02/21/2012 7:00 am
The papers are in my hand and the ink on the signature is barely dry.
I’m sending Berlyn to private school for kindergarden.
My reasons are multi-numeral.
When I think about the amounts of teaching philosophies out there my brian feels like it was extracted from my skull and put into the washing machine on the heavy soil setting. And when I emerge it’s all sopping wet from soapy tumbling.
First we considered public school. And why not? With so many fantastic schools in our neighborhood it seemed like an easy decision. But the more I looked into it the more I was disappointed with the schools around here, the budget cuts, the overcrowding, and the bully problem!
No thank you.
Then there was my brief encounter with home schooling. But because I’m largely unmotivated and completely ill-equipped to teach my daughter anything scholarly, I decided that was probably not the best choice.
And in a moment of homemade granola and eco friendly feminine products, I thought I’d send her to a Waldorf school that nurtured creativity and shunned media exposure, sugar, and reasons for not composting. It was a lovely place, but it was too far away.
Then I moved my search into the private Christian schooling category, and found their views on academics and spiritual integration refreshing. And after touring the campus, talking to teachers, parents, and the principal, I felt comfortable and assured that I’ve made a good choice. So I’ve made up my mind.
Kind of…
I’m still dithering and wavering.
I never went to private school. I had to scratch and claw my way up the educational ladder to achieve a slightly below average G.P.A. I got most of my sex education from reading the bathroom walls in the second grade. I learned every bad word there was by the time I was seven, and look how good I turned out!
I’m scrappy!
And I think that’s a great attribute to have.
But the thing that really makes me dither and waver is the uniform.
In between the blue and white plaid, there’s no room for creativity.
Berlyn excels at getting herself dressed each morning. She always comes down stairs wearing an outfit completely constructed by her. I only nudge her gently when there needs to be changes. Like when it’s 84 degrees outside and she’s wearing a ski jacket and sweatpants.
I’m going to be sad telling her she can’t go to school dressed in a tu-tu, an “I love my grandma” shirt, polka-dot leggings, topped off with a fedora.
I love celebrating her unique style and her self expression.
And the thought of dampening that with a blue starchy romper over a white collared polo shirt makes me shudder.
There’s no perfect school, is there?
So, I guess I’ll just have to celebrate her unique style and self expression after school.
Wahh waahh.
09/13/2011 6:00 am
Forever 21 has taken over.
They have recently expanded in South Coast Plaza, Fashion Island, and the Shops at Mission Viejo.
It used to be a small retail store, but now they’re department-sized-huge. Elevators and escalators huge.
The first time I went in to the newly expanded store was at South Coast Plaza. I had both my children and I was shopping with some friends. There were so many pretty things that I wanted to touch: jewel toned jeans, silky tops, suede wedges, and oh my GAH have you seen this necklace!?
After 5 minutes of shopping I needed to sit down, I was about to have an accessory panic attack. Plus my kids were slapping each other with leg warmers, and I needed a cookie.
So we left. I abandoned my friends. I had to take a break from the blaring techno music and that much neon can’t be good for the eyes.
This is when it dawned on me that I was getting OLD.
I looked back at the entrance of Forever 21 with scorn. I didn’t want anything to do with them and their disposable fashion. I like my clothes to last, thankyouverymuch.
I like it when I retrieve my pants from the wash and they’re still intact. I enjoy putting on a shirt without missing buttons or threads hanging off it. I like when my rings don’t give me a green residue around my finger. It’s the little things, right?
So you can take your 19.95 fashions and shove it.
A few weeks later I decided to go back. Like a moth to a flame. I can’t help it, they have some really cute stuff in there. Who cares if it falls apart? I need to participate in trends, and I NEED a floral romper!
I grabbed a few things, considered trying them on, but again found myself unimpressed and a bit lackluster. Maybe it was my blood sugar, did I need a cookie? No, what I needed to do was ride the elevator to the second floor to find the girl’s section.
Jackpot.
I have arrived.
