weekender

"It is better to travel well than to arrive." - Buddha

Well, shit. I'm basically screwed then because these days I consider it a successful trip if we all manage to arrive at our destination in one piece without attracting the attention of TSA, FAA, CPS, SDPD, or any other acronym that could land my ass in jail.

Anyway.

Before DM and I started a family, we loved to travel, and we swore that (among many other things) we wouldn't let having kids slow us down. Not only did we want to continue to explore, we hoped to foster the same wanderlust and sense of adventure in our children. We wanted them to see and appreciate life beyond the bounds of their own backyard.

And that's all well and good. But. Holy Mary Mother of God. Have you tried traveling with children? There's no two ways about it. Traveling with kids slows you down. Like, a lot. I mean, take the amount of time and baggage you think you'll need, and multiply it times three. Or maybe five. I'm not saying we've changed our aspirations, or that we can't still achieve them, but like most things having to do with children, it's definitely going to look a little different than I originally intended.

We started our travel immersion progam early-on, and we take baby steps. This past weekend we went to visit our old besties (not that they aren't our besties anymore, but they moved 400 miles away, so they're on probation ;)) Because Jack had T-ball and DM is the coach, the plan was for Colby and me to fly out late Friday night, and Jack and DM to join us after T-ball on Saturday. Jack was aware of this plan, and was fine with it, until three minutes before Colby and I were about to leave, when he threw THE EVER LOVIN' MOTHER of all fits. He literally acted like I told him he was never going to see us ever again. He tends to the dramatic, but this was a whole new level of distress. It was such that I actually called the airline to see if it would be possible to switch his flight from Saturday to that night (like, 2 hours hence). Jack, sobbing, asked, "Arwe you weally calling da pilot to get me a ticket, Mom???" The ever-helpful Alaska Airlines representative was more than happy to switch J's ticket, for a change in fare AND a hefty fee. I was like, eff that.

So, we loaded Colby and our bags into the car. Jack continued to scream bloody murder, which got both Colby and the dog going, while DM and I were hollering at each other to be heard over the ruckus. I got in the car and started to back out of the driveway but for some reason the vision of DM physically restraining a sobbing, kicking, screaming, heartbroken Jack was just too much for me, so I stopped the car. I got out and told DM to put Jack in the car and drive us to the airport, so that I could fly, by myself with two kids, at 9:30pm on a Friday night (and DM could coach T-ball the next day even though his own kid wasn't present, ha!) I am ridiculous and insane. On the way to the airport, Colby starts losing her mind (I WANT MY SHOES ON AND OFF! I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND BUT ALSO I DO NOT!), and I busted out an emergency pacifier that we'd nixed two months ago. Oh well!

We got to the airport, got our boarding passes, got through security, and got to the gate with very little fuss. (Almost) everyone is so kind and helpful when you are a hot sweaty mess with two baby giants in tow. One guy about my dad's age who was traveling with his wife asked what he could do to help, and they were kind of my real-life guardian angels the entire trip. After hand-checking our stroller for explosives, the sweet TSA agent brought it over and said: "I tried to empty the sand out of it, but there was a lot." Ha. Story of my life. (Do you remember learning about asymptotes in geometry? And how they will never actually be zero no matter how close it looks? That is like sand in my life. And pee. And snot.) Then she gave the kids sticker-badges which was a big hit. God/Allah/Yahweh/Buddha bless their kind souls.

Things went so smoothly (relatively speaking) that we got to the gate with over an hour to spare, which, if you have kids you know is not ideal (though still preferable to being the last a-holes on the plane!) Luckily it was late enough that the place was pretty deserted, and they were tired enough that they'd lost some of their fight, but not so tired that they were in "the danger zone." For a while they were pretty content to stand at the window and watch the goings-on out on the runway.

This might be a good time to mention Colby's recent habit of calling out each and every vehicle she sees. She particularly loves trucks. Only, she pronounces it "phuck." Now, this hasn't yet been much of a problem, and I'll even go so far as to say we find it pretty darn hilarious in the comfort and privacy of our family sedan. But. I can now attest to the fact that it's more than a little embarrassing when it happens in a well-populated but nearly silent public place. "PHUCK! BIG PHUCK! BLACK PHUCK! WHITE PHUCK! WHERE DAT PHUCK GO?! C'MON, PHUCK!" O. M. G. What can you do?!? I was just like, "Ohhh, yes, truck. Yes, I see that truck!" I guess I should be thankful she didn't simultaneously want to "shit" [sit] and drink her "douche" [juice]. *Sigh.*

Meanwhile, Mr. J took his little die cast Southwest Airlines airplane out of his backpack and started to play with it. Then he began narrating, as he is wont to do. "Dis is not a Souf-west Aiowlines aiowplane. Dis is a Alaska Aiowlines aiowplane. It's bwoken because it doesn't has a tail wing. Dis bwoken Alaska Aiowlines aiowplane is gonna cwash and burin and all the peopow arwe gonna get dead." WTF?!?! "Ummm, that sounds really scary and awful, let's not talk like that, okay?" J: "I'm just pwe-tending, Mom." Me: "Okay." J: "I'm just pwetending dat dis Alaska Aiowlines aiowplane is gonna cwash and catch on fi-ow and die." Me: "Hey guys! Wanna read a book?" OMG. I have NO CLUE where he gets this shit?! And if I were to provide closed-captioning for the thought bubbles of the people around me, I imagine it'd go something like "May I please sit in a row that does not contain a mini sociopath? Super, thanks!"

When we got on the plane, the guy in front of us, who had apparently just changed his seat, looked back at me and my baby/luggage juggling act and said loudly to his travel partner: "Ugh. Maybe I should switch back to my other seat." Hey, twat-waffle! News flash! You were a kid once, too! And you were probably a dick even then! Why can't you be like the rest of civilized non-breeder society and just quietly give me the stink-eye?!

There was one other kid on the flight, probably about one-and-a-half, the same age as Colby Jean. I generally like it when there are other children on the flight because it decreases the odds that mine will be the a-holes, but this time it wasn't really working out for me. They were letting their kid run up and down the aisle, and in between, the dad alternated between tossing the kid up in the air and "flying" him around in a vigorous game of "airplane." Really it was a veritable circus act on a Bombardier Q400. I was like, Dude! Do you not realize that the only reason my children are sitting still is because I have told them that if they get up the pilot will come back here and arrest them put them on a time-out? You are completely destroying all suspension of disbelief here. Normally I subscribe to a live-and-let-live, "whatever you need to do to keep your child from screaming his face off and ruining everyone's day" mentality, but when your antics f*ck up my ability to blatantly lie to my children in order to get them to behave, we have a problem ;)

Anyway, we arrived in one piece (no fiery death or dismemberment, I am pleased to report), and I didn't even have to break out the electronics, so that ought to give you some indication as to how smoothly things went! I pray our cross-country flight to the east coast for Thanksgiving is as painless!!!

