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.

FOUR.

If you asked me 4 1/2 years ago what I thought my favorite thing would be about having a child, I don't think my answer would have been what it is now. I was pregnant. On the verge. Unaware of what it would really mean to fall deeply in love (on a daily basis) on less than 6 hours of sleep a night. I had no idea, NO clue, that my favorite thing about having a child would be anything other than plain love... After all, the mere ability to love a child... YOUR child... Isn't THAT the best thing? Isn't THAT the gift?

Yes. That's definitely part of it. But over the past 1460 days (okay, maybe 1457 days... as the first three were a complete blur), I've discovered that there might be other gifts. Other delicious and precious nuggets of love, if you will, that melt my heart and fill me with crazy joy....

Though I'm only four years into this gig, I realize I will never be able to pin point the single thing that I enjoy the most about life with Jonah. I can only assume it will have to be our conversations, his kisses and his questions though that I'll cherish always and will define all that it means to adore this child.

This morning, his birthday morning, is a perfect example....

6:39am... Footsteps into my bedroom.

J: Moooommy. (Tap on my shoulder)

Me: Good morning.

J: Moooommy. Am I four today?

Me: Yes! You're four! Happy Birthday!

He climbs into bed and I squeeze him tight.

J: Moooommy? Now that I am four, I am a big boy.

Me: A very big boy.

J: And I can't have a fit...

Me: A fit? (Containing laugh). Nope, no fits.

J: And I can't hit...

Me: Nope, no more hitting.

J: And I can't pinch....

Me: Definitely no pinching.

J: But what can I do?

Me: Oh! Now that you're four, you can do so many wonderful things!

J: I can hug....

Me: Yes, hug...

J: I can kiss... Like this... (He kisses my forehead).

Me: I love kisses.

J: I can share with my friends...

Me: Absolutely.

J: What else?

Me: You can say please and thank you, and be a kind person.

J: And not say "poop" or "pee" a lot...

Me: Yeah, four year olds don't talk like that.

J: Or say fart....

Me: (Nodding) Or say fart.

J: Or touch my "pee-nuz" a lot...

Me: Right. Or that.

J: Are you so happy I'm four?

Me: So happy, my love.

J: Now that I'm four do I get to sit in the front seat?

Me: No. Sorry, baby. You have to sit in the back still. For a few more years.

J: (Thinking). Mommy, tell me about how I got into your tummy and then how I came out of your tummy when I was a baby...

Me: Time to get up!!!!

Happy 4th Birthday, my angel. I love you just as you are right now and always.

Love,

Your Very Proud Mommy.

LOSING NEMO: A YEAR IN PEACE

Last weekend, a friend of mine told me that as a parting gift at a child's birthday party, her 2 year-old son was given a goldfish. I had 3 responses, consecutively:

#1) Are you fucking serious?!

#2) Wow. That's cool.

#3) Did they give you a bowl?

No... she said. They did not. No bowl. They just handed her a fish IN A BAG, and said thanks for coming. That was it. I tried to spin it in my mind... Perhaps that was a clever and cool alternative to Silly Bandz, candy, or some chatchke from Oriental Trading Company (seriously, spare me the junk people). But I never was really able to decide how I felt about such an extreme parting gift that a child really won't be able to "part" with anytime soon... unless they have parents like me, who let fish die and/or send them to fish heaven.

Anyway... all of this reminded me of our own dead fish incident of 2010. It's hard to believe "Nemo" has been gone a year. In memory of losing nemo, I thought I'd share with you an old post. Enjoy. And never give me a fish as a gift.

--------

Originally posted: February 9 ,2010

Last week, our lovely and adorable babysitter Ash-a-wee texted me to see if she could buy Baby-Ko a fish. Hmm. This is tough.... On one hand, a goldfish would be the perfect pet for us to have as I, a) am not an animal person and, b) Baby-Ko is fascinated by them. On the other hand, a) I am not an animal person and fish are right up there with birds and b) I have killed every single fish I have ever owned, not including the one from the very intentional murder/Purim incident of 1985. In fact, I have another confession: When I was 13, I killed my sister's goldfish with this fake "Cinderella" perfume she had in her dress up chest, just 'cuz. Point is, me and fish, notwithstanding sushi, don't do well together.

