WHAT IS PERFECTLY DISHEVELED ABOUT?

What post plastic perfection seeking looks like.

This past year, I've had the privilege of working with some incredible brands and partners on various campaigns. While a lot of my editorial content has been tied up in these various campaigns, this blog is still very much dedicated to telling candid stories, sharing ideas for DIY projects, fashion favorites, recipes, and more. By the end of the year, I plan to give this blog a complete face lift and makeover (if only under-eye cream worked that fast), which I'm super excited about and very much ready for.

When I speak with web designers and marketing teams, or am out and meet new people (or my family for the ninety thousandth time), I often find myself trying to come up with a log line that describes my blog in a nutshell. It's pretty easy to wrap it up in a nice presentable package from a business perspective. But the content and essence of my blog, ironically, is always more than a sentence.

It occurred to me this morning that what happened was ENTIRELY the heart of "Perfectly Disheveled:"

It was a typical rush of "get dressed, brush your teeth, where's my shoes, I can't wear dirty Lululemons to drop off again," kind of morning. After finishing packing Jonah's lunch, I "remembered" (and by remember I mean, I knew all along) how hard the school (and everyone else in the world) was trying to be "green." I "remembered" that they even give out coupons for prizes when children bring a lunch that is entirely trash free. SO, feeling completely guilty and not wanting my kid to be the "tsk, tsk, tsk"example of the day because of his lazy, rushed, asshole mom, I completely UNPACKED his lunch. I moved all items OUT of the bags and into the BPA-see-I-can-be-a-good-mom-too containers.

And then... (wait for it)... I THREW OUT the plastic bags.

Because they were dirty at that point. Duh.

Yes, folks, right there... that is what Perfectly Disheveled is about. A deliberate, unhealthy, and unbalanced pile of perfectionism that thrives on coffee, great manicures, a clean house with messy piles, and buckets of hummus for too many meals.

On that note, it's time to go make myself a smoothie that promises to make me thin, do work that will hopefully make me rich, and wash my hair that will hopefully not turn gray. Happy Friday.

PARENTING: WHERE CREDIT IS DUE

It occurred to me the other day that there are two very important things my son does, that are not only crucial to being a functional and independent human, but that as a parent I can take very little credit for:

#1. Going to the bathroom (in a bathroom)
#2. Reading.

Let's start with #1.

Sure... Right before Jonah turned 2, in hopes that he would just be naturally drawn to potty training, I bought a little potty that lit up and sang if "the goods" hit the bowl. In truth... Other than becoming a receptacle for Curious George stickers and thick strands of black hair during my (weekly) blowout session (it's the best I can do, people), this potty was of little use. In fact, there wasn't a whole lot of "training" that went on. Honestly, it just kind of happened. Obviously, we did a few things here and there to encourage the process (i.e.  The Cheery"Who wants M&Ms for breakfast?!" Dance, or The "Let's Pee Pee on Cheerios" Game), but if I'm being honest with myself (and/or have just completely erased all of the early potty years of misery from my memory), I'm fairly certain the "training"part happened at daycare and preschool. Bottom line, now he goes without any issue. So however it happened, let's just be grateful.

#2 Reading.

First of all, let me just say that Redshirting was the single most important (right) decision we ever made. Without question, waiting a year to start him in Kindergarten was a huge gift and one of the reasons I think he's thriving so much at school right now. In addition to the fact that his teacher is amazing and Snow White reincarnated (that for another time), the fact that he's at a public school where the state standards are enforced, in my opinion, is also a huge gift. He's reading and writing, adding and subtracting. And we are less than 2 months into school. The point is, as much reading (and talking) as *I* have done to/with Jonah throughout his life, I had nothing to do with the actual part of TEACHING him how to do it. Kind of like going on the potty, I'd say the bulk of his ability to read and write did not happen on my dime.

As a parent, it's easy to get caught up in the guilt about what you're doing or not doing, and let the "it's all my fault" snowball swell. (After all, this blog is sort of dedicated to that).  But as Jonah gets older, and I get a little less hard on myself (note: OGAP is going better than expected), I'm finding that I'm just happy he is HAPPY. He's a happy boy who has everything he needs and then some. My parenting tactics can always be improved upon and his behavior can always be modified. But for now, this week, that is, I've noticed that whatever we've done SO FAR ain't bad. Because of us, there are a lot of things this kid does really well.

