Hayes-ey Who?

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

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!

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!

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

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

...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

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?

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!

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!

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

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!

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

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

Puck You Too!

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

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...

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

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

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...

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

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.