I was excited. I grabbed 12 things and held them up to my daughter, Berlyn.
“Is this cute?” ” Would you wear this? ” “How ’bout this?” ”This can go with your polka dot leggings.”
I was on fire. I was having so much more fun than when I was shopping for me.
I ended up buying my daughter 4 adorable things for 50 bucks, plus I gained a little perspective too.
Forever 21 isn’t for middle aged moms, it’s for girls!
Duh It’s for girls that have a tiny bit of cash but still love to shop and look awesome. Sure, I can go in and buy a few things here and there, but it’s not really for me. I’ll stick to my more expensive labels, and supplement with a few adorable poly-blends and itchy synthetics.
So what I’m saying is, I get you, Forever 21. I’ll play your game, I’ll wash your garments by hand, and hope they last through the season, because I know it’s not for me. You are for my daughter, my younger sister, my neighbor who sings Nicki Minaj karaoke songs out her open window. I now understand you, I support you.
Carry on.
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05/10/2011 7:00 am
I borrowed a rad car from GM for a week.
First thing I had to do was abandon my misconception that only old people drive Cadillacs. Because apparently they’re big with the upper-management-golfing-dad category too.
Cadillac also makes a bunch of amazing mom-friendly cars, I however requested to drive the fastest production sedan in the world:
The CTS-V.
Ask and you shall receive…
This car went fast. Very very fast. This thing roared like a hungry fistful of bees. No, wait, if I use that analogy people will imagine their hands are filled with bees. And no one wants a hand filled with bees. Beads maybe, but bees? No. Plus, bees don’t really make a super roar-y sound. They’re more like a gentle hum. Like a kazoo, or a dishwasher on the pots and pans setting. Which, I have never used, because my mom and Martha Stewart both say don’t put your pots and pans in the dishwasher. And if my mom AND Martha Stewart are both telling me something, I’d better listen.
Wait, what were we talking about…?
Oh yeah, cars.
So I was driving this awesome piece of machinery around for a week. Can you imagine me in it? I looked like I was borrowing my dad’s car or something. But somehow I managed to buckle car seats in the back and convert this sanctimonious caddy to a full-fledged mom-car: Cheeros in the cracks of the seats and Skip to my Lou beating from the bass.
I was sad at the end of the week to give it back. Especially since I got really good at figuring out where 5th gear was, which happens to be right next to reverse. I feared for my life every time I was on the freeway because I thought I’d accidentally put it in reverse while driving 65 MPH down the freeway. I don’t even think it’s possible to put it in reverse while driving 65 MPH on the freeway, but I was still scared. And every time I’d put it in 5th, I’d wince and imagine Jesus holding me like a baby bird in his giant hands.
As much fun as it is driving a new car around, it’s good to be back in my trusty Volkswagen. It keeps me humble. It’s familiar smell of rancid milk rotting away in a hidden sippy cup, it’s door cubbies filled with crinkled arts and crafts Berlyn brings home from pre-school, and the crushed graham crackers embedded into the floor mats are all gentle reminders that I am not a fancy-golf-club-carting-556 horsepower-Cadillac-driving-lady. Instead, I am a diaper-bag-toting-shop-at-Target-kind-of-mama who forgets that she put her coffee on the roof of the car then drives off in a fluster and it spills all over the front of the windshield when she stops suddenly to let a family of quails cross the street.
It’s fun to play dress up once in a while, but if cars were pants, my Volkswagen would be a cozy pair of jelly stained Mervyn’s sweatpants and a Cadallic would be a pair freshly pressed ivory St. John slacks.
And I love me some jelly.
04/19/2011 7:00 am
About 6 weeks ago I decided to become vegan.
Because I want to be difficult.
Because I want people throwing parties to say, ” Do we have to invite Beckey? UGH! Well, if we have absolutely must, she can bring her own food, because this party is all about cheesy beef. And I’m not making a salad.”
And that’s fine. Because I like being difficult.
Especially if it’s at my mom’s expense.