He knows the importance about being kind.
He believes in God and thinks deeply about his religion.
He isn't afraid of a single roller coaster or ride.
He can tell a good joke.
He cares deeply about the Dodgers, and whoever else his dad or Peter is rooting for.
He loves sushi.
He has a deep interest in Volcanoes and Yellowstone National Park. (Both of which he's' never seen in person.)
He understands sarcasm.
He likes "spooky stories" and requests they all start with "It was a dark and stormy night..."
He never shies away from a good cuddle.
He knows what it's like to live through an emergency and is reflective and grateful for his safety.
He thinks I'm the funniest mom in the entire world. "Even more funny than Hannah's mom. And she's pretty funny."

He is THIS because of us. THIS we can take credit for.

On a different note, Jonah's been saying, "What up, Yo?" a lot lately. I can tell you right now, that is absolutely NOT my fault. Totally blaming this on someone else. Like, for reals yo.

IMMA BE... 37

My 35th Birthday

Two years ago from this exact weekend, I decided the best way to celebrate a milestone birthday (my 35th) was to do it with a group of my nearest and dearest girlfriends. Using every last bit of my savings -- or checking-- depending on how you look at it, (I admit, not one of my wisest moves), we spent the weekend at a nearby resort in an oceanside villa, drinking, laughing, eating, sunning, toasting, cheers-ing, walking, talking, drinking and taaaaawlking some more. It was my treat. My joy. My pleasure. My honor to spend a weekend with a group of women (including my mom and aunt) who were privy to all my secrets, all my stories, all my dating ups and my dating downs. To make a birthday wish surrounded by my biggest cheering squad was the best feeling in the world. 

That weekend, a bottle of champagne was sent to our room with a note: 

"Is this what old people drink? Happy Birthday. xo, P"

Drinking said Champagne. #Classy 

My girlfriends and I died. P and I had literally just started dating. Not only was this the sweetest and most thoughtful gesture, but the "old people" part was a very clever reminder about our first exchange and that I am, in fact, older than P. (It's okay, we can laugh about it). 

Two years later, P (who we can now call Peter) will become my husband in March.

It's crazy how life works. It's crazy and lucky. And fast. And not always what we think it's going to be.

In just a few days, I will turn 37. This birthday I've decided the best thing I can give to myself is confidence. Stop the bullshit. Stop the unnecessary brain chatter. And just grow up. Be an adult once and for all. As one of my best friend declared, this birthday beckons an important mission: "Operation Grow a Pair." aka OGAP.

Anyone else familiar with this OGAP? Something tells me that if you are in your 30's, it rings a bell. You want to grow up, feel good, and be better. You want to possess the confidence you hear that you finally get to have when you turn 30. Like this automatic switch that is supposed to go on.... Like the one that went on automatically when I turned 14 and I became a raging boy freak and biaaatch. Or the one that went on when I got to college and became entirely invincible (Example: deciding that smoking Parliaments when I had bronchitis was better than smoking Marlboro Mediums. I have a plethora of examples like these but for sake of time, (Remember? I'm on a mission!) I'll leave it to you to let your imagination picture a young Jenny Brandt careless and free, living in New York, backpacking through Europe, etc, etc.

Yep. I remember her.

And guess what... As you might have experienced yourself, the so-called switch - the OGAP switch- doesn't activate automatically.

Apparently, you can't get samples of confidence like you can with Kiehl's eye cream.

It turns out, not only do you have to earn it, but you have to work at it. You have to dig deep. And you have to get out of your own way. And unfortunately, like any good skin regimen, you're supposed to get started earlier than later.

This past weekend, approximately two years after my "old ass" friends and I drank his champagne, Peter and I spent a night down at that same resort. As we walked along the ocean, I couldn't help but acknowledge how far I've come in just 2 years...  how much light has come into my life in just a short amount of time and how lucky I am to start this next chapter with such a great partner. And it's not just me. There's Jonah too.

2 years later and older... same resort. 

While meeting Peter (who we should note is still younger than me), has been the best thing that has happened for me... for us, I realized this weekend that not everything is random. That good things come to those that wait... and work hard. I had a hand in my luck and my fortune. I made choices, decisions and moves. With full consciousness, I opened myself up to a possibility and worked hard to make it a reality - in love, in life, in work, in everything. It's not all just random. I did this.... I got me/us here. 

