WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: MEMORIES OF HAITI

There are some faces you never forget. His is one....

To read about my trip to Haiti with Ladies' Home Journal and Crocs Cares, click here.

"REDSHIRTING" and THE KINDERGARTEN CRAZE

When I first found out I was pregnant and due in September of 2007, I really never considered the implications that giving birth to a child with a late summer birthday would have other than how miserable I thought I'd be at 900 pounds and pregnant during Los Angeles heat waves. As a September baby myself, I pretty much just patted myself on the back for birthing another Virgo and for getting myself (and my unborn child) into the city's most acclaimed mommy and me class for "September babies" at 10 weeks pregnant. That's all I really needed to think about.... Making sure he was in a class (at 3 months old) with other babies (infants, really) who had no more than a 30 day difference age wise than him. Why should my baby already be behind? I'll give him every advantage in the world... always...

But let me tell you, as a new (but lifelong neurotic) mom, when my son wasn't rolling over like every other baby, or spitting up more, or not crawling...etc, etc... I wondered and often blamed his September 20th birthday for the baby with the September 6th birthday. Was the 14 day difference giving that little girl a leg up on my boy? I thought so. After all, I downed folic acid like it was air and flocked to the number one pre-natal yoga guru as if she were god incarnated. I did EVERYTHING right and didn't even look at deli meats or sushi. How could he already be behind? My son is brilliant and developmentally on track isn't he?!?... Oh, those 14 days. They felt like everything....

Eventually things seemed to even out. He walked, talked, and even learned to pee standing up. Those days and weeks that separated my son from the kids that crawled sooner and I assumed were way head of my son developmentally, eventually meant nothing. But 4 years later... I'm back to that place... and now, it's worse than worrying about the fact that he drools more or hasn't given up a bottle.

Now it's about Kindergarten enrollment... AKA: The rest of his life.

Or at least that's how it feels.

Here's the sitch:

Jonah turns 5 in September. He has been in (private) preschool for 2 years. The cutoff for Kindergarten in the state of CA is Nov. 1st. So technically, J can go to kindergarten. However, no one, including his teachers are certain he's ready. Academically, yes. Emotionally, no. SO thankfully, many schools in Los Angeles have what's called a Transitional Kindergarten program.... designed for late summer/ fall born children like little J. Great. The Problem? Thanks to budget cuts, TK might get slashed therefore giving us two options: Send him to kindergarten (like I did when I was 5 years old) OR keep him in preschool one more year (which is really not an option because of financials). So basically, this means, if TK gets slashed, OR if they enroll children starting with December birthdays and work there way back, he won't get it. What does this all mean? I need to wrap my head around the idea of kindergarten at the age of 5... which has become this ooogy boogy, horrific notion amongst parents these days.

Last night, 60 Minutes ran a great segment about this "Redshirting" phenomenon- or holding children back from kindergarten. According to the piece, redshirting has tripled since the 1970's. Now nearly a quarter of all kindergarten classrooms are populated by 6 year olds. Boys are twice as likely to be held bas as girls, and twice more than minorities and of course rich more than poor.

Parents like me are getting scared into thinking that our children aren't not only ready for the curriculum which is now harder and different in Kindergarten as it was when we were children, but that if we allowed our children to be the youngest child, they wouldn't be the leaders.... Socially, they'd be out of place.... weaker... less likely to succeed.

Is it really that serious though? As Morely Safer says in a follow up piece, he doesn't think it makes a bit of difference. (I suppose I would be curious to know how old President Obama was when he started kindergarten.... and also Justin Bieber. Both seem to be doing okay).

In case, you missed it, here's the piece from 60 minutes below. So tell me: What do you think I should do? Kindergarten or bust? TK first, kindergarten second option? Beg, borrow, steal to keep him in preschool one more year? Share your thoughts and experiences here!

Click HERE for the follow up piece.

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: BLUE HANDS

Yep, I'd say this is a sign of an accomplished day at preschool.

MEDITATE ON THIS

Is it safe to assume, that only in Los Angeles, a 4 year old comes home from (private) preschool and says that we need to build a meditation garden? Or does this kind of thing happen everywhere???

