TIRED TEETH

It's hard to believe that almost three years ago to the day, I was feverishly reading all the what you need to know about your baby books in anticipation for the arrival of Prince Baby-Ko. As I made mental lists and actual lists (God, I miss having the time to be anal retentive), I'm pretty sure I declared a whole lot of sheeeyaat that I absolutely thought I would never do....

Yup. At the time, I was pretty sure that *I* would never be the one to discourage teeth brushing at bed time.

Cue 2 weeks ago...

I'm marching Baby-Ko in to his room after his third attempt to escape and stall what should not come as a surprise after 3 years on this planet:

"Baby-Ko. It. Is. Bed. Time."

"But... but... Wait a minute, mommy. We forgot to brush my teeth."

Totally in his room, and in the-perfect head on shoulder- body relaxing- pacifier in mouth- I might miss a golden opportunity to put this kid to bed once and for all if I don't seize this opportunity right now-moment, I choked:

"Uh, that's okay. Not tonight."

"But I want to brush my teeth," he said trying to squirm out of my arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Your teeth are too tired. They just can't do it."

"My teeth are too tired?"

"Yes, exhausted. It's night night time."

Please, buy it.

His head settled back down.

Phew.

No. No. I did not think, based on the hours I spent in prenatal yoga, chanting to the gods of sun and powerful vaginas that I, a woman seeking natural and no interventions childbirth, would so naturally and effortlessly intervene my own child's right to dental hygiene with silly lies (that would selfishly bring me one step closer to leftover Chinese food).

And I most certainly did not think, after working full time and having my son in day care full time for the past 2 years that Baby-Ko starting preschool would get me farklempt.

But alas, here I am. Lying, lazy, teary and all.

In just a few weeks, Baby-Ko will start preschool.... Gulp. So many thoughts running through my mind and I'm sure that I will write a post as the big back to school day actually approaches. But in the meantime, I wanted to share a promotion that we're running on Parents Ask. Winner will get $250 gift certificate to Old Navy. (Good stuff, huh?!) So spread the word, leave a comment (on the video/link) and tell us what your favorite back to school ritual is.

Also, tell me that you didn't notice said chinese food leftovers/container on the stove in the background as it is making me crazy. Hmm, maybe there is hope for my anal retentiveness after all....

When Harry Met Jenny

At the age of 13, the year that When Harry Met Sally came out (and became my number one favorite movie) I fell in love with Harry Connick Jr.'s music. In fact, instead of a Sweet 16, I was to celebrate my birthday at the Hollywood Bowl with my BFF Lo seeing him in concert. Her dad was not only able to get us tickets, but also backstage passes. TO. MEET. HIM. As luck would have it though,

I came down with mono.

Bad mono.

(It was the summer after I went to Israel to learn about my religion, and the summer boys went to my boobs to learn about how much fun nerdy girls can be.)

But I was too sick. There was no way I could go. I couldn't even blow out a birthday candle.

Nearly 18 years to the day later.... I got to see Harry Connick Jr. in concert. Last weekend, my boyfriend J took me to the Hollywood Bowl to see HCJ.... Not only was it special to see him with J who loves his music as much as I do, but (if I may brag for a minute) we were sitting in seriously ridiculous seats.... Listening to HCJ croon and pound on the piano, you have no choice but to want to fall in love... it reminds me of my Grandparents... Hearing a standard and then starting to sing to each other... I mean, when I'm 85, will I really turn to my husband and start singing Boom Boom Pow...?

The point is, it was the best concert I have ever been to. And that doesn't include when we met...

Oh, wait. You didn't think I was just going to talk JUST about his music, did you?

SO, at some point during the show, Harry started to walk on the outer stage/wall ... directly in front of our seats. After seeing a few people stand up to shake his hands, I stood up, waved and he came over, smiled and shook my hand. My hand... in front of 15 thousand PLUS people. DIE. For the next song or two, like a school girl, I could not concentrate and was pretty sure my hand was vibrating (like I swear my tongue was the very first time I french kissed).

Though meeting HCJ backstage might have been cooler and more legit than a handshake with a random star struck fan at a concert, I'm happy that I got to do it in my adult life. Of course, I still feel compelled to ask a question, that I most certainly would have asked at the age of 16:

"Do you think he, like, remembers me???" (Don't answer that). :-)

LIFE'S A BEACH...

Before I had a child, I swore that I would always be honest. I'd speak the truth to him. I'd teach him things without covering up or rewriting the facts. I'd wear my heart on my sleeve and with patience and loving kindness, share the world with him.... one answer at a time.

Then he started talking.

A lot.

And because of this, and the fact that I am an advocate of encouraging childhood imagination and literacy, I have a confession that I'm not proud of:

I am so happy that Baby-Ko cannot read.

Take for example our trip to the beach a few weeks ago.... It was a lovely day... a beautiful day... a sunny day. Despite the fact that Baby-Ko developed an insane fear of seaweed leaving me no choice but to hold him for close to 2.5 hours, (truthfully, there was so much seaweed on the shore, I was expecting for Daryl Hannah to appear at any moment), all seemed perfect at Paradise Cove..... until we had to leave.

"Time to go, Baby-Ko. Help mommy, please. Carry your pale and shovel."

"NO," he protested. "I want to go look at the seaweed."

"What?! The seaweed? You didn't want to go near the seaweed...."

"I DO want to go see the seaweed. Let's go, mommy," he said taking my hand.

Baffled and still holding on to that "let's build his imagination" BS, I walked with him back to the water, half knowing that this was all a stalling tactic.

"Okay, here's the seaweed!" I said.

"I don't want to touch the seaweed! No! Pick my up!" (That's not a typo. He actually says "my" instead of "ME.").

"What?! Baby-Ko, you said you wanted to see the seaweed. So Mommy took you to the seaweed..."

"No! I don't like it! I too scared."

"Fine. Okaaaaay. Let's go. It's time to go."

"Noooooooooooooooo!" He screamed and squirmed out of my arms.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Time to go," I said trying to hold on to him and our belongings.

"I don't want tooooooooooooo!" He screamed louder as I started to drag him through the sand. I felt people staring.

"BABY. KO. That is enough. It is time to go. We had a fun day. It. Is. Time. To. GO."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Now everyone WAS staring. That's when IT HAPPENED:

"SHH! Do. You. See. That. Sign?!" I said sternly.

"What sign?"

"THAT sign." He turned. "It says: 'Children under the age of 3 have to leave at 5 o'clock.'"

"Or what will happen?"

"What will happen if we don't leave?"

"Yeah..."

"They'll take away your paci's."

"Who will take them away?"

"The man."

"What man?" He said looking around.

"The beach man. Let's go."

He started to walk and I started to feel the judgement of the tourists happily perched under this quaint little sign rip my parenting skills, or lack thereof, apart.

Whatever. Have a nice trip, A-holes.

Sadly, my sorry you can't read sucka! attitude didn't end there.... He gets too wild at a restaurant? The menu says "Your blankie will get taken away." He starts to scream while we're driving? The street signs say "no TV before bed." He whines for more marshmallows, the ingredients say, "little boys may only have 10.... or their teeth will fall out."

Obviously, my blame it on someone or something else tactic works now and will, at some point, need to be retooled. Of course, if I continue to tell him on P. 6 of 14 that it says "this book is over and it's time for bed. The end," then it may be a while before I need to come up with something better.... Oy.