Holy crap, I'm feeling confident!

Moments later, that Beyonce "We run the world" and Fergie "Imma be the flyest chick- so fly!" feeling faded. But now I know it's there somewhere, and now I know how to find it. Like skin treatment, I shouldn't have waited this long to figure it out or feel good. They call it preventative treatment for a reason; Wrinkles are not easy to get rid of after you've sat in the sun without sunscreen for years. You gotta take care. Nightly. Daily. All the time.

On that note, if anyone wants to know what to get me for my birthday, kindly direct them to the Bloomingdales, Nordstrom, Nieman's etc etc cosmetic department. Or shoe department. Nothing preventative there, just height and hotness... for all ages. 

DIY HOME DECOR USING YOUR KID'S ART

Last year, I tried to volunteer at school as much as I could. Spending time in Jonah's class -cutting paper, cleaning up, passing out goodies on special occasions, etc.- opened my eyes not only to the world of Transitional Kindergarten and public school, but also to the differences between boys and girls... At an early age, it's clear that there is an inherent difference in attention to detail... Generally, the boys scribble fast, while the girls keep the colors (coordinated) and in between the lines. This basically results in Jonah coming home with a lot of projects that, well... look like... someone just wanted to get outside and play zombies vs. Darth Vader. (Or whatever it is that 5 year old boys do.

If I actually housed or stored every single gem that my future "volcano science geologist laboratory doctor" brought home, our house would like like an episode of Hoarders. Therefore, I came up with an artistic solution of my own that showcases the "best part" of my guy's art only. Check it out!

LEARNING STROKES

For those of you that have been following, you might recall that 2 summers ago, I made the worst parenting decision of my life. I signed up Jonah for a swim boot camp… A week -long intensive taught by a “I swear-by-him… he’s a miracle worker… it’s so worth the money” guy in Los Angeles. Known for his controversial, sort of,“get in the pool and swim, kid” methodology, I wasn’t 100% convinced that this was the right thing for Jonah. HOWEVER, everyone I knew flocked to him and I was guaranteed that by the end of the week, Jonah would be swimming.

And he did.

For the rest of the summer he swam. Not confidently, but enough to where I did think, (despite the fact that he cried for 1 hour straight/ 5 days in a row), that it was worth it and that least he was “water safe.”

Cut to last summer.

The very first moment that it was hot enough to swim and I so much as uttered the word “pool,” Jonah flipped out. He wanted nothing to do with water or swimming; Even though I promised him he did not need to take lessons, and I’d never force him to do something that he wasn’t comfortable or ready for (again. Gulp), Jonah cried, “Please mommy, don’t send me to (insert guy’s name that will make him need therapy)!!!”

So as you can well imagine, last summer was spent with me, P, and any/ all willing adults holding Jonah in the pool… reminding him (every 7 seconds) that we wouldn’t let him go, and that he was okay and that although he DID/DOES know how to swim, we will hold on to him as long as he needed….

Then… Welcome, Summer 2013.  At the first mention of school out, summer, and swim time, you probably can guess what he asked nervously. I assured him (again), I would never ever send him there for lessons, but that this summer, I think in some way, it would be great to try… to learn… to somehow swim… Maybe… Please?? With like, lots of new cool Lego sets and games on my iPad, and milkshakes on Thursdays, would you consider a little, kinda, sorta like a swim class at the golf club… Because, also, remember, all of your friends are swimming. Freely.

I hardly wanted to shame him…. But with the awareness that camp was starting and they would swim everyday, I felt like it was time to light a little fire again. Gently. And with a flame that won’t cause post-traumatic stress.

Guess what? I didn’t even need to get the match. (Wow, I’m cheesy). At camp, there’s a big pool and a little pool. In order to go into the big pool (with a deep end), the children must take a swim test. Though he was scared, he took the test (and proved he wasn’t ready for the big pool). Relieved, he went into the smaller pool. For two days, I think he doggy paddled and waded his way through it. BUT something else happened, the kids that COULD swim- his buddies- also opted for the pee infested, sunscreen-drenched, Pacific Ocean, dirty looking, small pool too. AND one day, (day 5, I think,) Jonah decided he could swim.