Even more importantly, we had as perfect a weekend as you can have with five rugrats under foot, cementing our conviction that traveling with children is worth it, even though the journey is infinitely more painful than the destination.

More travel quotes, if you're into that kind of thing:

"Not all who wander or lost." (My fave) - JRR Tolkien.

"He travels the fastest who travels alone." - Rudyard Kipling. You're tellin' me. God have mercy. Honestly. Somebody could cure cancer in the time it takes to get through security with toddlers in tow.

"Reminds me of my safari in Africa. Somebody forgot the corkscrew and we had to live on nothing but food and water." - W.C. Fields. That sounds almost as bad as parenting without alcohol.

"The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page." - Saint Augustine. Granted, if you're traveling with small children, the other pages might be laced with tears, ear-piercing screams, boogers, and mean mugs from your fellow travelers. But then you get to the really good parts ;)

"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find that after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us." - John Steinbeck. Ain't that the truth! And a trip with kids takes you by the throat and nearly strangles you to death, but when you get through to the other side, you really appreciate being alive!

More Steinbeck: "A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it." Wait. I can't control my marriage??? ;)

"The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see." - G.K. Chesterton. I'm learning that travelers with children see public bathrooms. Lots of bathrooms. Incidentally, G.K. Chesterton is my most favorite quotee ever, because it is he who said "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."

And this -

Photo by Seattle Dredge of SeattlesTravels.com
This and several of the quotes found on Voyage Vixens

J: WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!
C: PHUUUUUCK!
 

let sleeping babies lie

my husband has thrown down the gauntlet. he claims i am INCAPABLE of writing a blog post that is less than five pages long. CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

this might sound like sacrilege. i know, generally, you should never EVER wake a sleeping baby. but. do you ever encounter that situation where your little one has decided to take a nap to end all naps and you're worried she'll sleep through dinner and be up 'til midnight? so you want her to wake up, but you don't actually want to wake her up?

try my foolproof method. guaranteed to work, or else, i will buy you more minutes of quiet time while your baby sleeps instead.

1) turn on the shower. this will do the trick for 60% of children.

if that doesn't work, proceed to step two:

2) get in the shower.

now if the kid is still sleeping, it's time to get serious.

3) put a shit-ton of shampoo in your hair. make sure you lather it up real good. see that some if it runs down into your eyes so you are suffering from temporary blindness. and, VOILA! your baby will magically begin screaming bloody murder for mama at this exact moment.

you're welcome. and sorry about the (hopefully temporary) retina damage.

the biggest mistake you will never regret

for some reason Blogger's version of pacific standard time is ahead of reality so it's kind of like i'm talking to you from the FUTURE....

so. one of my brother's friends got a tubal ligation when she was 20. she was that certain she didn't want to have kids, ever. she recently spent some time with me and my kids which may have served to reaffirm the decision in her mind. still. i'm extremely curious about what kind of doctor would perform this sort of irreversible medical procedure on a 20 year old who, no offense, doesn't know shit. [i know this comes off as paternalistic and patronizing, but i'm only speaking from experience, as a person who once thought she knew all of the things, but recently discovered she does not know any of the things.... and i think this is a pretty common path to (dis)enlightenment.] anyway, that's a different issue altogether.

then, a single (or rather, serially dating) male friend of mine asked me whether i thought he would someday regret not having kids. i got to thinking about the decision whether or not to have kids in the context of this blog post/article/open letter that has been floating around online for years and keeps resurfacing. (it has been reposted eleventy billion times all over the interwebs as early as 2008 but i can't seem to find who actually wrote it.) a girlfriend of mine just posted it again. it's basically a mom and her grown daughter, and the daughter "half-jokingly" says she's taking a survey on whether she and her husband should have a baby. the mom says "it will change your life" and the daughter replies, "i know, no more sleeping in, no more spontaneous vacations..." but the mom is like, gurrrrrrl, that will be the LEAST of your concerns! just kidding :) she goes on to talk about all the ways that motherhood will change you - ways that you wouldn't have believed in a million years and ways that you won't understand until you realize that those changes have already occurred. the way it's written, the mom appears to keep the inner dialogue to herself - because, to be honest - it's not something you could ever adequately explain, even if you tried. so instead, she simply says, "you will never regret it."

and i think she's right. maybe my personal experience and sample pool are misleading, but i know a lot of people with kids. people who had "oops" babies at 18. people who had "oops" babies at 45. people who tried for years before finally having a baby (or three!) people who always wanted babies and got pregnant every time they tried. people who couldn't have babies and adopted. people who could have babies and adopted. of all of the baby-makers, baby-bakers and baby-caretakers i know, i have never met anyone who regretted having children, whether it was a well-thought-out decision or a total surprise. as i've said before, i may have momentary regrets, for a minute, an hour, or the duration of a cross country flight, but all in all, my kids (and their co-creator ;)) are, hands-down, the best parts of my world. i was never one of those girls who always dreamed of being a mommy, but when i thought about my future, there were two kid-shaped spots in it. (until i had one. then that double-wide spot shrank down to a single. but we ultimately braved baby #2 and i could not be happier or more thankful that we did.) plus, when i was in 5th grade that game MASH told me i was going to have two kids, so obviously, my fate was sealed ;)

though baby boy was a wee bit of a surprise, i'm assuming the infamous "biological clock" would have started ticking eventually. in any event, we would have started trying sooner rather than later, because we knew someday we wanted to be parents, and also because both my Ob-Gyn and my former employer had recently told me i better get on it because my eggs were rotting. anyway, the point is, if i could do it all again, i wouldn't change a thing. (well, i might change one tiny part - to wait until after (or during!) the month-long belated honeymoon trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua - as opposed to finding out two days before we left! i'm still campaigning for a do-over. ;))

but the bottom line is, being a mom is the best thing, EVER. unfortunately, it is also the WORST thing ever. i read a quote once - "motherhood is the only way to experience heaven and hell at the same time." truer words were never spoken. it melts your heart and kicks your ever-lovin ass. anyone who says different is drunk, high, or LYING. but at the end of the day, you'll never regret it. i don't know if it's hormones or pheromones or Stockholm Syndrome or pregnancy-induced psychosis or all of the above, but once you drink that koolaid, there's just no turning back.

the question is.... what if you don't drink the koolaid? i've seen another quote (i love me some quotes) that says something along the lines of "people with kids and people without kids are always feeling sorry for the other.." but i think that's only half true. maybe child-free people don't know what they're missing, but i, for one, do know what i'm missing! lazy mornings. naps. a clean house. the luxury of deciding what i want to do today. spontaneity. rowdy sex during the daylight hours. vacations. (i'm talking about vacations, not a "family trips.") reading a book on the couch or having a cheesy movie marathon on a rainy day. peeing alone. self-indulgent sick days. deciding to have wine and popcorn for dinner (or breakfast! sub mimosas for wine, obv). sunbathing without being interrupted every 13 seconds to save one of my kids from drowning. i better stop before i go jump out my 18th floor window. oh wait. i don't have a window. phew, lol.

