my purple hayes days

The Simple Life

2008-12-02T21:21:00.004-05:00

Today, Hayes was trying hard to convince me of his big boy status. What prompted him to do so was the fact that our heads were almost the exact same height when he stood next to me on the bed. Of course, the difference is that my feet were on the ground and his were not. When I tried to explain this would not happen if he were standing on the floor because he is only three, he switched strategies and said that he IS big because he's almost four.

Since there was no point in reasoning with him any further, I considered the conversation closed. But he began to explain to me that soon he will be four and then he will be five and then six and then seven (he stopped at thirteen), insinuating that he is big now, but he will get bigger and bigger as time goes on.

That's when I became nostalgic by the thought that my three year old will never be three years old again. He will, in fact, only get bigger and bigger and things more and more complicated. And I'll miss these simple days.

So I told him that when he turns four, I will miss him. And he told me that he will miss me too.

When his father walked into the room, Hayes told him he will miss him too.

Not knowing what conversation he had walked into, his father assured him that he would be missed too.

Then all of a sudden Hayes began to cry. And it wasn't just a little cry. He cried a sad, deep, belly cry with big crocodile tears.

His father and I were totally confused. When we asked him why the tears Hayes told us that he didn't want to turn four.

And that's when I knew for sure that things will never be as simple as they are right now.

Deep

2008-11-19T17:17:00.001-05:00

I'm not one of those moms who thinks my child is a genius. However, I can say with all seriousness that he is more than just a little deep to be only three years old.

This morning, while shoving spoonfuls of cereal and milk into his mouth, and missing most of the time, he asked me what I want to be when I grow up. And I must admit, the question really got me thinking. I told him that I want to be a homeowner and an early retiree. Of course, he accepted this response without any further explanation because he's three and, clearly, not a genius.

But all day today, while I biked to work and home again, settled into my work-from-home projects, walked to pick Hayes up from school, enjoyed watching him take Karate class, spent the evening with close friends, went to a dance class, came home for dinner, and settled us in for the night, I thought that in many ways, I am the person I always wanted to be when I grow up. My life is personally satisfying in a lot of ways. But still, there is more to see and do. And I suppose there always will be.

So, did a three year old just make me realize that I still have a lot of growing up to do?

Deeeeeep!

Cali x NYC

2008-11-06T23:30:00.006-05:00

If you're in NYC next weekend, Hustlenomics will be too! Mark it on the calendar and be ready for a hella good time!

Happy Election Day, America!

2008-11-04T13:23:00.004-05:00

OK, I tried to stay away from the topic but I just can't resist. Today is a big day, no matter how you cast your vote.

Hayes will be pulling the lever today after school at Brownstone Books. (I'll let you know who he decides to vote for--tee-hee)!

Speak No More Evil

2008-10-30T09:05:00.001-05:00

A weird thing happens when you have a child. All of a sudden you must watch what you say. I've heard it a thousand times but I never actually do it because, truth be told, I'm not a potty mouth. But it wasn't until recently when Hayes told me, in a very unconcerned way, that he thought I was going to kill myself that it really sank in.

I admit, he got the words from me--not because I am at all suicidal, or have ever been. But because whenever I do something disastrous and normal like trip over one of Hayes's toys and almost fall flat on my behind, I often say things like, "Oh my god, I'm going to kill myself!" It rolls of my tongue just as easily as "please" and "thank you." I've never considered it odd or inappropriate, it's just the way I talk. And Hayes hears me speak that way all the time. So, just like a three year old who does not yet understand the intricacies of language and expression, he repeats it like it's totally normal. And it is. But it's so not. Besides that, those words, coming from a small child, are frightening.

I'm just glad he said it behind closed doors first. It gives me time to correct my mistake before he goes blabbing about his pseudo-suicidal mommy to everyone out in the world.

Kids or Curry?

2008-10-27T22:25:00.001-05:00

Stacey and I are proof that three-year-olds aren't the only ones who can be easily distracted, obsessive and totally selfish. We can too!

For about a week, the plan has been to celebrate Stacey's new job, that now allows her a more flexible schedule, by taking the boys out for an exciting, new adventure today. We were hoping for a cool outside activity, but the damp weather spoiled those plans early.

So by the time we picked the boys up from school, we had settled on an old, familiar inside activity instead. It was sure to be a good time. But I couldn't stop thinking about food. Random, I know. But I was totally obsessed by the thought of sitting down to a table full of food that I didn't cook to feast on, uninterrupted, until I was completely satisfied. And since Stacey is always open to the power of persuasion, and is as easily distracted as I am, it didn't take long before she was co-signing the idea.

So, like the self-absorbed mama I am--and that Stacey is working on becoming, we ditched our plans with the kids (actually, we ditched the kids altogether) and went out for Indian. But like the famished and tired mamas we are, we sat across the table from one another in near silence scarfing down the alu motor gobi and vegetable curry dishes we ordered.

In the end, we agreed the time spent in hedonistic hush was a refreshing change from spending another hectic evening out with the kids.

Much Ado About Bugs

2008-10-24T21:08:00.003-05:00

No doubt, one of the cooler things about being a blogger is getting free stuff in the mail. Well, recently, the good people at Lifeway Organic sent Hayes a package of Probugs Organic Soy Kefir. This was after a package of the whole milk snack pack arrived just the day before. But, of course, since Hayes is vegan, the whole milk pack went to his good friend Kimani. This was a perfect gift for Kimani because Lifeway is convinced that Probugs is liked by even the pickiest eaters. And Kimani, as much as we love him, is the pickiest eater there is.

A few days later, Kimani's mom announced that he had tried it, hated it and didn't want to touch it again. So, I rest my case. Hayes, in typical fashion, loved it. (Though I'm not completely sure that the soy milk drink is actually vegan since the label says it contains soy and milk).

So, since I am very easily amused, I decided to sit Hayes and Kimani down to ask them a few important questions about their very different Probugs experience. Here's the official interview, complete with my thoughts:

Me: So, what did the Probugs drink taste like, guys?

Hayes: It tasted like summer and it had a little fire, but it was sweet. (Interesting).

Kimani: I didn't like it. And then I did. And then I tried it. And then it was my favorite thing. (Promising).

Me: And would you like to drink Probugs again?

Hayes: Yeah! (Cool).

Kimani: Yeah! (Really cool).

Me: Do you think the Probugs was good for your body?

Hayes: It was just crawling through me. (Huh)?

Kimani: It was good. But then I didn't like it. (What)?

Clearly, the not-so-cool thing about being a blogger is trying to craft a solid story out of an interview with a couple of very silly three year olds.

But on the other hand, maybe Lifeway is totally right about Probugs. Maybe.

Planning Postcard Moments

2008-10-22T21:57:00.002-05:00

What's the saying about the best laid plans? Something with mice and men, and things inevitably going wrong.

Well, all day today, I was excited about a plan I had for Hayes and I to enjoy the afternoon in simple leisure. I decided that since our bicycle tires needed air, Hayes and I would walk to the local bike shop to fill up. Then ride through the neighborhood's tree-lined streets to the park where we would ride some more. Sounds like an adorable postcard image. Well, it wasn't.

The first upset was noticing that the training wheels on Hayes's bike were no longer attached to his bicycle. (They were recently removed when he wanted to practice riding in the park like the big boys). And though I try, I'm not good with tools. But I slapped the third and forth wheel on the bike as best I could, shoved the...wrench, is it?...in my back pocket and was out the door. So, of course, I spent the entire walk to the bike shop stopping every couple of blocks to tighten the...bolt, is it?...on the wheels so as to keep Hayes from falling and knocking his teeth out. Not cute.

The second upset was realizing that when we left the bike shop, wheels finally full of air, there was nowhere for Hayes and I to ride our bicycles together down the beautiful, tree-lined streets to the park. Because we live in a city that doesn't allow adults to ride on the sidewalk. I would have had to ride my bike in the street. Not cute--or safe.

And the final upset was watching Hayes ditch me and his bicycle for the jungle-gym and slide once we finally arrived at the park.

Not exactly the postcard moment I had planned. But here's a totally unrelated melancholy song from Audiotransparent about the best laid plans that I hope you like as much as I do...

Conversations with Stacey

2008-10-20T21:15:00.003-05:00

As you already know, I've been anxious to make an autumn to-do list to combat impending winter cabin fever. And I suppose it's coming along well, since the most recent activity I have added is to visit an orchard upstate with friends for apple picking and hay rides. Yes, I'm totally excited about it. But my friend Stacey, Kimani's mom, called me today with one of her bright ideas.

The conversation started when she claimed there is something exciting for us to do with the boys this fall. She mentioned that it costs seventy-five dollars before proceeding to give details about a cruise line along the Hudson that stops in upstate New York for a picnic lunch, then takes you to celebrate Octoberfest.

I was immediately turned off at the mention of Octoberfest. Only because I've never considered the beer guzzling crowd to be quality kid company. With that said, Stacey tried to sell me on the foliage by telling me that the leaves would just be sooooo pretty. That's when I thought to ask if the kids would be able to actually play in the leaves. The answer was no. And that is when I realized she meant that the leaves would be sooooo pretty to view--from the deck of a six-hour cruise ship!

Two toddlers trapped on an adult cruise ship for an entire day! Can you imagine the hell we would all experience? Oh! I can!

OMG! I'm Like So Totally Old!

2008-10-16T22:36:00.000-05:00

I'm an eighties baby. There's no denying it. I have fond memories of swatch watches and Pac-Man. I still listen to Joan Jett and Pat Benatar. I had friends with beepers. And I actually believe primetime television was better 20 years ago than it is today. All this makes me old school. Fortunately, being old school is alright for now because it's cool and retro. But one day, having grown up in the eighties is going to make me just plain old. And no one reminds me of this more than my darling Hayes.

I wish it were simply Hayes's deft manipulation of a laptop that is making me notice my age. Or that the words email, blog and text are already verbs in his three-year-old lexicon. But these are not the reasons why I am suddenly feeling dated.

Over the past few weeks, I have heard Hayes refer to someone he didn't know as a dude. He called his friend a maniac, and answered one of my annoying questions with "Uh...Hellooooo?...Duh!" And that is enough to count me among the elderly, as far as I'm concerned. Because as much as button-up cotton shirts and classic sneakers might be making a comeback, eighties vernacular is not. But, whatever dude.

Gold Fish?

2008-10-11T21:15:00.002-05:00

What do moms talk about when there is absolutely nothing to talk about? Well, me and my friend Stacey, Kimani's mom, talk about fish. And it was a pretty funny conversation...

Stacey: Have you seen the colored goldfish?

Me: What do you mean colored goldfish?

Stacey: They're selling rainbow colored goldfish now.

Me: What?

Stacey: Yeah, I saw them today. And Kimani somehow already knew about them. He was like, "Look mommy, the colored ones."

Me: Well, how do they make them all different colors?

Stacey: Food coloring, I guess.

Me: Gross!

Stacey: I know! And you would think in this day in age...

Me: ...That they wouldn't feed goldfish food coloring.

Stacey: Wait a minute...What?

Apparently, even a toddler would have guessed we were talking about Goldfish--the crackers. However, since fish are not a part of either Hayes's or my diet, I assumed we were talking about goldfish--the live ones. Because if you say pork, I instinctively think of a pig laying in the mud. It's the vegan in me.

The best part was what Stacey said once the topic had been clarified...

Stacey: Kimani asked if I would buy a bag. And I felt just like you when I had to tell him, "No, we don't eat that!"

Hilarious.