Lately, she’s asking me all these food questions. Like, ”If you’re not eating meat and cheese, what ARE you eating?” And “What about iron?” Or “Beckey! How are you getting calcium if you’re not drinking any milk??”
But she doesn’t really want to hear the answer, because I’ll start to say, “Actually mom, a plant-based diet is rich in calcium, more so than animal products. Did you know that animal products actually deplete calcium in your bones? Yes there is calcium in milk, but it takes more calcium out of your body just to digest it. Crazy, huh?”
And then my mom just rolls her eyes.
Mainly because she stopped listening when I started spewing facts.
I’m still new at this and I’d definitely say that I’m in the dating stage of veganism. We’re not mutually exclusive, I’m still trying to navigate all of veganism’s weird quirks and every once in a while I like to see other people.
Like fish. I like to see fish once in a while.
And Farmer’s Market eggs are my booty call.
But dairy is completely out of the picture.
And cows, pigs, and chickens are out too.
The crazy part is how my body feels about all this:
First I got a cold…maybe it was coincidence?
My skin was clearer for about a week, but then broke out in giant cystic zits.
I lost 4 pounds right away.
I have more way energy, as a matter of fact, I’m jumping rope right now.
Before all this, I’d get a migraine a week, but I haven’t had one yet. I’ve had a few headaches here and there, but no migraines.
I had a lighter period with virtually no cramping.
and I sleep better.
OH! And speaking of sleep, I’ve been dreaming about meat. That’s right, almost every night when I go to bed, I close my eyes and snuggle my pillow, and dream of pork; whole chickens float around, steaks fly, crumbled sausage rains from the sky.
While I’m awake, I want nothing to do with it, but apparently my subconscious wants meat!
Perhaps it’s all part of the detoxifying process. Maybe it’s the seedy underbelly of detox that no one tells you about, because if you knew that meat would invade your dreams, you might not go through with it.
Meatmares? No thank you, you’d say, and briskly walk away.
And who could blame you?
But if you are interested in eating less meat (and dairy), and I think we’d all benefit from that, you can start with Meatless Mondays. That’s where I started, and there isn’t any detox process you’ll go through if you just give it up one day a week, I promise, no meatmares.
04/05/2011 7:00 am
Are you a new mommy?
No?
Okay, maybe you’re a ‘well-seasoned’ mommy.
No?
Perhaps you’re a daddy?
No?
You have a dog?
A fish?
A mason jar filled with snails?
Well whatever you are, let’s pretend you’re a new mommy. And you’re all excited because you have a tiny baby in your arms. Whoo-Frickin’-Hoo!! You get to smell your baby’s head all day long, and you get to caress his soft cheeks and you can nibble on his ears. Let’s pretend that you’re so jazzed, and life is pretty fantastic…
Life’s pretty fantastic, that is, until you visit your mommy’s group.
First it starts with, “Are you breastfeeding on demand? You should throw those formula samples away. Those are from the DEVIL!!!”
And you nod in complete accordance, because sure, that makes sense. And if you disagree you don’t want to allegedly find yourself in a darkened alley with an angry mom behind the wheel of a Toyota Sienna.
Later you hear that you should schedule your baby’s feedings because if you don’t your baby will become an entitled selfish wanker, and the last thing the world needs is another entitled selfish wanker. And you’re like, Woah! Wait a minute, I thought I was supposed to feed on demand! And you think, Geez, I need to sit down, this is a lot of conflicting information.
Well, hold on sister, this is just the beginning.
Vaccinations?
Opening this discussion with other mommies can give you enough gastrointestinal discomfort to fill an entire Petunia PickleBottom diaper tote. And none of the information is conclusive, so you’re left going, “huh?” all while battling an embarrassing case of IBS.
Diapering? Are you doing cloth or disposables?
If it’s disposables, get ready for a sea of judgment and wrath from cloth diapering mavens.
Are you going to wear your baby?
