It's a Mad Max World!

The Last Week

Posted on May 16, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

Dear Max,

Every time I sit down to write you this letter, I start to cry.

I am so, so proud of you. I am so moved by the amazing changes that we’ve seen taking root within you in the last week.

With the help of some amazing friends, you have opened the door into the realm of little-boyhood, and run right through.

5 days at Liam and Hazen’s house meant waking up and asking “Where are my fwends?”, and flying down the stairs to play in your pajamas. You had constant companions, new big brothers, and a bonus set of parents to add even more love to the mix…

You learned about hockey and tiny frogs. You began to explore on your own, running off to the playroom with the big boys and busying yourself with projects and games and imaginary worlds. You communicated with your friends in your own way, running past me to give a brief hello on your way to the next adventure.

You learned about action figures and “super-here-yoes”. You discovered Transformers and Star Wars. You realized that the games that were hiding within your imagination were the best ones to play. You grew confident, and even more curious, and you owned your own relationships with your buddies. But most importantly, you unearthed the little boy that was growing behind your baby smile.

You became a three year old, my sweet son.

You found beautiful friendships, and you blossomed next to the kindness of Mark and Tanya’s amazing boys. Their sweet spirits are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They are mirrors of their parents, who welcomed us into their home and their lives, greeting us with late-night conversation, North Carolina BBQ, and some Southern (with a dash of California/Boston/Maine) hospitality.

We found the community that we had been looking for. We found the quiet moments that we had been missing. We found the joy and the laughter that sometimes gets overlooked in the hustle and bustle of the “everyday”. Mark and Tanya have always been special to us. Their kindness and humor and gentle wisdom have been a part of some pretty special moments in our lives. Every time we are with them, we ease in to the routine of old friends.

We laughed more, we loved harder, we played in the grass with sticks, we walked further, we had more ice cream, we took more detours. We found our family groove again, living beside the Johnson family. We had time to enjoy each other. And Max, you grew. You grew into a little boy who speaks sentences that we can all understand and marvel at. You learned to share and experience and welcome change. You ate chicken strips and drank chocolate milkshakes. You played in the North Carolina sunshine and slept through your first Southern thunderstorm. You made friends with “meow-meow” and learned the names of every superhero. You made string tightropes with Hazen and shared jumps on the trampoline. You loved on Tanya and basked in the glow of “mama-goodness” that overflows from her. You took Mark’s hand and made sure that he was watching as you “pwayed HOCK-eee” with Liam. You soaked in every minute of vacation time with your Daddy, and made sure that he knew that he was your favorite person on this earth.

These are your last weeks of being 2, Max. You are becoming the little boy that I always imagined you would be. You are entering this new world with a backpack of skills and traits and treasures from your toddlerhood. You have the same happy laugh and the same broad smile. You have the same excitement and the same energy. You have your kind, loving spirit and your belief in the goodness of this world. And you are ready. You are ready for boyhood, my beautiful, brilliant son. I am sure of it, because I’ve witnessed you welcoming 3 with open arms. These are the last weeks of two years old Max. In the last week, you have shown us that you’re ready for your next adventure. We are right here beside you, cheering you on and loving you, watching your journey unfold exactly the way it’s supposed to.

I love you so much, and I am so, so proud of you Max.

Love,

Mommy

Categories: The Adventures Of Max, Travel | Tags: Friends, little moments, travel | Leave a comment

Thanks Time Magazine, Now Shut The Hell Up

Posted on May 14, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

I said I wasn’t going to mention it. For the last week, I’ve kept fairly silent on the whole “Hot mama nursing her toddler boy on the cover of Time magazine” ~~debacle~~ discussion. I’m not nursing a toddler. And I’m pretty confidently entrenched in my own style of Attachment Parenting, so I don’t really give a shit what Dr. Sears or another blogger or Mayim Bialik thinks/says/feels about how I parent, thank you very much. So I sat back and watched it all play out. With a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. One that I couldn’t quite name, and honestly, didn’t have the energy to put words to.

Until Tiffany wrote this.

Go ahead. Read it. I’ll save your seat until you come back.

“I hope that you are thirsty for information” she tells her son Mason. Information. Don’t judge others before your thirst for knowledge has been satisfied with information. And suddenly Tiffany made me realize that the article was hurting people. The article was making moms feel bad for doing something natural and loving and nurturing, and it was completely overshadowing any teachable moment about Attachment Parenting. The article wasn’t a “win” for anyone. It was a smack in the face to any mother who thought she was doing it “right”, whether “right” meant nursing her child on demand or measuring powdered formula into a bottle.

Have you discussed the Time article on FaceBook? Have you laughed about it in your playgroup? Has your husband cracked jokes about how he’d like to be the one on that stool?

It isn’t the picture that bothers me, or even the horribly divisive headline of “Are you Mom Enough?”. It’s the backlash. It’s the public discussion of something that should be decided in families. It’s the bloggers and talking heads on the nightly news, who are inviting themselves into every parent’s home and judging how they feed their child.

I don’t give a shit how you feed your baby, or your toddler, or even your ten year old for that matter. As long as you FEED THEM.

Every day, 4 children in the US die from child abuse and neglect. Over 75% of them are under the age of 4. I have sat with mothers whose children have been tortured. I have watched through a two-way mirror as a play therapist used an anatomically correct doll to encourage a three-year old to speak his painful truth. I have worked with six year old boys who had perpetrated against other children.