i saw an ad on TV recently - i think it was for expedia. they were walking up to strangers in a park and saying hey, i have this ticket to Fiji (or Australia or Japan or wherever it was), it leaves in 3 hours, wanna go? most people said no. but someone said yes (or at least, a paid actor made me believe he was "Joe 9-to-5" and he said "Hell yes!")... sigh.... that will never be me again. at least, not for the next 16 years, six months, and 5 days ;) i need at least 2 weeks' notice to schedule a happy hour. transcontinental vacation? fuhgeddaboutit. that's just not my life anymore. and while i wouldn't trade what i have for the world, i sure do miss parts of that old life! which is why, when friends ask me if i think they'll regret not having kids, i'm like, "Hell no!" now, i'm not necessarily advocating making that decision permanently at the age of 20. but if you're of "that age" and you're feeling the pressure from mom or grandma or your perfect happily married sister who's on her 4th angel baby and you're wondering whether you should have kids "before it's too late," then my answer to you is a resounding "NO!" one of my besto's has a rule = "No Shoulds." try it! it'll change your life! and of all the things in the entire universe, the decision whether or not to reproduce is probably the best possible place to employ this simple philosophy. if you want them, by all means, get busy! if not, or if you're just on the fence about it, or maybe you don't but feel like you "should," then don't do it! i think i can safely say that your life will be infused with plenty of passion, love and meaning, and hey, if for any reason you need a little kid fix, i will happily loan my tiny terrorists to you any day of the week. i also think i may have seen some for rent or sale in Tijuana. just kidding. sort of.

this same logic also applies to the "should we have a second child or just have the one and only?" decision, which, apparently, draws nearly as much BS as the decision to remain child-free. i don't really understand that at all. it's such a personal decision. i mean, i'm sorry, but, whose uterus are we talking about here?! you might as well be advising me which brand of tampons to use, for all the stake you have in the decision, only, in this case, the tampons cost at least $241,080 and are an 18+ year commitment.

seriously though. i can't even pretend to understand the stress and turmoil this societal/familial pressure causes, especially for a female of child-bearing age. i have some friends (men and women, single and couples) who have decided not to have kids. notably, nobody really gives the guys any flak. it's always the ones with the uteri that get it. you would not believe some of the shit people say! family members, and even complete strangers. it's appalling. i wish i could be there to give the speakers a violent shake and say, do you think that is helpful??? AT ALL??? but you can't let someone bully you into a decision like that. also, FYI, in case you can't tell by the rapid proliferation of wrinkles and gray hair and the mismatched flip flops and the magic marker cheek- and forehead-tattoos and the declining IQ and the eternal state of frazzle - this shit's freaking hard as f*ck. i would not recommend it if you're just looking for a new hobby. try pilates or get a gerbil instead.

or a hedgehog. omg. LOOK AT IT!

* i asked my brother to ask his friend if it was okay to write about some of our convos on the blog. he was like, "i'll ask her but i'm sure it's fine. you gotta use non-baby blog fodder where you can get it!" ha! don't be silly, brother. obviously i'll still find a way to make this about children ;)
[update: my brother just read this and informed me (out of some sense of obligation to his friend or to the maligned medical professional, i'm not sure ;)) that there was a pre-existing condition as well as psychological counsel that went into his friend's decision, she didn't just show up at a doc-in-the-box on tubes-tied-tuesday. sorry. i am not an investigative journalist ;)]
** update #2 - my "serially dating" (male) friend mentioned above just asked me "Can you get pregnant on birth control?" Me: "If you do not take it at the same time every day as directed, yes." Him: "Shit. I had unprotected sex with this girl I just started dating. But she showered afterwards so that helps, right?" ummmmmmmmm............ wait. what? it helps her SMELL BETTER. it does not WASH THE SPERM OUT OF HER VAGINA!!!!!
*** by the way, i hope no part of this post comes off as "oh people without kids just don't get it" (except this ^ guy. ya gotta love 'im, but he clearly does not get it, and by "it," i mean, basic anatomy, biology, and life). but, there are some wonderful and terrible things about parenthood that you can't know until you live through them, just as there are things i will never know again, e.g., what it is like to have expendable income, have uninterrupted conversations with grown-ups about grown-up things, get dressed without someone pointing out that my belly is "squishy," my butt "looks funny," or dumping the entire contents of my underwear drawer on the floor, and hey, maybe even use the bathroom without having to hear a play-by-play. in fact, i actually get some of my best parenting advice from people without kids. something about not being "in the shit" (literally and figuratively) gives them some useful perspective and insight. and/or the fact that they have access to 63% more brain cells than i do.


this is funny. from momlogic.com on the parents zone.
i like that it highlights my one major qualification for being a mom -
i <3 disneyland!!!

a confession, part II, or, that time they accused me of kidnapping my own child

... SO. yesterday. picked colby jean up from daycare, then headed over to the preschool to fetch jackson jay. the kids were on the playground out in the back, but i went through his classroom to grab his lunchbox, and check his cubby. then i walked out to the playground, holding C on my hip. as soon as J spotted me, he cracked a big grin, called out "Mama!" and walked over to hug my legs. then he stepped back and said, "Mama, look, I got an OWIE! LOOK!" it looked like he had gotten a little sliver. he said it was from a tree, and that he'd even gotten a bandaid (if you achieve bandaid status, that owie is LEGIT ;)) i made the proper fuss as we headed over to the sign-out sheet. his arm was tangled in my skirt the whole time, and he nattered on about his day, that they'd read the Three Little Pigs, he'd "POOPED AT 'KOOL," and get this, WIPED HIS OWN BUTT (allegedly. i never did investigate skid mark status. what happened next kind of derailed the rest of my evening).

as i was almost to the table with the sign-out sheets, a teacher or playground monitor or whoever she was steps in front of me and says, "excuse me. i don't know you. i'm going to need to see some I.D." for a few seconds i just stared at her, stupidly smiling. i thought she was joking or something, it was so strange and surreal. (keep in mind, you have to have a security fob to even enter the building, which i was holding in my hand. also keep in mind that, while we are only a week and a half into the new school year, i have been there to pick him up 6 of the last 8 days, same place, same time, same little orphan annie in tow). then i started to feel very very small. like an underage kid trying to sneak into a club and getting caught by the bouncer. why i felt like this, i do not know, because i was not doing a thing wrong.

i said to her, "oh no! i didn't bring my ID in. but i have my security fob right here? see?"

her: "mmmmhmmm. that's nice. i need to see ID."

what the??? "ummm, well, like i said, i don't have it on me... but... i was just speaking with his teacher Olivia in Room 103. she knows me. could we just go over and ask her to verify that i'm Jack's mom?"

