DISNEYLAND AND THE GOLD RULE OF PATIENCE

A couple weeks ago, Peter and I took Jonah to Disneyland for his 6th birthday. In a recent post for Babble, I shared how this trip made me realize I don't always need to be the Fairy Godmother of Fun...

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“Mom, pleeeeeease can we play? Can we do something fun? This is so boooring. Monday is soooooo boring,” my 6-year-old whined to me as I sat at my desk.

Nine times out of ten, I would have called in the circus and pulled out my “let me entertain you” hat. Instead of letting him be bored and then sitting with my own guilt about having to work, steam broccoli, fold laundry, and basically not be the world’s most fun mommy EVER, I’d typically offer him a slew of suggestions of things we could do. I’d create an itinerary of all the amazing things to do in our home. First, we could bake. Then we’d play Legos, and then we’d do a science experiment. We could make LAVA. If we had time, we’d watch a movie — a super-long “NOT BABY” one. Then, we’d read, hunt for bugs, and eat candy … IN MY BED.

And the mother of the year award goes to … the crowd goes wild!

As a single mom, there were many weekends when our days were just that, and I didn’t stop until he was satiated. But as he gets older, I see that if I don’t set up an afternoon of “WOW,” he won’t “just go build a fort” or go outside and play kick the can (please tell me you’re familiar with this hilarious scene in This is 40?). This was a problem, and it needed to stop.

Well believe it or not, it wasn’t until a few weeks ago at Disneyland, the mecca of all things jazz hands, that I realized he didn’t actually need to be entertained. 

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PARENTING: WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

It occurred to me the other day that there are two very important things my son does, that are not only crucial to being a functional and independent human, but that as a parent I can take very little credit for:

#1. Going to the bathroom (in a bathroom)
#2. Reading.

Let's start with #1.

Sure... Right before Jonah turned 2, in hopes that he would just be naturally drawn to potty training, I bought a little potty that lit up and sang if "the goods" hit the bowl. In truth... Other than becoming a receptacle for Curious George stickers and thick strands of black hair during my (weekly) blowout session (it's the best I can do, people), this potty was of little use. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot of "training" that went on. Honestly, it just kind of happened. Obviously, we did a few things here and there to encourage the process (i.e.  The Cheery"Who wants M&Ms for breakfast?!" Dance, or The "Let's Pee Pee on Cheerios" Game), but if I'm being honest with myself (and/or have just completely erased all of the early potty years of misery from my memory), I'm fairly certain the "training"part happened at daycare and preschool. Bottom line, now he goes without any issue. So however it happened, let's just be grateful.

#2 Reading.

First of all, let me just say that Redshirting was the single most important (right) decision we ever made. Without question, waiting a year to start him in Kindergarten was a huge gift and one of the reasons I think he's thriving so much at school right now. In addition to the fact that his teacher is amazing and Snow White reincarnated (that for another time), the fact that he's at a public school where the state standards are enforced, in my opinion, is also a huge gift. He's reading and writing, adding and subtracting. And we are less than 2 months into school. The point is, as much reading (and talking) as *I* have done to/with Jonah throughout his life, I had nothing to do with the actual part of TEACHING him how to do it. Kind of like going on the potty, I'd say the bulk of his ability to read and write did not happen on my dime.

As a parent, it's easy to get caught up in the guilt about what you're doing or not doing, and let the "it's all my fault" snowball swell. (After all, this blog is sort of dedicated to that).  But as Jonah gets older, and I get a little less hard on myself (note: OGAP is going better than expected), I'm finding that I'm just happy he is HAPPY. He's a happy boy who has everything he needs and then some. My parenting tactics can always be improved upon and his behavior can always be modified. But for now, this week, that is, I've noticed that whatever we've done SO FAR ain't bad. Because of us, there are a lot of things this kid does really well.

He knows the importance about being kind.
He believes in God and thinks deeply about his religion.
He isn't afraid of a single roller coaster or ride.
He can tell a good joke.
He cares deeply about the Dodgers, and whoever else his dad or Peter is rooting for.
He loves sushi.
He has a deep interest in Volcanoes and Yellowstone National Park. (Both of which he's' never seen in person.)
He understands sarcasm.
He likes "spooky stories" and requests they all start with "It was a dark and stormy night..."
He never shies away from a good cuddle.
He knows what it's like to live through an emergency and is reflective and grateful for his safety.
He thinks I'm the funniest mom in the entire world. "Even more funny than Hannah's mom. And she's pretty funny."

He is THIS because of us. THIS we can take credit for.