Cybergroup Dynamics

2008-10-06T11:50:00.003-05:00

It's beginning to feel a lot like fall in my neck of the woods. This means seven long months of inclement weather. Like most toddlers, Hayes loves the bleak and blustery stuff just as much as the lovely sunshine. But all I can think about is the fated cabin fever I suffer every year. I'm anxious to combat the winter blues with some serious kid activity.

So, like a true cybermom, I turned to the web for ideas. My first thought was to join all of the parent groups in my area just to connect with fellow mommies about what's out there to do and see. I googled and found a site that listed all of the cybergroups in my area and proceeded to join each of them one-by-one. For the most part, it was quite simple...until all of a sudden it was not.

One parent group in particular had a multiple-step acceptance process for potential members. Seriously. Not at all intimidating, I must say. Just plain annoying. As if the initial tell-us-in-200-characters-or-less-who-you-are-and-why-you-want-to-join-our-group mandate was not enough, the second step of the process was to complete an in-depth questionnaire detailing who I am and why I want to join. And as if that was not enough, I was then sent an outline of the group rules. To which I replied, "please unsubscribe me."

If hanging out with that group of parents is what I have to look forward to this winter, it's sure to be a long one. No thank you.

Happy First Days?

2008-09-29T23:37:00.003-05:00

Flash back to your fondest memory of the first day of school.

My point exactly.

Much can be said about first days of school everywhere, but has anyone ever gleaned a fond memory of even one of them? Well, moms have it twice as hard. We're not only haunted by our own childhood memories of the first day of school, but we experience it all over again every time our children do. So, finally, one sure thing mothers and children can unite over; the dreaded first day of school. Boo-hoo! Let the tears flow!

Today, I heard from a dear friend who took her daughter Marley to her first day of kindergarten this morning. Unfortunately, I had exactly five minutes to help calm my friend's frantic nerves. Of course she felt awful for having dropped Marley off with a bunch of total strangers (even if they are professional teachers and caregivers). And not being able to stay just a few minutes longer with Marley for having to rush off to work definitely made everything worse.

Since I already made this point in a recent blog entry, I won't belabor the obvious. But I have to admit my newfound knowlege; that the dreaded first day of school is never ending for us moms. We will always feel frantic, just like our children. Only we will feel it twice as much.

Don't Lament

2008-09-25T21:50:00.002-05:00

A very wise and respected friend once gave me good advice about being a parent. "Don't lament, just enjoy," she said. And though I try, it is much easier said than done.

This year, the Montessori school that Hayes has attended for two years, has moved to a new location. And for quite some time, I have eagerly awaited this evening's open house. Needless to say, plenty of new parents showed up for an orientation to the school, and the preschool process in general.

It all began as expected; the Director spoke about founding the school four years ago and the many strides the school has made since then. And everything still seemed quite normal when she opened the floor for questions from us parents. Really, it wasn't until the question and answer period naturally shifted from general inquiries to the more child-specific, that things got sappy. I remember someone asking if parents are allowed to stay with their child for just a few minutes in the classroom before leaving them for the day. Then there was a question about how the school will deal with an energetic kid who has never been away from home. And by the time we all walked out of there, there were only a few dry eyes among us--except for the fathers, of course. (Perhaps we can reflect on that phenomenon at another time). What were we all misty-eyed about?

Well, those of us who are new to the preschool process were emotional with the thought of giving our children over to a group of total strangers for the first time. And those of us who are not new to the process got emotional remembering what it's like to have to entrust strangers with your child until they are no longer considered strangers.

It was precisely the moment that is hard for a parent to enjoy. And depending on the circumstance, quite easy to lament.

Last Days of Summer

2008-09-22T16:36:00.002-05:00

Sure, it's Back-to-School time. But since my three year old doesn't go to real school, it only means that the feeling of summer being over is upon me before it has even officially come to an end. And since I am easily persuaded, it takes no time at all for me to get caught up in the hype of having to buckle down and get back to business. So I find myself desperately trying to squeeze the last bit of summer fun into these unofficial last days...and failing miserably.

Yesterday, on a whim, Hayes and I boarded the ferry to Staten Island for the first time. We took a stroll through Clover Lakes Park to rent a row boat that would be ours for an hour-long ride along the lake. It was going to be lots of fun. But when we got there, the rental office was closed. The day before was the last day of their summer schedule. Phooey!

Today, I was back in work mode with Hayes in tow. I whizzed right by a playground at Central Park while rushing to the bank before it closed. But I thought to turn around before getting on the train to let Hayes get the most out of these last days of summer. But he had only fifteen minutes to play. And I watched my G-Shock like a hawk so that we would not be late. At a quarter-after, we were headed back to the train. But when we got to the bank, it had just closed. I felt awful. Because for the second time, I let another summer day fly by without allowing Hayes to make the most of it.

Karma

2008-09-18T09:17:00.002-05:00

Is there something about being a parent that says to the rest of the world that you need advice? Because when you have a kid, all of a sudden everyone who has ever had a child thinks their advice is golden. I see it all the time. And I always want to smack them upside the head.

Today, Hayes and I met a gentleman by a very surreal circumstance. I didn't even notice him walking next to us until he had run face-first into a metal pole. When I asked him if he was alright, he said that he was just admiring my son (and consequently walked into the pole). Odd, I know. And it gets even more bizarre.

After I had done all the consoling I could, the guy reached down, took Hayes's face in his hand and planted a big kiss on his cheek--which Hayes promptly wiped away with a frown. Feeling totally relieved by the way Hayes expressed himself, I said nothing more about it.

Later, we ended up standing in line waiting for the bus behind this guy. And when Hayes's dad walked away to take Hayes to the restroom, the guy turned around to share a few words of wisdom with me. He told me that I should take care to teach my son to love everyone. He said that I should tell Hayes to not frown and wipe away kisses because it was love that made him admire Hayes so much that he smashed his face into that pole. And that he would tell his daughter the same thing--that it is important for children to learn that the world is filled with love blah...blah...blah...

Initially, I wanted to interrupt the guy to tell him how his mother should have taught him to ask first before kissing someone. But I decided to wait for him to finish reprimanding me. I also wanted to ask him how he would feel if a strange guy walked up to him and unexpectedly planted a big kiss on his cheek. But I was still waiting for him to finish his speech. By the time the guy was done, I had decided that the big knot on his head was exactly what he deserved. What's funny is that he thought he had an accident with a metal pole. I thought he got a much needed dose of karma.

Excuse Me, May I Pet Your...

2008-09-16T15:43:00.002-05:00

I'm only three years into this parenting thing and I already know one thing for sure; kids are embarrassing with a big, screaming, capital E! And some moments are beyond salvaging. I recently had one of those moments.

Alright, so all kids love animals. Well, in New York City, there are plenty of animals around. And Hayes has been excited all summer about getting his little hands all over e-ver-y leashed dog he sees that I had to sit him down and give him very specific instructions on pet safety. Now the scenario goes something like this: Hayes spots a cute, leashed dog coming up the block. When the person with the dog is within earshot, he says, "Excuse me, may I pet your dog?" Then Hayes slowly offers his hand for the dog to sniff before gently petting the dog's body.

I must say, this has been going very well for quite some time until the other day when Hayes spotted a cute baby in a stroller coming up the block. When the person with the baby was within earshot, he said, "Excuse me, may I pet your baby?"

Oh my god!

Really.

And there was nothing I could say as the person with the stroller passed us by.

The Co-optation of Children's Books

2008-09-12T21:09:00.002-05:00

Why do children's books begin to lose their magic by the third go-round? It has to be more than just that nagging never-ending to-do list we try to squeeze in between tucking baby away and the end of the day. Or perhaps it is because our books just aren't fancy enough. Like Dr. Seuss's ABC book--a ridiculously long children's favorite that also happens to be merely two dimensional.

Well, finally someone--a French someone by the name of Marion Bataille--has beat the innovative, creative-types to the chase and won a place in the hearts of parents and children alike with ABC3D. Good thing, it's not available for sale until October, because that gives me enough time to figure out if this is really a children's book.

I could risk becoming one of those parents who co-opts her child's toys. You know the kind of parent who uses their child as an excuse to buy something they really want for themselves. And when the time comes and the child actually wants to play with the toy, he simply cannot. Or I could publicly admit that I want it for myself. Because this is truly a very cool book--one that, should I decide to purchase, neither Hayes nor any of his grubby-fingered friends dare not touch.

My Different Perspective Potential Disaster

2008-09-10T22:36:00.001-05:00

Help! Hayes is doing that little-kid thing where he asks for e-ver-y-thing he sees on TV. And, truth be told, it's driving me absolutely crazy.

Rather than say yes or no, I decided to approach the whole thing from a different perspective. I thought to implant the message that he not always rely on someone else to give him the things that he wants. So now, every time he asks me if I will buy him whatever is being marketed on the TV commercial he happens to be watching, I tell him that I won't, but that he can take joy in buying it for himself someday.

Clearly, I have issues. Because the problem is that Hayes is three years old. And of course, he has to depend on me to give him the things he wants. And while he will someday have plenty of money, and do with it whatever he wishes, I do not mean to send the wrong message.

But when the day comes that he finally is able to buy his own things, I fear I might have a monster to contend with. Because what am I going to do if he feels entitled to purchase all the crazy things he will want, and actually be able, to buy rather than empowered to do so? What then can I say? On second thought, what now? What should I say now to prevent a potential disaster?

Breakthrough

2008-09-08T23:32:00.001-05:00

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I am unabashedly self-absorbed. (Some would say it's part of my charm). However, I recently had a breakthrough not-so-self-involved moment. So what that it lasted all of five seconds. I'm just proud to say it was my little Hayes who got me there.

It happened at a neighborhood coffee shop, where I sipped sweet iced tea from a straw. Hayes sat across from me blowing bubbles into his.

Allow me to interject that Hayes and I go all out with the antics at home. And there are only a few behaviors reserved especially for the public. Not blowing bubbles into our iced tea is one of such behaviors. But when I reminded Hayes of this, he complied only briefly. Then he continued blowing hot air into his tea cup. Since he decided to (1) ignore me and (2) continue to be rude after being told not to do so, I decided to (1) remind him that there are consequences for such actions and (2) deliver the message clearly and succinctly. I told him that if he did not immediately stop, I would take the cup away and he'd be left with...nothing.

It was in the five seconds after I spit out those words that the breakthrough happened. In an attempt to uphold the rules and regulate behavior, I spoke with absolutely no regard for my three-year-old's fragile feelings. I wanted so badly to take back what I said. And I tried to make it all better with a heartfelt apology. But it was too late. Hayes began to cry. And when I asked him to explain the tears all he said was, "I'll...have...nothing!" He was crushed. And it was my selfish fault.

But still I'm proud to say that he got me to a place where I could clearly see that I often speak from my position only. And for all of five seconds, I was totally there.

Register for MOVERS & SHAKERS!

2008-09-04T12:55:00.003-05:00

Your fall line up includes Real Housewives Atlanta. Your 2-year old, on the other hand, is looking forward to something a little less dramatic.

Next week, Embora Wellness & Movement Studio opens its doors to the new children's program MOVERS & SHAKERS. The creative movement class for children allows boys and girls to explore spatial relationships, rhythm, body orientation and creative thinking in a relaxed and non-competitive environment.

Register your child (18months-4years old) for fall classes now by emailing me at brandhik@yahoo.com.

When: Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays

Where: 900 Fulton Street, between Waverly and Washington

Yikes! Another Cavity!

2008-09-03T10:36:00.002-05:00

We poor mothers! From the time baby arrives, we are constantly running. We are so incredibly busy with the child rearing, the jobs, the significant others, and the never-ending to-do list, that we stress so much about getting everything done and often forget to take time out to do some of the most basic things for ourselves, right? Like brushing our teeth. Well, actually that's wrong. According to my dentist, that's probably not the reason why I had to get yet another cavity filled today.