"no. school policy. i need to see your identification. now."

"okay, well, it's in my purse in the car." (what if it hadn't been?! what if it had been lost or stolen, as DM's recently was??? would they have just kept him?! as a ward of the YMCA?! until i got a DMV appointment in, like, DECEMBER?????)

"well then i guess you better go get it."

okay. pause. listen you guys. i am a lawyer. i only mention that because it is probably the profession packed with the highest asshats per capita on the planet. (well except maybe politicians. but most of those are just lawyers who are seeking advanced degrees in dickery. literally and figuratively. anthony weiner, i'm lookin' at you.) as such, i will tell you, i have come across more than my fair share of TERRIBLE people in my life. and yet. this lady takes the cake. i cannot convey in words the level of derission and disrespect that dripped from the handful of words she spoke, but, for the record, this was the SMUGGEST BITCH i have encountered, ever.

anyway. i replied, "okay, i will go get it, but, what happens with J? do i have to just leave him here?"

her: "yes. he's not going anywhere until i see your ID. we'll wait." (she said this last in that tone that your seventh grade science teacher used when you came to class late and were making a commotion getting settled and she felt it necessary to drive home your tardiness with some age old public shaming tactics.)

needless to say, my sensitive son LOST HIS F*CKING SHIT. he was basically like, "i'm sorry, what? i have to stay locked outside this glass security door with this stranger while my mom carries my sister out of the building and i have no freaking clue what in the hell is going on? thanks but i'll PASS!" he starts screaming bloody murder while i am trying to keep my cool. even though my hands are shaking and my vision is blurred i do not want to make matters any worse than they already are. i crouch down and try to soothe him and say "i PROMISE i will be RIGHT BACK, lovey. i SWEAR to you, my sweet sweet boy, i will be back as quick as a bunny. i just have to hop-hop-hop to my car and grab my purse really fast because i forgot it and i need it so i can show this lady i am your mama." this has the effect of calming him -3%. he responds, wailing, BUT YOU ARE MY MAMA! MAMA! MAMAAAAA! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME!!!!!" UGH. SO heartwrenchingly awful i cannot even explain. but what choice do i have?

so. i stalk out to the car (there may have been actual steam coming out of my ears), grab my purse, and basically run back inside. at this point one of the administrators caught on to the fact that something was amiss so she follows me back out to the playground. i am shaking and i don't speak a word as i hand the girl my driver's license. i couldn't have spoken if i'd tried. she grabs my ID, looks at it for a second, and says, "Your names don't match." i take a breath and respond, "No. They don't. I did not take my husband's last name when we married." her: "Well. That's going to be an issue." me, exasperated, on the verge of tears: "Oh my God. Are you kidding me? Is this a joke? I don't have the same last name as my husband and kids. I'm sorry. It's two thousand and thirteen." Still trying to hold it together for the sake of the kids but the lid's about to come off.

at this point the administrator steps in and tries to unruffle some tailfeathers. she apologizes. THE FIRST TIME ANYONE HAS DONE SO. she says "I am so sorry for the inconvenience." she says, "I understand how frustating this must be, but this is the school-wide policy." she claims, "the teachers have been trained." the teachers have been trained to what?! Be A$$HOLES??? UGH!!! i tell her that i understand the policy and that i appreciate their concern for my son's safety, but that i hope they understand how upsetting it is for my son, and for me, to be handled so carelessly in what is obviously a delicate situation. she says yes, she completely understands, and apologizes again. i have no beef with this woman.

they proceed to bring out a ginormous three ring binder of registration papers and start flipping through it page by page. i ask again if we can talk to Olivia, J's teacher, to settle this mess, or Jane, the other administrator. they tell me both have gone home for the day. J is still crying, though more quietly at this point. he asks why i took Sister when i "left him all alone." i look the girl in the eyes and (snarkily) reply, "the school is only worried about the legal ramifications of me kidnapping you. they don't care if i kidnap your sister." more flipping of pages. i suggest that we go look at the scrapbook we provided per the school's request, the first two pages of which are pasted with family photos, including pictures of ME, the interloper. but no. they need to find the "official paperwork." after about twenty thousand minutes, or maybe three, they realize it's not in the first binder, so they haul out another one, equally thick, and start flipping through that at a glacial pace. finally, FINALLY, they find whatever piece of paper contains sufficient proof that i am not some crazy child-napper. the girl hands me back my ID and says, "There, see? Was that so hard?"

.....

i put that space there to delineate the pause that i took at this point. to breathe. to grasp desperately at the last shreds of my cool. because that is what i do in real life. so that I do not PUNCH HER IN HER EVER LOVIN' HEAD.

i think to myself, YES, you SMUGLY B, that WAS so hard. but i say nothing out loud. she continues, "Well, now we know who you are, so we won't have to do this again." All I can manage is, "No. This will not, ever, happen again."

as we walked out, my cheeks still burned. with rage. and with shame. why? because there were other parents and children around to witness this insanity? no. honestly, i was so upset i had tunnel vision and i could not say with any authority if there was a single other human being around. no. i felt shame because in a few short sentences, she had chopped my sense of self, my sense of worth as a mother, down at the knees. i mean, this lady sees tons of moms, day in, day out. obviously she ought to recognize a mom when she sees one, right? am i defective? am i not "mom material"? was my son's reaction to my arrival lacking the requisite joy reserved for "good moms"? can she tell that both of my kids prefer their daddy? that there was a genetic mutation in whatever chromosome makes some moms love their jobs 24/7? did i have "fraud" stamped across my forehead? maybe (probably) i'm being dramatic. maybe (probably) i'm overreacting. but i was shaking for an hour after this happened. my eyes are still tearing up and my heart is beating audibly in my ears as i write this, reliving that feeling of the instantaneous destruction of a little sliver of my soul. i cannot remember a time when someone has made me feel so small.

my first thought after i had time to process the situation was, there is no way that person has children, because no mother would treat another mother that way. someone with children of her own would know that essentially accusing someone of trying to kidnap her own child is a dangerous, painful accusation to make. okay, i get it, you have a hundred little people to keep track of and it's your job to keep them safe and you gotta do what you gotta do. this is your "policy," and it's probably an okay one given all the crazies in the world. but it is a very sticky situation that requires the utmost deference, tact, and respect. how about start with, "i am SO sorry, i know this is a huge inconvenience and i truly apologize, but, it's only the second week of school, and we are still learning everyone's names and faces, and i'm sorry but i don't recognize yours, so may I please just take a peek at your driver's license just to make extra sure? better safe than sorry!" how about that, instead of an agressive "i need to see some ID," which automatically tears someone down and puts them on the defensive.

