The Lark

Before you push play, please be sure to have all your snacks and beverages in hand. Potty breaks taken. This request comes from the director, Mr. Scott Contor, who will shush you, wherever you may be, if you disrupt. Trust me. He's the king of the shush. And he hasn't slept in three weeks so irritable doesn't even begin to describe his state today.

Part One


Part Two (My favorite part begins at 7:32—cracks me up)


Part Three


Part Four


Three months ago, I wrote a whimsical post about wanting to take a road trip to Chicago to see, for the first time in person, a painting that had come to mean a lot to me. And I proposed wearing a dress from J. Peterman's new line because it was aptly called the Portrait Dress. And I felt that wearing a dress from the retailer famous for his sense of adventure was very fitting—pun intended. And apparently so did he.

Though you'll see evidence of his generosity in the film manifested in matching dresses for the lark girls, I wanted to publicly say how much his gift meant to our adventure. Watching what began as a lark of a post transform into something very real and life-changing has everything to do with people like Mr. Peterman who believe. I can't thank him and the entire Peterman gang enough for doing so.

A great big thank you also to:

Director, Scott Contor, who has seriously not slept a restful night since October.

Beaten By Yuri, the Chicago-based band responsible for the kick-ass music throughout. Unbelievable.

The Art Institute of Chicago for allowing us to film The Song of the Lark.

Ayelet Waldman, an amazing woman and writer who says very brave things and sent me her latest book full of the proof—Bad Mother, on bookshelves this spring.

Bastone and Commune Lounge of Royal Oak, MI for hosting one hellofa premiere.

Andrew Wright for movie poster design and for Photoshopping the hell out of Miss Ive.

All the cab drivers in Chi-town who let us pile six people and a camera in. And for answering all Jaime's personal questions.

The Chicago city worker who allowed Miss Ive to operate heavy artillery, almost losing his foot in the process.

The Lark Girls—my dear friends and fellow adventurers: Jaime, Becky, Kathy and Erika.

And, of course, our husbands, who stayed behind, changed diapers and held down the homesteads.

To all friends and readers, and to all of our new friends from Chicago, thanks for seeing us through all the antics that led to today.

Now, Miss Ive will be sleeping for the next week, so please leave comments very quietly. . .