BUT, Baby-Ko... sweet Baby-Ko... I want to give him the world, and if that means feeding some slippery slimy fish and skimming out poo, then goddammit, I'll (vomit in my mouth) do it.

When I got home from work that night, Baby-Ko opened the door and beamed, "Mommy! Ash-a-wee bought me fish! In my house! Come, mommy, come!"

He marched me in to the living room. There, on the coffee table was a (dare, I say it?) a pretty-ish Black "Beta" Fish.... Living in my VERY pretty Kate Spade round vase. "Oh, goooood.... you found a bowl," half laughing.

Ash-a-wee told me she'd be going back to Petco tomorrow to pick up a proper bowl and some rocks, and also: She would clean the bowl and feed him when she came. PHEW. The fish has a chance at living.

"What did you name him?" I asked.

"Nemo!" Baby-Ko exclaimed. "He is Nemo, Mommy!"

"Nemo. Perfect!"

Though I desperately wanted to rename him something clever, or something even obvious like 'Bemo' (short for Black Nemo, which potentially sounds offensive), I shared in his pride over his very first pet. Nemo it is.

From the beginning, Nemo seemed to be a "slower" more "static" creature, if you will, never really moving from one place (even when Baby-Ko put his face up to the vase and shouted his name). However, it was to my shock and dismay when less than 24 hours later, I returned from a party and my mom whispered to me, "I think Nemo is dead." Shit.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Nothing. Nemo wasn't even belly up... Rather, he was on the bottom of the bowl. Upside down. Dead. Asleep. For good.

"What happened, Mommy?" Baby-Ko said, noticing my concern.

"Nothing, love. Nemo's sleeping. Let's go play with your trains." Not prepared to talk about life, death, and beta fish heaven, I redirected him to the other room...

A few minutes later, we got a call from T-Ko asking if we could Skype, as he is out of town for work. (BTW, I guess now is as good of a time as any to tell you that T-Ko and I separated last May and are getting divorced... At some point I'm sure I'll share more. But for now, let's honor Nemo... :-)) Anyway, over Skype, which we routinely do, we told him about Nemo and that Nemo is "sleeping" (wink, wink). I was fully prepared to do a bait and switch of Nemo the next day, but T-Ko had a different idea.

"Baby-Ko, look at my view," he pointed the computer camera out the window to the river. "Daddy's hotel is on a river. You should send Nemo to the river!"

Gulp.

"Go with Mommy to the bathroom and you can pour Nemo in to the toilet and flush him down to the river so I can see him."

"Good idea, Daddy!" I said, with a smile like Chandler Bing.

In to the bathroom we marched... Without much warning, I picked up my very pretty Kate Spade Vase. Swoooosh....

"Bye bye Nemo, go see Daddy!" I said.

Baby-Ko stuck his head to the toilet, "Where Nemo go?"

"...To come see me!" T-Ko said, "I'm going to go down to the river and get him."

A few more questions and love-you's later, Baby-Ko and T-Ko finished their chat.

--

Now every time I go in to the bathroom, Baby-Ko does look somewhat concerned. Because Baby-Ko's only 2 years old, I can't say that my first choice would have been to send Nemo to Savannah to see T-Ko and the river... But I admire T-Ko's quick response to putting the fish to rest for good.

In the meantime, any suggestions for how to explain to said 2-year old that when I sit down

on the toilet, Mommy isn't "sending her poo-poo and pee-pee down to the river to go see Daddy???"

THE POOP PRIZE

Since the inception of this blog, I have affectionately referred to my son as "Baby-Ko." But alas, the time has come to not only acknowledge the fact that though he is forever my baby, he is in no way a baby. He is a little boy.... A little boy with an infectious smile, incurable curiosity, and an ability to produce bowel moments on a moments notice.

Yup. I simply told him that I had a Buzz Lightyear motorized motorcycle that would be his in exchange of 3 poops on the potty, and I saw in his eyes a "Noooow we're talking, lady," smirk that he never gave with my lousy M&Ms and Skittles offerings. The drawn out, exhausting, and tactical negotiations that I had been dealing with for a month suddenly ceased. He threw me one last, "Holy shit, this bitch means business," look and it was game on.

