WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: GOOD FORTUNE

Now this is the kind of shower I can find the time for....

POKER FACE

Last night, I took a trip down iPhoto lane and stumbled on a slew of old videos from when Jonah was about 21 months old. Watching them, I started to feel very sentimental... Though I love watching this child bloom and truly become a little boy right now, I must admit, part of me misses "Baby-Ko...." First steps, first words, first songs... Now he's putting concepts together. Like big concepts. Take this conversation for example... From the back seat... where the most meaningful conversations seem to start....

J: Mommy, tell me about the day I came out of your PA-CHINA.

And cue the poker face.

Me: Um, wha-- Oh. Um. Uh, okay. Uh, the day you were born...?

J: Yeah, tell me.

Me: Okaaaay....

J: Did it hurt when I was coming out of your pa-china.

Me: Yes. It did.

J: For how long?

Me: For about 40 minutes.

J: Is that a long time?

Me: Uh, actually... It's pretty good. Not bad.

J: Did it hurt me?

Me: No, it didn't hurt you.

J: What did it feel like?

Me: Uh.....

(Is this where I tell him about anaesthesia?)

J: Did it feel like a pinch?

Me: Uh huh. Like a pinch.

J: Like a shot?

Me: Yep. Like a shot.

J: Like a big, big poo poo coming out?

Me: Um. Yes. Definitely like that.

Silence.

J: But Mommy, I'll never have a baby...

Me: Well, one day you wi--

J: No. Mommy, no. I don't have a pa-china.

Me: That's true. You don't. But you'll marry a mommy and she will have one.

J: Where will you be?

Me: Well, I'll live very close by.

J: Will you live with me?

Me: No, not when you're married.

Silence.

J: Mommy, do you want to marry me?

Me: Jonah, I .... Mommies can't marry their sons. But I will love you forever.

J: Even when I'm an old man.

Me: Even when you're an old man.

J: Do I get to step on the glass at my wedding?

Me: (laughing). Why, yes, Jonah. Yes, you do.

J: Turn on Lady Gaga.

Me: Okay.

Speaking of Poker face...

I do. I miss the A, B, C's.

MANY THANKS....

... for family. The traditions new and old, the questions that my mom asks repeatedly (still), the goodbyes that take forever (even though we'll see each other tomorrow). It means I have family. It means I have support.

... for my health. The extra stuff around the middle, the puffy eyes in the morning (and at night), the muscle cramps and aches after a hard workout (or bad night of sleep). It means I have health. It means my body works.

... for my home. The loud and unfriendly neighbors, the (always dirty looking) tile that I would not have chosen, the clutter that waxes and wanes, ebbs and flows (depending on how hard a 4 year old cyclone hits). It means I have a home. It means I have a haven.

... for my friends. For my friends, for my sweet, sweet friends. Your words of encouragement, your words of wisdom, your words through decades and disasters. It means everything. It means I have a team.

... for my child. The many questions I cannot answer, the whining and temper tantrums I cannot quell, the energy I cannot handle at certain times. It means I have a child. It means I have given life.

... for my dreams. The many disappointments, the many visions of life and love (past and present), the twinkle in the stars I manage to believe shine for me even when it feels like the world is telling me otherwise. It means I'm a dreamer. It means I have hope.

Today I am grateful for all this and more. Happy Thanksgiving.

RED JEANS: 3 WAYS

Earlier this year, Robin Saperstein of High Heel in a Haystack and I met and as I've said before, I was convinced we were not only separated at birth, but that we shared a deeply stylish karmic fashion connection. Robin, a fashion stylist based here in Los Angeles gave me a complete wardrobe makeover. Not only did she go through my closet and help me determine which clothes shouted 1993 and needed to be bagged immediately, but she put together some fantastic looks for me that inspired me to continue to think about style and actually enjoy getting dressed (in something other than yoga pants and my American Apparel pullover).

Well this weekend, we hung out and ended up playing dress up. Literally. We started talking about some outfits I could wear to different events and holidays and also some ideas for fully functional days (meaning, what do I wear on fully kid, fully exhausting, down in the trenches days). Equipped with a fab pair of Current Elliot red skinnies, I had Robin show me three ways to wear red jeans without something just black. I loved what she came up with so we decided that we'd film it and share it with you.

Btw, can I still look stylish with these jeans unbuttoned on Thanksgiving???? Just wonderin'.... Enjoy!

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: SLEEPING BEAUTY

Oh, boy. That's my boy.

NATIONAL LIKE YOURSELF DAY: YEAR 2

The other day I noticed a picture on my phone that Jonah must have taken one morning during a round of "Mommy, what does this button do." I have to be honest, at first glance, I saw nothing but blur and went to delete it. But then I took a second look, "Do my thighs look as great as I think they do here?"

Totally self absorbed and obnoxious as it may sound, the photo gave me that sort of... "hmmph" feeling... The kind of feeling when you try you try on a pair of jeans you think will look terrible, but lo and behold, your butt actually looks (a la Larry David), "pre-tty, pre-tty, good."

Similarly, while taking Tae Bo class this morning, and feeling particularly proud of myself for how high I was kicking, I got a rush of "I'm kind of a bad ass" and remembered a post I wrote last October. After spending time in what I dub/dubbed as "woe is me land," last year, I decided I'd take a day to honor the strictly superficial things I like about myself and shout it from the roof tops. Read Post HERE. I got a lot of positive feedback... a lot of you were up for the challenge and shared the things you liked too...

One year later, I'm happy to say I'm still feeling great about my ankles, eyebrows, and what should be a genetically impossible nose. Though I still hate my arms and frequently curse the Gods of Breastfeeding, there are days like today that liking myself comes easy. I'm not sure if I have Hipstamatic and/or fogged up gym mirrors to thank for the feeling, but either way, I'm gonna roll with it. And like it.

Now it's your turn again. It's National Like Yourself Day and I'm challenging YOU to like yourself today too. Choose three things that you love about yourself physically. Share them in the comments here and/or on your own blog. Be sure to leave a link and link back to me too. Tweet it, Facebook it, share it with your community and spread the like yourself love....

Who's in?

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!

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: WRONG. JUST WRONG.

Who knew an inflated pumpkin could look so... um, inflated.

WRONG.

WRONG.

WRONG.

Goodbye, Halloween!