Let’s talk about THAT. Let’s put our collective breath and internet energy toward shaming the real bad guys. When you shame mothers who are nurturing and nourishing their children, you are saying that breast feeding is something to hide. You are saying that YOUR discomfort over seeing an exposed breast takes priority over the hunger/frustration/neediness of a child. That’s selfish. That’s shameful.

Moms who breastfeed their toddlers are FEEDING THEIR TODDLERS. It is not child abuse. It is not shameful. It is not for you to laugh at or ridicule or lampoon. It is not YOURS to consume.

Do you care that I fed my son macaroni and cheese last night? Of course you don’t. Do you care that I lie down in his bed at night to help him fall asleep? Of course not. Are you ready to open up your curtains and allow the world to pass judgement on how you parent?

I didn’t think so.

So here’s a few rules that I think we could all benefit from:

1. If you’re not a mother, you don’t get to have an opinion about the Time picture. Yep. Scream all you want, but I stand by that. Now I don’t give a shit if you’re a nursing mom or a bottle/formula feeding mom. Lord knows that I’ve done both, and that both can be a royal pain in the ass. The point is, that unless you have been a mother who has been tasked with the incredibly complicated, emotionally and even physically painful process of FEEDING your child in some way, you don’t get to comment on how children are fed by their parents.

2. Before you speak, examine your own discomfort. Why are YOU so uncomfortable with seeing a mom nursing a toddler? What does it make YOU think of? What is YOUR paradigm, and how does it affect YOU if someone parents differently than you do/would? Did you see something sexual in that picture? That was YOUR interpretation. Own it.

3. Before you speak, acknowledge that the media can be an amazing puppeteer. Do you know that you are being played? Turning us against each other sells magazines. It makes us question our gut response, and allows us to think that we are entitled to answers that aren’t ours to own.

4. Go to the uncomfortable place inside of you that found that picture to be sexual. Time did that on purpose. They chose a “hot mom”. Who was nursing a toddler BOY. Instead of having her snuggle him on the couch they put him on a chair so that he looked like a tiny adult. They attempted to make him the mother’s equal. And then they put a camera in his face so that he would give an adult “What are YOU looking at?” stare. And don’t forget the trendy skinny jeans and sexy tank top on mom. The more we shame nursing mothers, the more we ask them to leave a restaurant to nurse, or cover up with a blanket, or sit on the toilet in a public restroom to nurse because you’re offended, the more we make nursing a dirty/titillating/taboo/giggle over a BOOB on the cover of Time kind of thing. Time wanted you to go to your dark place. They wanted you to confuse desire and nurturing. They wanted you to be so ignorant of nursing that you acted like a Jr High tween boy. And it worked. When you were shocked and uncomfortable, you talked about it. You tried to shake off how dirty it made you feel by posting about it on FaceBook and bashing her on Mommy Forums. It was free advertising for Time, at your expense. Nice work guys.

Children are suffering greatly at the hands of their parents, all over the world. The child on the cover of Time is being FED. Tiffany’s sweet Mason is being FED. If you are really that upset about children being FED, then drive over to your local homeless shelter and FEED a child. Bring them a sandwich. Give money to your local elementary school so that they can supplement their free lunch program. Volunteer as a CASA or a Big Brother/Big Sister and be a friend to a child who is experiencing a loneliness unlike anything you’ve ever imagined.

Be the change. Don’t judge. Say thank you. Thank you mamas, for feeding your babies. On stools, on couches, at dinner tables, in rocking chairs. Thank you for nourishing your children, however you know how. I stand by you as you nurse your three year old, with a sippee cup of milk in my hand and a bowl of macaroni and cheese in the other. Rock on nursing mamas, and the rest of you? Well, just shut the hell up and go cook dinner. While you were on FaceBook trashing other moms, your kids were getting hungry.

Categories: The Adventures Of Max | Tags: Yum | 5 Comments

The Adventure Continues…

Posted on May 12, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

Categories: The Adventures Of Max, Travel | Tags: travel | Leave a comment

Revealing

Posted on May 8, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

My husband is at a business function tonight. At the Versace Mansion. In South Beach. The motherfucking Versace Mansion, y’all.

As for me? I’m lying next to my sleeping toddler in our hotel room.

My sleeping toddler who I love and adore. In a very beautiful hotel room. The one that Jennifer Aniston apparently stays at when she visits Miami Beach. (I know this not because I’ve seen her, but because that’s what a mom from playgroup told me). I know, I’m privileged. First world problems, and all.

It doesn’t mean I’m not ~~pissed~~ kind of upset.

Sean’s job revolves around ~~schmoozing people~~ sales. He is skilled in the art of relationships. Big, profitable companies throw big, wonderful parties. At places like the Versace Mansion. So that they can all stand around and perfect their relationships. It’s work. I get it. Getting dressed up to go out drinking with beautiful people in a beautiful place is work. And of course I’m oversimplifying it. Sean works hard. His industry is incredibly demanding. He works long hours and travels frequently. He succeeds because he is driven. He single-handedly puts food on the table and a roof over our heads, because he is good at the work that he does. Max goes to an elite preschool because Sean works hard. We are able to join him on this business trip because he works hard…..and because I don’t…work. And blah de blah de blah. I know, you get it. I do too.

So do me one small favor, then?

Allow me to be a bitch for a second and get something off my chest.

This. Fucking. Sucks.

It sucks. It sucks because I am sitting in a hotel room at 9pm in my pajama pants, and they are soaked through with Max’s tears and snot. It sucks because my husband is partying with pretty women who don’t have families to come home too. It sucks because my jealousy and anxiety and general discontent eat away at reality and any sense of logic sometimes.