Of course, because he’s a boy (and I’m discovering certain inherent male traits really DO start young), he didn’t tell me about this victory that first week. (That first week, I really only heard about the fact that he touched a Piranha shark, NO a leopard shark! at the aquarium and that I need to stop sending cucumbers because HE. DOESN’T. LIKE. CUCUMBERS).

But I digress…

Cut to this past weekend. Swim time with the family. P and I suit up ready for the clutch/don’t worry fest. Before we could even get in the water though, Jonah was all the way in and said, “Watch what I can do.”

And he swam. ACROSS THE POOL. Head in the water. Feet kicking. SWAM.

He even threw in some arm strokes.

Our mouths dropped….

We screamed. We cheered. I even cried.

He just decided to do it, he said.

“I just… I taught myself.”

For the next two hours, I watched my fish of a boy ENJOYsomething that he hated and feared for almost half his life…. With each and every jump, kick, and plunge, I finally forgave myself for something that I thought could not be undone.

He just taught himself.

“Sweetheart,” I said, “I still have you signed up for lessons at the club. You obviously know how to swim, but I still think---“

“I know, Mommy. I’m very good OF swimming. But I need to get better with my arms. Like the, um, stokes. I mean, strokes. I’m not good OF that yet. She can just show me that.”

Yes, she can.

THROWBACK THURSDAY: FOUND VIDEO

We are in the process of moving and I'm in clean up mode from top to bottom, inside and out... Including all things tech. So, I found this video while cleaning up my computer. It's probably about 3 years old, as Jonah was really only about 2 (though his silliness and sense of humor was quite evident even then). I'm a total dork in the video and I'm not quite sure where exactly I was looking or why I even shot it... but boy, I can't believe how time is flying. Next week is the last week of school... and then it's on to Kindergarten (the real Kindergarten). Videos like these remind me to savor every moment... and to also burn whatever blouse that was that I was wearing.
xo, JB

#throwbackthursday

SPRING TRAINING... MINUS THE TRAINING.

Ah, it's March and that means Spring is in the air... Actually, here in Los Angeles, Spring was in the air in December and pretty much all through January...  and I'm pretty sure I spotted Summer one weekend in February.... So forget the air part. It's just March. And that means a lot of things...

For starters, for the past couple of years, every March I seem to make it my mission to cleanse. I want to clean house. To clean body. To clean mind. Without fail though, having just spent the two months prior to March making excuses, mentally, as to why postponing all my "cleansing" resolutions is probably better in the long run, the LONG RUN actually catches up with me and I find myself high tailing it into "time to get your sh*t together" mode come March 1st.

So here we are. And hey, so far, so good.

Here's the current state of affairs:

1. Body

I did actually cleanse. Kind of. 

Thanks to an extremely popular juice company that offers individual juices, or 3 or 5 day kits, I signed up for a 5 day cleanse. By the end of day two though, I must admit, I was beyond ravenous and couldn't stop thinking about hummus. Go figure, hummus, of all things. Not one to talk myself off ledges, I caved in and cut up a cucumber (how bad can a cucumber be), and dipped it (okay, COVERED IT) in hummus. Craving satisfied.... Next day, however, I had to be on set for a project I was working on with Lifetime Moms and realized I had only taken two juices (out of 6) with me for an entire day. One of the models on set suggested I just drink lemon and hot water for the rest of the day and/or see if the caterer could just blend my food... so it would be kind of like juice/fluids. Um.... I'm gonna let you sit with that one and give you the opportunity to imagine how much that did NOT happen and how much I was seen grazing at the craft services table for the rest of the day.

2. Mind

It turns out, "poop talk" can help with literacy.

A month or two ago, I was in sort of a disciplinary standoff situation with Jonah. He was constantly silly, constantly using bathroom language, and even talking back. I had to figure out a way to get back to the consequence basics and figure out what I could take away that was his Kryptonite. (Turns out, not much phases him).

However, one day, I got a report from his teacher that he had been talking back. Apparently, he remarked that what they were going to be doing was "stupid." I died. Read the whole story here. 