maybe she does have kids, she just had a terrible day and i was the straw the broke the camel's back. (maybe i had a terrible day and this was just what pushed me over the edge.) or maybe she can't have kids and working with beautiful smiling/crazy crying children every day is driving her slowly out of her mind. maybe some poor child was abducted on her watch and she will never ever forgive herself, and is spending the rest of her life being hypervigilant, on edge, making sure it never ever happens again. maybe i wronged her in a past life. or maybe she's just a dick. i don't know. all i know is, sticks and stones my ass, her words cut me to the bone.

to bring it full circle. my second (not so) rational thought was, "i'm changing my last name tomorrow." but then, as i started to think about it some more, i was like, No. Because, F.U., YMCA. "Mack N. Cheese" does have a nice lil' ring to it. but. i've gotten this far. i am 33 years old. i have been married for over 5 years. i have been a mother for 3 years. we have been on a dozen plane flights with the kids. i have travelled with them alone. we have left the state. we have left the country. all with our mismatched names and no big hullabaloo. like i said, it's 2013, people! we live in the United States of America, and in California, to boot. thirty five percent of women in their 20s and 30s don't take their husband's name when they marry. it's not like i'm being joan of f*cking arc here. with the continued rise of gay marriage, second (and third and fourth) marriages, blended families, and revised notions of what the "marital union" entails, i believe at some point, sooner rather than later, we're going to have to start coming up with more creative approaches to "the name game." i don't believe i need to have the same last name as my son to be a bona fide mom. i already have my name. my son has his own. my husband and my daughter, too. and they don't always have to match.


**blood is thicker than water, but, not as thick as the name registered
with the county department of health and human services.
or the california department of motor vehicles.
and also the social security administration**

fostering your child's independence at the expense of your overpriced heath ceramics

more talk about preschool and poop. apparently my new metier.

the new preschool is all about the kids' independence, self-confidence, "emergent learning," positive discipline... blah blah blah. at orientation they had homemade play dough (and they were weirdly obsessed with the smell of it. they kept being like, "oooh, did you smell it? how good does it smell? what do you think it smells like? eh? eh?" ummmm... it smells like... play dough? for a minute i had a weird flashback to college and i thought, omigod, is there pot in the play dough?? there wasn't. i don't think. we didn't eat any. also? my hands keep writing douche not dough. is that bad that my fingers engage in rote name calling?)

anyway, they had scissors and knives out for cutting the play dough. because they "trust" that the children will "rise to the occasion." alright. good on ya. i hope your liability policy covers lefty scissor lacerations and getting shanked with a plastic shiv (shivved with a shank?) i tried to proactively manage the situation by explaining to J$ that he is in preschool because he is such a big boy and that is why at preschool, and only at preschool, he gets to play with things like scissors and knives. but that cup o' independence has already runneth over. last night he threw a holy terror of a tantrum because i told him he could not use a steak knife to spread butter. "I WAAAAANNNNIT!" "I'm sorry. You can't have it. Sharp knives are only for grown ups." "WAAAAAAAA. RAARRRRR. AAAAAAAH. *slam a door* *kick something* *throw something* I WOULD LIKE TO BE A GROWN UP! PLEEEEEEEAAAAASE!!! I SAID PLEEAAAAAASSSE!!!!!" [impressively, he usually manages to mind his manners, even amidst his psychotic breaks.] "I'm sorry. You'll have to wait 15-25 more years for that." "But they let me use  knives at 'cool..." and so it begins.

the teachers also explained that they were going to start out serving drinks in paper cups, but that soon they would work up to glass, "just like you use at home." HA! gurrrrrrl, that's just crazy talk. you obviously do not have children. the only person in our house who's allowed to use a glass-glass? is me. we do often use actual dinner plates, but there have been several (expensive) casualties (including the fancy freakin salt shaker) so i have recently been rethinking my strategy there. bring on the melamine!

in addition, the school encourages parents to let the kids "help" pack their own lunches, which is generally the opposite of helpful but can be fun or sometimes terrible depending on the day. the school director warned that they "would not engage in power struggles" over lunch, "so keep that in mind when choosing what to pack." obviously, she said, if you put cookies or goldfish along with healthy fruits and vegetables, the kid's going to eat the cookies first, and probably only the cookies. she said, "hey, if you want your kid to eat cookies and goldfish for lunch everyday, we're not going to judge you." [false.] "we're just telling you how it goes."

they also "strongly suggest" the kids pick out their own clothes and dress/undress themselves. J likes to pick out his own clothes. he also likes to decide that the outfit he picked out last night, or, thirty-seven seconds ago, is the worst decision he ever made in his entire life. dressing/undressing is another issue entirely. sometimes he insists on doing it himself, sometimes he views it as an insurmountable task. the level of difficulty may or may not have something to do with whether he's gotten enough sleep, whether he is suffering from low blood sugar, and/or whether mercury is in retrograde.

even on the best day, if i were to have J pick his own clothes and dress himself from head to toe... oh yeah, and also... eat breakfast (do you know how long it takes to choose which cereal to eat?), brush teeth (i think he has, like, twenty of them at this point... and did you know that, if given the proper incentive, a child's jaw can exert force equal to that of a crocodile?), get out of his pjs so he can get into clothes, apply sunscreen (you'd think it was agent orange the way they carry on), lug his own lunch box (SO HEAVY), walk to the car (SO FAR), get in the car (SO HIGH - but GOD SAVE THE SOUL of anyone who tries to help him), get in the car seat, face the direction in the car seat that does not guarantee a ticket and a visit from CPS, securely fasten 5-point safety harness (how long does that take? multiply infinity TIMES FIVE), drive (less than a mile now, thank you Jesus!), unbuckle (involves mind-reading re: whether or not he would like assistance this particular second), get out of the car (you'd think he was rappelling from El Capitan), and walk to preschool (farrrrr. lunchbox so heavy. arm might fall off. not to mention the fact that, meanwhile, i am hauling my overgrown baby chile, who weighs significantly more than J's lunch box.) fight over who gets to sign in (if you don't want my kid to write on the sign-in sheet then don't put it at his EYE LEVEL), pass the "health check," (still unsure re: acceptable levels/colors of snot), walk to classroom [dead man walking], hang up lunchbox (BY HIMSELF). pee (even though he decidedly DID NOT have to pee AT ALL 7 minutes ago, or maybe it was an hour ago, who knows). wash hands (total germ annihilation becomes supremely important at 8:29 a.m.) finally, finally, i think i'm going to make a clean exit but at the last minute, as per usual, i need professional assistance peeling the wailing child off my leg :( the moral of the story is, independence slows progress by a minimum of 73%.