Before I met Sean, my lifestyle was….well, considering I have immediate family reading this…we’ll call it fast and furious. If you are one of my dearest girlfriends, please stop laughing right now. I was never a big drinker. I didn’t do drugs. But for a while, OK a really long time, I survived on the adrenaline rush that came from being noticed. Noticed. I got high off relationships. I got high when I went out with my girlfriends and caught the eye of the hottest bartender in the club. I got high from getting dressed up in something sexy and dancing with someone new. I got high when I transformed from the conservative, polite lady who worked in the police department to the daring, questioning 20-something in the stilettos who welcomed all that the big city had to offer. My validation came from phone calls at midnight, drinks paid for in a dark bar, riding too fast on the back of That Guy’s motorcycle, starting my night at 2 am. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I am the most gorgeous girl out there. Not in any way. But I knew my um…assets….and made up for the rest with some crazy youthful confidence. And I’m not saying that I was a slut either. I was far too choosy to be a slut. I was a serial dater. Partly because I liked the wrong men, and partly because I enjoyed dressing up for dates. All of my validation came from outside. Everything was external.

I know, that’s pretty sad. But it is what it is. And it worked for me. Then, at least.

Until I met Sean. Now anyone who knows my husband knows that he isn’t exactly generous with the compliments. Sean has a tough-as-nails exterior, a Jersey attitude, and so much of his own confidence that he often forgets to share the spotlight with anyone else. On our third date he insulted both my pants and my “shitty” camera. But something told me to slow down. Something inside of me whispered that I should stop playing the game. And something deeper screamed that if I didn’t open my eyes, I was going to bottom out. My life had been in a tailspin. I was bordering complete disaster, and it felt like shit. On our first date, Sean and I talked about politics for so long, that they started to close the restaurant around us. He valued what I had to say. He noticed my tight jeans, but then reminded me that I didn’t always have to show everything off. He appreciated conversation, and modesty, and a girl who could kick his ass in a debate. Don’t tell him I said that. He was a creative romantic, and it more than made up for the cracks about how I cuffed my pants. This guy might not be handing out “Oh what a pretty dress” and “Gee honey your hair looks lovely”, but he proposed to me on a bridge in Paris overlooking Notre Dame, and then again on the Steps of Rome. Sean shows his love in ways that both surprise me and lift me up, and when he finally does speak up, I never worry that it’s just words.

Fast-forward a few years, and I’m nice and settled in my “new” life. It looks NOTHING like the old life. I have the privilege of mothering an amazing little boy, one who I longed for since before I could even grasp what it would mean to have a child of my own. I have a partner who cares for us in the most selfless of ways, and devotes every spare minute to embracing our family. We have “family hugs” and go on adventures that allow Max to see the world beyond our tiny town by the bay. We are enveloped by a nurturing community of extended family and dear friends. And yet…

You all know how I spend my days. I spend them at the playground, dodging flying sand. I spend them in the aisles of Target while Max is at preschool, trying to redefine myself by buying colorful new juice glasses to spruce up our kitchen or a sexy new bra to make me feel like an actual person again. (Seriously though…you could completely reinvent yourself at Target…I could live there.) I spend mornings singing “The Shabbat Dinosaur” song and afternoons making play-dough into pizza. If you catch me on a good day, I’ll tell you that I KNOW I’m an excellent mom. Of course I get scared, and anxious, and doubt my mothering skills….but on a good day, I know that I’m actually doing fine. For all of the twists and turns that have thrown us off course in this parenting journey, Sean and I still secretly think that we’re pretty superior when it comes to raising an incredible kid. Don’t worry…..we think you are too.

When I really stop to think about it though? It’s not the mothering that I’m concerned about.

It’s the rest.

I have no idea who I am anymore, outside of the swing-set and the bubble-blowing and the bedtime stories. My parenting gets validated every day…..when Max pets my hair and looks into my face, and asks for a “nose kiss”. When his preschool teacher tells me how much she enjoys having him in class. When I can thwart a meltdown by saying the right thing, or when Max responds with “No thank you” or “Nice to meet you”.

But what about the rest of me? What happened to the part of me who could stare down a room of 20 police officers and talk to them about sexual assault and appropriate trauma response? What happened to the woman who worked in a housing project in one of the worst neighborhoods in town, and walked myself to my car at 10 pm? Where is the girl who wore the miniskirts and went home with the bartender? How do I soothe my soul if I’m not out until last call or driving around the city reveling in the hidden underworld of the counter-culture revolution? I know that soothing Max to sleep when he has a cold is so much more important than wearing a trendy dress to a party with Sean. I know that doing the perfect “smoky eye” and having highlighted hair that’s blown out “Mad Men” style isn’t as important as explaining to my toddler that we’re going to have a “Max and Mommy” night in the hotel room. I know that there are thousands of women who would give anything to have this life….this beautiful family. And I am in no way saying that I would trade it for anything. My family is the best thing that could’ve turned my life upside down.

But there isn’t any balance. None at all. I am not a working mom. I am not a running mom. I am not a crafting mom. I am just a mom, and that is wonderful and special and an enormous blessing…..but sometimes it terrifies me that I have let go of everything else that defined me. So much so that Sean sometimes laughs that “You’re an excellent mom, but not always the greatest wife.”