I swear, I never had the slightest hint of a cavity before giving birth. Now all of a sudden, I seem to have a new one every time my dentist sees me. What's crazier is that when I told my dentist about how I have been so busy being a mom that I cannot seem to ever get with the full-on brush-and-floss-after-every-meal-or-at-least-rinse dental program, she shed some very interesting light on the subject:

Studies show that hormone changes during pregnancy can negatively affect the gumline and contribute to tooth decay. Furthermore, stomach size decreases as our unborn baby increases in size. And to compensate, frequent small meals and sugary snacks sustain us throughout the last trimester. These are oral changes that can reverse once our baby is born or they can create a snowball effect and continue long after pregnancy.

And here I was, thinking that I just needed to pay more attention to myself. (You know, a few more pedicures, another pair of skinny jeans and perhaps one of those sleek, expensive toothbrushes).

Alas, I stand corrected.

God-Awful Crocs

2008-08-29T20:14:00.001-05:00

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!

2008-08-27T15:13:00.002-05:00

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!

2008-08-26T07:00:00.005-05:00

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

2008-08-21T16:28:00.001-05:00

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

2008-08-09T21:10:00.006-05:00

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!

2008-08-09T20:37:00.004-05:00

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...

SEE YA REAL SOON!

2008-03-26T22:11:00.005-05:00

MY PURPLE HAYES DAYS IS CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION...(MAINLY BECAUSE I'M CHILDLESS IN BRAZIL)!

CHECK BACK SOON FOR MORE OF THE ROLLICKING AND REBELLION YOU LOVE TO READ ABOUT.

2008-03-16T16:53:00.001-05:00

It’s a classic. It’s animated, smart, funny, and it’s Dr. Seuss. Sure, these are all good reasons why Horton Hears a Who should be a great movie. But they are also the reasons why I was positive I would leave the theater disappointed. {You can imagine it not meeting even your most basic of expectations. Remember that God-awful Alvin and the Chipmunks? Hopefully you were smarter than I am and didn’t think you might like it, read a review that said it was good, and go see it only to realize that it’s one of the worst children’s movies ever made ever in the history of really bad children’s movies}.

Well, Horton Hears a Who is a good movie. In fact, it’s one of the best children’s movies ever. Sure, the colorful characters, suspenseful storyline, and heartfelt moral are capturing. But what really convinced me that this Dr. Seuss adaptation is a movie like no other was when Hayes and I sat staring at the big screen with our heads together. Because it was in that moment that I felt a stray hair tickle my neck. I took the stray between my fingers and pulled. But the hair didn’t detach, and since I felt nothing, I decided it must have been tangled in a knot. So I yanked really hard…and Hayes let out the loudest scream I’ve ever heard in the history of really loud screams. But instead of bursting into tears—which would have been totally justified considering the way I ripped that stray hair clear out of his head—he simply went back to watching the movie as if nothing was going to stop his from enjoying this classic.

Who knew? Horton Hears a Who soothes boo-boos, prevents tantrums and entertains too.

What the...? Part Tray

2008-03-04T11:30:00.003-05:00

I just completed a very extensive survey that included a host of random and regular people around me about birthday parties. And apparently I'm wrong to think the birthday party Hayes and all of his classmates were "invited" to was weird. I found out that these school parties happen all the time. So, I stand corrected...and very confused. Whatever, people!

Throwback

2008-03-04T11:24:00.002-05:00

...for all you 80's babies...reminisce and enjoy!

What the…? Part Duh

2008-03-03T17:21:00.000-05:00

FYI: The poorly planned party from my previous post turned out to be one of the most well-planned I have ever seen, so I stand corrected. Although I won’t take it back that it was altogether a very weird idea.

There was an invitation sent to all classmates, even though the party was taking place at school during school hours. So by default, everyone would attend. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the fun in classmates acknowledging birthdays. But holding a full-blown party complete with balloons, family members taking photos, a piñata, and don’t forget the cake, during regular classroom time is weird.

And what’s weirder is that when I picked up Hayes from school, I noticed that some kids had come to school with gifts. I should also mention that most of the kids were wearing the suggested costume. So my small rebellion turned out to be nearly everyone’s rebellion. It’s good to know I’m not crazy for ignoring the instructions but yo!... What kind of party is this? Am I crazy for assuming that one of the reasons for the formal invitation was so that people would show up with gifts? Scandalous.

What the...?

2008-03-03T14:35:00.002-05:00

So, here’s a story:

Hayes was invited to a school birthday party for a classmate. The party is being held at school during school hours. {You may already be thinking what I was thinking: Why the invite? Well, there’s more}.

The invitation, sent home Friday, also announced that each child should come to school on Monday dressed in his best pirate costume. Yikes! A costume and a stipulation that it be the best. Can I scream now? YO! It’s March—not Halloween costume season. Am I crazy to assume that I’m supposed to get all artsy-craftsy and actually make something? And are they crazy to assume that I’m really going to get all artsy-craftsy and actually make something? Because there’s just no way last-minute-artsy-craftsy is happening around here. Ever.

I do feel kind of bad that Hayes may be the only kid not dressed for the occasion—and with no better excuse than that I refuse to participate in poor party planning. But I can only hope that all the other parents who read the invite will join me in my small rebellion.

Kick Pick: March

2008-03-02T23:16:00.005-05:00

There is so much to think about in a day (i.e. how many times you can hit snooze before you're officially late, who to vote for, what's for breakfast, where's lunch, who can you get to buy dinner, how'd that smudge get on your pants, et cetera, et cetera). I know somewhere on that never-ending string of ramblings is a nagging thought about what Hayes is wearing these days. Well, put your mind at ease. He's wearing a classic this season.

Tee-hee!

2008-02-26T20:21:00.002-05:00

I just read a NY Magazine article about a toy manufacturer at last week's Toy Fair. If you enjoy laughing at people as much as I do, click here.

Finally...

2008-02-22T18:47:00.004-05:00

Happy Snow Day!...from the backyard.

Mmmm!...

2008-02-05T10:36:00.000-05:00

Ahhh... Pregnancy and parenthood. The best times to pamper yourself. A little cosseting is necessary if you want to get your body back into any kind of respectable condition after being on loan for nine months. And if baby has been here for a while, relaxation and self-indulgence can literally save your sanity.

Since chocolate is finally getting the good attention it deserves, here's a simple recipe a friend passed onto me. It's originally from Moosewood Restaurant. You'll actually have time to make this cake since it only takes 6 minutes to prepare and 30 minutes to bake. And if you have a toddler, you'll both have fun with the recipe because the vinegar has a really cool reaction with all the other ingredients.

I usually skip the glaze and just eat it as a big, and unexpectedly light, mass of chocolate yumminess straight from the pan--not because I don't know the proper way to slice and eat cake, but because it's actually supposed to be eaten that way. If you're looking to make something more elegant, you can use parchment paper, oil and flour like a real chef.

Serves 8
Preparation time for cake: 6 minutes
Baking time: 30 minutes
Preparation time for glaze: 15 minutes
Chilling time (if using glaze) 30 minutes
Equipment: 9-inch round or 8-inch square cake pan, 2-cup measuring cup, double boiler

Cake Ingredients
1 ½ cups unbleached white flour
⅓ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
½ cup vegetable oil
1 cup cold water or coffee
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 tablespoons cider vinegar

Chocolate Glaze
½ pound semi-sweet chocolate
¾ cup hot water
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 375º.

Sift together the flour, cocoa, soda, salt, and sugar directly into the cake pan. In the measuring cup, measure and mix together the oil, cold water or coffee, and vanilla. Pour the liquid ingredients into the baking pan and mix the batter with a fork or a small whisk. When the batter is smooth, add the vinegar and stir quickly. There will be pale swirls in the batter as the baking soda and vinegar react. Stir just until the vinegar is evenly distributed throughout the batter.

Bake for 25 to 30 minutes and set aside to cool.

To make the optional glaze, melt the chocolate in a double boiler, microwave oven, or reset the oven to 300º and melt the chocolate in the oven for about 15 minutes in a small ovenproof bowl or heavy skillet. Stir the hot water and vanilla into the melted chocolate until smooth. Spoon the glaze over the cooled cake. Refrigerate the glazed cake for at least 30 minutes before serving.

Enjoy!

Not a Mommy

2008-01-31T13:22:00.001-05:00

Organizing, multi-tasking, creative thinking, self-motivation, dedication, endless overtime,... And the list goes on. Trust what I say; being a parent is a job. And the rewards are plenty, but not guaranteed.

So, yesterday when a woman--and fellow mommy--nearly fainted from surprise when she found out that I am actually a mom, I considered it the biggest compliment.

"I just never pictured you in that role," were her exact words.

Cool. Because neither have I.

Red Fish, Dead Fish

2008-01-29T17:41:00.000-05:00

Hayes and I recently acquired a fish. Since we’re vegan, and experience has taught me that fish inevitably die in my care, we have no business with them at all. But it showed up without our consent all pretty and red and educational. So, whatever. Hayes named it Azo.

Well, despite my efforts to avoid it, Azo acquired friends; two small, orange fish that Hayes named Scientist and New Mexico. Again, they showed up without my consent. But I figured everyone needs a friend so… Whatever.

Everything was fine and everyone was getting along swimmingly, so to speak, until it came time to clean the tank. Now, allow me to interject that I was a clean-freak way before having a kid. But now that I share a life with Sir Germ-A-Lot, forget about it. A Clorox doused surface makes me feel more comfortable than a hammock on the beach in the Caribbean. If anything, my prior fish-raising experiences have taught me that tank-cleaning day can be a crucial turning point in a healthy fish's life. They either live through it, or they die slowly afterward.

Poor New Mexico didn’t survive the water change. And Hayes and I suffered through the entire flushing ceremony. A friend joked that I can kill a mouse with hardly a flinch but a dying fish pulls at my heartstrings in the most sentimental, animal-activist kind of way. So, I vowed to do a better job next time. I would try to keep most of the murky water and floating debris in the tank, no matter how much it grossed me out. Afterall, this is supposed to be an educational experience on how to take care of a pet, not Hayes’s introduction to the helplessness of death.

Well, yesterday was tank-cleaning day again. And today I noticed Scientist nose-down in the rocks—exactly the way New Mexico looked hours before the flushing ceremony three weeks ago. Needless to say, I’m sad and bracing myself for another emotional evening.

Thankfully, I already have a plan to get Hayes ready for the event. I’m telling him that we’re vegan. And we have no business owning a fish anyway. So, it’s time to set little Scientist free before he becomes anymore miserable in our care.

…And then we’ll watch Finding Nemo. How’s that for education? I don't really care. I just hope it works.

FAQ

2008-01-20T17:52:00.000-05:00

Last night began as simply as most evenings do around here; Hayes and I were pleased to be out for a walk on our way to visit friends. I would spend the better half of the evening being pseudo intellectual and analyzing the behavior of celebrities and various others while Hayes, I’m sure, anticipated the joys of playing with someone else’s toys.

It was on my mind to check my bag for the chocolate I had hoped to pack, and to remind Hayes to play nicely—in a selfish attempt to delay any misunderstanding that would inevitably escalate to a scuffle that would lead to the meltdown signaling the end of what was going to be a relaxing evening commiserating with my friends—when I noticed him looking pensively up at the sky.

Then he asked me why is the sky purple.

I stood there baffled—but noticed that his shoelaces had managed to unravel from their double ties in the seconds it took to walk out the door. It was that quintessential parent moment when you’re thrown a simple question to which there is no simple answer. That moment when you realize you’re rearing a thinking being who’s growing way too fast for you to keep up with. That magic moment when it becomes clear that you are experiencing all of the firsts for the second time around.