so, yeah. that's how mornings go around here. i let the kids do things for themselves when and where i can, but if i completely handed over the reigns i'd literally have to wake them up at 3am so that we could all get to school/daycare/work on time. on the other hand, if i dress the kid the way i want to, it's a dead giveaway that i am not following proper preschool independence protocol. i suppose i could intentionally pick ridiculous and mismatched ensembles, or let him wear the same shirt every day for a week, but that really offends my particular sensibilities. instead, i just let daddy pick out his clothes, as his sartorial stylings are akin to that of a small child. nobody's the wiser ;)

another area of independence is wiping their own asses. as you may or may not know, J can't effectively wipe his own because, according to him, his butt is crooked. despite this physiological challenge, self-administered butt-hygiene is a life skill that they expect my 3 year old to master. when i asked about the logistics one of the teachers said, "we just show them how to do it themselves." i was like, "okay, well, can you maybe give me some pointers because my methods of instruction are clearly insufficient." then she and another mom (who apparently teaches kindergarten) laughed and said, "oh, yeah, it's not a squeaky clean operation or anything, there will be skid marks for another 2-3 years at least. hahaha." um, ew. as our family's chief-laundress and shit-stain supervisor, i object! not only on my own behalf but as the proxy for my poor kid who has to walk around with an itchy poopy butt all day! so sad! i guess ya gotta learn sometime, but man. welcome to "the real world," a.k.a. preschool!

when we I was pregnant with C-diggity, one of DM's mentors from work gave him his "parenting bible" - a book called "your self-confident baby." DM respects the guy a great deal and says his kids are super well behaved and totally entertain themselves and let him and his wife sleep in until 9 on the weekends and do not need a constant stream of eye contact, verbal validation, and rewards (unlike somebody else we know, *wink wink*), so i thought it would be worth a read. it had some good pointers, though, in my view, nothing totally earth-shattering. however, at the time i was reading this, J was almost a year and a half, and the book basically said if you haven't done all of this by the time the kid turns 2, you're f@#%^&. so we had 6 months to implement two years' worth of cognitive behavioral therapy. i more or less took that as "better luck next time!" i'm (mostly) kidding. i don't think J's a complete lost cause ;) (and in any event, to the extent there are any magical keys to his independence and sanity, i don't think i'm going to find them in a book.)

the thing is. i want to be a chill, free range mama. well, sort of. i want to be a free range parent whose little free range chickens clean up after their own damn selves as opposed to leaving a constant trail of detritus and destruction in their wake. and obviously i want to foster independence and self-confidence in my children. but i also don't want anyone to needlessly break a leg, lose an eye, or to have to buy a new dinner set every three months. i definitely used to be that A-hole who said, "i'm not going to let having children stop me from having nice things. i will just teach my children to respect and take good care of our nice things. it's as easy as that!" i should have heeded the warning signs, e.g., that i could not even teach my husband to respect and take care of our nice things. if nothing else, 3 years of parenthood has taught me that, for better and for worse, there is a limit on your powers as a parent in the face of kids' unerring tendency to be kids! as always, it all comes back to balance and finding what works for you. and also, not having people tell you - subtly or not-so-subtly - how to raise your children all the damn time.

that is all :)

honestly, my dog could probably get ready faster than these children.
[source: www.aliexpress.com]

worst stroller EVER IN THE WORLD (or not)

warning: this post may be insanely boring for non-parents or any other normal people who have not wasted hours of their life deciding which stroller to buy. crazy people, carry on. you are welcome here, and you're in good (or bad?) company :)

when we had baby #1 we got a stroller that i LOVED. that i still love. the bumbleride indie. (except for this one small incident where there was a recall with the front wheel and i got the email and i thought, oh, i'll just take care of it when i get home from work, it's not like anything is going to happen in the next 4 hours. and then one hour later the front wheel fell off while the nanny was walking J! wtf, universe?! at least it happened in our front yard, and not on the side of our crazy busy road! scary! ugh!)

ANYWAY. once #2 arrived, i figured we should invest in a stroller that could accommodate both kids (even though we barely ever use it). however, it is commonly known that i would rather pluck out each and every one of my eyelashes than get some ginormous double-wide thingy. i don't know why. double-wides just chap my hide. they don't fit in doorways. they don't fit in store aisles. they're like mini mom-powered urban assault vehicles. they just bug. i was vehemently and irrevocably opposed. so i did tons and tons of research* and even though many people said "just get the double BOB already" or at least get the double-wide bumbleride, it seemed that the most popular non-double-wide alternative that did not cost more than a mortgage payment was this pretty little lady right here - The Baby Jogger City Select Double Stroller.

[*by "research" i mean, locate reviews and ratings
that support the conclusion that i already came to in my mind.
confirmation bias, baby :)]

and let me tell ya, she wasn't cheap. with the second seat, the carseat adapter, the kickstand (or, "skateboard," as J calls it) and all the other assorted attachments and doodads, this baby rang in at about $750 (plus tax. should have at least bought it in Delaware! dangit!) but i had myself convinced that this, and only this, stroller would do. it was the best (well, not the best. but the best we could (not really) afford). and my babies deserved the best(ish). so i got it. i had pushed the kids around Buy Buy Baby in it but didn't get a chance to really try the thing out "for reals." our nanny "test drove" it the next day and when i asked what she thought she basically said "meh" but i was like, oh well, because i am not getting a freakin' doublewide. (she didn't want a double BOB either, but it was clear she was not a huge fan of this stroller.)

 

a couple of days later i actually had an opportunity to take the thing out for a ride myself and i was none too impressed. while it had moved reasonably well over the smooth, level linoleum floor of Buy Buy Baby, pushing it up a bumpy hill was really tough. especially because Big J insisted on being in the front so he could have an unobstructed view, which - i'm no engineer, but i'm pretty sure is not the most effective approach to weight distribution. it was also difficult to maneuver it around turns - even the slightest turns - and i mean really difficult. i felt like i was pushing a giant cardboard appliance box with a 30 lb weight at either end.

 

crap. this thing kinda sucked. we talked about returning it and getting something else, but again my stubborn ass would not succumb to the double-wide and there weren't any other front-n-back/sit-n-stand type strollers that appeared to be any better (or so i told myself). plus, despite its drawbacks, this one was super flexible in the ways that you could manipulate it - double, single, front facing, back facing, facing eachother, back to back, etc.. (however, you may not be able to tell from the photo, but in almost every combination, at least one of your children can kick the other). still. we (okay, I) ultimately decided to keep it. we did not encounter the full extent of the stroller's suckage until our trip to Disneyland last winter. trying to push a cardboard box-o-babies around a deserted neighborhood with wide turns is one thing. trying to maneuver said baby box around tens of thousands of enthusiastic Disney patrons with equally unweildy child-carrying apparati was damn near impossible. we ended up paying to rent a single stroller for J and I just carried Baby in the Bjorn. it was that bad.

