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....

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.

IT'S JUST THE AGE

Hi, there. You still here? Sorry. I know it's been a while since I've posted. I knoooooow.  I knoooooow.  I should be writing more. You're right. It's true. But trust me. TRUST. ME. I have some pretty good goddamn excuses up my sleeves. And once I'm able to share them all with you, you will forgive me. I prom. 

In the meantime, let's talk about the UFC style bout I had this morning, trying to get Baby-Ko in the car. I have always thought the term "terrible two's" are, well, terrible. I mean, to me, this seems like the best age ever. He looks and sounds like a little munchkin, he's funny (like seriously, kind of witty. I swear), and his vocabulary is blossoming at warp speed. It's a FUN age. It is.... Until it's not. 

Baby-Ko's "new thing" is to try to test his independence. At first it started with grabbing my keys from the table by the front door and saying "Bye, Mommy. I be right back."  Now it's that, PLUS, "let go of me biatch. I'm going down the stairs on my own. Seriously, lady. I mean it." I mean, . I know that's what he's trying to say when he's pushing me away on the staircase and screaming "No! I do it!" at the top of his lungs. Typically, I might actually indulge his hysteria and (while hovering) let him hold on to the railing and go down step by step, sloooowly. But on a day like today, when Mommy's got to get to work, and the walk from the staircase to the car in and of itself could take twelve days if I let him walk on his own, I had no choice but to pick him up and take matters in to my own hands.

Yeaaah. He didn't like that so much.  

"WAAAAALK!!! ME WALLLLK!! DOWWWWN!!!" He screamed.

"I'm sorry, Baby-Ko. We have to go. I have to go to work."

"NO WORK!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!" He wailed as I opened the car door and the WWE Smackdown began. 

For the next ten minutes, I begged, pleaded, laughed, (and oh, did I sigh), trying to get a child with a gift for Kung Fu in to his car seat without breaking his limbs and my earrings.

"Do you want a Paci?"

"NO!!!"

"Do you want a snack?"

"NO!!!"

"Do you want to listen to the Santa Song" (Please don't ask. He loves Raffi's Santa Song.)

"NO, Santa. I want drive!"

"What?"

"Me. Drive. I drive! Mommy Car!" 

"You... Want to drive?"

"Yeaaah, " he finally says calmly.

I take a deep breath and try not to laugh.  "My car? You... You want to drive MY car?"

"Yeahh," he says like 'what's the big deal. hand the fucking keys over and let's do it.'

"Sorry, baby. No. Mommy's driving. You need to sit in your seat and we need to leave."

"NO!!!!" He flails and wails again. 

I take another deep breath and hold up his lunch box, "Want pasta?"

I was desperate (and he didn't want pasta).

Ten minutes (and a major need for a redo of my makeup, which was now on my palms) later, we were on the road.  

It absolutely killed me to hear him sniffling and whimpering the entire way to day care, and certainly didn't make matters any better that he lost his shit again when I handed him over to the day care workers... But what am I to do? I cannot NOT go to work and I most certainly cannot let him drive my car. So what's the solution and when does it end? Is there a magical age that they just stop protesting for the sake of protesting or should I get used to it now because it only gets worse blah blah blah....?

Mommies with older kids, please advise...  Or send me a check for a lot of money so I never have to leave the house again.  That would work too.

BRAGGING RIGHTS

Lately I've gotten a little flip cam happy.... especially during meal time.  The other morning as Baby-Ko ate cottage cheese (with his hands), I felt like I was once again witnessing a moment in time that had to be captured. While the sound of my voice makes me want to become a mute (and makes me think I have a speech impediment) and my parenting/ discipline skills, (or lack thereof),  could use some serious fine tuning, it is his rendition of ABC's that makes me feel like the proudest mom in the world.... 

P.S. Clearly,  The Mommy Dearest/ Vacuum Monster shtick didn't last long.  Just ask the carpet cleaners....

THE DIRTIEST MOMMY ON THE BLOCK

HELLLOOOOO. It has been a LONG time since I've posted. There's been a lot brewing in the world of J-Ko-- and it's been a little tough to find the time and "juices" to write-- NOT that there HASN'T been much to write about.... From my Baby-Ko's obsession with "Fuck!" (aka. "Hopkins" the FROG on "Signing Times"), to his brilliant three word sentence "I feeling it" (which he declared on Mother's Day as he fondled the clothes on every rack at Nordstrom), to the fact that I "blow my wad," so to speak, within the first five minutes of a walk with Baby-Ko because he devours every snack I've brought to bribe him to stay in the stroller....

But alas, Baby-Ko has discovered You Tube (not kidding) and I've got a few minutes to jot down my thoughts....

Remember when I was a SAHM and felt disheveled from head to toe? When my "uniform" was sweats and a tank, scarf in my hair and big sunglasses and maybe, just maaaybe a little concealer to hide the bags under my eyes (should I need to remove said glasses once entering fine establishments such as Target, Trader Joes, or Whole Foods)? And then I turned in to full time WM and had to get my act together (a little bit) on the appearance front-- handing Baby-Ko bangles and blush brushes to keep him occupied as I zipped off to work...?