Of course, I had no idea that only 2 hours later, he would have met his goal (and then some), but a deal is a deal.

Congratulations, Jonah. Drive safely.

BURNT TOAST: A JOB WELL DONE

There are two kinds of people in life: People that burn toast (always), and people that do not (ever). I am a person that always burns toast. And eggs.

But to be clear, this doesn't make me a bad cook. It just means, that in addition to having lousy appliances and pans (because I believe if I had a better pan, said eggs would be "better"), that as my son gets older, I will be the butt of all cooking disasters and jokes. Because of my knack for burning bread, I will be deemed as a mom who can't cook. "Don't ask mom to make it!" Ha, ha, ha.... "Sure, you should try her famous meatloaf.... If you like burnt meat!" Ha, ha, ha... "Mom's doing thanksgiving this year? She'll literally kill the turkey!" Ha, ha, ha...

A little preface to what I'm getting at with this "J-Ko burns everything" legacy that I feel coming on.... Last week, I traveled to Toronto (for about 35 hours) for an exclusive behind the scenes set visit for an upcoming TV movie sponsored by P&G and Walmart. It was a fun little trip- the cast (Brooke White of American Idol and Joe Flannigan of Star Gate) was lovely and our hosts very generous. My favorite part was connecting with other sites and bloggers that I follow like Betty Confidential, 5 Minutes for Mom, Great Dad, Mom Central, and sweet Jyl Nipper of The Post-it Place....

Well, Jyl and I couldn't possibly live more polar opposite lives-- She lives in "Hick Town" as she describes on her blog, with her husband, 2 children and an "assortment of critters," and I live in Los Angeles, with my 3 year old son, a gorgeous shag carpet and paparazzi hounding celebrities just around the corner. Jyl's closest neighbor is 5 miles away. I can hear mine snoring.

Jyl and I spent a lot of time talking about food (which she writes and shares a lot on her site).

"How often do you and your family eat out?" I asked.

"Twice a year."

"WHAT?! How is that even possible? I eat out 4 times a week... or more!!!"

Jyl explained that her nearest grocery store is 45 minutes away, and she makes a routine trip every two weeks. She has 3 deep freezers and everything is strategically purchased, organized and meals made according to plan. There is nothing wasted, leftover, or unused. She makes it, it gets eaten. Her kids like/love what they are served. And if they don't, too bad. (Though, after talking to her and reading her recipes, it's hard to imagine anyone could turn down her cooking). She asked me what my staples were, what me and the kid liked to eat... how often I went to the market ... what I bought... how often I ate leftovers...

When I told her I often have egg whites for breakfast, she asked, "What do you do with the egg yolks."

"Um.... garbage disposal....?"

"We're gonna come up with some recipes and ideas for you and Baby-Ko..." she smiled and said with her deep southern twang.

The point of telling you about my new southern friend, is that after all this cooking talk and me thinking about how I desperately want my son to grow up having favorite homemade meals that only his mom can make, I coincidentally (or ironically... or pathetically, depending on how you see it), practically burnt the house down. Making toast.

You see my toaster has always sucked. This I knew. It doesn't shut off and doesn't truly abide by the shade of toast the knob is purposefully turned to. Its' the kind of toaster that you can't blink an eye with-- move away and your perfectly golden waffle will turn dark brown in an instant. Yesterday, however, I got wrapped up in Baby-Ko dancing to Will I Am on Sesame Street and left. The. Toast. I knew it was there, I just didn't think I had to be there- YET.

When I went in to the kitchen to check on it, I saw smoke pouring out of the toaster. I quickly unplugged it and opened it up. All of a sudden, the toast ignited in flames. "SHIIIIIIIIT!!!!" I screamed. Baby-Ko came running in. "Stay back! Don't come in here!!!" In an instant, and in an order I can't recall, I opened the kitchen windows, tried to blow out the fire, grabbed the fire extinguisher, couldn't get it to work, grabbed a cup of water and threw it on the fire. It went out but the smoke got worse. The smoke detectors blared. I picked up Baby-Ko, grabbed the phone and dialed 911. The operator told me to wait out front until the fire dept. arrived....

