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. 

LOOK WHO'S STILL IN CHARGE

As I've mentioned many times before, once a month I attend "mommy school" with a bunch of my friends. We head to the Westside to seek the advice and guidance of the renowned Betsy Brown Braun. Each month we focus on various issues that have arisen for our 4 year olds (everyone in the class has children within a few months apart- so we're all on the same "fucking fours," page, as Betsy calls it). Anyway, a month or two ago, I expressed to Betsy that I was having a tough time containing Jonah's energy-- that more often than not, he is wild. She suggested that we set up "wild" or "loud-free" zones throughout the house. She said we needed to leave a few rooms or areas open, but since I live in an apartment, that basically means he can only go ca-razy in his room and the living room. FINE. So, per Betsy's advice, I put up the "wild free" signs (exactly as she suggested) and here's what happened.

One day, I'll be in charge and rule the roost. I will.

LANGUAGE BARRIER

Here's the thing: I like sports. I do. I like watching sports. I do. And it's probably mostly because I like men... and chips (...and dip...and beer), but still, I like sports. I do. However, it's a language, that doesn't come naturally to me. I hear the announcers speaking. I hear words. English words, even... Yet, I simply do not comprehend. SIR, I DO NOT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING. In fact, without fail, every Superbowl, I have to relearn what is happening. Generally speaking, of course, I know the importance of a touchdown or a defensive tackle (just kidding, I really don't), but when it comes to following the game and the intricacies of the sport- I'm lost. I don't follow.

I've always attributed my inability to comprehend sports talk with the fact that I grew up with a single mom and I sang Dionne Warwick songs in the shower... and for anyone that would listen. But lately, I realized it's something else. I am a female. (Yes, there are those women who GET sports and understand what Al Michaels is saying, I know.) But there is a chemical, I think, missing from my brain- a deficit in the lobe or hemisphere or whatever of my brain where language comes from, that it simply down for the count.

It occurred to me recently that THIS language barrier though doesn't stop at sports. The other day, Jonah begged me to buy him a Transformers book. First off, isn't he a little young? Second, I said yes. I want to be the cool mom that can talk all things Decepticon and Opitmus Prime. Except, what the F is a Decepticon ?! As I read him this book, and his face lit up, I expected him to ask seven thousand questions about what was happening and why Autobots are firing missiles (missiles?! really? He's not even 4!) BUT, he said nothing! He listened as if he actually understood what all this meant. In fact, the only thing he asked was what a "Corvette" was (Apparently "Sideswipe" turns into a Corvette?? I don't know. It's confusing). ANYWAY, my point is, I'm relieved... because though he has a single mom and we may watch Mary Poppins together, at the end of the day, he has been born, and maybe even blessed, with a gene that I will never have... He will understand the world of the Galactic Empire... he will appreciate Middle-Earth, and he will find movies like "Caddyshack" and "Fletch" funny until he's well into his 30's....

Inherently, I have a boy. And apparently, he's already from Mars....

Well. Okay... Go Lakers.

IT TAKES A VILLAGE

I must confess: Up until last week, though I was fairly interactive and engaged in conversations through social media, I never considered my "followers" my actual friends. Sure, I told them about the silly fart and poop talk my 3 yo spews, but would I tell them about the serious conversation I have with my loved ones? NO. Sure, I uploaded adorable pictures of us having a lovely Mommy & Me baking session, but would I share a picture or video of him tantruming and me losing my mind? NO. Sure, I've declared how hard I worked out, but would I declare how much weight I want to lose? NO. It's private! And for private matters, I have my FRIENDS. My FAMILY. My THERAPIST. My TRIBE.