Yesterday afternoon, I asked my son what his favorite part of his school day was:

"Meditating."

"Huh?"

"Meditation. We med-dit-tationed."

"You meditated???"

"Yes, in the med-dit-tation garden. All of the kids in the class. We all med-dit-tated."

"That's nice. Why?"

"Because it calms you down. If you get angry. You can go to med-dit-tation."

"Ah, I see."

First of all, how lovely that his school has a meditation garden. Second of all, his school has a meditation garden. Hilarious! (If he told me there was a juice bar and an acupuncturist there, I swear I might believe him.)

Anyway, today, he marched in the door and told me WE needed to have a meditation garden. "That's a great idea, Jonah. We can both use it."

"Yes, mommy. When you get angry and need to calm down, you should go there... My teacher said it's good for mommy's too." Yes, darling meditating IS good for moms too. In fact, if we want to really calm mommy down, let's put a wine trough smack down in the center of it.

"Well, let's find a place in the house to make our meditation 'zone,'" I said.

I pulled old pillows and from the closet and moved his art easel out of his "art studio" (aka, the corner) and designated it our meditation area. Jonah ran to the area and plopped down.

"Ahhh."

"Do you feel relaxed?"

"Yep. Do you?"

"Yes. I do."

We took a deep breath together and then decided to read a book together (though I insisted I thought meditation gardens were for being quiet. He corrected me and said meditation gardens are for "doing something quiet." Excuse me, my little Yogi.)

In other news, remember my New Year resolutions? I've already broken most of course. Check out my first post for Lifetime Moms. I'll be contributing about 2 written posts and 2 video posts weekly. (My latest one is about getting busted, Facebook style). Visit my homepage there to see the newest additions. This is one of several exciting things brewing but I'm seriously thrilled to be a part of the Lifetime Moms team. (Can I shout that from the meditation garden/corner? I'll do it quietly. Maybe).

THE MOMMY WITHIN

When J first started preschool, I always seemed to get stuck with the stuff on the sign up sheets outside the classroom that NO ONE would wish on their worst enemy.... Taco salad for 35 people, muffins (without dairy, wheat, nuts, or flavor), kosher egg salad, etc... I cursed the gods (and moms) of preschool and complained that no one understood the plight of the working mom. Sorry I'm not at all the pick up and drop offs wearing a stupid cardigan, skinny jeans and flats, and getting all excited and nervous about what to sign up for on THE list. OH, that GODDAMN LIST.

Well this year, somehow (and I swear to you, it wasn't voluntary) I became a room rep. This combined with the fact that I now am an independent contractor and work from home means I do a lot more pick up and drop offs and therefore have much more access to said goddamn list, ie. First mother effing dibs bitches!

So a couple weeks ago, as I was leaving morning drop off J's teacher said she was about to put out the list for the class Chanukah party. She told me to sign up for something before all "the easy stuff" was taken. EASY? I want easy. Don't get stuck with the noodle kugle, or worse latkes. NO. I paid my friggin' dues. I want easy. I scanned the list. Napkins and utensils, fruit salad, Chanukah cookies, mini bottles of water.... MINI. BOTTLES. OF. WATER? Done and done. Who's bringing the bottles of water? Jennifer Fucking Brandt is. That's who.

Feeling victorious and like I just scored the last, hottest dress at a sample sale, I turned to leave. And then it hit: Bottles of water? Bottles of water???? Really?! You're going to bring bottles of water to your son's Chanukah party? That's what you want him to remember you by? The mom that brings bottles of water to the festival of lights? Be better than that, Jenny. BE. BETTER. THAN. THAT.

I scanned the list again. Cheese sandwiches (for 25). I can do cheese sandwiches. Bread, cheese, sandwich. My mind started to race. I can do MORE than bread, cheese, and sandwich. I can do butter and wait for it: shapes. CHANUKAH shapes. And if I'm feeling extra ambitious and cute, I might even grill the little effers. (Well, let's not get carried away with ourselves here...).