I am a wife. I am a mother. And because of my past, I get sick to my stomach when my husband ends up at the Versace Mansion and I am in a hotel in my pajamas. I trust him. Of course I trust him. He has never given me a reason to doubt him. But I used to be the kind of woman who found a challenge in guys like Sean. And now I hate women like me. It’s not that I’m worried he’ll cheat, it’s that I’m worried that I’ve become the kind of woman that men cheat ON.

Oooooh. Let that sit with you for a minute.

I’ve been to the dark side of monogamy. Not in my marriage (Oh god no, not in my marriage. My marriage, and of course my son, are the only things that I’ve held sacred IN MY LIFE). But in my past. Haven’t we all tested our limits in some ways? Haven’t we all looked down on someone else’s relationships, thought that we were better, gotten high on the attention that we stole from someone else? Don’t judge me. Be honest with yourself.

So what happens when I wake up and find that I’m now on the other side of the fence? I’ve left the dark lipstick behind, and now I’m curled up next to the child that I longed for, and waiting for my husband to come back from living his life.

What does it mean if I need more than Mommy validation? The problem isn’t Sean, or his job, or our child, or the travel, or the long hours. It’s not even the Versace Mansion (though trust me, it would’ve been nice to see…..and I have the perfect outfit, and the shoes, and the purse, and the blow-out and the…..nevermind). The problem is the biting fear of my discontent. It is the salty craving of an adrenaline rush, the need to be noticed, to be exceptional at something other than parenting.

It’s been a looooong time since I’ve gotten high.

Categories: Looking Back, The Adventures Of Max, Travel | Tags: My Past, This is really hard | 6 Comments

The Adventure Begins….

Posted on May 5, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

We made it!! Max was a rock star on the airplane!

The big boy Cars backpack was stuffed with surprises to keep Max busy on our long flight….

Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop are great traveling companions! They’re up for a trolley adventure, a dip in the infinity pool, and lots of hugs and kisses!

The weather is beautiful, the people are ummm….very interesting and very BRONZED, and the bedtimes are late!

Aside from a minor swim diaper mishap (“Oh no Mommy! I just go pee-pee in my SHOES!”), it’s been a Will Smith style Miami vacation so far….sing it with me now “Welcome to Mi-AMI! Bienvenidos a Mi-Ami!”

Categories: The Adventures Of Max, Travel | Tags: travel | Leave a comment

Evil Things I Want To Say To New Mothers

Posted on May 1, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

So here’s the thing. I may or may not have written a post about how it’s really not very nice to judge other moms. “We’re all just trying our best”, I sweetly offered up. It was supposed to be a cool salve to the burning cheeks of mortified mothers holding tantruming toddlers in grocery stores everywhere. That article may or may not have prompted a few discussions about how we can all help each other out. Give moms a break, and all. Lovely people responded with lovely comments, and I was SO proud of all of us moms….lifting each other up, loving ourselves for our flaws…

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes I think REALLY TERRIBLE THINGS about other moms. Mean, spiteful, hateful, “I hope your future baby has colic and you end up wearing schleppy mom clothes and driving carpool with cheerios stuck to the bottom of your slippers” type of thoughts. There. I said it.

I’m so sorry. I do feel strongly about not judging other moms. I do think that we should shower each other in flowery goodness.

Most of the time. Except for right this moment.

How ’bout I just go for it, and hope that you don’t hate me in the morning?

Today Max and I were ~~squabbling~~ enjoying lunch together at the local coffee shop. A pregnant woman (who looked very cute in her trendy maternity clothes) was quietly sipping her decaf latte, enjoying her time by herself, when Max decided to climb on the back of the booth and reach over to the light switch. And turn the lights off in the entire cafe. Repeatedly. Until I hissed “If you turn the lights off again we WILL LEAVE. Do you understand?? I am NOT kidding.” And she glared at me. And did one of those “quiet clucks” with her mouth. Clearly her imaginary mothering was WAY better than mine. Until I pathetically offered up my very best developmentally-appropriate Mommy response of ”Max honey, we need to leave the lights on so that our friends in the cafe can see. They need to see to eat their lunch sweetie.” And I packed up our food to go, and we ~~walked~~ ran out the door as she pretended not to watch us. So here’s a few hints for you Peaceful Decaf Pregnant Lady:

1. Enjoy that leisurely cup of coffee. It may be the last one you ever have…I mean, the last one you’ll ever enjoy without having to stop your kid from dumping blueberries all over the floor of the restaurant, because he wants to watch them roooooolllll. And then when you go to throw them all away in the trashcan across the room, he yells “But I waaaaant the bue-bewwies!” And then he crawls underneath the table and eats the lonely one that got away…..before you can stop him….while proudly exclaiming “Look mommy! I a puppy!” Savor that foamy cup of young 20-something identity, lady. In about a month, you won’t even remember this life.

2. Oh and guess what? Your precious new baby won’t sleep. Your baby will probably NEVER sleep. You will never have a leisurely Sunday morning AGAIN. So stop spouting off your theories about The Happiest Baby on The Block and how you plan on sleep training/cry it out/gentle sleep learning. It’s a book. And we used it to prop up one end of Max’s crib. And even that didn’t work. None of it will work. Babies, by nature, don’t always sleep. Because they’re little. And hungry. And can’t talk. You can’t train it out of ‘em. And maybe, if you’re lucky, your baby won’t sleep until sometime during their first year of PRESCHOOL. Why? As Max would say “BECAUSE”. (I love the moms on my favorite attachment parenting hippie crunchy mommy forum. They put up with my recent vent about how formula doesn’t always help babies sleep through the night. And then I offered up to them that I sometimes feel compelled to yell at brand new moms who are crying over their 6 week old non-sleeping babies “They’re not SUPPOSED to sleep at this age! And they may NEVER sleep! Hahahahahaha! Welcome to parenthood bitches!!!” Which is really so attachment/loving/hippie crunchy of me, isn’t it?)