Of course, my son is two years old. So I knew I could get away with an unsophisticated answer. What did I say? I decided to tell him that the sky can appear different at different times throughout the day and it just so happened to look purple that night.

Whatever. Scientific accuracy was not as important as the reminder that tying his shoelaces every other second [and all the other big but small things I do] is something I might very well forget entirely. Because before I know it... well, you know what they say about raising children.

Nips

2008-01-18T01:31:00.000-05:00

Somewhere in the nooks and crannies of my Brooklyn apartment is a post-it I can remember writing Hakurei turnips on because I read an article claiming they are as sweet and crunchy as apples. Turnips sounded like just the kind of vegetable I want Hayes to get used to finding in his school lunch box every now and then. So I thought to grab a few on my next grocery store visit.

But I recently found myself at the store without my post-it. I carefully read each sign hoping one of the vegetable names would jog my failing memory. And I nearly left with a bunch of Brussels sprouts because I remembered the same article mentioned those are good glazed with maple syrup. I decided to take on one wild and crazy experiment at a time and grabbed a bag of pre-packaged parsnips because something about the name sounded familiar.

So today, when I reached into my vegetable bin, I happened to glance at the word PARSNIPS printed in big, red capital letters across the bag. Suddenly, the post-it came to mind. I recalled the words as clearly as I had written them. And they read turnips. Not parsnips. Aha! It was the second syllable that sounded so familiar.

I immediately googled parsnips because, until then, the bag of pale root vegetables waiting to be opened was a source of salvation that would keep my fastidious toddler from turning into a macaroni noodle, since pasta is the only meal Hayes eats without a fuss. I thought the parsnips were vegetables that would taste like sweet, crisp apples. No, because they're parsnips. And, truth be told, I didn’t even know what a parsnip was.

Well, I found out parsnips are like carrots—which is not helpful considering Hayes has a love/hate relationship with carrots; he loves them and wants them when his friends are enjoying them but hates them and will have nothing to do with them the rest of the time. However, I tossed them into a stir-fry tonight and they surprisingly made their way to Hayes’s belly without too much of a struggle.

So maybe there’s hope for the occasional root vegetable around here afterall. And as for my memory,... Well, that's another story.

NY Kids Club

2008-01-14T03:15:00.000-05:00

Global warming is frightening, sad…and makes for a very comfortable winter. So go outside and play all you can before the snow comes, the city hibernates and you resort to entertaining your kid with the same lame arts and crafts activities that once amused you as a child.

Or skip the cabin fever induced melt down and add one more thing to your schedule: Check out NY Kids Club.

They have three NYC locations and one arriving this spring in BK.

Hayes and I were recently introduced to the Amsterdam Avenue location. It was merely an introduction—so I don’t have a good sense of what the classes are really like. But I did notice the following:

A large, enclosed play area with the carpeted, padded, springy floor I've always wanted for my daredevil child.

Lots of equipment [mostly gymnastics stuff].

A rock climbing wall. [Very cool]!

And a staff that speaks to kids in that high-pitched I’m-talking-to-a-iddle-biddy-baaaaby sing-songy way that I find extremely annoying. Though they were clearly from some strange baby planet, they were knowledgeable, attentive and friendly--which, I suppose, is what really matters.

We'll definitely be back before spring.

Love Me (Not)

2008-01-14T00:44:00.000-05:00

I have a love/hate relationship with machines: I love them for all the cool things they do. And I hate them when they don't do all the cool things they should--like turn on, for instance.

Recently, my precious mac has been unkind, temperamental and downright disobedient to me. So I sent it away to get it's head checked. Now we're back!

Sorry for the delay.

Mama Von D?

2007-12-27T20:51:00.000-05:00

I could see Kat Von D's mom potential months ago when my LA Ink obsession began. {See the August post if you don't believe me}. So now that she's expecting--according to comments on her MySpace message board--I'm feeling real psychic.

Just thought I'd brag. Oh yeah, and I guess a congratulations is in order.

Mom About Town: Tanya Fly

2007-12-14T12:02:00.000-05:00

Let’s face it; unless you’re doing it all wrong, getting a total body workout is usually no fun—mostly because it’s hard and accompanied by deep burning sensations. I, for one, always want the burning to end so that I can change back into my skinny jeans, kick up my feet and enjoy some ice cream. You know, just to speed the cool-down process along. But since that would be counterproductive, I sweat it out and settle for a cold bottle of water instead.

But when I heard about an exercise class someone described to me as ‘getting a workout while watching The View,’ I had to try it for myself. And since I can admit to stealing some time every now and then to be entertained by Barbara and the gang, I had a feeling I might even enjoy myself.

And I did. I sweated and burned and laughed…a lot. And later I found out that Tanya Fly, creator of the Nu Method, is a mom, and that’s what makes all the difference. Tanya helps women through transitions using what she has learned as a mother to provide a total body workout tailored to their physical and emotional needs, especially those of new moms.

The best part is that time with Tanya gets results. After only three weeks of working out, I got a butt compliment. And it was from a woman, so the fact that I have a nice butt is official. So I decided to get to the bottom of this amazing Nu Method-thing. (No pun intended). And like for every cool NYC mom I meet, I had a few questions for Tanya.

What inspired you to start doing what you do?
My marriage ended and I was already in the fitness industry, but the dream had died. I had to figure out how to dream a new dream. So I stopped dreaming about us and started dreaming about me—not just for myself, but also for my boys. And that manifested itself as the Nu Method.

The Nu Method is choosing something new knowing that you have the choice to be new. Under the guise of fitness, my ultimate goal is health and the well being of the soul.

Tanya explained that her biggest fear was becoming a single mother. But through personal fulfillment, self-motivation and finding balance—the tenants of the Nu Method—she has transformed herself into an independent woman for her sons, eight-year-old Jadun and five-year-old Hunter.

What’s the most satisfying thing about the work that you do?
When I can see that people feel good about where they are in the class.

What’s the best advice anyone has ever given you about being a mother?
I don’t know if anyone ever said this to me but I think it’s the best advice there is: Try to be who you really are as a mother so your kids can know you, not only as a mother but as a woman. I think kids appreciate that.

The thing I regret the most about my relationship with my mother is that I didn’t know her as a woman. All that sacrificing of self to “benefit the child,” doesn’t.

What’s the worst advice anyone has ever given you about being a mother?
The opposite of what I just said. Don’t allow yourself to die in the process. I can’t stand to see that mother. Motherhood should be an extension of what you are—not all of what you are.

Amen! You’d think she’s been reading my blog. Actually, she has her own blog that expresses personal fulfillment very well.

What is your favorite bedtime story?
We’ve graduated from reading bedtime stories to keeping journals because I just wanted to plug in more. We talk in the journal. It’s been working really well.

What is your favorite children’s song to sing?
Lost Ones by Lauren Hill. The world is influencing them.

What do you think is the most overrated kid’s toy?
Any and all tech-TV games. Don’t get me wrong—I have them and we just got a Wii. But at least with the Wii they have to move.

Where is your favorite place to eat with your kids?
We don’t go out much, so when we do, we end up having chicken nuggets from McDonald’s. No, they’re not healthy but it’s what they like.

Moms never cease to amaze me. Let’s appreciate the irony here. Tanya, who has worked in the fitness industry for 10 years, is the first to admit she doesn’t always choose the healthiest meal option. She has that extraordinary mom ability to focus on things bigger than herself, and decides that sometimes the chicken nuggets are good enough because they’re a quick source of protein that make the kids happy.

What’s the one thing your children do that makes you cringe?
When they tell me they can’t (do something). I hate hearing them limit themselves.

How would you describe your parenting style?
I don’t think I have one particular style. I just try to give them an idea of what is expected and try to create stability where there’s instability.

If you were invisible for one day, who would you spy on?
Oprah Winfrey. Absolutely.

Big O is two for two.

Name one NYC mom you would nominate to be interviewed by me?
Ann Holloway.

Ann is a writer from one of Tanya’s classes. And I hear she’s amazing.

Mom About Town: Jenn Cattaui

2007-12-14T10:31:00.000-05:00

I’ve decided to do something different for the holidays and offer more than my usual self-absorbed banter (which I still deliver with just as much finesse as I did before I had a kid, thank you very much). I’m setting out to profile a new generation of moms doing cool things in NYC. I hope you enjoy getting to know me and some other mommies this way.

Allow me to take a moment to admit that I’m a novice. However, despite my virgin interviewing skills, I aimed high and contacted my first choice—NYC cool mom and owner of Babesta, Jenn Cattaui. When she replied that she would be delighted, I was happy to have secured my dream guinea pig…ahem, I mean, my first interview.

Mother to soon-to-be-four-year-old Amina and 16 month-old Camille, Jenn’s a Jersey girl who graduated from law school, moved to New York, Paris, then back to New York to take a good job that would allow her to vacation with the best of us—until September 11th changed her perspective. With the help of her husband Aslan, she turned her shopping side gig into something lucrative. Now it’s her business to present the baddest children’s clothes to the public—and by bad I mean the freshest—and by fresh I mean… Well, you know what I mean.

When I ask Jenn what the best thing is about what she does, she replies that it is seeing the customers’ reaction to the clothes and hearing them say they’ve never seen anything like her store before. Then there’s the story of the customer who came looking for the perfect ensemble for her son’s recent portrait sitting. She decided on something by Ed Hardy, the famed tattoo artist design team, and was so pleased with her purchase that she sent a photo back to the store of her son donning the gear rock star style. The framed portrait now graces the walls of the trendy Tribeca store that has Jenn convinced she could stay in New York forever.

And when I ask her about her most prized possession and she mentions a sculpture and plate combination designed by Takashi Murakami and Vik Muniz that she found at a consignment shop in Princeton, I had a feeling I was going to need more than the twenty minutes I had arranged with her. So I delved into asking her the same questions I ask every NYC cool mom.

What’s the best advice anyone has ever given you about being a mother?
Take it as it comes.

What’s the worst advice anyone has ever given you about being a mother?
Put butter on burns. I think I got it from my mother who got it from her mother. It doesn’t work. It makes it feel worse…and get shiny.

What’s your favorite bedtime story?
From Amina’s collection: What Cats Want for Christmas by Kandy Radzinski, Olivia…and the Missing Toy and Olivia Saves the Circus by Ian Falconer, and The Octonauts by Meomi. From Camille’s collection: Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown and The Going to Bed Book by Sandra Boynton.

What is your favorite children’s song to sing?
You mean besides Party in My Tummy? Little Boxes, the theme song to Weeds.

What parents everywhere can agree on is that Yo! Gabba Gabba’s frenzied kid’s show song is like a manic acid trip (not that many of us would admit to knowing about such things). So I decide that Jenn is just being facetious—until she mentions that she often plays the song in the store. And then I decide that she’s really good at what she does.

What do you think is the most overrated kid’s toy?
Amina really wanted Aqua Dots. Unfortunately, they contained the date rape drug. So they were recalled.

Perhaps since my son is only two, I didn’t know what an Aqua Dot was. But I made a note to add ‘stay updated on all toy recalls’ to the never-ending mommy to-do list.

What’s your favorite place to eat with your kids?
Their uncle’s house. He cooks and he lives three doors down. And The Soda Shop because with two kids, I look for a different kind of restaurant: good food and kid-friendly. It’s an old-fashioned place with nice owners. The kind of place that looks down on cell phones.

There’s a kind-of-place that looks down on cell phones in this city? I make a note to check out the magic time machine immediately.

Where’s your favorite place to travel to with your kids?
When we had Amina, we didn’t change our lifestyle at all. We vacationed in Switzerland, where Aslan is from. But having two completely changes things. It’s much harder. So we’re closer to home now.