On a different note, Jonah's been saying, "What up, Yo?" a lot lately. I can tell you right now, that is absolutely NOT my fault. Totally blaming this on someone else. Like, for reals yo.

LOOK WHO'S STILL IN CHARGE

As I've mentioned many times before, once a month I attend "mommy school" with a bunch of my friends. We head to the Westside to seek the advice and guidance of the renowned Betsy Brown Braun. Each month we focus on various issues that have arisen for our 4 year olds (everyone in the class has children within a few months apart- so we're all on the same "fucking fours," page, as Betsy calls it). Anyway, a month or two ago, I expressed to Betsy that I was having a tough time containing Jonah's energy-- that more often than not, he is wild. She suggested that we set up "wild" or "loud-free" zones throughout the house. She said we needed to leave a few rooms or areas open, but since I live in an apartment, that basically means he can only go ca-razy in his room and the living room. FINE. So, per Betsy's advice, I put up the "wild free" signs (exactly as she suggested) and here's what happened.

One day, I'll be in charge and rule the roost. I will.

JUST FOR CHANUKAH

Recently many family members asked me what Jonah wants for Chanukah. I would often respond with a "he doesn't need anything" (an answer that grandmothers cannot accept) and follow up with "okay, um....okay... he's in to robots and science stuff..." But at a recent westside "be a better parent" group, I learned from the jedi parenting master that 4 year olds are in such a "gimme gimme" stage, that now would be the time to talk to them about giving back. That instead of them telling us all the things they want and need, we should encourage them to think about what we can do or give to others.

So I tried that. I sat Jonah down... Told him how lucky we are to have so many family and friends and how nice it would be to give everyone something special. We went through and made a list of all our loved ones. For whatever reason, he thinks my my mom needs a new blanket, my boyfriend needs a mirror and my nana needs a new pan for making cookies. (All of this stuff may be true).

Of course, the conversation of gift giving didn't last long as his concern over how many gifts he would get this year prevailed. Just as he was getting in the bath, he asked me to go get a piece of paper and pen. "Why?" I asked. "Because I need you to write down all the things I want for Chanukah." "Ohhhhhhhh. Okay."

So, dutifully I obeyed.

***

Pen & Paper in hand.

Me: So. What first?

J: A volcanU thing. That were going to give Joe-Joe for his birthday. But I want it. A volcanU science explosion thing. I want that.

Me: Next...

J: A big shooter gun that would shoot people with a pretend bullet coming out of it.

Awesome.

J: ... and a ball to play with... Inside.

Me: Ok...

J: ... a big boat to sail... on the floor. (Pause). What else do IIIIIIIII want?

Me: Hmm... How about a computer game for you to play on Mommy's computer?

J: No. You don't have an app store.

Me: Oh. (Pause). How about books?

J: Yes, books. And dress up stuff.

Me: What kind of dress up stuff?

J: Scary dress up stuff. With masks. Like Count Dracula. Or Spiderman, or Batman.

Me: How about an instrument, for music?

J: Yes, I'd really like a guitar. And a tuba. And a keyboard. And a violin. And a trumpet.

Taking notes feverishly.

J: I need new play dough. Different colors. Like purple. Or blue. Or yellow. Or green.

Me: This is a great list. I think that's ----

J: Whaaaaat else do IIIIIIIIIII neeeeeeed?

Me: Jeez, that's a lot of stuff. I'm not sure...

J: I need more stuff.

Me: Puzzles?

J: Yes. New puzzles. A puzzzle of a volcanU to see all the lava.

Me: Okay, well this is a big list. So I'll let everyone know.

J: But, mommy, I need 100, ninety, 30, thousand presents.

Me: Gotcha. Alright, well last final thing... ?

J: Oh, I want a (cash) register. That's like the one at the Zimmer Museum.

Me: I'll see what I can do.

J: Is that a good list, mommy?

Me: Very good. BUT remember, the holidays are not just about getting. It's about giving too.

J: But mommy, we don't celebrate Christmas.

Me: That's true.

J: Because we're jewish.

Me: That's true.

J: So Santa doesn't bring me gifts on Christmas...

Me: That's right.

J: So you only need to get me all this stuff for Chanukah. Ok, mom? Just for Chanukah.

Me: Got it. Just for Chanukah.

Good thing there are eight nights.