But then last week, my feelings changed... Glancing through my twitter feed I got immersed in a conversation.... Gripped by a story.... A blogger, Summer Stone had written a suicide note on her blog. Disturbing doesn't even begin to describe how I felt reading it... (Which BTW, just minutes after I read it, it was pulled from her site). Thankfully, Summer's attempt failed. I don't know the details of her attempt and actually don't know much about this mother of 3 or her blog. (To my knowledge, she is in treatment and doing okay). But what I do know is that there was a community that heard her and prayed for her. There were women, perhaps strangers, terrified and touched that reached out to authorities... In a moment of crisis, of seriousness, she did have a community. She was surrounded by a tribe who echoed her heartache and understood just how troubled she was.

Though I am a single mom, I am certainly not alone. I have a support system in every sense of the word. Loving parents, delicious and sweet friends, an incredible therapist, and a nanny that saves my life on a daily basis. I have a village within a ten mile radius. I'm very, very blessed. But now I realize my tribe is even stronger and connected than I had imagined. I discussed the importance of tribe this week with Leslie Gail of newmomfocus.com and Heather Spohr thespohrsaremultiplying.com on Momversation. Who makes up YOUR tribe?

EVEN THE BACHELOR HAS PROBLEMS

Last night on the season finale of "The Bachelor," Brad Womack chose Emily Maynard, the single mom from Charlotte, N.C. who's tragic story of love and loss literally brought tears to my eyes each and every time she told it. I don't know if it was how perfectly put together without looking cheesy (like bachelorettes so easily do) she always was, OR the fact that she was a single mom, but I was rooting for Emily from the beginning. Sure, the fact that she seemed closed off and dull concerned me, but the old producer (Bachelor producer, in fact) knew that there HAD to be more. That this guy could not be falling in love with someone that's not giving him annnnnnnnything back.... Right?! (Of course, he is a guy. And guy's like a good chase... )

Anyway, in my mind, Emily proved she loved Brad when she grilled him on their final date about how ready he was for the "real stuff." How ready was he for emergency room visits and sleepless nights with a child? How ready was he for temper tantrums and grocery store meltdowns? Certainly, this talk is anti-bachelor on the romance front. It's not about connection and chemistry and amazing dates. It's about PARENTING and that is what is REAL. I thought it was brilliant and his reaction and anger about this topic made sense when she revealed at "After the Final Rose" that he had a temper. THAT IS NOT GOOD. But I digress...

Back to the talk about parenting... I thought it was so interesting that Brad's family liked Emily MORE when they knew she was a mom. His sister in laws admitted it made her relatable-- that she GETS it. That she's part of their club. And a club it is indeed. People on twitter and FB are slamming her, wondering where "the sweet" Emily went-- but I have to tell you, I LOVE that she said they have some things to figure out. I love that she's not willing to marry him this second. Are people forgetting she has a child? Granted, part of her reason to stall may be about the jealous feelings and the fact that he talked about how much chemistry he had with Chantal blah blah blah... But the fact that she's not going to settle and needs to see how they are in real life-- YES. Good for her. I was relieved. And as awkward and produced as the reveal about their problems, honestly, I think it was GREAT that Brad admitted it was TOUGH. That it's not fairy tales and people want it to be, but that's not the truth. To me that shows me that he actually DOES get it. That he's seeing what being in the trenches (with a single mom) is like AND that he's been through a little therapy.

Okay... A couple of random thoughts about The Bachelor in general...

• I definitely could have done without the group therapy session at the "After the Final Rose." A little cheesilicious for my taste.
• This show makes me want to whiten my teeth.
• Do you think Neil Lane really cared about Brad not proposing the first time? In any case, LOVED the ring. GORGE.
• I'm not going to lie- I liked Chantal's map of love idea that she gave to Brad on their final night. Super clever and cute. "She traveled the world for him." So great. I may have to borrow that idea. Though the map of Los Angeles is kind of unimpressive.
• Does anyone want to just take a moment to say WTF about Chantal's nouveau riche family? With her outfits, I have to admit, I didn't see that comin'!
• My money is on Ashley (bad eyebrow, weird cheek biting, Ashley) for the next Bachelorette. Any takers?