Where is your favorite place to play and have fun with your kids?
Hardly a day goes by that we don’t go to the park. The girls like to spend time with my parent’s dog. They want what they can’t have. And anywhere there’s water. Amina’s a water bug and I think Camille will be the same way.

By the way, Jenn is referring to Washington Market Park in Tribeca—a park I happily trooped to the city for several times this summer. The cleverly designed, tactile-rich playground provides hours of age-appropriate fun for the toddler set. And Jenn is already the happy owner of Mr. Brown, Little Blue and Spike, her three cats—which is why the girls cannot have a dog. (She even sponsors a few fowl a year through an animal awareness league in Jersey).

How would you describe your parenting style?
I don’t know if I’m more relaxed or type A. I go between the two extremes.

If you were invisible for one day, who would you spy on?
Salman Rushdie. But I would have to be visible because I don’t know what might be going on. And Oprah. I’d like to see what she’s up to.

Name one NYC mom you would nominate to be interviewed by me?
Jessica Seinfeld.

Is it some cruel joke that she thinks I could interview Jessica Seinfeld? Of course not. That’s just Jenn being good at what she does.

Two hours after walking into Babesta, I walked out with a cramp in my hand but very excited to head around the corner to The Soda Shop for a Cherry Lime Rickey, and off to an electronics store to price a reliable tape recorder.

Because now I know.

Mini Minimalist

2007-12-05T12:11:00.000-05:00

Kooky. Stylish. $60 by Oeuf. Totally impractical.

Throwback

2007-12-02T18:45:00.000-05:00

Let the reminiscing begin...

Made With Care

2007-11-28T00:25:00.000-05:00

If the words "locally produced" and "sustainable" conjure up images of a granola-snacking survivalist for you, then it's time to drop the Ikea catalog and contemplate vintage with me. Because mass consumerism is an ecological and environmental disaster. And, really, nothing compares with having something made with care.

These goods were handpicked by me especially for you:

This is a jar of pickles I got...from Texas! They're crunchy {code word: fresh}, homemade, and possess the perfect degree of pickleness.

I had them with a sandwhich on a recent visit out west and promptly ordered four jars to be delivered to Brooklyn straight away.

They're going to make great I'm-coming-over-for-dinner-with-a-yummy-jar-of-pickles-for-you gifts.

These Scollars are sophisticated, chic, made-to-order, unisex, soft and warm. What more can you ask of the fashion hybrid?

I found a colorful collection of these in one of Boston's trendy neighborhoods--the adorable vintage-inspired, sewn-in label will tell you which one--and had a newfound appreciation for hardworking knitters everywhere. Each Scollar is designed one- of-a-kind, so this is a gift that'll really make a loved one feel special.

Both of the featured products are handmade with care by someone's mother. If you care to get in on the gifting potential of these fine goods, email me for the details and information.

Memories, Milestones and Forgettable Moments

2007-11-24T19:54:00.000-05:00

Here’s a throwback: Think back to when your little bundle was pure joy, not the scattered mess that he can be at times now. Do you remember how odd you found people who couldn’t recall their precious child’s milestones in specific detail? Like how exactly they transitioned their baby from purèes to solids. Or which month of what year their baby said her first word clearly. Afterall, they’re not called milestones for nothing. They are significant and basic to human development and should therefore be instantly recalled when asked. Right? Well…

Here’s a story: When Hayes started school, the three days a week we signed up for was simply not enough. Though it was a major transition from spending every waking second together for days on end, it was not enough time for me to really get busy not actively being mom. So when he upgraded to going to school full time, my life became nothing short of hectic. All of a sudden I had a thousand things to do in addition to being mom.

Here’s the point: Fast forward to Thanksgiving weekend—a four-day, program-free stretch with a toddler who I had forgotten was still dependent on me to actively be mom at every moment. {Four-and-a-half days if you include Wednesday’s early dismissal from school}. Well, I had fallen out of the habit. I have changed with my maturing child and forgotten what it was like to spend ninety-six fully engaged hours together. It’s the bittersweet experience that parenting is. We live in the moment of wherever our child is on the developmental path. And in doing so, milestones get lost in all of the transitions.

Here’s the lesson: When I was new to Babyland, I can remember thinking parents were the weirdest people in the world for not remembering everything about their children’s lives. But now that I’ve settled into parenthood, I'm constantly reminded of how it all passes by so quickly.

Mmmm...Have a Slice!

2007-11-20T13:55:00.000-05:00

Champion career advisor Tory Johnson recently gave me a tip: Blog every day, multiple times a day. Take a big idea, slice it up and dish it out to your readers in morsels. Brilliant. Wait…Are we talking about cake?

It’s a recipe that works well when quantity matters. But insert your most vivid memory of cafeteria food here and you can see how the quantity over quality game is played out everyday in cyber world.

Now, back to our cake. I tested the recipe with a sweet idea. I sliced, but ended up posting only once—over a three-day period. And I must say, I’m sooooo satisfied. So, if starving a reader with one post a week is virtual suicide in cyber world, then how can a blogger keep her public satiated?

I choose to change the game; I only post when I have something relevant to say. Quality over quantity ain’t no piece of cake, but it sure goes down well. And for that, I’ll gladly pass on any compromise.

Because in today’s race to fill up the web, the ultimate goal should not be to satisfy a reader with fillers. No, no, no. In today’s game, the real goal should be answered with this question: When a reader reads a blog, does the blog return the favor?

Thanks for reading.

All I Want for Christmas: A Practical Revelation

2007-11-15T14:22:00.000-05:00

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s almost Christmas time. And Christmas time means gift getting. So after “hours of uninterrupted sleep” and “a few more hours of uninterrupted sleep,” I suggest adding something a bit more realistic to your wish list this year.

Here is the first of a long list of things to get addicted to and people to hit up for a happy, healthy 2008.

SHARP SHOOTER
Tell a grandparent you need this {preferably your childs' grandparent}:

The Canon PowerShot SD750 digital camera allows you to capture the world--and that maniac kid who can't stand still for a three second photo--and share it all with friends and family. {Find all the details, including info on this camera's cool face recognition feature, at Staples}.

SECURITY!
Ask your boss for a raise to go with your holiday bonus and buy this:

Paranoia is the new normal and well adjusted. A shredder like this may help you cope with the thought of pesky identity thieves. This one from Staples eats everything from paper junk mail to paper clips and compact disks. And it provides good, clean, orderly adult amusement for seconds at a time. {Yippeeee}!

Be sure to check back here for more premium goods all day, every day. Ok, every other day. I promise.

Always Love Your Mother

2007-11-14T22:45:00.000-05:00

Call me a sap if you must but I’m a sucker for a guy who loves his mama. Maybe that’s why when I heard the news of Donda West’s passing I felt deeply for Kanye’s loss.

For all the controversy he tries hard to stir up, Kanye had that adorable John-John thing with his mom—that unabashed I-love-my-mother-and-I-don’t-care-what-you-have-to-say-about-it thing that doesn’t always translate well among the girlfriend set, or even among some of the fellas for that matter, but ultimately gets respect from everyone.

I mean, how can you not like a guy who shows up at red carpet events with his mom on his arm, who writes, produces and sings a song about the woman who gave birth to him, and always celebrates his success with her with a big smile on his face? Well, for all the things to not like Kanye for, you can’t not like him for that.

Afterall, Kanye knows how to keep the mommies happy. And when mommy’s happy, everyone’s happy.

Take note, young men. Really, take some notes.

Total Babes

2007-11-06T21:55:00.000-05:00

Ever wonder what the world of child modeling is like? Well, my child is no model (even though he totally thinks he is), so there's no real information about manikin tykes here. But this shoot for Babesta (66 West Broadway in Tribeca) was quite the scene--six toddlers and a whole gang of grown ups trying to control them. Oh!...And did I mention that my son totally thinks he's a model?

How I live

2007-11-02T11:56:00.000-05:00

One of those shows featuring celebrities and some of the things they just can’t live without recently caught my attention. You know, the kind where the rich and famous run down a list of expensive, inaccessible, and borderline ridiculous items they’ve grown accustomed to on their rise to the top? Think 1500 thread count, 100% Egyptian cotton bed linens…all stark white.

Sure, all of our dreams would be sweeter with some added little luxuries. But watching someone enjoy them who need not worry about keeping linens bright or long lasting is slightly painful. And on a more pertinent note, why should celebrities have all the shine?

Here are a few things I just can’t live without (in no precise order):

Reusable bottles that are safe and not plastic are good for my health and the environment. I carry the sexy, black one filled with water. Hayes prefers the sippy cup version.

Homemade bread and a pat of butter is the quintessential cold weather comforter. This recipe for pumpkin muffins is fast, easy, and tastes great as is. But feel free to get fancy with it and add whatever you like. Hayes takes his star-shaped with raisin smiley faces.

1 ½ c sugar, 1 ¾ c flour, 1tsp baking soda, 1tsp allspice (can be substituted for ½ tsp nutmeg and ½ tsp cardamom), 1 tsp cinnamon, ½ tsp salt, 2 large eggs or egg substitute, ¼ c oil, ¼ c water, 1 c canned pumpkin.
Preheat oven at 350 degrees, spray/butter pan, combine all dry ingredients and mix, combine all liquid ingredients and mix, combine dry and liquid ingredients and mix well, pour into pan, bake for 25 minutes, check with toothpick. Makes 12 muffins.

…Perfect for cold, windy mornings. A little slather goes a long way on Hayes’s cheeks and hands.
…Perfect for everyday pampering. Yes, I said every day (as in of the week).

The book I carry everywhere I go and consult the most, a gift from my mom—a true lady. Maybe I’ll pass it on to Hayes’s future partner. On second thought, hopefully I won’t have to.

My Colby 1GB MP3 clip player is tiny and holds up to 17 hours of music—enough Joan Jett on the train for me and The Laurie Berkner Band on long walks in the stroller for Hayes.

…And speaking of keeping Hayes occupied and technologically astute, Noggin's website is a plethora of smart, interactive toddler play. Hayes grasped the simpler activities in no time, leaving more time for me to...well, do me.

Hayes-ey Who?

2007-10-26T12:06:00.000-05:00

A funny thing happened while I was dreamily shopping for clothes, a school and activities for my little lovely, not at all preoccupied with what he wants: He started telling me what he likes and doesn’t. You know, in that public, high-pitched, temper tantrum, two-year old sort of way that is impossible to ignore.

A girl can dream, right? Well, I’m one of the best. And if I had my way, Hayes would turn out something like this guy:

Now, let’s be clear, I don’t know the first about who Pharrell really is but he sure seems to be smart and business savvy, talented, successful, cute, youthful, have great style in clothes, sneakers and ladies, and can take care of his momma, if she happens to need taken care of.

But what if the man I’m raising, rearing, molding turns out to be this guy?

What if my son turns out like me—like most of us, in fact—not exactly who our parents thought we would be? I’d like to say I would accept Hayes for whoever he intrinsically is because I just can’t imagine not. However, in all fairness, right now I can’t imagine a tomorrow beyond what Hayes will eat for breakfast, what his daily school report will say, what his first hobby will be, when I’ll set his next doctor’s appointment, and what hat he will wear this winter.

With so many parents genuinely disappointed by who their children have become, it is one of life’s most common tragedies. And everyone has the same childhood story to tell about how they weren’t accepted or recognized for who they really are.

It makes me wonder whether acceptance is an adjustment parents just don’t get around to thinking about making before their children are grown and making their own decisions. Or is it that children have a way of coming up the most unexpected ways of expressing themselves, unintentionally disappointing their folks?