Well, now I'm back. Disheveled is back. Not so perfect and certainly not very clean. On average, I shower every 1.5 days and am down to a Monday and Wednesday Hair washing routine. (Seriously, on a Monday or Wednesday, I could very well turn down plans with a "Oh, that'd be swell. But I've got to wash my hair" - and it'd be true!). These days I'm feeling grungier than ever and frankly, it's not all that terrible. Who needs to get dressed up to go to the park? Who needs to get dressed up only to have your 20 month old kiss and hug you, after feeding himself yogurt and avocado? Who needs to get dressed up if you don't even have time for a shower? Not me! Oh, no. I am happy to hang in my own filth. After all, I think a dirty mommy is a sign of a mom who's played hard and worked hard. In fact, I think the blue pen I noticed on my face after being out and about for HOURS says a lot about the kind of mommy I am.... Thanks to Harvey Karp, not only is Baby-Ko the Happiest Toddler on The Block, but he's got the THE DIRTIEST MOMMY ON THE BLOCK.

Speaking of which, I was invited by a neighbor to go to the park "with some of the other 'neighborhood' mommies." Turns out it is a Mom's Club thing, but she promises me that the mom's are all nice and kids around the same age.... Fortunately, there aren't any ducks or monster like turtles at this park, because we all remember what happened last time I was "In Da Club..." Wish me luck.... :-)

PRIDE

Not sure how, when, or where Baby-Ko learned to say "Booger" but I'm thoroughly impressed and delighted. He's come down with a little cold and when I wipe his nose, he begs, "no more boogers!" I mean... What?! How does he know that? I'm certain Elmo and his freaky side kick Mr. Noodle don't talk about the letter "B" and say "B is for baseball, bears, BOOGERS!  We like Boogers!".... And I know that Rachel and her hard-of-hearing friends aren't showing kiddos at home the sign (language) for snot or boogies.  Thus, it's safe to assume that Nanny Oof-Oof is probably responsible.  I'm not mad - It's better than the poop shame game that had me worried. Whether it's noises for smelly poop, names for all things nose and snot,  Mary "Bee Bee" Poppins is teaching him things, and I appreciate that. 

You know what else I appreciate? The fact that it's Game 1 of the playoffs and Baby-Ko is able to show some Laker love. When you ask him, "Baby-Ko, who's your favorite Laker?" he answers, "Kobe." Brill. (It doesn't always come out sounding like "Ko-Bee" but I know he knows the difference and means #24 and not "Duvie" our beloved cleaning lady).  He also can tell you who is favorite Dodger is: "Manny." (As if there was ever a reason to be concerned about his love of bracelets and makeup. This kid is a sports junkie.)

Bottom line, my son's blossoming vocabulary and discovery of the world continues to excite and amaze me-- no matter how it comes out or how it sounds.....  I'm just a new(ish) mommy filled with a ridiculous amount of pride. So I apologize for my blatant bragging.... Back to wiping boogies, changing dirty diapers, and rooting for my boys in Yellow and Purple, and of course Kooobee.....

PRETTY PLEASE

For several months, Baby-Ko's language has really started to bloom. He's definitely mastered Mommy, Daddy, Up, Down, Baba (bottle), Bye-Bye and a slew of other "common" (no shit) words that a 17 month old might say. But what I find to be so funny about hearing this little person speak is some of the other words that he's decided to include in his repertoire. Moon, "Okee-Dokee," Deer (one of our neighbors has a fake deer on their lawn. Don't ask) and other little shticks we have like .... "Baby-Ko, who's your favorite Laker?" and he says, "Koobee." Brilliant. Or my husband's favorite show off phrase, "Baby-Ko, who's your favorite Dodger," and he says, "Manny."

Yet, no matter what I do, I can't get him to say the word "PLEASE." I'm no Emily Post, but I've heard that it's important to start to teach manners early on. I've been trying really hard to get him to say it when he wants something. Like every other word that I try to teach him, I repeat it, "Say, 'More, pleeaaase, mommy. Pleeease." Nothing. Just a "moooooooooore!" and a temper tantrum and me giving him whatever it is that he wants. He just will not say it. But, if I drop something on the floor and mutter "Crap," for the rest of the day you might hear my litttle one shouting "Cap. Cap!" Or today, I was on the phone and said something about (me) being "dumb." For the next 5 minutes, I heard, "Dup. Dup!" (I can only assume he agreed that I was in fact "Dup.") Yesterday, my mom's friend looked at him and said, "Boy are you 'Adorable!'" He smiled (as if to say thank you) and then said, "Aduuwabel." I mean.... Really? Adorable? A four syllable word but  you can't say, "Please?" The easiest word other than "No" and you can't say it? Seriously?!

No matter how hard I try on this one, I've got to say, I think my kid isn't going to budge on this one. I think he knows what I want and this is his first instance of independence and defiance. I think he's gonna say Please and Thank you when he's ready to say it. In the meantime, with the amount of repeating he's doing, I definitely need to stop talking like a truck driver as much as I do. Because hearing him say "Pass the fucking baba, PLEAASE" isn't exactly what Emily Post is going for...