have a couple of my own of whom I’ll likely try to desperately prove I’m cool to.

C.R.A.Z.Y - Jean Marc Vallee writes and directs one of the best coming of age tales I’ve ever seen. Set in the 60’s and 70’s, this is a reminder that each human is their own, no matter how much parents wish they’d conform to their wishes.

Boyhood - This film is practically a child, taking over 12 years to film an authentic peek into the life of one family. So many good lessons in this one for kids and parents.

The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys - Can you tell I was raised Catholic? Four boys growing up under the thumb of an excellent Jodie Foster as a villainous nun. Plus, a teenage Emile Hirsch and Kieran Culkin? Come on!

About a Boy - If you haven’t seen this yet, run to your TV and throw it on. There is no better film about a hesitant father-figure, a quirky mom, and an even weirder little kid. Who wouldn’t want Nicholas Hoult as their child? Except that he’s older and handsome now, so yeah maybe not.

Movies about the even cooler elderly

Winona swathed in 90’s patterns, haircuts, and advice. What’s better?

Talk about putting life in perspective. Nothing like watching an old man pine over a photo of his grandkids that never visit that make you want to procreate and try your luck at the same game.

A Man called Ove - Swedish book turned Swedish film (both excellent) about a grumpy old man and his new neighbors. The sadness in his story is so tangible, which makes the moments of happiness so much sweeter.

How to Make an American Quilt - Winona Ryder in her 90’s heyday, surrounded by the wisdom of some seriously cool g-mas. She and her mother struggle with following up to the label of mother and daughter, which give this solid 1990’s coming of age film extra credit from me.

Calendar Girls - It’s a true story, it’s hilarious, and the English rolling landscapes are A+. Plus you have to respect any movie that addresses the frustrations that come with being an older woman. There aren’t many.

Super sexy movies

This scene in Call Me By Your Name should have every parent taking notes.

For some, being pregnant does not equal feeling sexy. Here’s a little spark to get the wheels turning again. This section could be interchangeable with “Movies starring insanely sexy women & men who have had children and still slay.” (Re: Charlotte Gainsbourg, Armie Hammer, Marion Cotillard, well done, well done.)

Call Me By Your Name - Nothing like a romp in the Italian countryside to instill a feeling that age doesn’t matter. Plus the father-son scene near the end is one of the best parenting moments I’ve ever seen on screen.

In The Mood For Love - Good lord this movie is good. You’ll be on the hunt for form-fitting day-dresses and touching every stair bannister a little longer after watching this. Maggie Cheung is a work of art. Every frame of this is a work of art.

Nymphomaniac (vol. I and II) - Figured I’d end with a bang! Lars Von Trier gets unreal performances out of Charlotte Gainsbourg and Shia LaBeouf. One that will stay with you long after you watch it.

In summary, watch what makes you feel good and watch as many as you can in theaters. From what I hear going to the movies isn’t easy as a new mom. Bonus points to the ones that stay on your mind long after they’ve ended. These ones did it for me.