Minutes later, I was greeted and "saved" by 5 or 6 handsome firemen who assured me I did the right thing.

Nothing was damaged or destroyed (except for a toaster that should have been killed months ago) and thank god, no one was hurt. Baby-Ko actually seemed to love all the excitement and was rather sad when the (did I mention handsome?) firemen had to leave. My apartment definitely still wreaks like a camp fire and every so often I start to get the "what ifs"... what if Baby-Ko and I kept dancing... What if he was in the kitchen without me... What if I lived in a neighborhood where 911 was slow to respond....

Yesterday, just reaffirmed a couple of things:

1) Accidents happen, but every day we need to count our blessings that it never usually amounts to more than an "accident."

2) Wear cute pajamas. These "accidents" happen in off hours.

3) Kids are pretty resilient. Not everything will scar him and not everything I do or don't do will result in lifelong suffering and therapy. (I hope).

3) I am going to fine tune my cooking chops and amp up and add to my staples. I will no longer be known as the mom who burns everything.... I'll just be the mom that prefers her food... well done....

THE MAGIC KINGDOM

Last weekend, I took Baby-Ko to Disneyland for his very first time. Knowing full well that the idea of Disneyland really would mean nothing to him until he actually set foot on Main Street and experienced the joy and churros that is the magical kingdom, I had been making a concerted effort to point out the iconic and very magical Disney castle at the beginning of various movies. (Who am I kidding. We really only watch one. Mary Poppins). Of course, I had concerns about how he would handle the big D-- the crowds, the line, the (no) nap... But, seriously, the minute we pulled in to the parking lot and got on the tram, (which btw, I could have totally told him that was Disneyland- he loved it so much), I saw the sparkle in his eye that I had hoped he would have and it was GAME ON!

From the Jungle Cruise to Small World, (which honestly folks, as an adult is slightly depressing and looks more like an impressive version of a 6th grade class project than I remember it as a kid- with the ceiling tiles crooked and the felt of the "dragon" outside of "China" a little askew), the boy LOVED D-Land and I loved it more seeing it through his eyes. Some of the highlights and low lights...

We started the day off with the Breakfast with Characters.

Minnie was definitely the star of the show. I was shocked to see how much Baby-Ko loved the characters. He hugged them tightly and once he realized all of his favorites "lived at Disneyland," he was on a mad search for Buzz Lightyear.... Who only made an appearance during the exact moment Baby-Ko napped in his stroller.

**Side note, I should add that ironically, Buzz had what appeared to be a PR lady or "rep" with him dictating where he will be making appearances through the park. While en route to these various places, he would not stop to say hi to children. I guess he's just that friggin' cool on and off screen... Poor Woody. **

During our breakfast, Cinderella's Fairy Godmother spent several minutes at our table.

Look, I realize that the Fairy Godmother is equivalent to a D-List celeb in the character world, but when this broad comes to your table with a wand and wants to grant you a wish (after a year of divorce and a house foreclosing), you let her sprinkle her fairy dust wherever she damn pleases. My favorite part was when my mom (aka Mimi- to Baby-Ko) tried to make chit chat with her.

"So how long have you been 'the fairy godmother'?"

"Oh," she smiled and blushed, "I've been here for 55 yeaaaaaaaaars," she said with a squeal. "I've been here since the very day they opened." Perhaps, I thought. She does look kind of old. Until she added, "I live here." Aaaaand scene.

Of course, the Fairy Godmother wasn't the only one refusing to break the 4th wall. Later during the day, whilst in the Corn Dog Line, I saw Mary Poppins and Burt go rushing by towards the "cast doors."

"Maaaaaaaaaaaary!!! Wait!!!" She wiggled her head.

"Waaaaaaaaaait!" I said running after her. "We want to meet you!"

"Parade," she whispered and winked.