Things have calmed down since then and his behavior has shaped up. Not sure if it's my new-found resolve, or a miraculous maturity development for him,  OR the fact that he had been begging to get hot lunches at school and I told him that if I get a week straight of a perfect report, I'd let him get it. So... The good news: We're in the 2nd week of hot lunch land and therefore, mornings are now a breeze for me. The bad news: They serve f**king ice cream. I'm telling myself the organic part makes it better. But I digress...

He was recently given a few books from the Captain Underpants series and when I first read one to him, and he nearly choked laughing so hard, I thought.... Hmm. Maybe not the right book for a kid that has a hard time holding back the fart, poop, pee talk. At dinner. 

But... last night, he begged me to do a mad libs type section of one of the books and I thought of an idea. 1) If he takes this silly talk outside of this dedicated silly talk time, he loses UNO (our favorite family activity), electronics, TV, and all of these books. At the same time. For one week. 2) He needs to sound out the words and try to read to ME.

Turns out POOP is a wonderful word to teach early language development and reading skills. He nailed it.

3.  House

I stopped caring about having an organized closet.  I blame this on the long episodes of Downton Abbey. There's more important things to focus on...

It's hard to believe that exactly 2 years ago, I met Robin Saperstein of High Heel in a Haystack, she helped me with a Wardrobe Overhaul, then sent me on my way with a ton of outfit options (from my own closet!)  Since then, I've updated my wardrobe cautiously and done my best to keep my closet tidy. But hey, life gets busy and Matthew Crowley and Lady Mary get married and the whole thing goes to poop. (See #2). So, it was time to call on my girl and have her come over and remind me why certain jeans should be left in 2011.

In about 3.5 hours, I had a completely new and organized closet, and could see what I was workin' with. (Before and after pic above).  According to Robin, I'm actually all set for Spring ... AND we even shopped my closet and reinvented some clothing. Why say goodbye to my very first and favorite JBrand jeans with the big gaping holes in the knees, which I've already had patched to create a semi distressed look, when I can have them repatched and destressed AGAIN?! Additionally, Robin recommended I take a cute purple dress from JCrew and have the it shortened, and the trim brought up to give it a fresh and current look. Not bad for a total of $36 bucks right? ("Before" pics taken at the Tailor's. Dress pinned. Forgive the "selfies.").

All in all, Spring is off to a good start. I'm heading to Seattle this weekend with P on behalf of the 2 Days in Seattle Campaign (SO excited) and next week, the story featuring that mysterious trip I took in November will be featured in Ladies Home Journal. Did I mention Tina Fey is on the cover? Feeling pretty lucky right now. Forget New Year's resolutions. I love March.

THANKS, 2012.

It's going fast.... this train. But I am definitely on board. It's hard to believe that during this "don't blink for a second" year, so much has happened. Not stuff, but moments. Memories. Changes. My LIFE.

Let's see... In 2012, in no particular order...

1) I learned to surf.

2) I moved myself, my son, (and everything but the couch) in with my boyfriend to a new home. (His couch was much, much better than ours). 

3) I traveled to the most impoverished country in the Western Hemisphere and held the hands of extremely sick children. (Will be able to fully discuss this life altering adventure in a few more months).

4) I saw Bruce Springsteen in concert for the first time.

5) I heard a trauma surgeon tell me that my son's life was saved because of his car seat.

6) I paid off a lot of debt. 

7) I became fully aware and almost understanding of how all things Star Wars and Transformers will one day just shift into all things Sunday and Red Zone (See #2).

8) I volunteered in my son's Kindergarten class. Kinder.Garten.

9) I was featured on Elizabeth Street. Kinda cool. 

10) I found myself. My calling. My love. And my strength. 

It's been a good year. And I'm certain 2013 will be even better.

Happy New Year. Be safe, be happy, and be grateful. We are blessed. 

SO... THIS IS WHAT I SOUND LIKE?

If you've read my "About Me" section, then you know I was quite the ham when I was a little girl. From imaginary friends to belting Dionne Warwick love songs, I loved to perform and play pretend any chance I got. I was always pretty great with impressions and (as the winner for Best Sense of Humor in 8th grade) loved making people laugh. Still do. SO, I suppose it should come as no surprise that Jonah has developed his own shtick and loves nothing more than to make people laugh. Lately, if he's not quieting down the room to tell a knock-knock joke, then he's doing (unsolicited) imitations. And frankly, he's kind of good. The other day, at dinner, OUT of NOWHERE, he "did me."