GET DOWN ON IT

So.... you know how I tried that whole "go to your room and spew obscenities" thing a couple weeks back? Well, yeah... So it worked. For a brief period... For a few days, I went without hearing my little 38 pound mad scientist/dictator grunt his favorite one word: "fuckit." When he needed to get out the "dammits" and the "assholes," he fled to his room for some quality-tourrettes- alone-time and re-emerged relieved and ready to talk about worldly and important things like how we need to start bringing money to school because they're trying to help "the poor HOPEless people" or how in heaven WE (me and him) will "share a big, big house and God will taaaaalk. toooo. US. LIIIIIKE. THIIIIIIIS." While they haven't necessarily explained that we (Jews) don't entirely believe in heaven, I'm thinking that at least his Jewish Preschool is teaching the kids from an early age the importance of giving back and that they shouldn't, OY, god forbid forget about they're mothers. Clearly, guilt, like writing, is a learned skill. And if he's to be a dahctah, he should learn everything he can... NO? But I digress...

Okay, so this language issue/obsession, for a moment in time, seemed quelled. (Not withstanding our current battle over the word "stupid," which he thinks his hilarious despite my attempt to Westside parent his ass about how utterly tragic it would be to be a "stupid person, who essentially has a BROKEN BRAIN....") I've realized, however, I may have a bigger battle on the horizon (Dear God, I think I just quoted the last line in his Transformers book): MUSIC.

While a 4-year old calling everyone and everything "stupid" is nothing to brag about, having your child bust out a little dance move and sing "You sexy and you KNOW it!" does not entitle you to mother of the year award either. OBVIOUSLY, he hears these provocative and (entirely inappropriate) songs while driving with adults... So it's not entirely his fault for being the sponge that he is. But here's the thing: There's actually nothing we can listen to on the radio that's appropriate. Turn on any station. Right now, someone is either putting their back into IT, shaking IT, getting down on IT, or making someone sweat from IT. There's even a lovely little ditty in which the singer tells a "honey" they look better with the lights off. (That one's a real gem).

In thinking about wanting to set a good example, I've tried in the past few days to redirect his attention to some of the music he used to enjoy like Mary Poppins, Wizard of Oz, and his rabbinical all time favorite, Siman Tov. (For those of you familiar with the ultimate Bar Mitzvah or Jewish Wedding song, imagine that on a loop for 45 minutes. GUN. TO. HEAD.) I even turned to my XM Disney Kids station in hopes that we could be saved. What song came up? Miley Cyrus' "Party in the USA." (Oh, yeah, 'cuz "moving your hips like 'yeaaaaaaaah'" sets a great fucking example. Literally).

I don't know. Call me crazy, but I think I'm going to give up on this issue entirely until I figure out the best course of action for this language and vocabulary battle we continue to have. Actually, call me STUPID. Because when it comes to this parenting issue: My. brain. is. BROKEN.

HELP!

MANNERS MONDAY: RSVP ETIQUETTE!

When it comes to invitations of any kind, I do try to take some consideration when it comes to RSVPing. Ironically, I pulled a big RSVP "no no" just yesterday. Weeks ago, I had responded "Yes" to a 1st birthday party. Apparently, I had also responded "Yes" to plans to go to the Zoo with the entire family. DUH. Today, Lisa Gache of Beverly Hills Manners and I discuss RSVP etiquette... clearly, I need to heed my own advice!

Manners Monday: RSVP! from lisagache on Vimeo.

Lisa's RSVP Tips!

Ø Keep Track of Your Invites. Once you receive an invitation, you should RSVP within 24-48 hours of its receipt. This system helps to diminish any problems that may arise if another invitation for the same date and time arrives in the mail days later.

Ø Split Your Time Sensibly. Although technically you are only obligated to attend the first invitation you receive, you may feel inclined (or obliged) to RSVP to more than one engagement at a given time. If that is the case, the trick is to be respectful and split your time sensibly to ensure you are not offending the invitees who probably wish they had you committed for the "whole enchilada".

Ø Pay Extra Careful Attention to Electronic Invites. This becomes an especially delicate matter on sites such as Evite because you are able to see who opened your invitation, but did not respond. Think twice before publishing your invite list for all to see if you are concerned that some may base their decision on who else is coming.

Ø Make Sure You Have a Good Excuse! If you are unable to RSVP positively to an event, that is perfectly fine, as long as you have a decent and thoughtful excuse. How you deliver your excuse and the words you choose to express yourself can make all the difference.

SINGLE MOMS: HOW TO MINIMIZE THE "WOE IS ME"

I recently started blogging for a fantastic website called GalTime. Thought I'd share with you a post I wrote about being a single mom and how it's all too easy to live in "woe is me" land. While I certainly wouldn't consider myself the poster child for single mothers everywhere (as all of our journeys are so very different), I will say that I think my advice, though simple and very literal, could help ease some of the anxieties that all moms face- single, separated, divorced, dating or happily hitched. Looking forward to your thoughts....