“Well, I got this great new car seat that is also a baby carrier,” you say. “And I was just going to carry the baby around in his car seat, it’s so much more convenient.”
Well just know that you’re scarring your baby for life. He feels distant and scared being that far away from you. Babies need to be touching you and close to you at all times to feel nurtured and loved.
“But I have chronic back pain, and pushing the stroller is so much easier.”
Well, then you must not really love your baby. Take some Advil and strap that baby to your chest, dammit, they’ll say.
Are you going to baby proof your house?
“Yes, of course I am.”
Well you shouldn’t. Then they never learn about danger. Do you want to teach your child that there aren’t any dangers in the world??
Is that a jar of baby food? What the hell is wrong with you?!
“But it’s organic”, you say.
It doesn’t matter, by the time the factory is done processing it, all the nutrients are exhausted and it’s just pasty version of what it used to be. If you truly care about your child’s nutrition, you’d make your own fresh baby food everyday.
And you go back home. Tired, defeated and completely insecure. You cuddle your baby close to you and tell him that you’re totally going to screw him up, and you hope that one day he will understand that you’ve tried your best.
I never knew that being a mommy was so controversial. I always thought talking about religion and politics was off limits. Well religion and politics are child’s play. The new controversy is what kind of baby sling you’re going to use and how long you’re planning on breastfeeding.
Well let me be the first to tell you that it’s all a bunch of crap. Sure, it’s important to educate yourself; to make sure that you’re being an informed parent, but my humble advice is to act on your own motherly intuition.
Motherly intuition is some powerful stuff.
If it feels right, do it. And if it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.
It doesn’t have to be complicated.
And for any mama who disagrees, don’t let it get to you, she’s probably just mad because her hemorrhoids are flaring up.
03/22/2011 7:00 am
I’m probably the worst gardner in the entire world.
Well, maybe not the worst, I’m sure that newborn babies might be worse than me, because it’s hard to hold a trowel with those tiny baby-fingers. Plus they lack the dexterity and the attention span to open a seed packet, and don’t even get me started on getting them to understand the difference between perennials and annuals.
Crazy babies.
But other than babies, I’m the worst.
I think it’s because i want everything RIGHT NOW.
But let me tell you something, wanting everything right now is a major pain in the pooper.
There is a lot of incessant foot tapping involved.
And where there is foot tapping, there is also eye rolling, and where there is eye rolling, there is also exasperated exhales, and basically all those things combined is like an anxiety attack waiting to happen.
I actually roll my eyes at my plants.
They’re not growing fast enough!!
or
There’s mold on my parsley!!
or
Stupid basil! You SUCK!! I HATE you.
Something might be wrong with me.
Anxiety while gardening!?
Shouldn’t gardening cure anxiety?
See, that’s why I should just put the shovel and soil down. But for some reason, I keep at it.
Here’s my latest lush planter:
Oh, the four-year-old in the footed jammies?
She had to document her excitment for my container of edibles that I haven’t quite killed yet.
Now getting her to eat the aformentioned edibles, creates much less fanfair.
But isn’t it amazing?
Theres some well established thyme (brought over from another planter) in there along side some beautiful lettuce greens, chives (also from another planter) basil and parsely.
It’s been growing nicely for about 4 weeks now.
But soon, very soon, I feel as though it’s fate will join the others:
I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
And in the meantime, I’m going to make myself a salad.
03/01/2011 7:00 am
The other day, Berlyn and I went on what I assume to be the first of MANY shopping trips. And when I say MANY in all-caps like that, I’m not only shouting at you, but I’m doing it in a British accent, like I’m saying min-aay, but what I mean is too many to count, like one billion and seventeen future shopping trips.
And when I say shopping trips I mean, just her and me, hanging out. Not running errands, trying to find eco-friendly laundry detergent and wheat germ. Because we do that all the time. Because we never have enough eco-friendly laundry detergent and wheat germ.
But we don’t ever just go out together and talk about girly things.