Um, is that really how I sound? (Don't answer that).

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).

WHY?

The other day, I told J that in a few weeks soccer would be starting again.

"Who's going to be on my team?"

"Well," I said, "Blake and Sammy... They'll be on your team again..."

"Who's NOT going to be on my team?"

Pause. Seriously? Who's NOT going to be on your team? Um, kid. About 6 billion people won't be on your team.

"There's a lot of people that won't be on your team, Jonah."

"Tell me who."

I literally started naming random people, "President Obama, Lady Gaga, The Backyardigans, Grandpa..."

"Who else?"

Conversations like this obviously amuse me. But mostly? They concern me: They. Can. Go. On. FOREVER. There is no answer that will satiate him. EVER.

I know I'm not alone though. I know this is an epidemic/rite of passage that every parent experiences. Few people are as honest about how taxing (ie. downright pull your hair out annoying) this can be than comedian Louis C.K. He has some great bits about his daughters. This is one of my favorite ones. Enjoy.

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. ;-)

HAPPY CHAOS, HAPPY NEW YEAR

Do your parenting tactics change when you're in public? Mine do. At home, I'm all rules, all Betsy Brown Braun and Wacky's class up on my boy. I stick to my word and mean what I say. (Kind of). But when others are around, even close others, like family, my will to parent perfectly goes to shit. You'd think in public that you'd be more on your game, but No. Not me. I fall apart. I have no backbone and no follow through. Too scared to make a big move and too scared to do too little. The result? A whole lot of nothing.

I've decided that by the time Jonah turns 7, I'll have this portion of the show down. I hope.

Recently, I got a chance to chat with my sweet friend Soleil Moon Frye at her Happy Chaos book launch party hosted by Target Baby about this very subject... It should come as no surprise that this lady is consistent in her parenting, aka Happy Chaos. Speaking of which, here's to a very sweet New Year for those of you that celebrate.

Soleil Moon Frye talks tantrums with Jennifer Brandt from Diane Mizota on Vimeo.

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: FUNNY FACES

It's easy to see where he got his devilish good looks...

SOME QUESTIONS

My son asks a lot of questions. Always has. And while his curiosity and his need to know the details and inner workings of everything inside and out is inspiring and infectious (and entirely genetic), there are days, that I. Just. Can't. Take. The. Questions. Especially when I have no answers... Or I do, but they don't even make sense.

For instance, I think a long time ago Jonah saw a video of Lady Gaga performing and then maybe Usher too, and they both were on stage and coming out of smoke. Okay, fine. Theatrics. Fantastic. BUT, now whenever J hears a song playing, he always asks: "Where does this singer come out of on the stage mommy? Does he come out of smoke?"

Sometimes, depending on who is singing, (like Justin Timberlake, Beyonce, Rihanna, etc) I say, "Yes, they came out of smoke" (because, let's face it. These names are synonymous with Dry Ice). His next question after that is always, "Is it hot?" I explain to him that it's not the hot kind of smoke. It's the cool kind. And with the lights, it looks super smoky and hot (literally and figuratively).

But when it's another singer, like his favorite Dean Martin (oh, 'tis true) and he asks me if he comes out of smoke during "Mambo Italiano," I feel like I can't lie. I usually just say, "No, he didn't come out of smoke. He just walked out... from back stage...." Which then leads to a whole slew of questions about curtains and what happens when they go up, and when they go down and how does "Deem Marden" get off the stage....

I know the whole thing sounds wacky and complicated, but what am I to do? He's asking me very detailed questions about the strangest thing, and if you think you can explain to a 4 year old how the backstage at Staples Center works and what a Stage Manager does, then I will happily allow you to come over and diagram this shit out for him.

But I digress....

So this particular topic comes up a lot and it's one of those questions that my brain goes dead and no matter what answer I give him, it doesn't satiate him. He can't let it go. If I could only understand what it is that he's really trying to understand then I think he'd move on to another odd/quirky curiosity. OR, maybe I just need to come up with more convincing answers...

Case in point: The other day.... We were in the car listening to "Give Me Everything Tonight..." You know...Pitbull, Ne-Yo, Afrojack's hit. Right....

SONG: Me not working hard? ...Yea right picture that with a kodak
And better yet, go to times square... Take a picture of me with a kodak...