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Single Moms: How to Minimize the "Woe is Me"

By Jennifer Brandt

on Tuesday, March 1, 2011

While the Stay at Home vs. Working Mom debate rages on, I find myself fighting (internally) for a different group of moms who’ll never have to duke it out for the “Who Has it Harder” title.

Hands down, bottom line, no ifs, ands or buts: Being a single mom is harder than any Target running or career juggling mom’s life. Why? Because we have to do both of those. Simultaneously. And maybe (never) wash our hair.

I have a hard time, however, when our “plight” gets little sympathy. When people insinuate that single motherhood is a choice—that even if a woman chose to leave a marriage or (gasp) chose to have children without a partner, that the burdens and challenges she might face are her fault. Like, You made your bed, now lie in it.

As a single mom, this has probably been one of my biggest hurdles: How to allow myself to feel the stress, pressure, and “holy sh*tness” of being a single parent, without feeling guilty about how or why I got here. This is not easy…. especially when the second biggest emotional hurdle is pity. Oh, I do love a good pity party every now and again, especially on the days that absolutely nothing is going right. Flat tire? I’m alone. Big bill come in? I’m alone. Spill my Starbucks on my favorite dress? Son of a b*tch, and oh, yep. Still alone!

However, I’ve found that there are a few things that I can do to minimize the 'woe is me' sessions. Things that I can do to feel great about where I am in life, challenges and all.

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LIKE A FIDDLE

As mentioned a few weeks ago, I have officially become a single mom. This change in status not only comes with a slew of complex emotions and sadly, hairier legs, but also an onslaught of incessant mommy guilt.... which, as a working parent, who happens to work in the world of parenting, it can feel a little overwhelming. So, with a 2.5 year old little boy, my sensitivity level to what might ultimately eff him up for life (due to said divorce) is at an all time high...

That said, I think it's gone too far and Baby-Ko knows it. The kid is playing me. He hears the guilt in my voice every time I say "no" (and then give in). He senses my worry that he may have issues some day as a result of the divorce every time he begs for "one more minute" (and then I give in). He sees the stress of a difficult year on my face every time he chucks my phone across the room (.... and I do nothing about it).

He's on to me. He's got me hook, line and sinker. Dialed in. Putty in his hands....

And he's starting to take advantage.

Please refer to recent events, if you will:

For a week or so, right before lights out, Baby-Ko would turn over in his bed and say,

"Mommy, I want my dadddddddy."

Gulp. "I'm so sorry. I, I, I--- I know. It's okay," I said trying to hide the knife ripping my aorta. "Okay, my love. Mommy's here. Let me pat your tushy." (Yes, he likes his tushy patted.)

But, one minute turned into 5 minutes. 5 minutes turned in to 10 minutes. And 10 minutes turned in to missing 30 Rock, Lost, and Baby-Ko never having to sit in a shopping cart at the market for the rest of the week.

Surely, you didn't think ME working in the world of parenting meant *I* actually know what I'm doing, did you???

About a week later... before lights out....

"Mommy, I want my daddddddy."

"I know you want your daddy. I'm sorry you have sad feelings. We'll call him in the morning."

"But I sad."

"I'm sorry you're sad," I said trying not to think about the therapy fund that I should have set up for him in utero. "It's time to go night night, Baby-Ko. Go night night..."

...And eventually, with more tushy patting then a Major League Baseball Game, he fell asleep.

It took a few more nights, but then it hit. I got it ....

"Mommy, I just. I just so sad."

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my daaaadddy."

"I know you miss your daddy. We'll call him in the morning. It's night night time."

"But, but. I just so sad."

"Why are you so sad?"

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my Mimi." (Mimi is my mom. His grandma. A woman he sees about 4 TIMES a week.)

"Okay, baby. We'll call Mimi in the morning. Go night night."

"But, but, I just so sad, mommy!" He said dramatically.

"Why. Why are you sad, Baby-Ko?" I asked trying to be patient.

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my Ash-a-wee." Um.... (Ash-a-wee is his babysitter. A woman he sees about 5 TIMES a week.... And had left just 2 hours prior.)

"Oooo-kay, Baby-Ko. I know you miss Ash-a-wee. Let's go to bed. Mommy is going out of here now," I said as I turned to the door.

"Mommy! Wait!" He screamed.

"Yes, Baby-Ko."

"I sad!"

"WHY. ARE. YOU. SAD?" I said doing my absolute best to exude patience.

"Because, because, I just. I just miss my sisters...."

"Your SISTERS???"

"Yeah. My sisters. I so sad."

