WE STILL GOT CURLY

For months, I have considered taking Baby-Ko for a real "big boy" haircut. I had taken him to get his bangs trimmed a couple of times at Fantastic Sams... But with all due respect to those of you that frequent those drive-thru establishments, ya kind of do get what you pay for and my boy kind of came out rocking what I like to call a "Three Stooges Mullet":

Moe in the front, Larry in the back.

So, despite the fact that the vision of his precious little curls falling to the floor made me want to cry and get a contract in writing from him that he promises to still sit on my lap when he's 24, I decided to bite the bullet and take him for a real haircut...

I braced myself for an all out fit/ crying match as getting a 2 year old to sit still is nearly impossible, but Baby-Ko couldn't have been any cooler.... sitting in a car propped on a barber's stool. Totally brilliant and well worth the 40 dollars plus tip. (Yes. Welcome to LA).

Not sure I'm gonna spend this much on his next haircut, but I will say, I am just thrilled my boy's still got some Curly....

THE SECRET ABOUT THE SECRET

Despite the fact that Oprah swears by it, and the rest of the world drinks the same Kool-aid too, I've never been entirely convinced that there is a "seeeeecreetttttt!" While I'm all for "living my best life," finding the time to motivate and go after what I want is a challenge in and of itself.... Um, which is why I could actually benefit from a self help/ find your inner blah blah blah book altogether....

After sharing a slew of anxieties with a friend, she suggested I read Eckhart Tolle's "A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose." She told me it will take some time to get in to it. That the beginning is "boring." But then, "it gets good" and it all starts to make sense. Well... (a whole) TWO pages and SIX months later, my life's purpose is still sitting on the dining room table...

But make no mistake. It is there .... that big, perfect, life of mine. I mean, it's really there... And it's good! It's happy and shiny and oh, so very well rested. It's skinny but healthy... It's up in the hills in a gorgeous, but perfectly kid friendly house.... by the beach. It's successful... creative and wealthy, and very on my own terms... out of my "home office..." But not sooo successful that I have to give up all that is near and dear and that my kid(s) never get to see me. Oh no, they see me. And it's not just in the morning during Sesame Street and milk... or after work (during Sesame Street and milk). I'm actually there and present, AND I give them macaroni and cheese NOT because of my lack of time (and zest for all things plucked from the farmer's market), BUT because they just want good ol' Kraft (not even the 365 brand).... and frankly, I'm so enlightened that I have come to terms with that and everything else that I cannot control.....

Okay. Fine. Let's not get crazy. I mean even the Dalai Lama knows that some macaronis are better than others. The point is.... my life may "be there", but it's not going to start being unless I go after it.

Welll, shiiiit.

Who needs philosophers and wisdom.

It's called Eat, Pray, Have a Two Year Old.

And if that ain't the secret to "The Secret," then I don't know what is.....

IT'S JUST THE AGE

Hi, there. You still here? Sorry. I know it's been a while since I've posted. I knoooooow.  I knoooooow.  I should be writing more. You're right. It's true. But trust me. TRUST. ME. I have some pretty good goddamn excuses up my sleeves. And once I'm able to share them all with you, you will forgive me. I prom. 

In the meantime, let's talk about the UFC style bout I had this morning, trying to get Baby-Ko in the car. I have always thought the term "terrible two's" are, well, terrible. I mean, to me, this seems like the best age ever. He looks and sounds like a little munchkin, he's funny (like seriously, kind of witty. I swear), and his vocabulary is blossoming at warp speed. It's a FUN age. It is.... Until it's not. 

Baby-Ko's "new thing" is to try to test his independence. At first it started with grabbing my keys from the table by the front door and saying "Bye, Mommy. I be right back."  Now it's that, PLUS, "let go of me biatch. I'm going down the stairs on my own. Seriously, lady. I mean it." I mean, . I know that's what he's trying to say when he's pushing me away on the staircase and screaming "No! I do it!" at the top of his lungs. Typically, I might actually indulge his hysteria and (while hovering) let him hold on to the railing and go down step by step, sloooowly. But on a day like today, when Mommy's got to get to work, and the walk from the staircase to the car in and of itself could take twelve days if I let him walk on his own, I had no choice but to pick him up and take matters in to my own hands.

Yeaaah. He didn't like that so much.  

"WAAAAALK!!! ME WALLLLK!! DOWWWWN!!!" He screamed.

"I'm sorry, Baby-Ko. We have to go. I have to go to work."

"NO WORK!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!" He wailed as I opened the car door and the WWE Smackdown began. 

For the next ten minutes, I begged, pleaded, laughed, (and oh, did I sigh), trying to get a child with a gift for Kung Fu in to his car seat without breaking his limbs and my earrings.

"Do you want a Paci?"

"NO!!!"

"Do you want a snack?"

"NO!!!"

"Do you want to listen to the Santa Song" (Please don't ask. He loves Raffi's Santa Song.)

"NO, Santa. I want drive!"

"What?"

"Me. Drive. I drive! Mommy Car!" 

"You... Want to drive?"

"Yeaaah, " he finally says calmly.

I take a deep breath and try not to laugh.  "My car? You... You want to drive MY car?"

"Yeahh," he says like 'what's the big deal. hand the fucking keys over and let's do it.'

"Sorry, baby. No. Mommy's driving. You need to sit in your seat and we need to leave."

"NO!!!!" He flails and wails again. 

I take another deep breath and hold up his lunch box, "Want pasta?"

I was desperate (and he didn't want pasta).

Ten minutes (and a major need for a redo of my makeup, which was now on my palms) later, we were on the road.  

It absolutely killed me to hear him sniffling and whimpering the entire way to day care, and certainly didn't make matters any better that he lost his shit again when I handed him over to the day care workers... But what am I to do? I cannot NOT go to work and I most certainly cannot let him drive my car. So what's the solution and when does it end? Is there a magical age that they just stop protesting for the sake of protesting or should I get used to it now because it only gets worse blah blah blah....?

Mommies with older kids, please advise...  Or send me a check for a lot of money so I never have to leave the house again.  That would work too.