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...

CHANNING TATUM: WHO ARE YOU???

Dear Channing Tatum,

Who are you? No, seriously. I mean that in the nicest possible way-- WHO. ARE. YOU? You see, I consider myself a pretty "in the know" kind of a gal. And while I work in the "mommy world" and often go days without making physical contact with a razor, it is rare, and I mean rare, that I don't know who people are... But C-Tate (can I call you that?), despite your incredibly good looks and a story surfacing about how you apparently burnt your penis off or something like that: I honestly have no idea who you are.... and it scares me.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but IT has happened. The other day, somewhere between fishing for Cheerios in my new shag rug and watching the oh-so-boring Thomas complain about his mean friends for the 19th time (that morning), I remembered the stack of US Weekly's that had been piling up since getting a new subscription. Excited, and ready to enjoy another pic of precious Violet going off to preschool, there YOU were. I looked at the page. Next to your photo were more photos. Not of you but of other C-Tate-like celebs that I have never seen. What? How could this be? I know everyone. Granted, I've never gotten on the Team Edward vs Team Jacob bandwagon, but still... that doesn't mean I've lost a grip on all things pop culture.... does it?

I closed the magazine and tried not to think about it. Tried not to over-analyze. Tried not to feel like that mom. But alas, Dear John, you ARE everywhere. On posters, on websites, on my entertainment shows... Apparently you are known and these days, I know nothing. Seriously, where have I been?

In the meantime, best of luck with you and your career. I suppose I'll be seeing you around. Oh, but if I may make one tiny suggestion (as mom to "kid"), next time you're tempted to pour scalding water down your pants-- honey, blow on it first.

Best,

J-Ko

THIS IS HOW IT STARTS PART 2: A "GROWTH OPPORTUNITY"

After last week's McDonalds/ "Cryyyyyyyyyyyyy" incident of 2010, I felt like a battered and wounded soldier. I really felt like I had made a decision that could lead to Baby-Ko having issues not only with food for the rest of his life, but major anxiety issues as well.

Well, I asked Parents Ask expert Dr. Bonnie Zucker, a psychologist who specializes in anxiety for children and adults, to weigh in. According to Dr. Z, this one incident of stuffing my son's feelings with happy inducing fried-ness may not result to a life sentence of therapy, buuuuuuut my parenting could use a little finessing...

Check out her advice HERE!

http://www.parentsask.com/parenting/anxiety/french-fries-wont-kill-your-kid.html

THIS IS HOW IT STARTS

Every now and again, we, parents, have one of "those" nights.... Those nights that test your patience... Those nights that test your skill... And those nights that tug at your heartstrings...

Last night, I had one of those nights. Yes. All of the above.

At some point in the late afternoon, I got a call from my babysitter "Ash-a-Wee" saying she had an emergency and if it was okay, she needed the evening off. This meant that she wouldn't be able to pick up Baby-Ko from day care at 4:30pm. Just to preface, day care closes at 5:30 on the dot but Ash-a-Wee picks Baby-Ko up M-F at 4:30 or earlier. She's never been a second late and he is usually the first child to leave... In fact, I'm pretty sure he gives a little "see ya suckas" wave when he closes the gate behind him, keeping his little 3 foot friends captive until their peeps come to save them... But I digress....

At 5:20 my cell rang. Shit. I was sitting in traffic and it was day care calling to let me know Baby-Ko was hysterical. I completely forgot to call them to tell them that A-A-Wee wasn't coming (I was). Bad mommy move. BAD. They told me they took him inside the house because watching the other children leave (mind you, it's 5:20pm so it's DARK out and he leaves when it's light) was making him too upset. To make matters even worse, his caretakers Margarita and Dora were leaving for the night too. OMG! Now he's sitting there with A & H (the couple that runs the day care out of their house) as he watches the people that take care of him leave???? Poor baby! He must be so scared.

Panicked and feeling so awful I finally came to a halt in front of their house at 5:40. As I ran up the porch, the front door opened and Baby-Ko came flying out.

"Mommmmmmmmy!!!" He sobbed. He couldn't catch his breath. "Ash-a-wee didn't come. I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

Gulp.

"I'm soooooo sorry baby," I said hugging him tightly. "Mommy is here now. I'm sooooooooo sorry."

"Dora lef-a-me. I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy."

OY.

"Dora went home too? Oh, Baby-Ko. I'm so sorry. These things happen. But mommy always comes back. I ALWAYS come back."

Dagger. Heart.

Clutching him, I picked up his bags and carried him to the car. How in the world can I make this better??? What can I do to let him know it's okay??? WILL HE EVER FORGIVE ME???

A light bulb, that I didn't even know was inside me, went OFF:

"Baby-Ko, do you want to go to McDonalds?" WHAT? Did I just say that?

"Yeaaaaaaaaaah, " he said sniffling. "I want fwench fwies."

"Okay, my love," I said shocked by what I had said. "Let mommy put you in the car and let's go get french fries. And cheeseburgers."

WHO AM I? For those of you that personally know me, you know that I eat fast food (not including Taco Bell... OR the requisite airport Egg McMuffin) like every blue moon. Emotional I am, yes. An eater I am, yes. An EMOTIONAL EATER: I am NOT.

But here I was. Now standing at the counter inside (a very lovely remodeled McDonald's if I do say so myself) redirecting my son from what was clearly an emotionally draining and traumatic experience to a land where feelings are forgotten because the value meals are just too good to pass up.

"One happy meal, please--"

"I crrrrrrrrrrryy," Baby-Ko said. "Mommy was late." GUILT.

"Ooh, how about some ice cream?" BRIBE.

"Yeahhhh, I want it," he said resting his head on my shoulder.

"Okay, one hot fudge sundae please...." I said to the cashier.

"I want a cookie. A COOOOOOOKIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" Baby-Ko said practically leaping out of my arms towards the cookie case on the counter.

"Okaaay. One chocolate chip cookie..." SUCKER.

"THAT cookie," Baby-Ko pointed. "DAT ONE."

The cashier smile and obliged. "Okay, that one. Anything else?"

"Um... Yeah.... I'll take a medium french fry...."

AND THERE IT WAS.

THIS IS THE REASON. THIS is how IT starts. THIS is what the "experts" are talking about. (Experts that IIIIIIIIIIIII write about!)

Seriously though, is this how obesity starts for both children and their guilt/ exhaust ridden mommies? If so, someone send me the applications now for Biggest Loser season 46. Baby-Ko and I can be a team...

24 Hours later, Baby-Ko seems to be okay from the entire experience. Me on the other hand... I'm still feeling the trauma of it all.... ANNNNNNND trying to tell myself that at the very least, giving him BROCCOLI with his happy meal was one way to make IT stop....