Jonah: What's Times Square?

Me: An area in New York with lots of buildings and television screens. It's really cool.

Jonah: How cool?

Me: Like one of the coolest places in the world.

Jonah: Do they have casinos?

Me: Nope. No casinos.

SONG: Excuse me... But I might drink a little bit more than I should tonight...And I might take you home with me if I could tonight...

Jonah: Why is he going to drink more tonight?

Me: He's super thirsty. From dancing at the club.

Jonah: What club?

Me: This club.

Jonah: WHAT club????

Me: THIS club. This club that he's singing about. People go there to dance.

Jonah: Can we go there to dance?

Me: It's for adults.

Jonah: How old?

Me: You have to be 21.

Jonah: How about 22?

Me: Even better.

Jonah: Mommy, why is he going to take "a baby" home from the club tonight?

Me: Oh, the baby's mommy couldn't drive. So he's helping.

See... there are some questions I have the answers to. The other stuff... It's a little, well... smokey.

Speaking of questions... Join me on Thursday, Sept. 1st at 7am PST/ 10am EST as I'll be a guest on Living the Dream Radio with Nina Frye. I'm so excited for this opportunity. Please feel free to call in (877) 864-4869, or chat with us live (see link below), ask me questions about my blog, my life, my terrible parenting strategies ... AND tell the world how much you love my blog. Kay? Kay. Thanks. ;-)

www.toginet.com/shows/livingthedreammom

EMPTY THREATS

I really don't know when it happened. If I could just remember the day it all changed, why it all changed, and how it all changed, I think I'd unlock the key to parenting. When did my child start to need discipline? I mean, DIS.CI.PLINE. Like "do that again and you're grounded for life" discipline. He's only 3. Well, almost 4. And yet it seems like it was just yesterday that I was monitoring milestones and neurotically researching which solids were the best to introduce first. Bananas... peas... Berries, OY. The berries. Who cares that the AAP said you can introduce them as early as 6months. I just spent $300 for a "pediatric food specialist" in the Pacific Palisades who said it was too soon...

Now, I'm changing the tone of my voice, taking deep breaths, negotiating like there's a bomb strapped to my back... Everything has changed. My goal to discipline according to "the plan" is not, well, going as planned. Trust me, I start out as a discipline-like-an-evolved-democrat-voting-parent... but shit. One can only, get down to "their" eye level, talk in a calm but firm voice for so long while their child slams a computer shut or gets out of bed 45 times... The result of failing the "what good parents on the Westside of LA pay thousands of dollars to accomplish" is a big, heavy, and ridiculous dose of the ET's: Empty Threats.

So far, my threats are pretty standard... punishments that fit the crime. But just like the new hilarious book Go the F*** to Sleep by Adam Mansbach (you must listen to THIS audio version), there are a thousand things I'd like to threaten with but never will. Here are some of the ridiculous threats I could spew, and I think you all could do if that button kept getting pushed...

If you do that one more time....

I will throw out all your shoes.

If you do that one more time...

You will not go to prom.

If you do that one more time...

We will never take a vacation.

If you do that one more time...

You will not be able to vote.

If you do that one more time...

You will never go to elementary school.

If you do that one more time...

I'm never teaching you to read.

And the list goes on....

What are some of your biggest, best (and by best, I mean worst) threats you've said... or wanted to say?

TOUGH AS NAILS

There's no denying it: I am a worry wort. I have been my entire life. From big to little reasons, I am queen of letting my fears spiral into a rabbit hole. However, HOWEVER--- recurring equally as often as my shpilkes is my strong as shit, tough as nails, warrior-like spirit. The two sides of me- the scared vs. the brave live side by side, hand in hand and somehow manage to live happily ever after together. Here's an example....

Last weekend, while away for a girls weekend to celebrate my BFF's bday, I had a massive headache (3 vodka's in 95 degree weather will do that). Not loaded with my own Advil, I had to gasp, borrow some from my friend. Out of her purse, she pulled a few mismatched pills. Two had IB written on them (but they were green and big), and the others had no names and were white. One of the pills she said had codeine- she thinks- and the other one, with IB written on it, I should just take.