SINGLE MOMS: HOW TO MINIMIZE THE "WOE IS ME"

I recently started blogging for a fantastic website called GalTime. Thought I'd share with you a post I wrote about being a single mom and how it's all too easy to live in "woe is me" land. While I certainly wouldn't consider myself the poster child for single mothers everywhere (as all of our journeys are so very different), I will say that I think my advice, though simple and very literal, could help ease some of the anxieties that all moms face- single, separated, divorced, dating or happily hitched. Looking forward to your thoughts....

****

Single Moms: How to Minimize the "Woe is Me"

By Jennifer Brandt

on Tuesday, March 1, 2011

While the Stay at Home vs. Working Mom debate rages on, I find myself fighting (internally) for a different group of moms who’ll never have to duke it out for the “Who Has it Harder” title.

Hands down, bottom line, no ifs, ands or buts: Being a single mom is harder than any Target running or career juggling mom’s life. Why? Because we have to do both of those. Simultaneously. And maybe (never) wash our hair.

I have a hard time, however, when our “plight” gets little sympathy. When people insinuate that single motherhood is a choice—that even if a woman chose to leave a marriage or (gasp) chose to have children without a partner, that the burdens and challenges she might face are her fault. Like, You made your bed, now lie in it.

As a single mom, this has probably been one of my biggest hurdles: How to allow myself to feel the stress, pressure, and “holy sh*tness” of being a single parent, without feeling guilty about how or why I got here. This is not easy…. especially when the second biggest emotional hurdle is pity. Oh, I do love a good pity party every now and again, especially on the days that absolutely nothing is going right. Flat tire? I’m alone. Big bill come in? I’m alone. Spill my Starbucks on my favorite dress? Son of a b*tch, and oh, yep. Still alone!

However, I’ve found that there are a few things that I can do to minimize the 'woe is me' sessions. Things that I can do to feel great about where I am in life, challenges and all.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING....

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY: PUMPKIN PANCAKES

Well, it's official. NOTHING in my life is cookie cutter.

IT ALL STARTS MONDAY

It all starts Monday.

I don't know what it is about new year's (and diets for that matter too), but no matter the day or date it falls on, my "new year" and the resolutions that I make and vow to keep don't actually go in to effect, in my mind, until MONDAY.

So it's only fitting that I discuss my resolutions TODAY, the THIRD day of the New Year....

I'm sick of saying how challenging 2010 was, so let me share something that really happened to me as an example that really ought to sum up just what a cluster effer of a year this one was: 2 flat tires in 2 days. DONE.

Though I have no idea what karmic luck, or lack thereof, is in store for me in 2011, I can at least try to put my best foot forward and try to make it all go a lot smoother....

Here's what I'm thinking.... Generally speaking, of course, as a laundry list of resolutions will surely bore you and, quite frankly, there would be too much I'd be making up. So I'm keeping it simple with three big areas that need to be tackled:

1) PARENTING: I want to figure it out. I'm not saying that it has to be perfect, but holy shit. I need to get better. From dropping empty threats, to not eating at the table nearly enough, I want to do it better and figure it out. Figure out what my son needs, BUT take control and lead the way so that there is no confusion of who is in charge. I want consistency, routine, and predictability to reign in both of our lives. And I want him/me to sleep more. A lot more.

2) FINANCES: I need to tackle my debt and figure out how to go from making ends meet to feeling like I'm again in control and leading the way. Feel free to send me a check and/or lotto ticket as I figure this one out...

3) BODY, MIND, SOUL: Take care of my body. Eat better. Eat more. Eat less. Workout more. Work less. Think about lovely things. Put the bad things behind me. Read beautiful stories. Write beautiful stories. Travel far. Travel near. Stay home more. Get out more. Let love in. Let some love go. Forgive myself. Forgive others. Trust that it will all work out. Be good. Be kind. Be me.

Happy new year.

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....

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.