Well, partly because she’s four and talking to her pretty much goes like this:
Hey mom, what if bears wore hats and went to work in the morning?
That would be hilarious Berlyn.
Mom, hey, mom. Mom! Hey, what if bears had mustaches!?
Mustaches on a bear? That’s just crazy talk.
MOM!! OH my gosh!! What if bears drove cars!?
What? A bear in a car? Incredulous.
But seriously Berlyn, if you ever see a bear in a car, you make sure you drop and roll out of the way. You got that? Tuck and roll Berlyn, tuck and roll.
I never miss an opportunity to admonish on the dangers of bears.
But now that Berlyn is getting older it’s fun to take her out just the two of us. A month ago we went and saw a movie together, and for Valentine’s Day her daddy took her on a date to Build-A-Bear and sushi. She just adores sushi, and when I say sushi I mean edamame and plain udon noodles. But to her, she might as well be eating a slimy plate of sashimi.
So there we were, just the two of us at Fashion Island, and I didn’t bring a stroller or a giant mom bag. Instead I had a small purse with chap stick, a phone, and a wallet. No snacks, no waters, no baby wipes, no crayons, and no small toys.
We jumped on the rocks at the koi pond, we tried on shoes at Bloomingdales, we touched all the tiny treasures at Anthropologie, we sat on the mod couches at Jonathan Adler, and then we had lunch at the swanky restaurant in Nieman Marcus called Mariposa. Although we clearly weren’t wearing enough Chanel, they still treated us like queens. And afterwards Berlyn got to munch on a lollypop.
It was super fun, and on the way home Berlyn kept saying how much she loved having time with just her mommy. And I loved that we were able to do that. My mom and I still go on shopping trips together and they are something that I cherish.
It gives me so much joy to know that I’m passing down this tradition of spending money, er, I mean time with my daughter.
I know there will be MANY, MANY more shopping trips in our future.
02/22/2011 7:00 am
Somewhere around the 18th minute of my screaming son, I started staring blankly at the fridge.
“You hungry?” My husband asked.
“Eh? No. I’m just…looking.”
“We just ate. Geez woman.”
“No. Not hungry.” I pounded on the refrigerator door and then stalked over to the table and started violently moving things around.
I scooted chairs around and gave the dog a half-assed compliment on her combination sneeze-fart.
I opened the cupboards and pulled out a casserole dish.
I went into the bathroom and flushed the toilet, and then slammed the toilet seat down.
I unlocked the front door and looked around and said 6 bad words.
Patrick followed me.
“What?” I asked.
“What are you doing Beckey? You’re freaking me out.”
I started pushing all the buttons on the microwave.
Beep, boop, beep, beep. BEEEEEEP.
“OH MY GOSH!! WHY IS HE STILL CRYING??”
“Oh, I see what this is about, his crying is slowly making you go insane,” said Patrick. “Don’t let it get to you. I just checked on him 5 minutes ago. We’ve done everything we can for him, and now he needs to soothe himself.”
“His constant crying is making me want to punch a tiny elephant!!”
“No, Beckey. Really? A tiny elephant? But they’re so cute. They have that sad look in their eyes, and how precious is it when they hold on to one another’s tail? It’s the best. Plus, think about their mamas. Their mamas wouldn’t appreciate you punching their babies. Not to mention, you don’t even have the resources to be near, let alone punch a tiny elephant.”
“Oh, yeah? I could totally punch an elephant. Here’s how I’d do it: You know my Canadian relatives, well, I think one of them is a carny–”
“Wait, Beckey…Listen. He stopped crying.”
“Seriously?”
::Exhale::
“I think I just saw a rainbow. So, what were we talking about?”
“It’s night time, Beckey. You didn’t see a rainbow. And we were talking about you clocking a 500 pound animal.”
“Oh, yeah, I could never do that. I love animals.”
“You’re very strange, Beckey.”
“You’re just now realizing this? OOH! I know, we should write a haiku about elephants and send it with a donation to PETA.”