Trying to explain to Baby-Ko that Mary had to "get back to Jane and Michael Banks" all the while knowing that Mary was probably really on her way to smoking a cigarette and doing something naughty with Burt in the locker room, made me sad.

Then Baby-Ko got his "driver's license" and I saw my life pass before my eyes.

He steered. I pushed the pedal. We both got whiplash. Remind me in 13 years to not be the one to teach him how to drive.

My baby became a BOY on Pirate's of the Caribbean.

I was really on the fence about whether Baby-Ko could handle Pirates so I decided we'd wait until the end of the day to go on it just in case it scared him so much that he wanted nothing else to do with Disneyland. At first he was all excited about being on a boat inside a room/ cave that appeared to be "night night time." But as the sounds got scarier and what looked like dirty pirate legs dangled above, the fear set in.

"Cover your eyes, Baby-Ko. It's okay. It's all pretend," I said squeezing him tightly. As I looked down at him, worried that he will now have nightmares for the next year, I saw what both amazed and saddened me: He was covering his eyes.... with his fingers spread apart. He was scared but wanted to look. He was a real little kid.

This to me felt like a huge rite of passage. It's all tumbles and thrills from this point on.... Sniffle sniffle....

Of course, then he licked the pole and I felt better.

Yes, on the merry go round, our very last ride of the day (which we may have accidentally snuck on to twice. Shh.), my beautiful and darling big boy took a big ol' lick of the pole--- The dirty- disgusting-public bathroom touching- turkey leg eating-corn dog licking-diaper changing-foreign disease-ridden pole. BLECH. I almost died.

"BABY-KO!!! Get your mouth off of there!"

"I liiiiiicked it, mommy!"

"I know. Please don't do that again."

He giggled, said okay, and proceeded to rest his cheeks against it anyway.

I wish I could say he had a bath that evening... but alas, it was a long day....

Today my boy turns 3. It's hard to believe it. That just 3 years ago I had no idea what being a mom would be like.... I guess that's the excitement and mystery of motherhood though.... Living in a castle that's still full of surprises no matter how old you are and no matter how familiar you are with the territory.... Happy birthday, Baby-Ko. You truly make my life magical.

MY DREAM

For the past few weeks, Baby-Ko has woken up saying "Mommy, I'm up from my dream! Come get me!" As I pick him up out of his crib (yes, he's turning 3. No, he's not in a big boy bed yet), I do my best to cheerily ask him about said dream.

Me: "What did you dream about?"

Baby-Ko: "The jungle!"

Me: "The jungle?!"

Baby-Ko: "Yaaaaaaaaaah, the jungle. And, and, and, the ocean!"

Now before you marvel at how amazingly imaginative my young boy is, I must confess: He did not come to these brilliant visions and landscapes on his own. I sort of fed them to him... At some point, during a typical nightly sleep battle, I encouraged him to close his eyes and think of all these lovely places... I promised him, that in the morning, "when the moon goes down, and the sun comes up," we would talk about our dreams... And I did. In the morning, I asked him about his dream. He just said "it was good," then asked me what I dreamt about.... Well, one day I dreamt about a lake, the next day it was an ocean, another it was a farm, and so on...

Fast forward to this morning.... He dreamt about a monkey biting him and a lion named Fred. He caught on quickly.

The point to me sharing this is that it's what happens AFTER our little dream sequence, if you will, that will hopefully matter the most in his life and in mine. Every morning, after he gets out of bed, he comes in to mine, I offer him a "snackie," he chooses a show to watch (well, it's not like he chooses any show. It's not like he's like, "oh mom, you recorded, Weeds. Let's watch"), and I go back to sleep as long as humanly possible....

I gently try to remind Baby-Ko that there's an entire bed, and he should move over...

But he has made up his mind... he's staying put....

Sometimes he literally puts his head on top of mine. Skull to skull doesn't feel great and, to be honest, is kind of annoying...

But I know one day he won't want to do this- he won't want to cuddle and he certainly won't want to talk about wild monkeys and talking lions.... So for now, I'll deal with the lack of space and the lack of sleep. If anything, it makes for some truly wild dreams of my own....

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....

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.

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.