Not sure, but the thought jumped into my head almost immediately after Hayes began declaring war on a few things I think are just perfect for him. But I guess I should start making some adjustments right away.

Update

2007-10-18T22:38:00.000-05:00

So, remember that birthday party I was stressing over? The one where I just knew Hayes was going to throw a fit about not being able to eat the cake since he's vegan? Really, I should know by now to give my little monster more credit for being an easy going little monster because everything worked out just fine, as it usually does. Yes, he was excited about the candles on the cookie cake. And yes, he watched wide-eyed as everyone around him grabbed a great big chocolate chip slice. But when I whipped out a banana and the perfectly soft semi-homemade vegan chocolate chip cookies I packed especially for what I thought would be a meltdown, he smiled and ate 'em up. Thank God. ...And Bob's Red Mill Gluten Free, Wheat Free, Dairy Free Chocolate Chip Cookie Mix. Mmmm...yummy! Here's a picture and the ridiculously easy recipe:

1 bag cookie mix
1/2 c soy butter (cold but mixed until soft)
1 egg replacement

Preheat oven to 350F. Grease cookie sheet. Combine soft butter and egg replacement, mix well. Add cookie mix. Blend well. Press and shape dough into balls for baking. Bake for 10 minutes. Cool, serve and feel good that no animals were harmed in the making.

What?...No takers?

Gully! Gorgeous!

2007-10-10T19:33:00.000-05:00

I had a crush on Kimora Lee Simmons before she got her own reality TV show. She was unapologetically ghetto fabulous way before it was ok to say it to someone’s face. And when it comes to being fabu, she doesn’t mess around. She works her booty off as the head of her own fashion empire, designing, modeling, and doing everything in between, and she’s also a mom. So, as far as I’m concerned, she deserves that exorbitant Louis V collection.

OK, enough with all the admiration. Here are a few solid reasons why you might also find Ms. Lee fascinating:

-Kimora actually uses “fabulosity” as a word…in, like, sentences…at board meetings.

-It’s refreshing to see someone on a reality show actually working—and just as hard as everyday folk.

-Kimora’s marketing guy, James, is hilarious!

-If you think you know what a diva is…

-Kimora loves that she’s a mom, and lives it—which is important since celeb-types often forget what that really means.

Check out my newest TV obsession “Kimora: Life in the Fab Lane” so we can live vicariously and discuss.

TGI-freaking F!

2007-10-05T12:13:00.000-05:00

Hmmm… Who can I blame for it being Friday?

All I know is that if I were the one in control of the cosmos, I wouldn’t waste a second rewinding the week to give myself one more day to get it together. By ‘it’ I’m referring to an upcoming birthday party Hayes has been invited to. What’s worse than feeling like I’m totally behind—I mean, I haven’t even begun to shop for a gift and the party is tomorrow—is my anxiety about how the whole cutting-the-cake-and-eating-it-thing will play out with Hayes. And what’s worst of all is that I’ve managed to work myself into a small-scale frenzy over a toddler party I’m not even responsible for. In fact, I don’t even know the kid.

So what of my sudden and probably totally unwarranted worry? Well, there will be cake…with candles. And Hayes loves cake. Hayes loves cakes with candles. But Hayes is vegan. And until now, he has only been to parties of close friends who have been happy to accommodate our diet of choice. And since I don’t know this birthday boy or his family, and they don’t know us, I’m nervous. Because vegan-by-choice doesn’t always go over so well with people who don’t love you and/or who aren’t also vegan.

Maybe I’m making more out of this whole thing than is necessary. At least I hope that’s the case. But I’m actually considering baking vegan chocolate chip cookies to help alleviate the I-can’t-eat-the-dairy-laden-cake-awkwardness I’m trying to avoid. But what’s the etiquette here? Do I show up with enough cookies for Hayes to share with his friends? {I just can’t see a bunch of three year olds will be going crazy over brick-hard vegan treats}. Yikes! I’m just now realizing that I’ve never made a vegan cookie in my life…! What if Hayes won’t even eat them? Omigod! Just wake me when this whole thing is over because, really, being a baker and a mom is much too much for me.

Funny, all of this angst and Hayes, living in his protective little bubble of oblivion called childhood, has not a clue how big a day tomorrow will be…for the both of us.

Check back for the update.

Hey with a Z

2007-10-04T12:52:00.000-05:00

Walking through the neighborhood the other day, I called out to Hayes who had spontaneously bolted in the opposite direction of where I was headed. I continued to shout his name until his motor-feet slowed to a stop.

An elderly woman walking on the other side of the street, crossed over clutching her cane firmly in one hand. She came directly up to me and said, “If you keep calling him 'hey!' he’ll never learn to listen to you.”

“Excuse me?” I asked genuinely confused.

“Call him by his proper name if you don’t want him to ignore you,” she made her point clearer this time.

“His name is Hayes,” I replied.

I couldn't help but take a tone with the whole scenario.

Yeah, maybe I should have added a thank you since she was only sharing her expert advice with me on how to be a good mom. But for that reason exactly, I decided on a fake smile and a 'mind your own business' under my breath instead.

My Monkey

2007-09-25T20:02:00.000-05:00

...And speaking of, Hayes is completely obsessed with Curious George. As if watching multiple episodes a day isn't satisfying enough, Hayes has perfected falling silent to tap me on the shoulder, point his finger into the air and then suddenly begin yapping like a monkey to get my attention--all at totally random moments throughout the day. And it always takes me a minute to catch on because in the moments that he's not busy mimicking a curious monkey, he's my mile-a-minute-loud-mouthed little monster-child. Uh oh! Why does this sound like creepy adolescence foreshadowing? God help me.

Random Thought #461,895,146

2007-09-17T23:33:00.000-05:00

I don't want to presume anything but I think it's likely The Man with the Yellow Hat has a thing for Professor Wiseman...Or is it just me? I mean, he buys her gifts, visits her at the office and writes speeches in honor of her genius. {Maybe that last one doesn't count since she really is a genius}. And really, on a practical level, what woman could resist a guy who can manage to be so organized with a monkey around the house?

Actually, I was told by a very reliable source that she heard they once dated.

Alpha Who, Alpha What?

2007-09-16T00:25:00.000-05:00

Perusing a magazine the other day, I came across an article about the “new breed of do-it-all moms,” the alpha mom. According to the article, these moms are tuned in and on-the-go because they follow trends and know what’s hot in parenting. The article mentioned that these moms lead the pack, are incredibly influential, and blah, blah, blah… Oh! And the so-called alpha mom also has her own cable TV channel appropriately named Alpha Mom TV.

Now, I wasn’t in a snotty-mean-girl kind of mood to begin with. But the measure of animosity I felt by the time I reached the bottom of the page turned me into that girl.

Why the hateration, you ask? Well, because people who refer to “mom” as an identity are annoying. Being a mom is a role just as much as being an activist, an artist or a father is a role. It is part, not the whole, of who you are. So activists are allowed to advocate for noble causes and go against the grain if they feel so led. Artists are allowed to believe in the freedom of expression and wear short skirts if they feel like doing so. And fathers are allowed to rear children and be total flirts if they so choose. However, a woman who is also a mother finds difficulty truly being anything but a mom. When was the last time you heard about a mommy aggressively challenging anything, baring her mid-thigh on purpose or telling a man she doesn’t know very well that she finds him handsome. And what would you think of her if you did? Both men and women in our society are allowed to be what they choose, the way the choose—except for moms... and maybe some religious fanatics {but that's a topic for someone else's blog}. And what’s worse is that moms get chastised for not being at all times exactly what we all think a mom should be.

Someone asked me once why I blog. I mention in my “about me” that I like being a mom but hate being identified as one—and I mean it. While I’m not a militant, a flirt, and don’t wear mini skirts on ordinary days, the truth is that I don’t like playdates just because I have a two year old. I don’t look like a mom just because someone calls me one. And I don’t care about what’s hot in parenting because I just don’t. So you can’t call me an alpha mom {…and you better not} but I am no less a mom. And besides that, I am so much more—just like everyone else.

Aaagh!

2007-09-03T10:07:00.000-05:00

Here’s the thing about being called mom: Somehow you become the one person responsible for keeping it all together while making it look natural. And on the off day when you don’t meet every expectation, the guilt forever haunts you.

I learned this lesson painfully.

Hayes “played mass” for the first time at carnival this year. For weeks, we looked forward to the costume, the parade and dancing across the stage at the Brooklyn Museum where the festivities culminate. On the day, Hayes’s grandfather showed up at 6am to deliver the costume that he had stayed up into the wee hours perfecting. And we were out the door by 8:30 to join the other masqueraders for the parade. Hayes resembled a West Indian genie in his super-cute costume. And I was a good mom prepared for the occasion. I had a smart lunch packed, a loaded camera in my bag and cash for Italian ices—and we ran through it all. But nothing beat Hayes winding and waving across the stage in front of the hundreds of party people. And I, a.k.a. good mommy, was in the front row taking pictures non-stop. I couldn’t wait to call friends and family who could stand to hear me gloat about my amazing son. And I did. We all looked forward to finally seeing the photos. I ran to the one-hour photo shop. I couldn’t possibly wait an entire day to see my little genie immortalized on photo paper.

When I returned for the pictures, I got bad news: The film was blank. The entire roll of Hayes in his costume parading down the street and dancing across the stage as if he were born to entertain the masses was blank. I have no record of the occasion except for my own memory, which will one day fade, and this one, lonely photo taken by a friend on her camera phone.

Cute. Sad. Painful.

Yes-Yes, Ya'll!

2007-08-28T16:21:00.000-05:00

My girl Dona D does it again! Hustlenomics makes it's 4th go round on September 7th. Be there! It's fresh and it's free...and there may be a Hayes sighting. {'Cause he gets down for the get downs}.

Hollywood

2007-08-22T00:34:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me well knows there's one thing I've always wanted to be. No, not a mom...a rockstar! Well, a surfboarding rocker chic who really digs hip hop music to be exact. I've already got the hairstyle to get me well on my way. {A friend swears my new bangs make me look like Jem, star of the 80's animated series. Whatever. That's not exactly the look I was going for}. So my newest reality tv obsession comes as no surprise to all of my nearest and dearest...

I read a recent interview with Kat Von D, the tattoo artist-entrepreneur-star-of-the-show, in which she mentioned that she loves children but that they just aren't for her. While it's completely and totally understandable to love 'em but not want 'em, doesn't she realize a babe at the crib makes you twice as fly when you're already fresh to death?

Put your babe to bed early and live vicariously through Miss D and her almost all-girl cast...and let's discuss.

Calling All Babe-Stas!

2007-08-08T21:53:00.000-05:00

Now everyone can look just like Pharrell. {...And don't pretend you're already too cool to know what I'm talking about}. So gather your yen and go to bapekids.jp for something fresher for your mini-me. The Bape X DC Comics collection is what's next!

The Pre-Hustle Hustle

2007-07-20T19:23:00.000-05:00

Oh!...We are soooooooo there! {With pockets full of money and a mouth full of lumpia}.

Puck You Too!

2007-07-16T23:19:00.000-05:00

It was an ordinary day at the playground. Emphasis on ordinary. Until Hayes began yelling the f-word. Seriously.

I’d like to preface this story by saying that I’m not the potty mouth who taught him to blurt out four-letter expletives…Let’s just blame cable TV.

So, Hayes is on the swing. I’m pushing him. And he’s happily cursing at the air. It took more than a minute for me to make it out because while toddlers are truly language geniuses, their pronunciation is not exactly expert. I heard many variations of the word “truck” before the little girl on the swing next to Hayes let me know that my child was swearing.

I got a clue when she stopped swinging to take a moment to stare wide-eyed at Hayes. But still I wasn’t totally convinced my kid wasn’t just screaming some version of a nice word like “luck.” So I ignored the eyeballing.