Excited to let the mommy within do her thing, I had our afternoon of sandwich making all planned. I set up a little assembly line... I buttered, J put on the cheese, the bread, and picked his shape. Chanukah, oh chanukah, come make some cheese sandwiches....

Little by little, the crafty, clever and culinary master I knew existed within emerged and I was mentally kicking the asses of all the other cardigan and flats wearing moms out there. Of course, I wasn't exactly prepared for what to do with the remnants of the 2 loaves of bread I used to make these miniature dreidel, menorah and star of David prizes....

At the urging of my mom, I'm going to try to make a souffle. Alas, I'll finally be able to summon the French, butter loving, woman I know exists within....

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!

WORKING MOM: WHAT I DO

Without getting into a diatribe about the plight of the working mom and how no one will ever understand our woes and Debbie Downer cries of "waaaaaah waaaaaaah," I would like to say simply: it's not easy. Especially when your son attends a school where the majority of moms don't work, or at least, are so involved in the minutia of the school it appears as if they don't work/ need/want to work and the joys of planning a bake sale or book fair pales in comparison graduating from Yale Law. This is not to say that those women, some of my favorite, sweetest and dearest friends, to be exact, aren't brilliant and capable of work... it's just that... well. They. don't. work. And. I. do.

Lately, Jonah has been asking me about this... "Why do you work and the other mommies don't?" There are days I'd like to respond by saying, "Because they're lucky bitches." But, of course, I refrain and offer a very matter of fact and confident, "Because I am a writer and I tell stories. That is my job. Some mommies work. Some mommies don't. Your mommy works." Often, I throw in a "I like to work" bit in there too because even though there are (jealous) days that I wish I didn't HAVE TO, the truth is, I do LIKE to. I like to work. And I want Jonah to grow up not only proud of me but see an example of a strong, smart, and professional mom.... To know that I have a full a life... To know that mommies and daddies can have careers, goals and passions and love their family equally.

However, the tricky part about my job is that it's not a one-liner. So to try to explain to a 4 year old about why I can't pick up from school today and what exactly I'm doing at work... in a world called "Digital Media" and "blogging" and working as a "spokesperson" or "brand ambassador" and how I'm connecting it all with "social media..." blah blah blah... Um, yeah. It's not so cut and dry..... and apparently NOT sooooooo veeeeeeeeeeery important or impressive according to said 4 year old anyway.... see job description below....

Actually... the kid might be on to something. I do type letters. Which does lead to sentences.... Which does lead to stories... It's simple and precise. On that note, I think I'll keep this typing to a minimum. I have work to do. ;-)

PARENTING ADVICE: F**K IT

A couple years ago, I wrote a post when I worked at Momlogic about Parenting from the Gut. I had decided that my all things Westside and Neurotic was getting out of control and I'd try to listen to my instincts instead of flocking to the gurus that I had (still am) been paying good money to, to tell me what kind of pajamas my toddler should wear in mid October.

Sure... that "laissez faire," whatever works mentality works sometimes, but there is one area in particular that my own "here's how I'm going to handle this" strategy has been failing big time: Potty Talk with a capital Shit. My 4 year old has been swearing like a truck driver and literally nothing I do or don't do works. Last year, it was all Poop and Pee all the time. J's teacher suggested every time he says Poop or Pee out of context like he has Turret's that I quickly swoop him up and take him to the bathroom as if to say (and actually say), "Oh, you're saying Poop. That must mean you need to go...." Yup. That worked for a week. Then there was the "next time you say that, time out/toy taken away/done playing/no TV blah blah blah" phase. Then there was the "do nothing" phase.... which maaaaaaay have lead to bigger words being spewed like "Stupid. Dammit. Asshole. Shit." And his number one favorite, which he actually will only whisper because he knows just how bad it is: "Fuckit" (Said as one word).

Now before you go judging me and wondering where this angel gets this foul and massively inappropriate vocabulary, allow me to assure you that if, I repeat IF it comes from me it would never be on purpose and only during moments, at least for me, when I'm driving and people don't know how to signal or stop short or drive. really. at all. (Yes, I'm working on my road rage). And it's certainly not from watching Real Housewives or any of that garbage. In fact, if it comes from his exposure to media at all, then the fucking Backyardigans are really the ones to blame... But I digress...