….which brings me to my next evil point…..

2. When you get pregnant, there’s a good chance you will be HUUUUGE. The hilarious Carinn at Welcome To The Motherhood (which is a PERFECT name for a blog by the way, and I find myself ~~stealing~~ using her catchphrase often, while adding “bitches”) welcomed Jessica Simpson to the motherhood recently. I felt compelled to share my ~~congratulations~~ snarky mama love with her, and broke my “be kind and lift y’all up” pledge by commenting that the pregnant Jessica Simpson was HUUUUGE. There. I said it. And of course I mean it in the nicest way. When you are baking a baby in your BODY, you are going to grow! You’re supposed to get bigger! It’s not fat, it’s baby-making weight! You can not grow another human being by existing solely on a macro-biotic diet of all green food. You can’t. And shame on the celebrities who offer that up to the rest of us as normal. When I was pregnant with Max I ate jalepeno poppers on a very regular basis. The ones filled with cream cheese and then deep fried. And we ordered them with a side of pizza. I was a ~~little~~ lot shocked when Max came screaming into this world at 6 lbs 2 oz however. Because where were the other 34 lbs that I had gained??????? Pregnant bodies are beautiful. And Jessica Simpson may have eaten a few jalepeno poppers. God bless her.

3. When you have a child, your wardrobe changes. Drastically. You will learn quickly, after a major diaper explosion blow-out on your favorite sweater, that it makes much more sense to buy your clothes from Target and Old Navy. Dark clothes. And flat shoes. I learned this the hard way. And right about the time that the liquid baby poop stops, the toddler fingerpaints/yogurt/muddy handprints/flourescent playdough starts. You’re just a walking collage of your child’s day from now on. Forever 21 is cheap. Trendy enough that every once in a while you’ll get asked “Are you the mom, or the Nanny?”. Buying a new white flowy bohemian blouse there insures you won’t feel guilty when you throw it in the trash instead of hand-washing the vomit out of it. (Sidenote: Sean just said “Babe, that’s not true. You wear cute outfits still! Like those new bright blue pants.” I love him. I love that he lets me walk around saying that I’m a MILF, even though he did tell Max to ask me where the battery pack for my pants was. They were a little bright. But that’s cool, right? They were $69. Please don’t tell him.)

4. Whatever you name your kid, people will fuck it up. How complicated is “Max”? It’s not. Except we constantly get “Is it Maxwell? Maximillion?” and Sean’s favorite “Oh, HI MAXIE!” My husband will go all Jersey on you if you use a nickname for his son. That’s why we called him something easy, like Max. Thank you very much Jessica Simpson for naming your new daughter Maxwell, to be called Maxi. Because that makes sense?! You’re fucking it up for the rest of us. Oh, and congratulations. I’m so glad that you had a nearly 10 lb baby, because you have a much better excuse than I did for gaining 20 40 pounds.

5. Holding your very sweet, very red, very squishy, tiny little newborn in your arms will change your life. Your baby will rock your world, your wardrobe, your sex life, and your sleep cycle. And if you’re lucky, when you have an (almost) three year old who spills water all over the floor of a cafe while reaching over to empty out the container that holds 37 packets of Splenda, there won’t be any snarky moms like me looking over your shoulder to say “I told you so”.

Because that wouldn’t be very helpful now, would it?

Categories: The Adventures Of Max | Tags: you know you're a mom when | 6 Comments

Sick

Posted on April 27, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

Max: “Owwwwwww!”

Mommy: “What hurts honey?”

Max: “Meeeeee!”

It’s Day 2 of the high-fever-with-no-known-cause Version 2.0, and my poor little guy is miserable.

Max: “I want some noo-noo’s!”

Me: (gets up, makes noodles, brings them to Max’s nest of blankets on the couch)

Max: (crying hysterically) “NOOOOOO! I want NEW noo-noos!!! NEW ones!”

Me: (gets up, makes new noodles…the Easy Mac ones, not the rotini with butter and cheese, I mean really, who doesn’t know that?!) “Here you go honey, the new noodles.”

Max: (takes one bite) “Nooooo!!! No noo-noos!”

Me: (dumps both sets of noodles in the trash, along with the sliced banana, buttered toast, goldfish crackers, sliced strawberries, bagel with cream cheese, and other various attempts at nourishing my ailing 3 year old that were met with disdain and then promptly kicked out of my hand by a pissed off, sick toddler)

And then Daddy comes home from his business trip and brings Max 2 bags of airplane pretzels. Which Max promptly devours, while mumbling “I wove pwetzels Mommy!”. Go figure.

At least he’s old enough to tell us what hurts. “My mouth!! (Throat?) My back! My wight here!!” Ummmm….strep throat? Appendicitis? Oh shit…I have no idea.

The first night he was so sick he clung to me as I walked him down to bed. “I cold Mommy” he shivered, and refused the potty/toothbrush routine that he usually loves. I sat with him on the floor of his room to read his night-night books, and as I was switching spots with him in bed he literally fell over. Hit my shin on the way down, curled up tight, and fell asleep. My ~~crazy~~ active boy never just falls asleep. I knew he must be sick.