But when the little girl said, “ooooooh,” in that old school “you’re in trouuuuuuble”-kind of way. I decided that it could be true that the f-word was being slung around by my very own. “You let him curse?” the girl said, a little too gutsy for me, before I slowed the swing to let Hayes know that he should stop embarrassing me.

Let me just say, there is nothing more insulting than being called out for poor parenting by anyone under the age of...hmmm…18. So I replied, “yeah, actually I do.” And gave Hayes a big, happy push into the air.

ER

2007-06-24T23:55:00.000-05:00

Do this. Do that. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Babies come with lots of instructions. And whether you cherish the expert advice or snobbishly rebel against it {like me}, the rules will at best merely delay the inevitable first emergency room visit.

Admit it, there isn’t a single fever your child gets or reckless playground stunt she performs that doesn’t get you seriously thinking about what the dreaded, unplanned visit will really be like. What unexpected turn of events will finally get you there? And how well will you handle the nerve-racking situation?

I recently joined the seasoned many who know the foreboding ER visit from a brave parents’ perspective. And as an initiate, I can assure you, with a new notch on my high-waisted belt, that keeping a few things in mind can ease the experience. Here’s what I learned:

1. Do the research now…

Know the location of the ER nearest your home, or places your child frequently visits, and know how to get there.

Know if the hospital/clinic takes your medical insurance.

It’s helpful but not necessary to know if the hospital/clinic has a pediatric emergency center that treats children separately from adults.

…Then decide in the moment where to go and how to get there, with the understanding that the nearest ER and the best ER may be different places.

I opted for the ER with a pediatric emergency center that treats children separately from adults even though it was not the ER nearest me. Due to the nature of the visit, it was more important to me that Hayes was treated and released quickly. In general, a pediatric emergency center will see your child quicker than an ER that treats people of all ages in the order they arrive. And this is NYC, so the ER with the pediatric center will probably win every time.

2. You don’t have to remember everything…

It’s quite enough to call your ride, notify loved ones, grab a sweater, a snack and a beverage for your hurting child, and just as important, for yourself. Then, of course, there are the diapers and wipes. So you can take some relief in knowing that as long as your child is underage and can still be claimed as your dependent, you can conveniently leave his social security number in your other phone {just like I did} and it won’t hinder the process at all.

…But don’t forget the medical card because they like to make a copy of the actual thing.

3. Don’t make any rookie mistakes {like I did}…

Don’t bring a magazine to read or expect to talk on your cell phone. There’s way too much going on in the ER, and with your kid, to concentrate on the written word. And cell phone reception is often poor in hospitals anyway.

Hayes had been totally lethargic for over 12 hours…TWELVE! So, like someone without a child, I mistakenly thought I’d just get a little reading and conversation in while he lay languidly in my arms. But as soon as we entered the ER, Hayes was suddenly alert in his misery and I was on duty and working overtime, just like a mom.

There. Three more rules. Love ‘em. Leave ‘em. {Hope you love 'em}!

Not Just a Little Fun...

2007-06-16T22:20:00.000-05:00

When I found out the very first The Little Gym opened in 1976, I was not at all surprised. Afterall, the 70’s brought revolution in many forms. And the way humans move is only one of them. But I’m not referring to budded-out hippies in old Woodstock footage. I’m talking about motor skills development—but fun!

Hayes and I recently took an early morning Little Beasts class at The Little Gym. It was the perfect way to spend an overcast summer day together. And because The Little Gym is smart enough to offer the first class for free, it was guaranteed regret-free fun.

Needless to say, Hayes was a daredevil maniac. And what was cool is that he was allowed to be. He, along with the other beasts, was encouraged to explore a room filled with toddler-size gymnastics equipment even when the instructor and other caregivers were focused on something else entirely. He flipped, somersaulted, jumped, laughed and ran around like a complete mad man in perfectly padded comfort. It was motor skills development at its most fun. Really, no one does it better (except for when I teach Rumble and Tumble every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday at the Dodge YMCA. But that’s another post for another day).

Babesta

2007-06-12T15:14:00.000-05:00

Hayes and I hung out at Babesta with owner Jenn Cattaui, who is as stylish in person as her new and trendy Tribeca storefront. What'd we find? I walked out with some original Babesta designs that ranged from the funny and ironic to the seriously political. And before I could tell Hayes for the third time to chill out in a chair that doubles as a sleek rocking horse, my made-to-order Kennedy onesie was fresh off the press in the size and color I requested.

Also, Jenn introduced me to New Skool, a collection of sick graphic designs by a Cali graffiti artist made strictly for the tragically hip. You know I had to cop that!...and an Ugly Doll.

You can visit Babesta by clicking on the title of this post or at 66 West Broadway, between Warren and Murray. {Tell Jenn your friend Hayes sent you}!

Thomas Saves the Day

2007-06-01T17:31:00.000-05:00

Before kids were into bilingual animated cartoon characters and witty red monsters, Thomas the Tank Engine was huge...I guess. But ask Hayes now and Elmo is sooooo last year. '07 is all about reliable engines. So when I heard Thomas and Friends was debuting live at the Beacon Theater this weekend, Hayes and I were there!

For 90-minutes at 11am, the theater was packed with nothing but mesmerized tykes and their grateful caregivers. Hayes was totally transfixed. And while I couldn't think of anything better than going to sleep in my pricey orchestra seat, I actually enjoyed the show. It was as cool as Thomas gets.

Say it...

2007-05-28T16:35:00.000-05:00

A gift for those days when you can't stand it anymore, whatever "it" happens to be (the rapidity of global warming, another Paris Hilton headline, another week without a manicure, that George Bush guy, another Akon song, another toddler tantrum, ...and the list goes on).

I suggest saying it loud...no, louder!...until it feels good.

My pleasure.

Summer Kick Pick

2007-05-26T10:58:00.001-05:00

Don't call it a comeback...they've been here for years. The original Jordan circa 1985. And they're flyer than ever in toddler size 7.

Mommy You!

2007-05-24T11:16:00.000-05:00

Whether they make you say “awww” or “ewww,” there’s no denying it, kids are totally “in” these days. Like a coveted, expensive accessory, each is exclusively designed and there’s a waitlist. It really is a miracle that one shows up every 7 seconds in our country. Which means that if you don’t already have one, chances are, someday you will.

Just think about it: Kids happen. In fact, millions of dollars have been invested on the unborn child—children whose moms are gutsier this time around, who work hard and play harder. Moms who you better not call a MILF unless you’re sexy enough to let her show and prove, who are fearless enough to wear weaponry—depicted on a sick graphic tee, that is—and moms who don’t always behave like… well, moms. You know, the kids of the future. Yours.

It matters not how it happens. There’s adoption, insemination, and still the old fashioned way. Question is, if it happens, what happens to you? Yes, you! Do you swap your good-booty jeans for butt-front mom jeans so that your ability to multitask suddenly becomes your best attribute? Are you taken unawares by a strange interest in all things baked, sterilized and domestic? Does the brain once only concerned with retaining your European shoe-size conversion suddenly and brilliantly translate everyone’s age from years to months at a glance?

Unless you were Mary Poppins in denim from the start, trying to fit the mommy mold just to qualify is as depressing as any other dogged quest for perfection. Although I can understand putting on the façade every now and then just to get through mind-numbing conversations about the pros and cons of pacifiers or preschool interviews. In actuality, it might just take an out of body experience to convince yourself that it’s really happening—that someone in the world hears the word mom and instantly thinks of you.

Two years and nine months ago, my very own journey to mommyhood began. And I found myself treading new territory in more ways than one. Getting used to not having a period was simple. However, turning into mommy was a daunting transformation to have to make. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a Brooklyn girl. Strollers and poop don’t scare me—I walk city streets and take the subway, sometimes in two-inch heels. But more to the point, I like staying out late, sleeping ‘til noon, and having access to what I want, when I want it. And I really like graffiti, limited edition sneakers and all-over uzi prints on fitted tees, for goodness sakes! I knew I couldn’t cut it as a typical mom, mostly because I didn’t sing lullabies, cook square meals or have any friends with kids—ever. And expanding my wardrobe to include prim maternity clothes or talking about shedding the baby weight was a non-negotiable no-no.

But a cool thing happened when I became a mom; the image I had of what a mom is changed. And I realized that trying to squeeze myself into the cookie cutter made me into someone I simply can’t be. So I set out to define mommyhood for myself and kept my good booty jeans, no-kid-having friends, and machine gun riddled accessories. I kept my favorite hip-hop CDs in the stereo on heavy rotation and took my child everywhere I went. I understand that my biggest responsibility to myself is to be my truest and best self for me, and my son.

Now my two-year-old requests Pharrell Williams songs cranked up loud so we can both jam out. And I never spazz out over the washable marker scribbles found on everything in sight. Of course, I also accept that I’m probably grooming a future sneaker head, graffiti artist, DJ kid. {Watch out NYC}! But as long as baby boy get a square meal and is asleep before I am, I’m good.

Punks on the Playground

2007-05-14T01:10:00.000-05:00

Sure, some things only happen to the best of us. However, most of life’s poo-poo seems to hit us all.

When we are little ladies and gentlemen in training, before we have acquired the social graces that make life easier to maneuver, and until we can give the school of hard knocks the finger, we certainly take a lot of …ahem, poo.

And for the preschool, potty training set, mommies all around the world can tell passionate stories of their little angel getting picked at, pestered, …ok; let’s just say ‘punked’ on the playground.

I recently witnessed Hayes’s first such encounter and I can say he handled it like a mature 2 year old. I, on the other hand, turned into someone I hardly recognized.

That day, I took a seat on a nearby bench to watch Hayes climb the jungle gym. He made his way quickly up the stairs, around the bends and was headed straight for the bridge that would take him to the big tunnel where he likes to scream and giggle infectiously at either real or imaginary people chasers, whoever happens to be there when he shows up.

But the journey was interrupted at the bridge where a little boy and his younger sister stood blocking the entrance. Hayes slowed to a stop and said something to the pair—probably “excuse me,” because he’s that kind of kid—to which the little boy replied “no” and pushed him.

I was off of the bench before Hayes turned around with tears in his eyes to tell me what happened.

After a few good attempts to smooth things over, I quickly found out that Little Punk and his younger punk sister meant business. They weren’t letting Hayes past them. And what’s worse, they weren’t the least bit affected by mama me.

They were the two punkiest punks I had ever encountered. And I must admit, the thought of roughing them up {just enough to put the fear in them} did cross my mind. I scanned the park benches for their mother. She sat in a far off corner looking exhausted. Sometimes it takes a mother to recognize another mother’s weariness. And the mother of these particular punks looked to me like she was not having it today.

A smirk slowly grew across my face. “Move it now or I’m going to get your mother,” I threatened. And the little punk and his punky younger sister stepped aside to let Hayes pass.

I followed Hayes to the tunnel. And as he reached the landing, he let out a screech at the thought of me chasing him. I planned to join the fun once I made one thing perfectly clear.

Suddenly, I stopped my happy, giggling child, who was blissfully enjoying the moment, looked him square in the eye and said, “Listen, if that little punk touches you again, push the poo out of him! Do you understand?”

Look!

2007-03-08T10:15:00.000-05:00

Hayes, the model.

Oopsie Poopsie

2007-03-05T13:18:00.000-05:00

Remember the day you were babysitting _________ (insert name here), and on the way to the coffee shop he picked up that piece of _________ (insert dirty object here) that you thought was a rock...but it wasn't, and when you got inside and the _________ (insert child's favorite beverage here) came, he got so excited that the piece of ________ (insert dirty object here) flew out of his hand and accidentally knocked the wig off that little old lady sipping coffee nearby?