 

after that day, i was filled with fury whenever i saw or thought of the baby jogger. city "select" my ass. i meant to write a scathing review on amazon but never got around to it. however, even a scathing amazon review probably would not have saved the likes of me, with my WASP-y "it is more expensive and therefore must be better" mentality. but. pity the poor couple who happened to be testing out the esteemed city select one day when i was walking through BBB. now look. i abhor unsolicited parenting advice. or unsolicited any advice. i try really really hard not to give it unless it is explicitly requested. (except for my family. i boss them all the time :)) but i felt it was my CIVIC DUTY to warn these people about the scourge on modern civilization that is the baby jogger city select. i just went off. i was like, "excuse me? i just feel like i should tell you. that right there is the ABSOLUTE WORST $700 i have ever spent in my entire life, and believe you me, i have spent money on a lot of stupid shit. seriously. do. not. buy. that. stroller. you will rue the day." they looked at me like i was 68% crazy, so i backtracked a tiny bit and was like, "i mean, i don't know, maybe you will like it, but definitely try it first, like really try it, and put your big kid in the front because that is where he is going to want to sit, and you will likely discover that it is like pushing a double milk crate around on crappy asphalt." anyway, they probably bought it as soon as i was out of sight. i would have - at least, before The Disneyland Debacle of 2012. but whatever.

 

then. i go home. i tell DM about this incident. no less than seven minutes later i am moving "The Beast," as i refer to it, from the living room to the garage, when for some reason i notice that there is a little pull knob by the front wheel. i was like, "huh. i've never noticed that before. i wonder what it does?" i pull it over to the other side. IT UNLOCKS THE FRONT WHEELS. do you understand what i am saying here? THE FRONT WHEELS OF THE STROLLER HAVE BEEN IN THE LOCKED POSITION FOR ELEVEN MONTHS. locked, as in, will not turn. in actuality, this baby turns on a dime. WHOOPSIE-DAISY. the fact that i made this discovery on the night of the Buy Buy Baby Incident was clearly God or The Universe's way of serving me a nice tall glass of shut the hell up, and reminding me that my general policy of not pushing unsolicited advice is a wise one.

 

so yeah. that happened. my apologies to that poor unsuspecting couple at Buy Buy Baby. and to Baby Jogger. even though i do stand by my pre-disney assessment that the stroller is just "meh" and if i could do it over again i would definitely not spend $700.

 

the moral of the story: i am an idiot. and i should have just gotten the double-wide. 

 

the end :)

 

oh wait. ps. DM also hated/hates The Beast and not-so-secretly blames me for its presence in our lives and in our garage, which is fair. however, a couple months ago we were at a street fair and he saw a front/back double stroller and he said, "whoa, look at that stroller! that's cool! why can't we have that?!" i looked over and then replied, "we HAVE that stroller, a.k.a. the worst stroller in the world!" so. i am not the only one who was lured by the siren song of the city select.

"sick day"

Deep thoughts...

Being sick with kids sucks. Being sick with sick kids sucks worse. On the totem pole of sickness, moms are at the bottom. I think it goes dads/grown men, then kids, then moms. Maybe kids then dads, I don't know. But either way, people are steppin' on mama's head. Honestly I'd rather be at work because then at least I could take a 20 minute cat nap in my car or just close my door and drink tea and be quiet. Baby and I must have the same bug, but she's handling it much better than I. Sadly, this is not the "snuggle and sleep on mama all day" kind of sickness. This is the "visibly contagious germ factory, but she must have missed the memo" kind of sickness. She looks and sounds like she has TB, but she still wants to run around cataloging every object on our property ("Wha's dat?" "A tree." "No!" "A plant?" "NO!" "Uhhhh.... bush?" "NOOOOOOO! ISS A BIWDY!!!" "Actually, no, it's not a birdie." "[*Ear-piercing scream*] ISS A BIWDIE!!!! WAAAAA!!!!" "Okay, okay, it's a birdie! Made of wood. Growing out of the ground. With leaves. A deciduous birdie.") Then read every book she owns at least two times (there is a method to her madness... YOU DO NOT GET TO CHOOSE THE BOOKS). And of course, continue with her calculated campaign designed to break Big Brother's balls. She pesters him constantly, with repeated full-body tackle-hugs that veer into violent territory if unrequited. (As we like to say, she doesn't start fights, but she ends them ;))

This sibling rivalry is so interesting to me, now, as a mother. I basically contemplated my little sister's untimely demise until the day I left for college (LOVE YA, SIS!), so I totally get where Jack's coming from. Baby is ALL UP in his business at all times and definitely terrorizes him on a regular basis, and he tries really hard to be sweet at least 75% 63% 51% of the time.... but then, she's my lovinest littlest sugarlump and sometimes I just cannot abide the way he treats her. Now I know how my parents felt. Right down to him throwing blunt objects at her head. (Better than sharp ones, I suppose!)

By the way, am I going to call her Baby for the rest of her life like in Dirty Dancing?

Speaking of Dirty Dancing - remember "the old days" when "sick day" meant lounging on the couch with a Thera Flu slushee and watching "the classics", a.k.a. Dirty Dancing, Almost Famous, GI Jane, Mean Girls, Legally Blonde, Bring It On, etc? I still haven't seen Pitch Perfect, people!!! Meanwhile, the DDs (diminutive dictators) have monopolized the remote, and while I appreciate the 26 minutes of relative peace, if I have to hear the "LITTOW EIN-TINES" song one more time I might commit hara-kiri with a spork. (To the tune of TCHAI-kovsky! Actually that reminds me of a cute story - J gets so proud of himself when he pronounces something correctly - he says, "Mama!! Watch this!!!" "Okay, I'm watching." "Overture." Hahaha. Well done, son. :))

On a happier note, I have forgiven the new preschool its trespasses against cupcakes because, instead of a 40 to 60 minute round trip with a shrieking banshee in the back seat, it is two minutes from home. SO GLORIOUS.

Anyway. That's all I got. I am so brain dead. I sorta feel like I got the stuffing knocked out of me. Do you know I don't really sleep? More about that later. But it pretty much sucks. Add two solid months of back-to-back-to-back weekend events and travel, looming work deadlines, a virulent strain of the bubonic plague, and I am just barely holding it together. Do you ever get that feeling that you are juggling so many balls and you are about to drop them ALL??? That's me right now. Too many balls ;)

One of these metaphorical balls is thank you notes. I used to be a thank you card super star. Personalized photo cards in 3-5 business days. Now, we're two weeks out from J$'s birthday, and I'm still only halfway done. Tonight, I'm trying to catch up, writing thank yous in the voice of my three year old. Yes. I am "That Mom."

"Dear Auntie -

Thank you for the awesome keyboard that I for some reason insist on playing with Ziploc baggies on my hands because apparently I am Phantom of the Freaking Opera.

Love you lots!

Jackson Jay"

Another metaphorical ball is this "blog." Hopefully I don't run out of funny!