If you were a betting person, based on the fact that I don't feel 100% comfortable taking Advil with even a diet coke, do you think I took any of her pills? UM, no. Instead I went digging through my other friend's purse until I stumbled on good old Advil with clearly written letters. Like I want to go out OD-ing on generic Motrin because they didn't sit well with the Dorritos I had at lunch??? Please. I'm not taking risks like that. No way.

CUT TO: Driving home from Palm Springs. I'm alone in my new car. There is a strip of freeway outside PS that is known to be windy. Well, of course, while I was driving, it was not only super windy, but there was like a mini dust storm too. Hands gripped like I was a student driver, my heart raced. Look, I realize I wasn't braving Hurricane Katrina, but as I felt my car getting tossed slightly from side to side, I had no choice but to bare down and be brave. I had to keep driving. I had to keep going. I had no choice. I was going to have to drive through my nervousness, figuratively and literally.

But how do you teach children how to do this? How do you teach children to face their fears, get through something scary, even if they don't want to (and you can't bear to watch them worry)? Instinctively, I want to quell any and every ounce of fear my child has from big to small, from witches and dragons to bad tasting green veggies- If I could I'd slay them all and he'd never have to worry about anything in life EVER. Except how to rid himself of the mommy issues he'll have as an adult for the very reason I write this post... But I digress...

This past week, Jonah took a swim intensive. I'd call it a class, but honestly, it's more like boot camp for swimming. Within one week, the children, who are all beginners at swim are pretty much swimming and able to hold their breath under water. I knew going in to it that all the children cry for at least the first 3.5 days and some for the entire time. I also knew that though the teacher was reassuring, calm and kind to the children, that NOT swimming was not an option and parents should sit back and watch while he does his magic, tears and all. I knew that this methodology to teach swim was polar opposite to my clearly-my-kid-rules-the-roost methodology, BUT STILL --- I don't think I was prepared for how hard it would be to watch my child sit (or swim, rather) with his own fear. I knew he was safe and I even knew he would walk away knowing how to swim. BUT how do you teach a 3.5 year old that sometimes it's okay to be scared, really scared, and in the end you come out stronger....?

How do you teach a 3.5 year old that fear leads to bravery and strength? I considered telling him about the time I backpacked through Europe for 10 days by myself (not by choice), or the time I had to identify a mugger in a police lineup, or the time I got an epidural at 7cm because I was too scared to get one earlier... But this might be a bit more to chew than a 30 lb human can handle, so I figured I'd keep it simple, and just told him: "I know you're scared. Being scared is okay sometimes. I would never do anything that would hurt you. You are learning something very important for your life. We're going to finish this class."

At the very last class, day 5, he did not cry and did not beg me to take him out of the pool. Instead, he was begging the teacher to take a turn, go under water, jump off the side, and SWIM. It was incredible. I still feel unsure whether this class was right for him and for me, for that matter, but I know we both came out stronger.

THE TRUTH ABOUT MOTHERHOOD

Recently, I read an article written by a guy who recounts all the glorious ways in which motherhood "improved" his wife. Aside from the fact that she kind of sounded like a total bee (before babies), he talks about how motherhood has not only softened her but has also domesticated her. She now bakes, crafts, and is totally organized.

Um. I have had the complete opposite experience. As an ACTUAL former type-a, anal retentive, utterly organized, ridiculously crafty and cute person, I've turned into a VIRTUALLY type-a, anal retentive, utterly organized, crafty and cute person. Meaning: It's all in MY HEAD now. Those traits are there. Ready to emerge and shine with the right amount of time, sleep, and funds. If given a magic wand, I'm certain I'd be able to facilitate the former me with a sprinkle of mommy dust.

But alas, I can't. I'm too engaged in a round of "Please stop running with a pen and let me put your pants on... " or "Sure I'm a full time working mom, but yes, sign me up to bring tacos for the teachers luncheon or read books to a class in which my child is not in.... I have alllllllll the time in the world."

In essence, what I'm saying is, most days, I'm not sure I have necessarily improved with motherhood.

(Have you?) My life on the other hand, that's a completely different story. It's better in every way.

Today, my sweet friend Debi of The Truth About Motherhood has asked me to share my 10 Truths About Motherhood for her 2nd anniversary. (Happy Anniversary!). I adore this woman and her blog, and am so very honored she asked me to contribute.

What's your one truth about motherhood? Have you personally "improved" because of it?