Kids are so embarrassing! And until they become teenagers and we can relish payback for all of those publically embarrassing displays, we have only our sincerest apologies to give...well, or maybe a card from this nifty box of prepared pardon-me's that sells for $9.99 at shopintuition.com. check it out...

Be Afraid

2007-03-04T15:57:00.000-05:00

Name: Victor De Leon III
Alias: Lil' Poison

Currently holds the title of "world's youngest professional gamer" and competes in major league gaming competitions as one of the top ranked Halo players in the world (and he collects major cash for his winnings). But get this, he's only 8-years old! And he started playing when he was just two.

Hold up! Isn't Halo an M-rated game recommended for players 17 and older?...Ooooooh! I'm telling!

That's My Jam

2007-02-28T23:33:00.000-05:00

Who said being mommy is all dirty diapers and runny noses? Well, mostly it is. But when I'm not wiping behinds and noses...or random sticky stuff off of the floor, Hayes and I like to crank up the volume, scream at the top of our lungs and jam out together like the misunderstood children of musicians that we are. So I thought I'd share some of our best moments of the day with this brief list of our top 5 fave "children's" songs:

#5-The theme song to A Nightmare on Elm Street (I must admit, it's kinda creepy coming from a 2-year old. But Hayes and his crew can't resist the catchy numbers song),

#4-"Fatou Yo" by Tourè Kunda (from Putumayo's World Playground series. It's a Senegalese song. As Hayes carefully attempts each and every word, I wonder if he has even a clue that he's singing in Mandingo!),

#3-"That Girl" by Pharrell (Alright, so I put Hayes onto this one...and after the 5th replay of the day, I'm convinced he likes it way more than I do),

#2-The theme song to The L Word (I can't even begin to explain this one),

#1-Elmo's World theme song (C'mon, he's the coolest 3-year old monster out here).

Jam on, babies!

What the...?!

2007-02-25T00:18:00.000-05:00

Milkscreen alcohol detection strips claims to be able to indicate the presence of alcohol in breast milk...

If there's a breastfeeding mommy out there who can down enough martinis to change the color of that little strip before baby's up again and screaming for a snack, you must be exhausted, girl! Sit the next round out and take a power nap instead.

Spring Kick Pick

2007-02-14T09:25:00.000-05:00

My sneaker pick for the month is this sweet pair by Creative Recreation. They're purple, sky blue, and lime green. Hayes is going to love the velcro on these toddler size 7s.

True Story

2007-01-30T00:44:00.000-05:00

It's a cold, winter morning. A mother walks into a small restaurant with her two year-old son. She greets the lady behind the counter and explains that she was just standing at the bus stop outside when her son told her he had to go pee, and that he needs to use the restroom. The lady behind the counter rolls her eyes, mumbles something under her breath and signals a big, burly man over to them.

"He'll take him to the restroom," the lady tells the mom.

"No, I can take him to the restroom," the mom says.

The lady and the big, burly man explain some nonsense about the restroom being behind the grills and customers not being allowed in that area of the restaurant.

The mother, now visibly upset, asks the lady for a plastic cup so that her son can go pee in the corner.

"He can't pee in the restaurant!" the lady behind the counter says.

The other customers, who have been watching the exchange, begin to weigh in on the situation.

"What? You don't trust him to take your son to the restroom?" one man asks the mother.

"What is she doing in the neighborhood if she doesn't even trust the people here?" one lady quietly asks another.

"It's not like he can stand up and hold his own penis!" the mother hurled back at everyone.

A woman sitting nearby with a young girl reached into her diaper bag and offered the mother a diaper.

"It's for girls but it may help," one mother said to the other.

"Thank you," the mother said, accepting the diaper. And she left the restaraunt to catch her bus and go to work.

THIS IS THE SOCIETY WE LIVE IN. TRUE STORY.

Say Cheese!

2007-01-26T15:00:00.000-05:00

This time, Hayes and I were at Frank's Chop Shop for a first-haircuts themed photoshoot with Photographer Alessandro Zuek Simonetti and his magic camera {www.zuekphotography.com}. Here's a peak at some stylish cuties being...well...um...fire engine sirens.

Partyoke!

2007-01-20T16:07:00.000-05:00

So maybe your first love is fashion, or music, or making up fun ways to get a paycheck. But, secretly, don't we all wish we were rockstars? I do! And so does everyone at Karoake Killed the Kat, Monday nights at Pianos on the lower east side, where Chris Goldteeth is karoake king. And the crowd is his funky, loyal subjects. Partyoke anyone? You can see more at www.karoakekilledthecat.com but here's what I witnessed...

Chris Goldteeth, the God.

Natalie, killing it!

Look! It's K. Fed! I mean, Gay Fed! {He sang New Edition}

He wasn't the only one brave enough to get half naked on stage. But he was the only El Debarge+Jackson family mix in the crowd. And on another note, she busted her behind on the floor right in front of me. But she was up so quick, I couldn't get a good pic.

Oooh!...El Jackson!

Good Times

2007-01-10T23:44:00.000-05:00

(Khalym. Kareem. Greenburg. And me).

ReWine

2007-01-03T20:49:00.000-05:00

When it comes to satisfaction {and what really matters besides that, right?}, 2006 was not a let down: Hayes turned 1, we found quality time with friends and family, I finally got the whole mom-thing down {so don't say a thing, 'cause I'm seasoned now}, and I actually liked most of the music that came out.

But this video of the dutty wine colombian style is the best ever,...EVER!

Let the reminiscing begin...

Happy Noo Yeeah!

2007-01-03T20:25:00.000-05:00

Aint no party like a Hayes-getting-tipsy-off-of-fried-bread-party...

The man

The ladies

That's mama to you...baby!

Billy D. in tha house

HONK! HONK! TOOT! TOOT!

Hayes, 5 fried bread sticks later

Shout out to Cali

HAPPY 007!

YESSIRRR!

2006-12-20T14:13:00.000-05:00

Another photo shoot came and went without a hitch. You can click the post title to view more photos. But here are a few candids. THANK YOU, MEL!

Shout Out to Alf

2006-12-20T13:10:00.000-05:00

Ever see someone and think, "He looks like someone I've seen before but I don't know exactly who?" Well, I've been saying that about "He's Just Not That Into You"-guy Greg Berhendt since the day I saw him. And it just occurred to me...

Does anyone else see the resemblance? Look again...

Spooky, huh?

HOLLERRRRRR!

2006-12-11T11:49:00.000-05:00

Sleep is for the Weak

2006-12-06T16:53:00.000-05:00

What do I do when Hayes isn't around? I eat lemons and attend Khalym's birthday parties! This particular moment happened over a month ago--hey, I've been a little busy. Despite the usual 30 days, November was a big month...mainly for Khalym, who celebrated her birthday three times! {No rest for the worthy}. Here's the last of the last of the last of the November pics {and I didn't post even 1/3 of them}.

Khalym & Chakaras (Not subtle, guys)!

Johanna, our Chef Girl-ardee

Kareem & Me (Mmmm-hmmm, I swallowed the whole lemon, folks...what).

Get it Girlz...and Boyz!

2006-12-04T18:21:00.000-05:00

Beans and Other Green Things

2006-11-20T14:30:00.004-05:00

As much as I like to pretend to throw down in the kitchen, it's hard to get creative with the cuisine when your biggest fan is a fastidious toddler who won't eat anything green. No sweet peas, no green apples, and definitely no asparagus. {Tasty as they may be}.
Scouring the grocery store aisle yesterday for a clever vegetable disguise, a recipe came to me from way back. Probably an old southern dish, it calls for fresh sweet corn, a drained can of french cut green beans and a pat of butter all in a pot with just a little water.
It was just as good as I remember. And Hayes ate every bean on his plate. {Green as they were}.
Here are some other green things Hayes is into these days...

Oscar

Sir Hayes T available in stores and at sirhayes.com this spring

A bedtime favorite

Cedi pinky ring. That's one of MY faves. Thanks Khalym!

Babar the Elephant Man

2006-11-12T20:26:00.000-05:00

I can barely recall the character Babar from storybooks when I was a child, so I most certainly was not a fan. Consequently, Hayes knows nothing of the elephant...king, is it? But yesterday when a life-size Babar showed up at the neighborhood bookstore for storytime, I didn't know how creepy these things can be. Remind you of anything?...

Hey, Nice Hat!

2006-11-12T19:27:00.000-05:00

I picked up this chapeau by 7 A.M. Enfant in Park Slope on one of those days that starts out warm and gets progressively colder as the day goes on. I love it! It saved me from looking like an unfit mother. And it's fly enough for the kid too.

Hustlenomics Holla Back

2006-11-03T17:34:00.000-05:00

For those of you who were there, here it is again. For those of you who missed it, here's Hustlenomics the remix...

Khalym (who needs no introduction) & Brandon (BS Shirts)

Leroy Jenkins in the house! Upendo showin' off

Momma!

Me, Khalym and Ms. Dona Dee

Chris (BS Shirts hits Cali right after the party)

The artist formerly known as Our Man Ron (Leroy Jenkins)

Hana...and is that Ron?

Check out the Sir Hayes display...super cute! (if I may say so myself)

Aysha (Posh Media Group), Khalym and Kecia (Victoria's Secret)

Pen doin' his thing

Carmen & Steve...and is that Ron?

Lady Khalym (and lil' Poppa)

Purple stuff, y'all!

All Guilt Aside

2006-10-26T17:48:00.000-05:00

I suppose the difference between me and any other lady at a newsstand is the guilt that always creeps up at the thought of a purchase for myself, however small it may be. That is, unless the other woman happens to also be the mother of a small child. Afterall, it’s not a much needed spa day or Victoria’s Secret trip I’m contemplating. Magazines are superfluous compared to children with real needs like new winter hats, another box of diapers and wipes, more learning tools with Elmo on it…{You get my point}.
However, I admit to giving in to selfish indulgences when the opportunities arise. Afterall, I simply refuse to completely lose myself in this whole mommy-thing. And hey, it’s just a magazine! A few pages, a few dollars, a brief moment of escape. Right? Well, three actually. I couldn’t decide between Harper’s Bazaar, Jane and Real Simple because there isn’t one out there that appeases the appetites of my multiple personalities in a single issue. Harper’s Bazaar is for the fashionista in me, however closeted my inner glamourpuss might be. Jane is for the girl in me that’s not always so girly. You know, the one that likes to discuss new music and kicks, smart women and stupid politics. And the neat-freak mommy in me makes a bible of Real Simple for all the tips that make homemaking easier than it really is. So I grab all three. It’s just a few pages and a few dollars for a brief moment of escape. Right?
I was pleased—each and every one of me. I found a recipe in Jane for one of the most delicious and reasonably priced meals {$10} I have ever made, eaten, thoroughly enjoyed, and shared with friends. I referenced Real Simple for the shelf life of a package of mushrooms I found in the back of my fridge. {After three days, chuck ‘em}. And I was pleasantly surprised by Harper’s Bazaar. I mean, I do like to hear from the fashion gods about what’s hot and not. Really I just like to poke fun at fashion taken so seriously. But if it weren’t for the articles about Gwyneth Paltrow and Debi Mazar, both moms talking mommyhood, I might still be feeling small pangs of regret. One talks about the type of mom she aspires to be and the other can’t stop talking about the twenty extra pounds of baby weight. I cringed when one described how motherhood requires so much of her life and she "doesn't even have to change sheets and clean toilets." Albeit my life is different from any movie stars'--or anyone for that matter--still, being a mom is the most relatable experience I have with women with children everywhere. And I'm just glad my little self-centered splurge reminded me of it.