Oh yeah, also, coughing fits with a postpartum pelvic floor? Goodbye Hanky Panky! Hellloooo Depends!

nectar of the gods



things NOT to say in an interview

today is our nanny's last day. i have major anxiety about it. it's like a really awkward/terrible break up where the guy is super great and you love him, but you're not IN love - complete with him giving back a bunch of your crap in a box and returning your house key. eef. i am NOT looking forward to going home today. i really don't do well with crying. there have already been lots of "meaningful talks" and "getting choked up." and i'm pretty sure she loves J more than her own grandchildren (C too, but she's been with J since he was 6 months old and now he's 3 (three?!) so they've got more history) so it is not going to be pretty. she really is wonderful and our kids have benefitted immensely in her care. we will all be going through withdrawals, Jack especially. she's like a surrogate mom/grandma, preschool teacher, and also housekeeper, which is worth eleventy billion bonus points. most importantly, i trust her implicitly with the children, which is rare and priceless. of course, her services are rather pricey, so we won't miss that part! she's also left us totally stranded without childcare on multiple occasions, the effects of which contributed to me getting passed up for a promotion at work, but daycare and preschool are equally at fault, as are DM and I - who decided to have two children and who want to be there for at least a portion of their upbringing (and/or cannot afford around-the-clock child care :))

the other night she texted me and said she had gone on an interview with some strange family that lived in a tiny apartment-slash-zoo and that we we going to be impossible to replace (and obviously there's some stiff competition ;)) i wrote back "awww. that's nice. well, if you start missing us too much, just take comfort in thoughts of our messy house, dirty kitchen, living through two remodel projects, and that time you outsourced all of our laundry for three weeks." i was trying to be nice and i figured she'd write back something like, "oh you guys aren't that messy!" but instead she wrote, "You are worth all that!" lol. sigh. this is what we've become.

anyway. this got me thinking about the original, stressful search for nannies and babysitters and backups and replacements and daycares, etc. i have interviewed a LOT of child care providers over the past 3 years... and have come up with a list of things you do not want to say during your interview, particularly when the position involves caring for children:

"eventually you're going to accidentally slam the kid's head into a wall so it's best not to stress out about it too much." [this lady had dubbed herself an "infant expert" but was more like harvey karp on crack. i stayed home the first day to test the waters and i walked in on her shushing J at jet-engine decibels and nearly "jiggling" his head off. the poor kid looked like he had PTSD. needless to say she didn't last the day.]

"i have a lot of experience [though no children of my own] so i am not afraid to tell parents what they're doing wrong." don't call us, we'll call you.

why did you leave your last employer? "she was a total control freak." "the kids were nightmares." "all they ate were chicken nuggets and ketchup." um, yeah, this isn't going to work out.

"you really should make your own ranch dressing. that storebought stuff is terrible." b*tch, my kid is eating a carrot. leave it alone.

"i'm sure if you really wanted to breastfeed, you could do it." F. U.

"i don't like dogs." so you're saying you're a sociopath...? (just kidding. sort of ;))

"you can just call me Anna Banana." yeahhh, no.

"you seem to be a much better mother than my daughter-in-law." oh lord. poor girl.

"you hard-working, beer-drinking american women - i feel sorry for your husbands." that's nice, but i feel more sorry for myself.

"american girls don't understand, he must be treated like persian prince that he is. he will not lift a finger." trust me, the last thing this kid needs is further evidence that the entire world revolves around him.

"i usually work for 'trophy wives' who just sit around and watch me take care of their kids." sadly (for me), that is not the experience provided here.

"i don't like it when the parents are around while i'm trying to take care of their kids." okay, i admit, it is super awkward, but it happens sometimes, and the fact that you're making this disclaimer 60 seconds in makes me suspicious. also your sketchy wrist tattoos and mysteriously unreachable references.

"i don't feel like i should be expected to cook for or clean up after your child. i'm here to play and have fun!" well i don't feel like i should be expected to do that either but dems da breaks, sugar!

when she asked about my "parenting style," i mentioned my "go to" parenting book that explains my approach to naps, schedules, etc, and she replied "oh... i don't really read books." when i looked at her like, ????? she added, "i mean, like, grown-up ones." ummmm.... yeeeah.

"we will teach your children in the montessori style, which includes learning to sweep, fold, and put things away." actually, i'm kind of liking the sound of this...

"all of the children sleep from 1pm to 4pm [on tiny mats] in the same room." me: do they actually sleep? him: oh yes. the entire time. me: what drugs are you feeding them... and where can i get some???

why do you want to be a nanny? "well, i'm really an actress, i'm just trying to make some extra money until i get my big break." "i couldn't hack it in nursing school." "i couldn't get a 'real' job out of college." yeah, no.

"i'm 18, from Brazil, and missed my calling as a victoria's secret model." yeah, sorry, the position's been filled. this reminded my girlfriend of a funny, related story - she went on a babysitting job and when she walked in the woman said "the last nanny I interviewed was a tall gorgeous Brazilian girl and coming on the heels of that Jude Law scandal I was so glad to open the door and see you." thanks a lot! ha!

and last, but certainly not least - "oh, thank you, i just love balls on my face!" we actually love this lady - she still sits for us - and in her defense, J was putting (rubber, bouncy) balls on her face, and DM and I have the sense of humor of a 16 year old boy.

>>>>

okay, re: non-child-care positions.... all i really know is... the "interests" section in your resume? this is a big conspiracy between the career development office of your college/grad school and the employers of america, so that everyone can LAUGH AT YOU.

for example. the first time i sent my resume in to my current employer, i had in the interests section "beaches [like, the actual thing, not the bette midler movie], hot yoga, and cheese." this was listed right after i mentioned that i know "conversational spanish" (code for "i worked in a mexican restaurant for a long time so i know how to place very specific food orders and curse your mother in 17 different ways,") and that i had lived in both the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. taken together, i thought it made me sound worldy, casual, fit, and fun. turns out the interviewer initially rejected my resume out of hand because she said the juxtaposition of "hot yoga and cheese" conjured up images of a bad yeast infection. she still sometimes refers to me as "hot yoga", which i guess is better than some of the alternatives.

some other winners:

turtle rescue, butter tasting, amateur mixologist, three card monte, dusting, extreme housekeeping, auditioning for reality shows, creating iTunes playlists, charcoal grilling, entrepreneurialism, writing (working on a screenplay), viewing the Bodies exhibit at the Natural History Museum, walking around Old Town Sacramento, racquetball (nationally ranked junior player), and Rachael Ray. oh, and of course, Cross Fit and the Paleo Diet. eeee'rybody loves the Cross Fit and the Paleo.

also. once, during an interview, my (former) employer said this: "you minored in critical gender studies? what is that? some lesbian shit?" AND I STILL TOOK THE JOB.

the end.