BUBLE IS MY BIEBER

Ten years ago, date night meant dinner at the hottest spot, dancing, drinks and subsequently a gnarly hangover the next morning (or afternoon, really).

Alas, life is a little different now and my date nights have turned in to two hour increments in the middle of the afternoon (while said child responsible for perma-stubble on my legs spends time with his grandparents). I love my new life... I do. Though, like Steve Carrell and Tina Fey's character in "Date Night," a little adventure is craved every now and again... as long as I can get some sleep before Baby-Ko wakes up at the crack of dawn and wants to watch "Sid the Science Kid" 17 hundred times in a row. Hey, Sid, what do ya say? Whatcha wanna learn today?

ANYWAY, these days I'm admittedly less put together and hip than I used to be. In fact, the other day when I saw this post on The Frisky-- 32 Signs You're Not a Hipster Anymore, the reality of my all things mom status really set in. Not only am I also creeped out by those American Apparel ads, but when browsing through Urban Outfitters and trying to decide if I could pull off a little romper and booties at my next play date, I finally realized that I too can no longer shop there. (Honestly, would it kill them to turn down the music??).

The point is: My taxes are filed, my boots are flat, there are Cheerios in my bed, and let's call a spade a spade: black leggings are the new mom jean. I'm just not that cool anymore.

I'm not completely out of touch though-- I mean, I know what's cool. I know what's hip. I know who's hot. That said, these days...

I'd much rather make out with The Buble than "The Bieber."

The "New Mom" Excuse

A few weeks back, the Executive Producer for Momversation (the sister site to Parents Ask) was teasing me about this protein only diet that I've been doing... (Yes, I have been that annoying person in the office responsible for the wafting smell of microwaved turkey bacon and Jarlsberg Lite every morning). So, what was my reason for doing the kind of diet that I typically detest?

"I want to get rid of baby weight."

He cocked his head. "Um... How old is Baby-Ko again?"

Busted. My kid is starting preschool in the fall. Hello....

Right then and there it occurred to me that I have officially reached my cut off for using the "new mom" excuse. I mean, my constant state of disheveled-ness and unwashed hair can't entirely be blamed on my precious son... After all, I am juggling a full time job, a divorce, a new relationship, writing a book, an incredibly strong willed toddler, and the shaggiest shag rug known to man. (Literally this thing is a fucking beast). That list is enough to make anyone exhausted-- no matter how young or old your kid is. So really, there's no need to live on the "new mom edge" any longer-- those days are done. No need to hide behind that excuse. Now life is just plain chaotic. Let the real games begin...

Amused by my revelation, the EP decided this would make for a great discussion on Momversation. So... Check out this little video...

And tell me....What is the shelf life for using the new mom excuse?

FISHER-PRICE LAUNCHES A "TABLET FOR TODDLERS" (UM, WHAT HAPPENED TO PLAYING WITH BLOCKS?!)

I must admit, I don't even know what a Zhu Zhu is and I certainly can't fathom sitting down to a game of Mattel's Mental Mind Flex after a day like today. Granted, my son is only 2 1/2 and is easily entertained by removing every receipt and penny in my wallet and throwing it around the room, so the dire need for "the coolest" toy on the shelves isn't quite as crucial as it is in some homes. However, when I read about the new Fisher Price "Tablet for Toddlers" that was debuted this past week at the nation's largest Toy Fair in NYC, I realized I may need to stop pretending that his hand-carved puzzles and dried-out (non-toxic, of course) play dough are really fun.

To read the rest of my story, click here!

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...

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....

(DON'T) CUT THE CHEESE

As a mom, I try really hard to do the right thing. I try to be organized. I try to be patient. I try to be thoughtful. I try to anticipate the needs and wants of my very strong willed and curious (two year old) child by being prepared. And I certainly try to handle all situations, where said personality traits can push ones buttons, with grace (and speed).

I TRY.

So, when Baby-Ko accompanied me to a very crowded and not so kid friendly Home Depot, you can imagine how hard I TRIED to explain to him why roaming the aisles (without holding my hand) wasn't really an option. You can also imagine how hard I TRIED to reason with him as we were leaving (literally four and a half minutes after we got there) that riding the fork lift in the parking lot was also not an option. And certainly, you can imagine how hard I TRIED to lure him into my very obvious not-a-contractor-just-a-stressed-out-mom-doing-an-errand-too-close-to-nap-time-SUV-with a "yummy string cheese...???"

