Planning Postcard Moments

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

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!

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?

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

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?

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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

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

Shout out to Mrs. Frizzle!

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

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

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

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

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

Enough.

Long Live Responsible Brainwashing!

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

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

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

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

Aaaagh... The power of brainwashing!

Perfect Peanut Butter Cookies

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

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

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

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

Movers & Shakers

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



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

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