Last night was more of the same. He layed down in bed, looked up at me and said “Mommy, can you ‘nuh’ (snuggle) me up pwease?” I snuggled him up under all of his blankets, tucked Ellie the Elephant right beside him, and off to sleep he went.

So here we are, an hour or two of energy breaking through the clouds like sunshine when the Ibuprofen kicks in….and then it’s back to snuggling on the couch and a few rounds of “I want to watch Go-Go Cars! NOOOOO Mommy! Not that one! The NEW one!!!”

Here’s hoping that he’s feeling better by tomorrow….and that our little trip to the petting zoo last weekend didn’t give him the ~~swine~~ bunny flu.

Hang on….Max is calling me.

“Mommy! I need water!”
“Here honey”
“No!!! I need it with ICE!”
“Here you go sweetie, lots of ice.”
“I DON’T WAAAAAANT WATER!!!!”

Categories: The Adventures Of Max | Tags: health, toddler speech, you know you're a mom when | Leave a comment

Dark and Dreary

Posted on April 24, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

I’m hiding away at my new favorite spot, a little french cafe a few towns over from Max’s preschool. It has just enough noise to calm my thoughts, and just enough calm to stir the noise inside enough to form some very “writerly” things.

My cafe also has an entire bakery counter of deliciousness. Things like chocolate croissants and raspberry tarts and tiny almond cakes. And of course homemade granola with yogurt and fruit, which I always get because it’s the healthiest. OK. That’s a lie. I stand in front of the huge menu and stare at the chocolate chip madeleines and the pecan sticky buns and the goat cheese quiche, and for a moment I am completely lost and can’t figure out which craving to give in to. So I order the yogurt. Damn you, yogurt. With a sticky bun to go.

I’ve been needing the moments of quiet lately. I love that Max loves his preschool, but I also love that it gives me a few short hours to decompress.

I’m embarassed to say that I’ve been feeling ~~a little~~ a lot down lately. My son is sleeping through the night. I had to wake him up for preschool this morning. At 8:30 am. Who is this child? We live in a beautiful town that saw more than it’s fair share of sunshine this weekend. I get to stay at home to mother my little guy in the best way that I know how. Why does that life of privilege feel dark and dreary sometimes? Mothering can be a lonely endeavor.

I have an amazing son. It’s not his fault.

Dark and dreary has always followed me. As hard as I try to paint away the occasional sadness with shiny new lip gloss and big bold earrings, there’s always been a tiny storm brewing inside of me. Always. Writing helps to wash the mudslides away. But it’s hard to write about some of this here. I fear being misunderstood. I fear being judged. I fear the scoffs of those who don’t know me well, and wonder how can this all be so hard when your life is so damn easy?

Random Tangent: I am watching a perfectly coiffed Ann Taylor-dressed late-50ish woman stand in front of the three bins in the cafe labeled compost/landfill/recycle. She has been standing there for a good three minutes. Holding her receipt and her straw wrapper, trying to decide which bin to drop them in. She pauses. She looks at the other trash in the bins. She looks around for someone to help her. She finally walks away because she can’t decide. Oh California, how I love you.

But back to the dark and dreary. It’s mine to own. After the adolescent onslaught of rollercoaster emotions, I learned to live with it and make the tiny whispers of depression my bitch. I’ll ride WITH you, I thought. I’d put my seatbelt on and prepare for the fast rush of wind that blew past me on the way down, and the surge of adrenaline that always brought me back up. I never craved the escape of alcohol or the blurred lines of drugs. I could self-medicate in other ways…..with brand new outfits and nights spent out with my girlfriends. With the intensity of new relationships and the hope in starting life over again. And over again. And over again.

I knew that when I finally settled into motherhood, that the depths of my past would beckon. I knew that I would feel lost sometimes, like when our Nanny asks me why my “dancing shoes” are in the garage. I used to wear silver glitter shoes. They thrilled me. Life was so interesting then, and I can’t bear to throw them away.

Random Tangent: The lady sitting next to me is crying HYSTERICALLY to her mother. WAILING about something. In the cafe. Now as dark and dreary as I feel, and as much as I love to cry while talking to my own mother (because that’s what you do with moms, and on top of that, she’s a real life therapist), please for the love of god lady, GO OUTSIDE. Even my own mother, who has seen me cry in restaurants, and makes a living out of telling people to embrace their emotions, would say “Good lord woman, pull yourself together! There are people trying to enjoy their Croque Monseiurs in here!” Perhaps it is not such a good idea that I try to make this cafe my new writing home. Anyways….

I am not dissapointed. I am not mourning the loss of my old self. It’s not that I don’t enjoy this mothering thing. MAX is wonderful. My husband is wonderful. This life is wonderful. I have wonderful friends and a wonderful future that ~~unravels~~ unfolds every day. Yesterday Max and I played outside in the backyard, and the cool ocean air ruffled his hair and wafted through our jackets. The neighbor blasted some Christina Aguilera from his outside speakers (don’t ask) and Max danced a little groove thing at the top of his slide. As we ran through the grass together, I looked down to find the tiny red button of a ladybug hiding between the blades. We knelt together, my sweet-cheeked boy and I, and I let the ladybug travel up my finger and into Max’s palm. We spent long minutes sitting knee to knee in that grass, plucking the ladybug out of it’s hiding place every time it tried to escape. Max’s tiny voice imploring “Come here wittle guy….it ok. You climb on my finger!” Joy. The backyard at 4 pm, with my kind, gentle (almost) three year old. I was so grateful for that damn ladybug, because for those few minutes, it brought me back to earth. To what is truly important.