"Cheese baby? Do you want cheese?" I said sweetly (waiting for a defiant "No!").

"Yeahhh. I want it," he said relaxing his body and sitting in to the car seat.

"Okay, my love. Here you are." Phew.

Without thinking, I peeled back the wrapper, broke the stick in half and handed him one of the pieces.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He wailed. "I want to bite it!!!" Tears erupted.

"What? Why? Wait, no! Look, you have TWO pieces! Mommy gave you two pieces of cheese!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He flailed. "I don't want two!! I want together!!!"

Are you kidding me??? WTF?! Who doesn't like two pieces of cheese???

"Okay, shhhh! Calm down, Baby-Ko. Give it back to Mommy. I will make you one piece," I said boldly.

With one hand on the steering wheel (did I mention we were already on the road??), and one hand on the cheese(s), I literally started to mush the two ends together to create one "string," if you will. As I handed what I thought was a perfectly welded string/stick of friggin' cheese back to my boy, it fell apart. MORE TEARS.

"Baby! It's not working."

"I want it!!!! I want to bite!!!" He said, chucking half of the cheese back at me (thankfully landing on the console). OMG, kid.

O. M. G.

Doing my best not to lose it (with both tears and laughter), I took a deep breath and dug deep to my inner MacGyver. I mushed, and mushed, and contorted the over-processed (and while we're being honest: NOT organic) cheese back in to one stick and supported it by using the wrapper (like a banana leaf).

With my fingers now smelling like a combo of ass, foot crud, and Wisconsin Cheddar, I delicately handed the golden stick of goodness back to his royal highness.

"Okay, Baby-Ko. One stick. Eat it slowly."

"It's mine," he said sniffling. "My cheese."

"Yes," I said, "It's your cheese...." And for some reason, (and I have no idea why I said it, I just did), under my breath muttered: "Believe me it's yours. My hand smells like vagina."

Without missing a beat he responded: "I want my penis."

This time, I said and tried nothing. Down the road, (a long road, I hope) I think my strong willed and curious child will handle this one on his own... I just hope I'm prepared.....

IF THAT AIN'T LOVE

Last night I slept on the floor. Yes. The floor. Next to Baby-Ko's crib. In a fetal position. Using his changing pad as pillow, and my robe as a blanket, I managed to squeeze my arm through a slat so that my son, my very (possibly terrible) two year old son, could hold my hand, and eventually (pray god) fall the eff asleep.

Two hours and one majorly numb hip later, I gently removed my hand from his grip, and literally crept out of the room cursing every creak my exhausted knees caused as I crawled down the hallway.

For about a week now, I have broken every rule in THE sleep book. He cries. I pick him up. I put him down. I go in. I go out. I sleep with him. He sleeps with me. He eats. I eat. He drinks. I drink. It's like sleep training all over again only worse: He TALKS. He can reason with me. He can beg. He can plead. And he can even make me laugh in the middle of the night. (Not sure why he said he wanted "Meat-a-balls" in the middle of the night. But he did. And it was funny).

The point is, I'm clueless mommy 101 right now and I've got to get a grip. I've got to get him back to sleep and I've got to be consistent. It's hard to know if his new bad habit (which seems to strike at about 1:45am) is the result of something environmental or something developmental, but holy shit: I'm tired.

As I put Baby-Ko to sleep tonight and promised him that I would be in the other room all night, and that tonight, he would sleep in his room ALONE, surrounded by Eeyore, Tigger, Teddy, Monkey and his favorite three blankets, I prayed that he understood what I was saying. I prayed that he understood that I love him so much and that I would sleep on the floor all night with my hand through a slat if I had to.... but that I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to. That I'm pretty sure that it will only make things harder down the road if I don't nip this in the bud now (again). And that when he's 17, and I'm still checking for monsters under his bed, (and giving him cheerios in a bowl because he simply asks for it at 3am because I'm simply exhausted) his buddies won't think it's very cool...