I couldn’t ever
Punch a tiny elephant
I’d rather eat corn
“I don’t know what is is, Patrick, but when he cries I completely loose control. So much so, that I actually write haikus. ”
“Ya, I know.”
02/08/2011 7:00 am
I have two kids.
And it seems that the second that I popped baby number two out, everyone keep asking if I was going to have more.
Well, okay, maybe not everyone, but a vast majority.
Wait, perhaps not a vast majority, but at least 6 people.
6 really tall people.
I’m sure those 6 people were just being polite, and asked me because they were all done complementing my shoes, and talking about rain in the forecast. But whatever the reason, I never know how to answer that question.
Like today; a friend of mine asked me if I was going to have more babies, and I was all, “Um, well, I don’t know. Maybe….No. Not really, but if it happens we won’t leave it at the fire station, ya know? Wait, I mean, we have 4 bedrooms, so maybe. UGH. It’s complicated.”
I think she was just looking for me to say something simple.
But answering a question like that is not simple. It’s not that I mind being asked, it’s that I’m very undecided, and one day, if asked, I might shout, “HELL NO!! What’s wrong with you!? You’re ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m actually friends with you.”
But ask me while I’m ovulating and in the middle of eating a lemon cupcake and I might be all, “Oh, maybe I’m pregnant right NOW! How fun would that be? Wouldn’t it be the best if it was twins!? Maybe I’ll name one after you!”
So in conclusion, there are two things we can learn from this post:
One- I’m emotionally unstable.
And two- I’m undecided.
01/25/2011 7:00 am
When other mothers see them on my baby’s bum, I usually get curious glances and comments like, you must do a ton of laundry. Isn’t it all too much work? I like that you use cloth diapers, but I just don’t have the time.
YES! You do have the time, and I’d love to jump on my tiny soap box and dispel some myths about cloth diapers for you:
Firstly, they take too much time.
Not true. I probably spend a paltry 15 minutes a week of active time cleaning and putting away diapers. That’s less than a trip to a giant baby warehouse store, right?
Isn’t your water and gas bill high?
No. No it isn’t.
Aren’t you ALWAYS doing laundry?
I have 12 cloth diapers, I use about 5 a day, so I wash them every other day. Honestly, it’s not all that much time consuming.
Do you touch poo?
I use these cloth diapers liners. They’re like a flushable paper towel that you put between the baby and the diaper. It collects all the brown stuff, and then you just flush it down. If poop on gets the diaper, I soak it first before throwing it in the laundry.
If I do accidentally touch some fecal matter, I wash my hands.
My baby is a year old, it’s too late for me to switch.
It cost about $300 for me to buy 12 diapers, a diaper pail, laundry soap and liners. That’s about 4 months worth of disposable diapers. Chances are you child will be in diapers for another year and a half, so your investment will still be worth it. Or you can spend half that and just use a few cloth diapers a day, even cutting your disposable diaper waste down half makes a huge difference.
Here’s the best part of this diapering business: I save money. LOTS and LOTS of money.
Like 2,000 dollars worth of money. Pretty awesome, right?
Saving money is cool and all, but my main reason for making the switch was to be more eco-conscious. I hated the idea of throwing away something that I used so frequently and it never decomposing. Disposable diapers are a strain on the environment; they take 500 years to break down! AND you probably put them into a neat little plastic bag which ALSO takes 500 years to break down, and did you know that there is a floating landfill in the middle of the Pacific Ocean?
How gross. It’s filled with dirty diapers, plastic water bottles, plastic grocery bags, and all your to-go containers from your favorite Chinese restaurant (deep breath), and now I have to sit down because the thought all this trash being thrown away every second of the day is making me dizzy, very very, dizzy.
So, in conclusion, cloth diapers are rad and you should use them too.
I personally use BumGenius all in ones, one size fits all.
Here are two Orange County cloth diapering stores that I’ve visited and think they are pretty great.
If you feel compelled to make the switch check them out:
Granola Babies
Belly Sprout