But sometimes the dark and dreary beckons. When I was 22 I used to the shut the door to my room in the apartment that Susie and I shared. I would sprawl out across the bed and write and write and write, long cursive strokes in my journal. Now….my legs are stretched out in front of me at the cafe with the neon colored macaroons. A huge bowl of coffee sends a smoky SOS from beside my laptop. There will be brighter days. There will be ladybugs. There will be joy. But for now, I sit and write.

We’re talking on BlogHer about how we get happy….so come join us and share what soothes your dark and dreary. You can also enter to win an IPod touch!

Here’s to hoping that a little Max Music will brighten your day….

Categories: The Adventures Of Max | Tags: This is really hard | 11 Comments

Five Faves On Friday

Posted on April 20, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

We’ve had some fun adventures to be thankful for this week, so we’re linking up to Jennifer’s Five Faves on Friday over at Also Known As The Wife.

1. Chocolate ice cream. On a cone.

I have never seen my boy devour something so completely. Milo, this cone’s for you….Max is going to challenge you to an ice cream eating contest this summer at the Jersey Shore! (Yes, you heard it here first folks. The Simon Family West is going to be making the Jersey Shore our b– this summer. Our BEACH you guys, our BEACH. Cripe. You’re so sensitive.)

2. Baubee was with us last week, and she always brings a suitcase full of love, support, laughter, and chocolate ice cream adventures.

I love having my mom by my side every day, and she always has the best ideas to refresh our day-to-day routines.

3. Mint chip ice cream. On a cone. Oh dear god the most delicious way to usher in the Summer EVER.

4. Max’s fascination with firetrucks continues…and holy shit, what an amazing tour we got this week! Uncle Matt has friends in high places, so the Weiss fam treated us to a behind-the-scenes tour of a local fire station. Chief George and FireWOMAN Trisha treated our kids like the guests of honor, and we loved sharing such an amazing day with our best buddies!

“Hey Jack! You drive your rig over that way, and I’ll pull in right over here! There’s a five alarm blaze the next town over! Tell Molly to gear up too!”

5. Feeling really blessed to have such wonderful friends and family. And a boy with such an active imagination….

A special thank you to the men and women who drive our firetrucks every day, and protect our families with their strength and courage. We appreciate your hard work, and are especially grateful for the kindness that you showed our little boys this week!

Categories: The Adventures Of Max | Tags: Baubee, Fireman, Five for Friday, Weiss Fam | 1 Comment

The War on Wearing Pajamas at Noon

Posted on April 17, 2012 by Mama By The Bay

A few days ago, Sean walked through the door after work and announced “I know exactly what you should blog about next! Democrats don’t believe that stay-at-home moms work hard!” Of course he was talking about the recent comment made by Hilary Rosen about Ann Romney, and how she “never worked a day in her life”, even though she raised 5 children.

Disclaimer: I live in a house divided. My husband is a Republican, and I am a Democrat. I believe that in order to make our country better we need to start with a few minor details, like making sure that all of us have the right to love and marry whomever we choose. You know, basic civil rights are kinda important. And my husband believes that we should keep all of our money. Maybe it’s not as simple as that. But it makes for some ~~great arguments~~ friendly debates. And we’d make an excellent reality TV show. Consider yourself warned….

I can’t be fooled. Hilary Rosen isn’t suddenly the spokesperson for all Democratic women. And even if she was, that’s not what she MEANT. That’s not what she MEANT, people! You know it, and I know it, and you bet your morning coffee served in a mug at your kitchen counter while your five kids bicker about what cereal to eat that Ann Romney knows it too.

Hilary Rosen didn’t mean that my life isn’t hard. She wasn’t trying to say that raising a child isn’t work. What she meant to say (and I didn’t ask her personally, but this is my guess) is that women who work outside of the home have different issues and concerns than women who work INside the home.

My concern this morning? How on earth did my (almost) three year old decide that it was a good idea to attach a toy wrench to one of the (fake) blades on his (fake) mixer, and turn it on until the wrench spun around and around and finally flew off?

And what idiot decides to make a (fake) mixer for kids anyway? With blades (?!) that spin around at high speeds?

My life is hard, y’all. Raising a child is serious business. VERY serious business. In addition to molding a human being from a tiny blob of squalling newborn baby, I have to change 10 diapers every damn day. (No, I’m not kidding). Not only do I spend countless hours teaching my toddler how to be kind, use his manners, ask for what he needs without yelling (“But I waaaant to sqweam!” he screams) and how to not drink bath water that he has already peed in, I have to put up with other women constantly asking me “Do you work?”

I cut sandwiches into shapes and kiss boo-boos to make them feel better. I lie on the floor while my kid calls “Fireman Sam” and tries to rescue me. I watch Caillou and the Cars Movie over and over and over. I dream up educational activities that involve play-dough and colored pencils, and then watch as my little student throws everything on the floor and steps on it when I turn my back for 60 seconds to start dinner. Which I’m responsible for making. Because my husband works. And I don’t.

You know what?

I don’t work.

I don’t. I stay home. Sometimes in my pajamas. Watching my child grow from the baby that I cheered on when he rolled over for the first time, to the toddler that I clapped for when he finally learned to hit a golf ball….even if his swing looks a lot like his Daddy’s….