At least that's what I'm telling myself tonight.... tears and all.

Wish me luck.... And send me your best sleep training advice. Seriously. Just not at 1:45 am. I''ll probably be a little... wrapped up....

RULE THE ROOST

Discipline. The D Word. Something I've never been very good at when it comes to myself (diet, exercise, french fries etc.)... and something I'm realizing that I'm not so great at when it comes to my son. Shortly after Baby-Ko turned 1 and started "testing," I remembered the pride I felt when a mere look or simple redirection of attention settled his urge to do the "don't" and I certainly didn't need to use the evil "N" word. I had mastered parenting at an early age (both mine and his), and I thought whoever invented "time out" could just suck it. My kid's GOOD. Really good... which according to Wacky, you're never really supposed to say because it actually gives them this whole personality disorder or something like that...

But I digress...

The point is, Baby-Ko is now 2 and because I've been back to work full time for the last year and because I no longer have any Wacky's (other than my wonderful family members) coaching me through the (not-so) "terrible two's," I feel like I'm completely clueless when it comes to the discipline department these days. (Certainly, you remember the Vacuum incident that rocked the nation....?)

Baby-Ko's newest thing is to swing his beloved (and filthy) blankie in the air... first he starts out doing it cutely, as if he enjoys feeling his blankie around his body, side to side. Then he starts getting closer to people or things, and the blankie sort of turns in to a whip. I suppose it could potentially really hurt another person, but mostly it's just annoying and I'm not sure why he does it, and I'm certainly not sure how to get him to stop-- as taking his blankie away isn't an option.... I don't think... (is it???)

For whataver reason, the other morning, Baby-Ko decided to test his limits again with said blankie. Carrying it in his little hands, he marched right in to the bathroom, lifted up the toilet lid and dropped it in the bowl.

First, he felt like ballsy.

Then, he was proud....

Then, he was screwed....

Not knowing whether to laugh, discipline, or be grateful for the fact that the toilet had JUST been flushed, I shook my head, said nothing, got a plastic bag, removed the now ass ridden blankie from the toilet, and carried it right to the washing machine.

For the next 45 minutes as the washer and dryer removed the germs and frayed corners that my son so derives comfort from, Baby-Ko was devastated and distraught by his decision. I did my very best, as he stood in the laundry room sobbing and pleading for his blankie to come out, to explain the consequence of what happens when we put things in the potty (that don't belong). But honestly, he didn't care.... My normally happy son who loves nothing more than to help me "do laundry," was being tortured by a great white blankie eating shark.

Fortunately, in a few weeks Wacky is holding a lecture for Two Year olds (well for the parents of two year olds that is) and I am attending. I very much look forward to a little Wacky gospel... Of course, I'm not sure she'd approve of redirecting a tantrum with YouTube videos or Sesame Street... Shh. Let's just keep that between us for now... okay?

HAND-ME-DOWNS!

A long time ago, I wrote a post for Momlogic about the Handmedown dilemma that I think every mom experiences. Whether you're the Hand-me-down "Pitcher" (offering your kid's puke stained bouncer and onesie), or the Hand-me-down "Catcher" (receiving your friend's kid's puke stained bouncer and onesie), knowing and understanding the HMD protocol can be a little anxiety provoking.... At least for me. (Shocker).

My dear friend Norah and her partner Jane, however, have created a website that I think takes the anxiety out of what to do with that ridiculously annoying swing (that you secretly let your child sleep in for 9 months because you swear that sleep experts really don't know shit). Handmedowns.com is a PG, mom-friendly CraigsList, if you will, that I think can help those of you who are looking to either de-clutter your closets, make some money, or even help others in need!

Plus, right now, they're giving away TWO tickets to MILEY CYRUS with a BACKSTAGE PASS!!

Ok, Here's How you Post

1. Go to handmedowns.com and choose SELL
2. List your item, design it with a picture if you want and check out!
3. Someone will contact you via email and the rest is up to you!

Plus, the more times you post, the more times your name is entered
into the sweepstakes (Miley, here you come!)