Though his language has been a little extreme, I can say proudly (er, um... as proudly as a mother of a child with this problem should be) that this is language he DOESN'T use at school, but DOES use in proper context. Case in point, the other day: I had to return something to Zara. The manager and sales associate were being complete biatches and extraordinarily rude. When I walked away from the counter in a huff (with J in tow), he asked me why we had to go, I said, out loud, so the two B's could hear me: "Because they're NOT being very helpful."

J: Mommy, were they mean?

Me: Yes.

J: Mommy, should we call them assholes?

I laughed. Yes. I laughed. And in my opinion, the fact that he was able to identify the store manager as an asshole means he is good at reading people. That will save him years of bad relationships. I mean, he was a little off on wanting to call her "Dammit" a few minutes later, but I totally caught his drift. AND yes, I know this is not okay to encourage this behavior which is WHY, I pulled his preschool director aside the other day and told her about my little fouled mouth friend and asked her what in the fuck I should do...

So, her advice: Tell him that we have a new plan. From now on, when he needs to say not nice words, he must go into his bedroom or bathroom, shut the door, and say them to himself. It's private and those words are hurtful and not acceptable, especially not acceptable when you're saying them to your mommy. He must not use this language only in private.

Well, when I picked him up from school and he called me a stupid poop head, I seized the opportunity and told him the new plan. You have never seen a child so excited to get home and close the door by himself. For about 30 seconds I heard, "stupid. shit. dammit. asshole. fuckit. awful. poo poo. pee pee. throw up." Then he came out, took a deep breath and said he was all done. Not ONE bad word has been uttered outside his room since and I swear he has been in a great mood for like 2 days straight. This may have been the best parenting advice I've gotten yet.

We'll see how it fucking goes...

Speaking of parenting advice, here's some of my favorite nuggets of advice I pulled together for Momversation & YouTube. Enjoy ;-)

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: HOLY MOSES

Waiting patiently for the Red Sea to part....

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....

ON THE LIST

According to Wacky, Baby-Ko (who's not even 8 months old) should already have his name on 4 to 5 PRESCHOOL WAITING LISTS. The kid hasn't even tried Cheerios yet and is already expected to be competing for a spot at a good preschool....

Of course, without fail, I bought into the hysteria, and found myself on a TOUR of a preschool TODAY. Wacky gave us a list of all the schools she signs off on (a list that we weren't allowed to take home until we completed the 3 week discussion). When we talked about the Valley schools during Week 2, she said that the one I saw today was one of her favorites. (In all seriousness, I think Wacky's point of view on nursery schools is spot on and she did dole out some valuable advice on this one). When I tried to tell T-Ko the things that Wacky told us to look for, he said "as long as they give free apple juice and Lorna Doones, I approve." Thanks, Daddy.

Even though it was a hundred years ago, I decided to invite my Nana with me to the tour since she used to be a Professor of Early Childhood Development and owned her own nursery school. When we walked into the school with Baby-Ko we were immediately greeted by the Program Director. She brought us out to the play-yard and memories of my own early childhood came flooding in... Play dough, searching for roley-polies, nap time, and of course snack time...

The rest of the tour and visit was fine. It was a lovely little school.... Very developmental, social and sensory oriented like Wacky says a good school should be. But to be honest, the highlight was not the tour....
It was the fact that COREY FELDMAN and his wife were their checking it out as well.

That's right, Corey Feldman. As in Goonies, Stand By Me, License To Drive... As in "My Two Coreys" (the painful to watch reality show about life after fame with he and the Corey Haim). Back in the day, I obviously was way more in love with Corey Haim (oh, and Ralph Macchio AND C. Thomas Howell) than Corey Feldman. Nonetheless, to have a BOP and Teen Beat icon sitting across from me on a mini chair, asking questions about how the school handles separation and transition, is like, RAD.

BUT the fact that Baby-Ko is ON THE LIST, is like, TOO THE MAX!