Sitting in the backyard watching Max golf isn’t work. It’s a privilege. Is it hard? Of course. Don’t get me wrong, of all people, I’m the first one to say that mothering is HARD WORK. Driving around for hours every night with a sick kid who didn’t sleep was hard work. Cleaning vomit out of a carseat was hard work. Struggling through post-partum sadness while figuring out how the hell to get milk to come out of my boobs while simultaneously bouncing with my baby on an exercise ball because it was the only thing that made him stop crying for 5 minutes, was hard work. Loving your child so much that your heart is in pain when you think about them ever leaving your side, is hard work. Raising a little boy so that he will be a GOOD MAN, that is hard, constant, challenging work. But it is also a privilege that many moms are afraid to admit. When I offer Max a choice of organic strawberries or home-made muffins for snack, that is a privilege. When I take Max to the pediatrician that my husband’s employer pays for, that is a privilege. When he gets medical care from one of the leading Children’s Hospitals in the WORLD, that is a privilege. When I can afford an amazing Nanny to watch him on a Saturday night so I can re-connect with my husband, that is a privilege. When Max gets to socialize with other children at preschool, or a gymnastics class, or at our brand new neighborhood park that is safe from things like gang violence and drug syringes, that is a privilege. The fact that I can even write about my life on this blog, is a privilege.

Why? Because there are so many moms out there who are WORKING their asses off to take care of their children. Not the kind of work that I’m doing. The kind where they get up before the sun rises and walk in the biting cold to the bus stop. The kind of work where they clean other people’s houses and watch other people’s kids. The kind of work where they piece their tips together to buy used winter jackets for their children and use food stamps to supplement the crappy free lunch that the elementary school provides. Moms who fight to understand their kid’s homework because it’s not in their native language. Moms who care for more than one kid, with no partner and no support system. It is a different kind of work. The kind that Hilary Rosen was talking about so stop pretending that you’re offended and bitching about it at your privileged playgroups and your privileged mommy websites for crying out loud

When I was in my early 20′s I attended a school meeting with one of the moms that I was counseling. Her son was 7, and he was due for a review of the IEP that governed how he would be taught in his special education classroom. I sat next to his 25 year old mother and acted as her advocate, as she defended her son’s right to extra support services. She had never finished high school. Her son was one of four children, all from different fathers. She was living in a shelter and surviving on the crappy donations that strangers dropped off. As the meeting progressed, I was blown away with the power of her love for that boy. It was nearing 5 o’clock, and she had almost gotten everything that she wanted out of the meeting. But we had a few important things left. When the principal asked if we could keep going instead of postponing the rest for another day, I eagerly shouted out “Oh of course! Yes!” After all, things were really in my client’s favor at this point. “Miss Kim” the mama said, and glared at me. “You might have all the time in the world, but I have three other kids at home who need dinner, and baths, and bedtime stories. I still need to take the bus to the grocery store, go home and cook, help with homework, and sit in the laundromat for an hour waiting for my last load of wash. You might have time to stay, but I have work to do.”

It was the first time I had truly been confronted with my privilege.

She was right. At 24, I didn’t have a husband or children to care for. My biggest worry at that point was whether or not I’d make it home in time to watch The Bachelor with my Roomie. And who would pick up dinner from Fiesta Taco.

It occurred to me that this mothering stuff was hard work. And it was even harder if you didn’t have the resources that so many families do. A car to carry your groceries in. A washer and dryer in your garage so that you can do laundry while watching your children play. An extra hour at night to do whatever the heck you want while your husband takes care of paying the bills and taking the trash out.

I’m not mad at Hilary Rosen, because she wasn’t talking about me. And let’s be fair, she wasn’t even talking about Ann Romney. She was talking about all of the moms who do what Ann and I do, AND THEN DRIVE TO WORK EVERY DAY.

I’ll be the first one to admit that some days I feel like I’m not tough enough for this gig. When it’s 4 pm and my eyes are glazing over because you can only build so many lego towers and my son was up at 6 am (and did I mention he doesn’t exactly nap?), I do find myself dreaming sometimes about wearing cute Editor pants and my trendy pink blazer and stilettos and ~~walking to Starbucks with my colleagues~~ having a business meeting. I miss the adrenaline rush of working for the police department, and the energizing buzz of a great Q&A session after teaching a workshop for adoptive parents. I miss having a nice office that was within walking distance to the best French cafe in San Francisco. I miss coming up with great ideas that don’t involve dinosaurs and spaceships, and laughing with friends over happy hour cocktails about our bosses and our dreams.

Then I remember that every day I spent sitting at my desk, checking my email, ~~reading People.com~~ working my ass off, I was dreaming of having a family. I was patting my expectant belly and sending my great expectations to the little boy who was growing inside of me. I was looking longingly at the mommies pushing their strollers down Fillmore, the ones who were cuddling their babies while they grabbed a cup of coffee and walked right back into the sunshine….at 1 pm on a Wednesday. Every day, I prayed so hard that I could ditch my pencil skirts for yoga pants and my smart black work purse for a diaper bag. I would walk back to my office with my heels clicking like typewriter keys against the sidewalk, and daydream about what my toddler would say to me as we walked together hand in hand. I wanted more than anything to be a mom, and this little boy who blessed our family is even sweeter than I ever imagined he would be. It is my privilege to mother him, from home.

The view from here is gorgeous y’all. And it’s the easiest work I’ve ever done.

Categories: Looking Back, The Adventures Of Max | Tags: My Past, Stay At Home Mom, This is really hard, you know you're a mom when | 8 Comments

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Revealing

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Evil Things I Want To Say To New Mothers

Sick

Dark and Dreary

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The War on Wearing Pajamas at Noon

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