"Good night, Baby-Ko," I said holding in my laugh and patting his tushy one last time before I left the room.

That night my only child slept through the night. And I finally caught on to him AND caught up on Lost.

DO AS I SAY, NOT AS I DO...

Have you ever been at the gym and seen a really unfit looking trainer and wondered where THAT person gets off telling THIS person how to get in shape? Well, between you and me, I think I’m "that unfit trainer" in the world of parenting. As the Managing Editor of Parents Ask, I have access to incredible experts, information, and answers—I have resources on how to/why to parent this way or that way at my fingertips. I hear it. I read it. I know it. Yet, in my own little world of all things cheerios and triple paste, I can’t say that I always look and act the part.

I. Am. The. Fat. Trainer. At. The. Gym.

Like, for example, when Baby-Ko decided to lie on the floor this morning kicking and screaming because I wouldn’t let him open my Lancome Eye Makeup Remover…(oh, you didn’t think I actually removed said makeup from my eyes the night before I was going to reapply to that exact area, did you???) I could have taken a deep parenting breath and pulled from one of my many manuals or mental files and addressed the situation, but instead I blanked out and pretty much stared at him. What was I supposed to do? Surely, ignoring it is one component, but there must be some other magic little trick that GOOD parents know about it, right?

Every now and again, however, I do have a stroke of parenting genius... Like yesterday, when we left a birthday party (and stole a nice Mylar balloon on our way out, clearly not intended as a parting gift)… Just as we got to the car, Baby-Ko let go of the balloon…

Up, up, UP it went…

“Oh, no, mommy! My Balloon! I want it!”

Just in the nick of time, just before an all-out fit erupted and I would have to start wracking my brain for a contact at NASA that might be able to help locate the balloon (because, shit, sometimes temper tantrums are just not that worth it), I said:

“Oh, Baby-Ko! You’re sending the balloon to another birthday party! That’s so nice!”

He looked at me. Please go for it.

“Another boy is going to have a balloon at his house too now!”
“Another boy?”
“Yeah.” Come on, little boy....

“Not Baby-Ko?”

“Not Baby-Ko. You were already at a birthday party. Let’s go home now,” I said trying to change gears… And it worked.

Later that evening, his Grandma came over and ironically, brought a Curious George book that has George letting go of balloons at a park. Proudly, Baby-Ko told us that George (pronounced "Yorge") was sending them to another birthday party too.

Hey, I done good.

The point is, like my friend Sarah Maizes of Mommylite, for most of us, good mommy moments are few and far between. However, on the slight chance that you do consider me an expert and someone with valuable information, I won’t discourage you from believing it or me…. There are some things I know. And at the very least, YOUR abs will be flat for the summer….

PARENTING: I COULD LEARN A THING OR TWO...

No matter how hard I try, my mornings with Baby-Ko are usually a little harried... especially when he wakes up at 5:36am ready to play doctor. (Oh, have I mentioned he likes to pretend that he works at a "Hop-tical" now?) Despite my attempts to have everything from food, to clothes to morning rituals laid out and planned ahead, there is one thing I have zero control over: his mood.

This morning: He. Was. In. A. Mood.

Gave him the play dough (reserved for his table/ but played with on the couch).
Gave him a lollipop (reserved for dinner/ but given before breakfast).
Gave him a basket of my old makeup (reserved for the bathroom/ but deposited somewhere I hope doesn't stain).

"What is wrong, Baby-Ko? I have to get ready and you have to go to school..."
"No. I don't want toooooooo," he whimpered.
"I know, I wish I could stay home today, but I can't. I have to go to work. I have to get ready my love."
"Pick MY up," he said.
"Pick you up? Okay..." I picked him up. He rested his head on my shoulder. "I have to get ready baby, I'm so sorry," I whispered.
"Mommy, BUH-LAX."
"Huh?"
"I want mommy buh-Lax. On the couch," he said matter-of-factly.
"You want mommy....? To what?"
"BUH. LAX. On the couch!" he said pointing.
I paused. What the eff is Buh-lax. A light bulb went off:
"You want mommy to RELAX????"
"Yeaaaaaaah," he said nuzzling in to my chest. "On the couch. Mommy cuddle."
I pause. Take it in. Remember that in 10 years, I will be yearning to Buh-Lax with him.
"Okay, baby. For a few minutes."
"Yeahhhhhh...."

For the next 5 minutes, we sat closely and stared into space. The traffic, the morning meetings, the coffee that was not yet in my system... It all could wait. We. Were. Buh-Laxing...

Can't wait to see what life lesson my very own parenting expert has in store for me tomorrow...