God-Awful Crocs

These days, conversations with Hayes usually go one of two ways; either he responds to whatever I say with a defiant "No, Mommy!" Or else whatever I say ends up being translated into three-year-old-jargon and repeated to someone who was never a part of our original conversation. Thankfully, this usually happens with the people that Hayes and I know and love and speak to everyday. But every now and then, it involves a total stranger who, no doubt, walks away from the encounter thinking I'm a jerk.

The last time this happened was after a conversation Hayes and I had about how he was not getting a pair of those God-awful Croc shoes. You know, the plastic shoes every single child and their mother on the playground has. I understand the functional factor here but, they can really ruin a good look.

Recently, a pair that a little boy wore to the park caught Hayes's attention. He got very excited and ran directly over to the boy whose mother was also standing nearby. Hayes pointed to the little boy's Crocs and said, "See Mommy, they're not ugly." This presented a slightly awkward moment that I cleverly smoothed over with a quick lie, "No, the camouflage pair isn't ugly, my love." But, of course, Hayes took the opportunity to beg me for a pair right on the spot, creating a slightly more awkward moment. That's when the little boy's mother attempted to convince me of the amazing shoe investment that a pair of Crocs is. They're comfortable, the kids can put them on in mere seconds all by themselves, blah, blah, blah. She had me confused with someone who cares more about function than form. I felt the need to make myself clear. So I launched into a brief explanation about how the smaller sizes can be kind of cute, but the overall design is so unattractive that they just become unwearable. Since she had nothing to say after that, I was pretty happy with how I diplomatically countered her assumptions of me. That is, until I walked away and noticed that she was also wearing a pair of those God-awful Crocs too. Yikes!

Shout out to Mrs. Frizzle!

Ok, I'm no Paris Hilton, but I think the science book Hayes found at a neighborhood flea market is just plain hard. It's not the vocabulary, it's the content. It's The Magic School Bus.

Anyone remember The Magic School Bus? (cricket. cricket). Ms. Frizzle? (cricket. cricket). PBS in the '80's?

I know. It's been a while since I've thought about science too--which is exactly why I bought the book... Well, and because Hayes wasn't taking no for an answer. Kid's will definitely make you pay for your sanity. But I digressed.

Hayes and I do a lot of cool covert science things like cooking and...let me see...does gardening count? Is that science? Well, my point exactly. I don't really do science. But I do understand that science is important. And just because I may not be knowledgeable enough to always point it out, ignorance doesn't get me off the hook. Hayes has got to learn about science and I'm the parent who must introduce it to him.

You know the story line: Ms. Frizzle takes her class on a science adventure on the magic school bus that, this time, turns itself into a steam shovel and digs way into the earth. They learn about rock layers, fossils, stalagmites, stalactites, metamorphic rocks, ingenious rocks, composite volcanoes, and all that other seriously hard science stuff that I just don't do!

Enough.

Long Live Responsible Brainwashing!

Let's just lay it all out on the table; I am vegan by choice. And Hayes is vegan because I am his mom.

The decision was simple. I will teach him to be responsible for what he consumes, for our environment and for the care of animals who cannot advocate for themselves. And then, when he becomes a teenager and decides to throw all that I have taught him out the window, guilt will eventually drive him back to what he knows is right. Really, it's all a mother can hope for.

I must admit, rearing a vegan child is not always easy. There are those inevitably tricky moments when his friends' birthday cake is not from a vegan recipe and when Hayes is the only kid stuck with a plate of fries to fill his belly at Chuck E. Cheese. Those are the moments that I hope are fleeting in his memory. The ones that will not leave too permanent a mark on his psyche. And just when I am convinced that it will be years before I will know if he understands it all, a small glimmer of hope:

The other day, he turned to me after a fast food commercial and confidently stated, "We don't eat that."

Aaaagh... The power of brainwashing!

Perfect Peanut Butter Cookies

There's no reality check quite like the hint of autumn at the close of summertime. The way my skinny jeans no longer make me appear overdressed is a jarring reminder that the season is almost over but the to-do list is not even complete. It means that Hayes has not yet enjoyed every experience I have planned. So, in my haste to make the most of the summer's last days, I decided that Hayes and I would bake cookies--not exactly a warm weather activity, I know. But this is the type of decision I make when I panic.

Whizzing through the cupboards, I noticed we had all the ingredients for perfect peanut butter cookies--except for the white sugar and baking soda that I promptly added to the grocery list growing on the refrigerator door. Determined to continue on with the plan, I ordered Hayes to grab his shoes. We were off to the store. Two hours later, I returned exhausted. Two hours after that, Hayes had to remind me of my plan. And as I gathered the ingredients for our end-of-summer activity, I realized we had only a half-a-cup of flour with which to make perfect peanut butter cookies. I could have screamed. I could have cried. I could have thrown a major temper tantrum about the whole thing. Of course, in hindsight, I could have just gone to the corner store for more flour. But I was exhausted, and clearly a little out of it, because I continued without so much as a thought of going for more flour. If half-a-cup of flour was all we had, then half-a-cup worth of cookies we would make. And it made us eight little perfect peanut butter cookies.

That night, Hayes ate one. I devoured six and saved the last one for his school lunch.

The next day, the cookie returned the only uneaten snack in Hayes's lunchbox. And when I asked him why, he told me that it tasted bad. My first thought was that something went wrong with the recipe. And I realized that was definitely the case when I tried the cookie again, this time with a fresh perspective. But in hindsight, something was wrong with the plan from the very beginning. So I tossed the last not-so-perfect peanut butter cookie in the trash and decided that I had learned a pretty important lesson...at least until next summer. In the meantime, I should teach him to never insult a lady's cooking.

Movers & Shakers

By the way, I'm already planning my next vacation...Dominican Republic this winter! But until then, grab a kid and come check out my new gig:



The fine print reads something like this: Come to Brandhi's class and watch your kid interact with other kids in a fun environment that's a whole heck of a lot less anxiety-inducing than another overcrowded playground.

Hope to see you there! Feel free to leave an RSVP comment here.

Obrigado, Brasil!

This is a beach in Brazil...



This is me on a beach in Brazil...



And the only thing worth coming back home for was this guy...